The Political Future of Hong Kong: Democracy within Communist China (Routledge Studies on the Chinese Economy)

The Political Future of Hong Kong

On 1 July 2007, Hong Kong celebrated the tenth anniversary of its return to the People’s Republic of China, but the past decade has been a bumpy ride for both the Hong Kong people and the central leaders in China. In fact, in 2003 Beijing had already succumbed to public pressure within the fairly short period of its rule by abruptly replacing its handpicked first Chief Executive with a British-groomed civil servant. This book examines the origin and evolution of Hong Kong’s political system, analyses the current contradictions in the system and discusses how the system might develop in future. It focuses in particular on the office of the Chief Executive in the context of Hong Kong’s transformation from a British colony to a Special Administrative Region in China. The dualistic structure of the Chief Executive’s office embodies a dilemma between two competing imperatives – communist China’s imperative to retain a colonial political system where executive power is concentrated at the top, and the need to accommodate new, increasing demands for democratic representation within the territory. The Political Future of Hong Kong demonstrates how the British legacy left its imprint on Hong Kong’s political system. It analyses the strategies adopted by the sovereign state as it attempted to cope with demands for representative government in the post-handover years, and the strains placed on Hong Kong’s political institutions by the uneasy relationship between central government and local forces of liberal autonomy. Kit Poon examines the possibility of the introduction of universal suffrage for the selection of the Chief Executive, and considers how Hong Kong can secure a democratic future in the context of broader Beijing–Hong Kong relations. Kit Poon is Assistant Professor in the Department of Applied Social Sciences, at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University. She is also an experienced columnist, commentator and guest television presenter in Hong Kong.

Routledge Studies on the Chinese Economy Series Editor Peter Nolan, University of Cambridge Founding Series Editors Peter Nolan, University of Cambridge, and Dong Fureng, Beijing University The aim of this series is to publish original, high-quality, research-level work by both new and established scholars in the West and the East on all aspects of the Chinese economy, including studies of business and economic history. 1 The Growth of Market Relations in Post-Reform Rural China A micro-analysis of peasants, migrants and peasant entrepreneurs Hiroshi Sato 2 The Chinese Coal Industry An economic history Elspeth Thomson 3 Sustaining China’s Economic Growth in the Twenty-First Century Edited by Shujie Yao and Xiaming Liu 4 China’s Poor Regions Rural-urban migration, poverty, economic reform and urbanisation Mei Zhang 5 China’s Large Enterprises and the Challenge of Late Industrialization Dylan Sutherland 6 China’s Economic Growth Yanrui Wu

7 The Employment Impact of China’s World Trade Organisation Accession A.S. Bhalla and S. Qiu 8 Catch-Up and Competitiveness in China The case of large firms in the oil industry Jin Zhang 9 Corporate Governance in China Jian Chen 10 The Theory of the Firm and Chinese Enterprise Reform The case of China International Trust and Investment Corporation Qin Xiao 11 Globalisation, Transition and Development in China The case of the coal industry Huaichuan Rui 12 China along the Yellow River Reflections on rural society Cao Jinqing, translated by Nicky Harman and Huang Ruhua

13 Economic Growth, Income Distribution and Poverty Reduction in Contemporary China Shujie Yao

21 The Chinese Communist Party in Reform Edited by Kjeld Erik Brødsgaard and Zheng Yongnian

22 14 China’s Economic Relations with the West and Japan, 1949–79 Grain, trade and diplomacy 23 Chad J. Mitcham 15 China’s Industrial Policy and the Global Business Revolution The case of the domestic appliance industry Ling Liu 16 Managers and Mandarins in Contemporary China The building of an international business alliance Jie Tang 17 The Chinese Model of Modern Development Edited by Tian Yu Cao 18 Chinese Citizenship Views from the margins Edited by Vanessa L. Fong and Rachel Murphy 19 Unemployment, Inequality and Poverty in Urban China Edited by Shi Li and Hiroshi Sato 20 Globalisation, Competition and Growth in China Edited by Jian Chen and Shujie Yao

Poverty and Inequality among Chinese Minorities A.S. Bhalla and Shufang Qiu Economic and Social Transformation in China Challenges and opportunities Angang Hu

24 Global Big Business and the Chinese Brewing Industry Yuantao Guo 25 Peasants and Revolution in Rural China Rural political change in the North China Plain and the Yangzi Delta, 1850–1949 Chang Liu 26 The Chinese Banking Industry Lessons from history for today’s challenges Yuanyuan Peng 27 Informal Institutions and Rural Development in China Biliang Hu 28 The Political Future of Hong Kong Democracy within communist China Kit Poon

The Political Future of Hong Kong Democracy within communist China

Kit Poon

First published 2008 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2008 Kit Poon All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Poon, Kit, 1963– The political future of Hong Kong: democracy within communist China/ Kit Poon. – 1st ed. p. cm. – (Routledge studies on the Chinese economy) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Hong Kong (China) – Politics and government – 1997–I. Title. DS796.H757P66 2007 951.2506 – dc22

ISBN 0-203-93356-7 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-43438-6 (hbk) ISBN10: 0-203-93356-7 (ebk) ISBN13: 978-0-415-43438-6 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-93356-5 (ebk)

2007016787

In memory of my grandmother, Xu Yu-ying, who taught me to live fully.

Contents

List of illustrations Preface Introduction

x xi xiii

1

The British legacy: coping with challenges

2

China’s strategy: constructive vagueness as compromise

26

3

Serving two masters: the paradox of the Chief Executive

46

4

Contesting the boundaries: Beijing and democrats in action

70

5

Democracy within communist China: possibilities and constraints

102

Interpreting accountability: theories and politics

126

Appendix I. Annex I (I–III) Sino-British Joint Declaration Appendix II. Chapter IV of the Basic Law Appendix III: Chronology References Index

145 149 162 167 174

6

1

Illustrations

Tables I.1 GDP and unemployment rate (1997–2005) I.2 Gini coefficient (1971–2001) I.3 Percentage distribution of monthly household income by decile groups of households, 1991, 1996 and 2001

xiv xiv xv

Figures 3.1 Institutional arrangements for the office of Chief Executive 3.2 Evaluation of the performance of the Chief Executive 4.1 Satisfaction with the performance of the Hong Kong SAR government 4.2 Satisfaction with Beijing’s Hong Kong policy 5.1 The dimensions of competition between the Hong Kong SAR and the CPG 6.1 Evaluation of the Principal Officials Accountability System

48 59 90 91 109 141

Preface

This book is a result of four years’ research on Hong Kong’s political transformation as a PhD student in the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and a decade of observation and reflection on current affairs as a columnist. After spending seven years pursuing undergraduate and graduate training in the United States, I returned to Hong Kong in the spring of 1997. I found myself witnessing the dramatic sociopolitical changes since then. It was the heated debate on democracy, the unfolding of a series of unexpected events, as well as the continually evolving political dynamics in the post-handover era that fascinated me. As Hong Kong enters its tenth year after returning to the People’s Republic of China, I offer my reflection on Hong Kong politics over the past decade in the hope of shedding some light on its democratic future. This book is my small contribution to the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administration Region of the People’s Republic of China. I am deeply indebted to many people who have assisted me along the way. Among them is Professor Kuan Hsin-chi at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. As my PhD supervisor, Professor Kuan was extremely helpful in guiding me through my intellectual journey. His guidance was always timely and his encouragement invigorating. It was thanks to his support that my dissertation was successfully completed and eventually became the basis of this book. Professor Anthony B. L. Cheung from the City University of Hong Kong and Professor Jiang Shi-gong from Peking University also generously offered to read a few draft chapters of the book and provided invaluable comments and suggestions. My appreciation also goes to those whose opinions and analyses on Hong Kong’s political transition I have consulted, including Allen Lee Peng-fei, Sir David Akers-Jones, Professor Lau Siu-kai, Professor Alvin Y. So and many others whose research I cite in the reference section. I also benefited enormously from the help of a number of friends who exchanged views with me frankly and extensively on the possible parameters with which the central government’s policies towards Hong Kong were constructed and reconstructed. I would also like to thank Professor Peter Nolan from Cambridge University who kindly offered me the opportunity to write this book as one in his series on China. Peter Sowden, the editor responsible for the series at Routledge, also worked closely with me in the early stages of formulation. His professional advice helped me to

xii Preface sharpen the focus of the book to suit a wide international audience. Matthew Brown from Bookcraft Ltd also worked tirelessly to prepare proofs and the index of the book. I am also indebted to colleagues in the Department of Applied Social Sciences of the Hong Kong Polytechnic University, especially those with the China Research and Development Centre. Their understanding and readiness to lend a hand allowed me to complete the book notwithstanding heavy teaching commitments , and research and administrative duties. Joseph Chan Chung-kei, a student in the department, also assisted me with the tedious but extremely important work of checking references and preparing graphs. Any remaining errors in the book are solely my own The final note of thanks goes to my husband Gan Yang: his encouragement, patience and tolerance were indispensable for my intellectual pursuit. Our shared interest in current affairs and sometimes our debates have been a source of continual intellectual inquiry into many issues relevant to the book. I dedicate this book to my late grandmother Xu Yu-ying who passed away ten years ago. It was she who taught me to live fully. 2007, Hong Kong.

Introduction

On 1 July 2007, Hong Kong celebrated the tenth anniversary of its return to the People’s Republic of China (PRC). The climax of this celebration was marked by the inauguration of the new Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region presided over by Hu Jin-tao, the President of the PRC. While parades, receptions, fireworks and musical performances were taking place, the first decade of Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region of China drew to an end and a new era dawned. In 2007, Hong Kong’s socio-economic contour is very different from how it was ten years ago. Economically, the region has regained a strong foothold after six years of dramatic downturn and nearly three years of gradual recovery. As the pain of the economic contraction and intensified restructuring gradually lessens, Hong Kong people appear to appreciate more than ever the fruit of an economic upswing and the momentous unfolding of economic integration with the mainland. Socially, the influx of mainland tourists and businessmen, and the growing number of Hong Kong people who reside and work across the Lo Wu border, serves to blur not only the geographical, but also the psychological division between the region and the mainland. Although the sense of ‘Hong Kong’-ness remains strong in certain quarters, China’s recent rise in the world has functioned to enhance a Chinese identity within the community. The tenth anniversary ceremony, therefore, seems to capture more closely the mood of the community than any held in the past. However, by any standard, Hong Kong’s transition from colonial city to Special Administrative Region after 1997 was not plain sailing. Hit by the Asia Financial Crisis immediately after the handover, Hong Kong’s economic growth dipped in the course of 1997 to 1998, with GDP falling –6.1 per cent in 1998. Though GDP rose temporarily 2.9 per cent in 2000, it dived again –2.1 per cent in 2001. It was not until 2004 that the Hong Kong economy regained its foothold, with GDP growth rising steadily 6.6 per cent in the third quarter of 2006.1 Alongside Hong Kong’s rollercoaster economic performance in the post-handover decade, Hong Kong’s unemployment rate also fluctuated immensely. Unemployment rose to 4.7 per cent in 1998 and peaked at 7.9 per cent in 2003.2 However, economic recovery since then has resulted in a continual increase in job opportunities, with unemployment declining to 6.8 and 5.6 per cent in 2004 and 2005 respectively. It was not

xiv Introduction Table I.1 GDP and unemployment rate (1997–2005)

Year

1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005

GDP increase (%)

10.1

–6.1

–2.9

2.9

–2.1

–2.6

–3.6

3.5

6.2

2.2

4.7

6.2

4.9

5.1

7.3

7.9

6.8

5.6

Unemployment (%)

Source: Census and Statistics Department, Government of Hong Kong SAR: www.censtatd.gov.hk/ hong_kong_statistics/statistical_tables/index_tc.jsp?charsetID=2&subjectID=2&tableID=006; www.censtatd.gov.hk/hong_kong_statistics/statistical_tables/index_tc.jsp?tableID=030.

until the end of 2006, however, that the unemployment rate at 2.4 per cent was on a par with the 2.2 per cent recorded in 1997. Despite this, it is estimated that the majority of the currently unemployed 150,000 people will be permanently out of the job market because of Hong Kong’s rapid economic restructuring.3 Notwithstanding the gradual economic recovery from 2003 to 2006, social stratification continued, resulting in a growing sense of social injustice and inequality. The Gini coefficient rose steadily from 0.518 in 1996 to 0.525 in 2001.4 The percentage of households belonging to the highest of the ten household income brackets dropped from 1.3 per cent in 1991 to 0.9 per cent in 2001, while the percentage of households belonging to the tenth (or lowest) household income bracket rose progressively from 37.3 per cent in 1991 to 41.2 per cent in 2001.5 With this rise in social disparity, a widespread sense of unfairness developed. Unsurprisingly, the Hong Kong SAR government was suspected of colluding with big business firms and transferring resources to powerful tycoons in the territory, an accusation against the government that was rarely heard in the colonial period.6 If the Asian Financial Crisis of 1997 caught the new administration off guard, the outbreak of avian flu in May 1997 and the spread of the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) in March 2003 posed even greater challenges for the new administration in Hong Kong. The spread of avian flu led to the massive slaughter of more than 1.2 million chickens from 160 chicken farms, 39 mixed poultry farms, 430 fresh provision shops and 560 market stalls in an attempt to prevent the spread of the virus7. As the bloody scene was transmitted through our television screens, the city became jittery. But that was not all. Before things could improve, SARS emerged. The outbreak of SARS took nearly 300 lives in Hong Kong and

Table I.2 Gini coefficient (1971–2001)

Year

1971

1976

1981

1986

1991

1996

2001

Gini coefficient

0.430

0.429

0.451

0.453

0.476

0.518

0.525

% change

–

–0.2

+5.1

+0.4

+5.1

+8.8

Source: Commission on Poverty, Government of Hong Kong SAR: www.cop.gov.hk/eng/ income_disparity.htm

+1.4

Introduction xv Table I.3 Percentage distribution of monthly household income by decile groups of households, 1991, 1996 and 2001

Decile groups of households

1991

1996

2001

(%)

(%)

(%)

1st (highest)

1.3

1.1

0.9

2nd

3.0

2.6

2.3

3rd

4.0

3.6

3.4

4th

5.0

4.6

4.4

5th

6.1

5.7

5.6

6th

7.4

7.0

7.0

7th

9.0

8.5

8.8

8th

11.4

10.6

11.1

9th

15.5

14.5

15.3

10th (lowest)

37.3

41.8

41.2

100.0

100.0

100.0

Total

Source: Legislative Council, Hong Kong SAR, Household income and Gini coefficient Information Note, 2001–2.

affected over 1,700 residents, many of whom were kept under quarantine for some time.8 In the subsequent months of 2003, the giant, well-lit, and usually packed shopping malls of Hong Kong were nearly completely empty. The bustling districts usually jammed by peddlers and tourists had turned into ghost towns at night. These two incidents, though natural disasters, tested the competence of the Hong Kong government, and therefore that of the first Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa. Economic contraction and the outbreaks of avian flu and SARS could be attributed to sources beyond the control of the new administration, but the Hong Kong government seemed to have no one else to blame for a series of administrative blunders that surfaced in the post-handover years. Between 1997 and 2004 scandals involving officials and government-appointed public figures led to a number of highly publicized resignations, including that of the former Financial Secretary, the former Chairman of the Hong Kong Housing Authority, and the former Chairman of the Equal Opportunity Commissions.9 Reputable public institutions established in the colonial era suddenly appeared to be in immense disarray under the new Chief Executive. In this context of unexpected economic contraction, increased social disparity, the spread of epidemics and lingering administrative blunders, public confidence in the Hong Kong government was seriously shattered. The first Chief Executive was seen as lacking the necessary experience, skills and determination to govern the once vibrant capitalist city. As dissatisfaction mounted, Tung Chee-hwa’s

xvi Introduction popularity waned. Tung came to power with an impressive approval rating of 64.5 per cent in July 1997, but his popularity dived to 42.1 per cent by 2004. Tung resigned in 2005, having never regained the level of approval he enjoyed at the beginning of his term in office.10 If the past decade had been a bumpy ride for the people of Hong Kong, then it had been no easier for the Beijing leaders. The tension between pro-democracy forces in Hong Kong and the central government persisted throughout most of the first decade, although public satisfaction with central government’s Hong Kong policies began to steadily improve towards the end of the decade.11 Quarrels between Beijing and Hong Kong democrats arose over several issues, including press freedom in Hong Kong, Tung Chee-hwa’s second term in office, and, above all, the pace of democratization in Hong Kong. The biggest confrontation erupted in 2003 when the Chief Executive, apparently under pressure from Beijing, proceeded to legislate an anti-subversion law as stipulated in Article 23 of the Basic Law.12 The government showed no intention of postponing the legislation when fears about personal liberty mounted. On 1 July 2003, the day marking the sixth anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to China, hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong residents, including professionals, university and high school students, pensioners and artists, took to the street to express their discontent.13 Along with those who opposed the legislation of the anti-subversion bill, there were also people expressing grievances over government housing policies, civil service reform, rising unemployment, and the spread of the SARS epidemic, and demanding further democratization as a means to cure all the above-mentioned ills. It was, as noted by the South China Morning Post, ‘a momentous day by any standard as people of different professions, ages, religious and political beliefs gathered to express their anger and disappointment with Mr Tung’s performance over the past six years’. The legislation arising from Article 23 of the Basic Law, said the report, had been ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’.14 The landslide vote of ‘no confidence’ in Tung signalled by the mass demonstration was also implicitly an expression of discontent with the central authority, which was seen to wield decisive power over the choice of the Chief Executive and the pace of democratic reform in Hong Kong. Beijing was shaken by the massive turnout for the demonstration. Teams of officials and researchers were dispatched from Beijing to conduct an investigation and solicit the views of people of influence in Hong Kong15. Seven months later, in March 2005, Tung abruptly announced his resignation from the office of Chief Executive, citing medical reasons. The then Chief Secretary for Administration, Donald Tsang Yam-kuen, a veteran civil servant groomed by the British colonial government, succeeded Tung. Since then, Hong Kong’s political scene has taken a dramatic turn for the better. After Tsang took office as Chief Executive in spring 2005, public confidence in the government progressively improved. The number of respondents who reported dissatisfaction with the performance of the Hong Kong government declined sharply from 38.9 per cent in February 2005, a month before Tung’s resignation, to 17.8 per cent in the first month of 2007. Conversely, those who reported satisfaction or felt fairly positive about the performance of the government rose from 14.1

Introduction xvii and 46.1 per cent, to 22.9 and 58.4 per cent respectively for the same period.16 Tung’s resignation also appeared to be effective in alleviating the tension between Beijing and the general public in Hong Kong: those who reported satisfaction with Beijing’s Hong Kong policies rose as high as 50 per cent in April 2006, from a low point of 31.8 per cent in the month before Tung’s resignation.17 Nonetheless, the replacement of Tsang by Tung has not put an end to the quest for the introduction of universal suffrage for the selection of the Chief Executive. At the tenth anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to China, the most salient issue that divides the community continues to be the debate over possible routes and timetables for achieving a fully elected Chief Executive, the number one person in Hong Kong’s political hierarchy.

Perspectives, arguments and the plan of this book This book is about the politics surrounding the selection of the Chief Executive and the underlying political paradox of Hong Kong: achieving liberal democracy within communist China. However, understanding the politics of Hong Kong depends on analysis of several other issues, including Hong Kong’s colonial past, the post-handover governance, the Basic Law, and, above all, the conceptual role of Beijing in Hong Kong’s pursuit of democracy. Different approaches to the analysis of these issues illuminate varying aspects of Hong Kong politics and produce highly divergent conclusions about Hong Kong’s democratic future. One of the prevailing approaches to studying the persistent quest for democracy in post-handover Hong Kong, especially the call for a fully elected Chief Executive, grounds itself on the legitimacy problem of the Hong Kong government. Selected by the small circle comprising the 800 members of the Election Committee, the incumbent is seen to lack the necessary mandate for power and accountability to the people. His leadership can enlist neither the support of the legislature nor strong backing from the public. The solution to weak government, as the argument goes, lies with the introduction of direct election to office and a serious overhaul of the existing political system. Whether this claim is valid or not, it is an argument that seems to have increasingly gained support in the post-handover years. This can be seen by the correlation between the decline in public satisfaction in government performance and the rise in demands for democracy. The belief in direct election as the cure for all ills of governance has very much shaped the politics of the day. Researchers and analysts, however, have identified a number of complex causes of government blunders after 1997, which imply the remedy for public dissatisfaction may require a combined treatment rather than a single dose of universal suffrage. The changing social context, the disoriented public administration, the internal split between the new Chief Executive appointed by Beijing and his chief aides as career civil servants, and the unfavourable economic conditions have all contributed to the poor performance of the Hong Kong government. If a belief in direct election has become an important feature of politics, it remains to be asked how such belief arose in the first place?

xviii Introduction The study of Hong Kong politics requires a historical perspective. The roots of the above-mentioned perceptions and beliefs lie in Hong Kong’s colonial past. Although the political system at the end of British rule was far from democratic, the promotion of democratic concepts such as ‘mandate’ and ‘accountability’ in Hong Kong has nonetheless left a deep imprint. As a retreating colonial ruler, Britain promoted democratic ideas as an attempt to cope with the challenges of the time while retaining power in its final years of rule in Hong Kong. Hence, today’s calls for democracy, when the political system fails to deliver the expected results, have to be examined in the light of the British legacy, one that has profoundly shaped the political outlook of the people of Hong Kong. Another prevailing approach to Hong Kong’s post-handover politics suggests that the ambiguity of the Basic Law was to blame for the controversy surrounding the Chief Executive. According to Article 43 of the Basic Law, the Chief Executive is required to perform an impossible mission. He has both to pledge allegiance to the Hong Kong people and to be accountable to the central government. This ‘dual accountability’ puts the incumbent in a thankless position, and he is constantly pulled in opposite directions when the two ‘masters’ clash. Yet, on closer inspection, the Basic Law poses no legal dilemma for the Chief Executive. It is clear, when read in its entirety, that the Basic Law obliges the Chief Executive to be accountable to the central government and his accountability to the people of Hong Kong has yet to be institutionalized before it can be effective. The question thus arises as to why such a gap exists between the legal text and the general expectations regarding the Chief Executive’s loyalty. Are the people of Hong Kong too busy to read the Basic Law closely? If close study of the Basic Law is the solution, then Hong Kong’s political question could be resolved by simply explaining the legality of the document to the public, which is exactly what the Basic Law Promotion and Steering Committee of the government has been doing tirelessly for almost a decade. The reason for the controversy is, of course, more complex than simply the misreading of the Basic Law as a legal document. In fact, the Basic Law is full of democratic ideas. Terms such as ‘democracy’, ‘accountability’ and ‘election’ frequently appear in the document, and together these project a liberal image of the mini-constitution. Hence, it could be argued that the ‘misperception’ of the Basic Law was intended. The nagging question is why – why was the Basic Law intended to paint a more liberal and democratic picture than actually exists? To answer this question we need, again, to unravel the history. If incorporating democratic ideas was a strategy of the British government as it prepared to retreat, then the gulf between legal text and political posturing of the Basic Law was constructed, and such construction was intended to serve a particular purpose. Understanding today’s controversy surrounding the Chief Executive must not, therefore, be separated from the historical context of the Chinese government’s negotiation with Britain during the transitional years. Prevailing approaches to democracy in Hong Kong often cast a bleak light on the future. This pessimism arises because China has been perceived as a dominant power imposing limitations on the quest for democracy that emerged within

Introduction xix the capitalist Hong Kong from the 1980s. Since Hong Kong will continue to reside within communist China, the argument goes, the future of democracy thus looks bleak. But China’s role in Hong Kong is about more than merely imposing limitations on the quest for democracy. As past experience reveals, China not only influenced the inception of democratic ideas in Hong Kong but also acted as more than just a ‘controller’ in the process of constructing the partial democracy currently practised in Hong Kong. An approach that treats China as an external power whose only intention is to contain the development of democracy grossly over-simplifies a complex issue, and leaves very important areas unstudied. For example, to what extent and for what purpose has Beijing shaped the partial democracy in Hong Kong? What strategies has it adopted when confronted with the quest for democracy in Hong Kong, and what are the underlying cultural and institutional limitations that guide its behaviour and choices? Indeed, without asking these questions, the conventional approach inevitably leads to a dead-end. If Beijing as the dominant power acts only in the role of ‘suppressor’, then Hong Kong’s quest for democracy has no hope unless China itself is somehow transformed into a democracy. A different approach to the role of China in Hong Kong’s pursuit for democracy is to treat the central government as a stakeholder, whose participation in Hong Kong’s politics entails complex negotiations and compromises, first with Britain as a retreating power, and then with the local stakeholders. Beijing has a stake in Hong Kong’s democratization because it hinges upon the political relationship between the state and the territory. If that relation is to remain unchanged, it is motivated to exercise control over the pace and the extent of democratization in Hong Kong. But it has an equally important incentive to compromise for the same reason. The crucial questions concern the extent to which China would be willing to accommodate the quest for further democratization, and the degree to which its concern for state authority would surpass its willingness to compromise. The perspective that China has always been significant in the politics of Hong Kong, and will continue to steer the direction and extent of democracy implies that a new approach to the politics of Hong Kong is called for. The aim of such a new approach is to reveal, rather than conceal, the role Beijing played in shaping the existing political system, the patterns of its responses and the underlying issues, in order to shed light on the trajectory of Hong Kong’s democratic future in the changing context of centre–Hong Kong relations. This book traces the origins and evolution of the dualistic legal-political construct of the office of Chief Executive within the context of Hong Kong’s historical transformation from a British colony to a Special Administrative Region of China. I argue that the dualism of the office embodies a dilemma between two competing imperatives: the sovereign state’s imperative to preserve a colonial political system in which executive power is concentrated at the top, and the need to accommodate the new and rising demands for democratic representation within the territory. By unravelling the process in which the Office of the Chief Executive was constructed during the period of Sino-British negotiation, this book demonstrates how the British legacy left its imprint on the political system in Hong Kong

xx Introduction and how Chinese leaders made the strategic compromises that circumstances required. However, such compromises also set the stage upon which the dynamic interplay between the power-holders and power-contenders unfolded alongside the contest between the traditional values of order, authority and efficiency and the emerging democratic values of liberty, representation and accountability. These analyses enable a better understanding of the roots of the political disputes that erupted in post-handover Hong Kong. This book describes the patterns and strategies adopted by China when it tried to cope with demands for representative government in the pre- and post-handover years. I argue that the Office of the Chief Executive serves as a link between the central government and the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. As such, it is the locus of competition between the state authority and local autonomy. The dynamic interplay between central government and the liberal forces in Hong Kong sheds light on the adaptability, as well as the limitations, of the central authorities in China when confronted with mounting pressure for representative government coming from below. Consequently the structure of the Chief Executive paradoxically exhibits both room for change and constraints upon change. Likewise, the quest for democracy in Hong Kong encounters both the possibility of being accommodated within communist China and also limits to such accommodation. These conflicting pressures constitute opposing poles of an axis along which Hong Kong’s democratic future will at some point be positioned. This book also examines the elusive meanings and different models of ‘accountability’, and how its interpretation led to political eruptions in Hong Kong. I argue that the controversy surrounding the selection of the Chief Executive arose in part from the suggestive use of ‘accountability’ as an English translation of the Chinese term fu ze in the English version of the Basic Law. This constructive translation created vagueness that served a particular political purpose at the time of transfer of Hong Kong’s sovereignty. But the concept of accountability was subsequently used in arguments for different political proposals by competing stakeholders with competing objectives. Given this, agreement on the exact meaning of ‘accountability’ is unlikely to be achieved by intellectual debates; the concept will continue to be shaped and reshaped as politics evolves. The plan for the rest of the book is as follows. Chapter 1 identifies Britain’s strategy for retreat from Hong Kong, a strategy that mirrored its previous withdrawals from colonies elsewhere. In reviewing Britain’s retreat from colonies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, I suggest there was a discernible pattern to such retreats. Specifically, Britain incorporated liberal concepts such as ‘mandate’ and ‘accountability’ into its governance while at the same time attempting to retain power in its final years of rule. Chapter 2 outlines China’s strategy of ‘constructive vagueness’ as a political compromise during Sino-British negotiation. Beijing took advantage of the elusive meaning of ‘accountability’ as introduced by Britain as circumstances compelled; and such a strategy was repeated during the negotiation of the Basic Law with Hong Kong elites. ‘Constructive vagueness’ laid the ground for disputes that ensued in the post-handover years in Hong Kong.

Introduction xxi Chapter 3 analyses the legal framework for the office of the Chief Executive, and the implied political paradox. By reviewing the respective governing strategies of the two incumbent Chief Executives, the author attempts to gauge the extent to which structural flaws and contingences contributed to the stress of the office. Chapter 4 analyses the dynamic interplay between Beijing and pro-democracy political parties in the post-handover years. In reviewing the events that gave rise to a social momentum for democracy, I identify the institutional inertia and political predicaments confronted by both parties as they sought to reframe their strategies. As the political landscape shifted, negotiation for a mutually acceptable reform package became more daunting, testing the adaptability of both actors in an ever-moving game. Chapter 5 discusses the possibility of introducing universal suffrage for the selection of the Chief Executive and the limits placed upon it. Four possible ways to achieve a democratic future in Hong Kong are discussed within the framework of centre–Hong Kong relations. The viability of each model is evaluated within the context of the evolving political practices in mainland China. Chapter 6 concludes by highlighting the elusive meaning of ‘accountability’ as it is debated and practised in democracies elsewhere. The author contests the assumption that accountability is a static, well-defined, self-evident concept as it is debated and practised in existing democracies. In light of the political forces underlining the diverse interpretations of the concept in Hong Kong, the exact meaning of the term is likely to remain unsettled until politics is settled. A new era is dawning but democratic change in Hong Kong continues to be an unresolved question. With the arrival of 2007, it is time to take account of the achievements and to draw lessons from the past decade, so as to best gauge the future of this world-class capitalist city. However, it is worth noting that the quest for democracy in Hong Kong is not static, but evolves with changing socioeconomic conditions in the territory, and the changing context of social, economic and political dynamics between Hong Kong and mainland China. The demand for a fully elected Chief Executive is also likely to fluctuate according to government performance and the competence and skills of the incumbent. Given the fact that Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region of the PRC has existed only for a decade, this book by no means aims to draw conclusions about its future. Rather, it aspires to draw attention to the complexities of Hong Kong politics, and to the often overlooked intricacies of dynamics among stakeholders. As such, this book serves to open new dimensions for further debate and research on Hong Kong politics.

Notes 1 Government of Hong Kong SAR, Census and Statistic Department, www.censtatd.gov.hk/ hong_kong_statistics/statistical_tables/index_tc.jsp?tableID=030 (accessed 28 February 2007). 2 Government of Hong Kong SAR, Census and Statistic Department, www.censtatd.gov.hk/ hong_kong_statistics/statistical_tables/index_tc.jsp?charsetID=2&subjectID=2&tableID=006 (accessed 28 February 2007). 3 Government of Hong Kong SAR, Census and Statistic Department.

xxii Introduction 4 Government of Hong Kong SAR, Commission on Poverty, www.cop.gov.hk/eng/ income_disparity.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 5 Hong Kong SAR, Legislative Council, ‘Household income and Gini coefficient information note, 2001–2’, www.legco.gov.hk/index.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 6 The accusation of government–business collusion rose over various incidents. In 1999 the government decided to promote high technology as the new engine of growth by developing a waterfront business centre, the Cyberport, to attract IT firms in Hong Kong and the region. The project was later criticized as a luxury housing development project in disguise (The Standard, 14 January 2005). The second incident concerns the sale of publicly subsidized housing estate located at a luxurious waterfront area, the Hunghom Peninsula housing estate. The Housing Authority was accused of selling it to the developers at a rate much lower than the market price. The developers had to abandon the plan to redevelop the estate into a luxury housing project following a public outcry in December 2004 (South China Morning Post, 19 March 2004 and 11 December 2004). The third incident occurred in 2003 when, as part of the economic relief package to revive the economy after the outbreak of the SARS epidemic, the government financed a series of concerts, the Hong Kong Harbour Fest. But the officials responsible were criticized for spending public money unwisely and irresponsibly. An Independent Panel of Inquiry was later formed to investigate the possible misconduct of these officials (Government of Hong Kong SAR, ‘Harbour Fest’, www.info.gov.hk/info/ harbourfest/chapter1.pdf; accessed 28 February 2007). 7 Government of Hong Kong, Information Service Department, ‘News update and speeches’, www.info.gov.hk/isd/news/dec97/kill-chi.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 8 A. Siu and Y.C. Wong, ‘Economic impact of SARS: the case of Hong Kong’, www.hiebs.hku.hk/ working_paper_updates/pdf/wp1084.pdf (accessed 28 February 2007). 9 Michael Wong Kin Chow, former Chairperson of the Equal Opportunities Commission, a publicly funded institution, was alleged to have accepted gifts from a businessman. He was subsequently forced to resign as criticism mounted (Takung Pao, 7 November 2003). The former Financial Secretary of Hong Kong, Antony Leung Kam-chung, a political appointee of the first Chief Executive, was also alleged to have taken advantage of insider information. He bought a new luxury car just before a new tax levy on such cars, a policy he had helped to formulate, was about to be introduced. He also was forced to resign (Mingpao, 17 July 2003). In addition, Rosanne Wong Yick-Ming, the former Chairman of the Hong Kong Housing Authority, a statutory body overseeing the planning, construction and allocation of public housing estates, was forced to resign when the pillars of some public housing estates were found not to comply with statutory requirements (Hong Kong Commercial Journal, 26 June 2000). 10 Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong Institute of Asian-Pacific Studies, ‘Telephone Survey Research Laboratory’, www.cuhk.edu.hk/hkiaps/telpress.htm (accessed 28 February 2007) 11 Ibid. 12 South China Morning Post, 18 July 2003. 13 South China Morning Post, 2 July 2003. 14 South China Morning Post, 2 July 2003. 15 South China Morning Pos, 24 July 2003. 16 Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong Institute of Asian-Pacific Studies, ‘Telephone Survey Research Laboratory’. 17 Ibid.

1

The British legacy Coping with challenges

If this is true with regard to every species of political dominion and every description of commercial privileges, none of which can be original, self-derived rights, or grant to the mere private benefit of the holders, then such rights … are all in the strictest sense a trust: and it is of the very essence of every trust to be rendered accountable … To whom, then, would I make the East India Company accountable? … to Parliament, from whom their trust was derived – to Parliament, which alone is capable of comprehending the magnitude of its object, and its abuse, and alone capable of a effectual legislative remedy. Edmund Burke, speech on Fox’s East India Bill1

… It is essential to Hong Kong’s continued growth and prosperity that its system of government should continue to evolve to meet the demands of the times and the aspirations of those to who it owes its mandate. Governor Edward Youde, 4 October 19842

Much of the political controversy that erupted in post-handover Hong Kong could be attributed to arguments over one single word, ‘accountability’. According to Article 43 of the Basic Law, the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region ‘shall be accountable to the Central People’s Government and the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region in accordance with the provisions of this Law’.3 Elaborating this principle of dual responsibility of the Chief Executive, Article 45 further spells out a dual selection process for the Chief Executive. The incumbent ‘should be selected by election or through consultation held locally and be appointed by the Central People’s Government’.4 This provision lays down two sources of power for the office, a local constituency and the central authority. Further down in Appendix I of the Basic Law, the local constituency is defined as the Election Committee, which is composed of 800 selectors returned by a complex selection process.5 The composition of the Election Committee, however, is to continue to evolve according to specific procedures and subject to agreement among relevant parties specified in the Basic Law.6 Fierce debate has arisen regarding the exact meaning of ‘accountability’ in Article 43. One view holds that ‘accountability’ refers to mandate, responsiveness,

2 The Political Future of Hong Kong and control. Article 43 implies that the Chief Executive should acquire the necessary mandate to rule, be responsive to the wishes of the Hong Kong people, and subject to control and punishment when the incumbent fails to meet the expectations of the public. This view further suggests that Article 43 creates a paradox of ‘dual loyalty’ for the Chief Executive. It requires the incumbent to perform an impossible mission: to be accountable simultaneously to two masters. He is thus pulled in opposite directions. In order that the office-bearer can truly represent the people of Hong Kong, and the incumbent’s accountability to them can be made genuine, as the argument goes, the political system needs to be reformed. Direct election for the Chief Executive is called for. In contrast, those who prefer to preserve the political system laid out in the Basic Law interpret accountability as mere answerability and moral responsibility. The view here is that the Chief Executive, as stipulated in the Basic Law, has to answer questions and explain policies in the legislative chamber. This act alone constitutes the essence of accountability to the people. Accountability does not necessarily imply control and sanction. It is with the principles set out by Basic Law that the incumbent rules. With this interpretation, the paradox perceived by the first school cannot be established and the quest for further democratization lacks the necessary grounds. In essence, the controversy over the interpretation of accountability arises beween two competing schools of thought on representation. Those who propose direct election of the office of the Chief Executive are followers of the delegate view of representation, or the ‘accountability view of representation’ as it was termed by H. Pitkin.7 This view holds that genuine representation only exists when there is effective control over the representatives. An official is a representative only because he will be subject to removal at the end of his term via the election process.8 The delegate view of representation is grounded in the assumption that the relationship between the representative and the constituency is one between the agent and the principal. By its logic, one agent cannot possibly serve two principals, because heterogeneous principals would possibly not provide identical instructions or evaluate the agent in the same light, let alone exercise sanctioning powers in the same fashion. It was this interpretation of representation that provided the grounds for pursuing a directly elected Chief Executive. But this interpretation was quite novel. As a British colony, Hong Kong was governed as a bureaucratic state, with power concentrated in the hands of a London-appointed governor together with a permanent Civil Service establishment. Not only was the governor’s power unfettered by any representative bodies but the idea of representation, let alone accountability or mandate, was unheard of until the transitional years unfolded in the early 1980s. In fact, British colonial rule in Hong Kong, as in its colonies elsewhere, was buttressed by the idea of trusteeship which derived from the classic British conservative tradition of virtual representation. Most eloquently expressed by Edmund Burke, this tradition perceives the role of the ruling class or the government as one of being entrusted to act, thus becoming trustees rather than delegates. A

The British legacy 3 trustee acts for the welfare of the beneficiary, but does not necessarily have to be responsive to their wishes or be sanctioned by the beneficiary. Virtual representation does not see election as a necessary defining act that confers power on the representative. Political appointment by a higher authority can legitimately function as an act of entrusting. It is by their virtue, competence and skill that representatives are qualified. It is based on such a notion of trusteeship that Burke discussed the accountability of the East India Company to the English parliament, the institution that had entrusted it to rule in India, but not to the people of India who were ruled. As illustrated by the quotation from Burke at the beginning of this chapter, accountability may be an important part of trusteeship, but accountability to the beneficiary of that trust is not a part of it.9 It was in accordance with this theory of virtual representation that British officialdom in Hong Kong defended their power over the course of history against challengers emerging from below. The rise of the liberal interpretation of accountability deserves some explanation. Although the Basic Law was a product of negotiation between China and the Hong Kong elite, Britain was by no means irrelevant in encouraging the delegate view of representation, and a dualistic framework for the office of Chief Executive. In fact, as the retreating power in the early 1980s Britain promoted an idea of accountability that in turn entailed immense consequences for the incoming sovereign power, the PRC. British colonial government also laid the track upon which Hong Kong’s course of political development was set in motion, of which many ramifications only became manifest in the post-handover period.

From a ‘trustee’ to ‘accountable’ government: Britain’s retreat Compared with their counterparts in other parts of the world, the British ruling class in Hong Kong maintained a firm grip on power until the conclusion of the SinoBritish Joint Declaration in 1984. But that does not mean that they were exempt from challenges that emerged either from those they governed or the international arena, both of which kinds of challenge had caused immense political changes in other colonies. Within a period of 90 years, from 1890 to 1980, the demand for the expansion of representation in Hong Kong emerged time and again, first from expatriate merchants at the turn of the last century, then by local, international activists in the 1950s and 1960s. The British official class was always able to dismiss such demands with the Burkean rhetoric of trusteeship. Nevertheless, the Joint Declaration in 1984 signalled the beginning of the turbulent course of Hong Kong’s transfer of sovereignty. The British official class suddenly replaced its virtual representation rhetoric with the liberal and democratic ideas of ‘accountable government’, and ‘accountability’ was subsequently promoted and institutionalized under the last few British governors from Edward Youde to Chris Patten. Behind the shifting vocabulary, from ‘trustee government’ to ‘accountable government,’ lay a profound shift in strategies. The new approach was meant to protect British interests as Hong Kong’s decolonization unfolded. In this regard, the British colonial government, as it

4 The Political Future of Hong Kong prepared for its eventual retreat from the territory, laid the foundation for a dualistic political construct that was to function after 1997. ‘Responsible’ guardians versus the ‘self-interested’ challengers: 1890–1980 Around the turn of the twentieth century, an impetus for constitutional reform began to gather momentum in Hong Kong. In 1894, a petition addressed to the House of Commons of Britain demanded greater representation for British merchant interests in Hong Kong’s Legislative Council.10 The 363 petitioners, of whom 90 per cent were British, and the rest Anglo-Chinese, Americans, Portuguese and British Indians, insisted on the ‘free election of representatives of British Nationality in the Legislative Council, a majority in the Council of such elected representatives … complete control in the Council over local expenditure; the management of local affairs; and a consultative voice in questions of an Imperial character’.11 In 1916, another petition signed by 556 British merchants, bankers and traders was advanced for the same purpose.12 This time, the petitioners demanded two additional unofficial members be added to the Executive Council,13 while requesting that any future vacancies in the Executive Council be filled by elected members from either the Chamber of Commerce or the Justices of the Peace, the two elite groups who already enjoyed representation in both Councils. Repeating the demands made in the previous petition, the petitioners asked for an unofficial majority in the Legislative Council by increasing the number of unofficial members from six to ten, and that all except Chinese members should be elected, half of them by the Chamber of Commerce and the other half by the nonofficial Justices of the Peace.14 Only the petition in 1894 achieved a limited degree of success in expanding the number of unofficial members in both councils. The idea of ‘election’ as expressed in both petitions was vehemently rejected by British officials in Hong Kong and in the Colonial Office, who argued that such an idea was ‘totally unsuited’ and ‘irresponsible’.15 The interplay between the British official class and the expatriate merchants best illustrates the manner in which colonial power was defended in Hong Kong during the early colonial years. A sharp contrast emerged between the merchants and the British officials regarding what representation amounted to, how government should be constituted and who would be qualified to hold political power. The merchants grounded their demands in interests and wealth, arguing that those who had a stake in the territory should have the right to make decisions. As taxpayers, they insisted that they knew what would be best for Hong Kong, adding that the British official class was not equipped to know and act as their trustworthy agent. As the petition of 1894 stated: … those who have the knowledge and experience are naturally the Unofficial Members, who have been elected and appointed as possessing these very qualifications, who have passed large portions of their lives in the Colony, and who either have permanent personal interest in it, or hold prominent positions

The British legacy 5 of trust which connect them most closely with its affairs … On the other hand, the offices occupied by the Official Members are only stepping stones in an official career; the Occupants may be resident for a longer or a shorter period in the Colony, and for them to form an opinion on any question which arises, different from that decided upon by the Government in Executive Council, is to risk a conflict with the Governor, and they are therefore compelled to vote on occasions contrary to their convictions. 16 Following the same logic, the petitioners in 1916 went to great lengths to highlight the economic contribution of the signatories by listing the titles of the most important 28 signatories and the capital worth of the companies they represented. E. H. Pollock, the primary mover behind the petition in 1916, criticized British officials for their irresponsiveness to merchant interests: ‘the Officials can defeat the Un-officials with neatness and dispatch every single time, no matter how strong the weight of public opinion is behind the latter, and the so-called representatives of the public on the Council have no real power whatever to give effect to the wishes of the public!’17 Pollock concluded that such ‘arbitrary employments’ of the official vote could only be prevented when un-officials became the majority in the Legislature.18 While the expatriate merchants demanded to broaden the base of representation, they nonetheless interpreted representation in a Eurocentric way. The petition of 1894 asked to enfranchise ‘British Nationality’ as the ‘common right of Englishmen to manage their local affairs, and control the expenditure of the Colony’. The 1916 petition specified that ‘all but Chinese members’ could be elected. It is evident that what was meant by the ‘public’ referred exclusively to expatriate merchants, bankers and traders, while the ‘public opinion’ they mentioned was exclusively theirs. When the petitioners argued for political equality, they dismissed the local Chinese as unfit for such equality. The local Chinese, argued the petitioners, should continue to be looked after by their natural guardians, the British official class. As the petition of 1894 stated: Your Petitioners fully recognize that in a Colony so peculiarly situated in the borders of a great oriental Empire, and with a population largely composed of aliens whose traditional and family interests and racial sympathies largely remain in that neighboring Empire, special legislation and guardianship are required.19 Of course, the Eurocentric interpretation of representation was quickly seized on by British officials as a convenient weapon against the petitioners. Citing the censuses held in 1891 and 1911, the governor of Hong Kong argued that British and European merchants constituted only a fraction of the total population, and could thus not represent the public of Hong Kong.20 Eloquently couched in a language of virtual representation, J. H. Stewart Lockhart, then the Acting Colonial Secretary, condemned the merchants as self-seeking individuals whose ‘object in coming to the Colony is to acquire wealth and to return to Great Britain as soon as they possibly can’. He said:

6 The Political Future of Hong Kong Undoubtedly there have been British residents who have devoted both time and labour to promoting the welfare of the Colony; but the instances of ‘selfsacrifice’ of personal interest to the public good have been very rare. Indeed, merchants and others make no secret of the fact that the good of their firms is the first object of their consideration, and that everything, public or private, must yield to it …21 Lockhart was in fact suggesting that public good transcended private interest, and that the ability to protect the public good must be a necessary requirement for rulers. Naturally, British officials were the acquainted rulers and responsible guardians for Chinese in Hong Kong. It would be absurd, claimed Lockhart, to grant electoral rights exclusively to expatriate merchants without giving the same rights to the Chinese, because it would mean ‘representation being monopolized by persons of British nationality!’22 But if the grant of electoral rights to British merchants would do injustice to the local Chinese, why couldn’t British officials grant the same rights to the Chinese? As ‘knowledgeable’ guardians, they ‘believed’ that the Chinese were not ready to exercise such rights. ‘The modern idea of “one man, one vote” is one which a Chinaman can hardly comprehend’, said Lockhart, ‘and if he does succeed in grasping its meaning, it is an idea which does not appeal to him, as it is opposed to the constitution of society and the theory of government in China.’23 Clearly, the merchant class and the British official class each adopted a different view of representation, arguing on different grounds as to what constituted legitimacy to rule and who were qualified to hold power. While the merchants argued commercial interests in the territory alone made them eligible to rule, British bureaucrats argued to the contrary. Personal interests, suggested the officials, bred selfishness and prevented one from making decisions in which public good would transcend private interest. For the merchants, the government’s irresponsiveness to their wishes was viewed as a fault, providing grounds for enfranchisement. The bureaucrats, however, put a positive twist on it, suggesting that their impartiality protected the interests of the ‘public’, the mass Chinese population. Nonetheless, both merchants and officials agreed on one point. The Chinese were not ready for enfranchisement, although each used the argument for their respective ends. While merchants cited the ‘immaturity’ of the Chinese population as evidence for eliminating the political rights of the Chinese, the official class used it as evidence to reject the merchants’ demand for power-sharing. If the Burkean notion of trusteeship and paternalistic government could still justify the monopoly of power of British official class at the turn of the twentieth century, it lost much of its persuasive power following the Second World War. In the 1950s and 1960s, political groups began to emerge who re-stated the case for self-government in the territory. After the founding of the Reform Club in 1949, the Hong Kong Civic Association and the United Nations Association of Hong Kong came into being in 1953. In the early 1960s, the Hong Kong Democratic Self-Government Party was established, followed by the Labour Party of Hong Kong in 1964. These political groups fell in different places along the political

The British legacy 7 spectrum. Their platforms ranged from limited social reform on issues concerning the cost of living, adequacy of hospitals, level of school fees and rentals,24 to radical proposals such as complete self-government of Hong Kong within the British Commonwealth.25 From the early 1950s to the late 1960s, these groups sent candidates to compete for elected seats in the Urban Council26 and organized seminars concerning issues of political and social reform in Hong Kong. Their representatives frequently travelled overseas to lobby for political change in the territory, meeting British MPs and officials in the Colonial Office. In 1962 and 1963, the United Nations Association of Hong Kong twice submitted petitions to the United Nations, requesting that the issue of Hong Kong’s self-government be heard by the UN Committee on Colonialism. Despite their differences, the activists at that time agree on one point: the colonial government had lost its legitimacy to rule in light of the social disturbances of the 1960s, and the massive momentum for decolonization in the international arena. They believed that elections, at whatever level, would enhance the responsiveness of the government. In a letter to the editor of the South China Morning Post, printed on 4 June 1969, elected members of the Urban Council, along with university lecturers, social workers and prominent members from various political parties, protested: The present governmental system satisfies only a few. There has been growing discontent as evidenced by recent social happenings, e.g. 1966 Bank Crisis, 1966 Ferry Riots, 1967 Industrial disputes and riots. Indications are that unless the system is made more responsive to the needs and aspirations of the general public, discontent will express itself in social disruptions of increasingly frequency and intensity.27 In an attempt to appeal to the international audience, these activists continued, ‘the present situation in Hong Kong goes against British post war colonial policies. Colonialism is now regarded as an inappropriate form of modern government – as indicated by the persistent resolutions on this subject by the UN General Assembly …’. The petitioners then warned the British government that its tolerance for such colonial governance in Hong Kong would tarnish its international image as a democracy.28 Unsurprisingly, British officials continued to defend their power with the argument of trusteeship. As usual, they dismissed the quest for self-government by labelling the political activists as opportunists seeking self-interest at the expense of community well-being. In his letter to the Colonial Office, the then governor stated: As you are aware the United Nations Association of Hong Kong is an irresponsible body which commands little local support. It … serves mainly as a vehicle for the personal ambitions of its Chairman, Mr. Ma Man Fai, and as a forum for opportunist agitation on local questions.29 In response to the inquiry from British MPs on the Secretary of State’s visit to

8 The Political Future of Hong Kong Hong Kong in July 1955, the Colonial Office brushed aside local demands for an elected Legislative Council, saying: He [the Secretary of State for Colonies] also has the opportunity to consult other responsible opinion. He concluded that there was no general demand or need for the introduction of elected representation. 30 Nonetheless, British officials in Hong Kong understood the waning power of virtual representation in the post-war years. The movers behind the new wave of political reform included not only those who had overseas origins but also local elites such as university lecturers, social workers, and church personalities. The British official class thus found it difficult to dismiss their demands by posing as guardians of an ‘immature’ Chinese population which was ‘uninterested’ in governing itself. Consequently, the rhetoric of trusteeship had to be injected with a new argument based on power realism: the threat from China. In fact, a couple of articles authorized as ‘realist’ appeared in the South China Morning Post and offered counter-arguments. These ‘realists’ argued that constitutional development toward self-government would be viewed as a path toward a ‘third China’, inviting China to take over Hong Kong sooner than necessary.31 Accusing the signatories ofs being inexperienced in the government of Hong Kong, one of the ‘realist’ authors warned that the Hong Kong people would eventually seek rescue from Britain in an emergency: Assuming that Hong Kong were given full internal self-government, could the signatories of the letter ‘assume’ for us that the communists would not again bring pressure to bear? And in such an emergency, what would be the attitude of the police – under an all-Chinese administration, and perhaps a Chinese Governor – with the prospect of retaliation upon them, and their families, and revenge for the ‘brutality’ of which they are accused in the riots of 1967? … We can ‘assume’ the answer to this one might be – ‘bring in the British Tommys, the Gurkhas and the volunteers …’32 Like the petitions put forward by the expatriate merchants at the turn of the twentieth century, the demands for the increase of representation in the legislature in the 1950s and 1960s did not bring any significant change. The colonial power continued to dominate Hong Kong’s political scene with the rhetoric of trusteeship. British colonial governance in Hong Kong formed a sharp contrast with its experience in other parts of the world, where its power had been fundamentally shaken by the rise of liberalism and the notion of ‘the mandate to rule’ in the postwar era. Nonetheless, all that would change two decades later. The making of an ‘accountable government’: 1984–97 The concept of accountability began to emerge during the 1980s. The great impetus for ‘accountable government’, ironically, came from the colonial

The British legacy 9 government itself once the return of the territory to China was assured. The colonial government, which had resisted the liberal notion of representative government since the late nineteenth century, suddenly made an about-face in 1984. As demonstrated in the epigraph to this chapter, the colonial governor began to claim that the colonial government owed the people of Hong Kong the mandate to rule. In the summer of 1984, the colonial government in Hong Kong introduced the Green Paper entitled The Further Development of Representative Government. With a scale of enfranchisement previously unseen in Hong Kong, the colonial government sought to introduce indirect election of legislative members from a new electoral college comprised of all members from the Urban Council, the new Regional Council and the District Boards, and from newly created functional constituencies. Meanwhile, appointed seats and official members in the Legislative Council were to be reduced gradually.33 In the Executive Council, the Green Paper proposed, the majority of appointed unofficial members would be replaced progressively by members elected by the unofficial members of the Legislative Council.34 The Green Paper hinted that the entire government system might well be steered into a ministerial system. The future position of the Governor, particularly his relationship with the two Councils, and the method of his selection, would be left open to further reconsideration. 35 In the July 1984 speech unveiling this ground-breaking reform plan, the Governor for the first time acknowledged that the old form of government had done its job and it was time to move forward to a government based on public mandate. Indeed, the foremost objective of the Green Paper, claimed the Governor, was ‘to develop a system of government which is firmly rooted in our community; on which the views of the community are fully represented; and which is more directly accountable to the people of Hong Kong’.36 He added: Honorable members, the aim of the proposals in the Green Paper is to take a further step on the way to establishing a system which derives its authority from the Hong Kong community; and to this end to enable the people of Hong Kong to become more directly involved in the selecting of their Government …37 The rise of ‘accountable government’, however, has to be understood in the context of Sino-British negotiations on the sovereign transfer of Hong Kong. Eight months before the release of the Green Paper, Britain had already decided to concede to China’s terms of negotiation, after plans to transfer Hong Kong’s sovereignty without ending its continued power in Hong Kong were vehemently rejected by China. It was Deng Xiao-ping’s threat to resolve the Hong Kong issue unilaterally should agreement not be reached by September 1984 that led Britain to accede to Beijing’s terms of negotiation.38 Prepared to sever all links with Hong Kong, Britain began to negotiate with Beijing on Hong Kong’s constitutional arrangement. In fact, the Joint Declaration, which embodied two years of tough negotiation between Britain and China, was signed and promulgated only a few months following the release of the Governor’s ground-breaking reform plan. Interestingly, what was then still the novel concept of accountability appeared in

10 The Political Future of Hong Kong the English version of the Declaration. In Annex I of the Declaration, where China spelled out its constitutional arrangements for Hong Kong after 1997, an ‘accountable’ relationship of the executive to the legislature was thus defined.39 Viewed in the context of Hong Kong’s sovereign transfer, the introduction of the concept of accountability in Hong Kong by the colonial government, and the emergence of the same concept in the Joint Declaration, could hardly be a pure coincidence, but one with an inner logic and purpose. The colonial government’s second opportunity to promote the idea of accountability arrived in 1992. In October 1992 the new governor, Chris Patten, unveiled his reform package in Hong Kong despite China’s vehement objections. Patten’s reforms included lowering the voting age from 21 to 18, replacing corporate-based voting for some functional constituencies with individual voting, and granting the right to vote to all individuals in the nine newly created functional constituencies. He abolished appointed seats in the eighteen District Boards and reconstituted the Election Committee by replacing corporate bodies, members of Legco and representatives of the National People’s Congress and the Political Consultative Conference with elected District Boards. As a result, Patten’s reform plan enfranchised 2.7 million voters and significantly revamped the composition of the Legislature. By 1995, all members of the Legislative Council were either directly or indirectly elected by the people of Hong Kong. The legislature thus acquired a strong popular mandate.40 As he launched his reform package in the Legislative Council, Patten campaigned for the idea of ‘accountable government’ in Hong Kong. He initiated changes in the interrelationship between the governing and governed. Not only did he make himself, as head of the executive branch, available to answer questions on government policies and proposals in the legislative chamber, but he also required senior officials to follow his example. He set in motion a cultural change in the civil service, calling for a shift in the relationship between civil servants and the people as one between suppliers and customers. Patten’s campaign for cultural change was intended to empower the general public, transforming them from passive receivers of public service at the mercy of civil servants to consumers with the right to demand quality public services.41 With a civil service learning to accommodate the demands of the general public, with the executive head being answerable to the legislature, Patten’s reform package significantly boosted the political base of the Legislative Council, and thus subtly shifted the relative weight between the legislature and executive branch. ‘My intention’, Patten argued rhetorically, ‘is to ensure that we have vigorous and effective executive-led government that is properly accountable to this Legislative Council … I assume you [legislators] will wish to establish a system that enables you to ensure that the executive is fully accountable to the legislature, as laid down in the Joint Declaration.’42 In short, the colonial government promoted the concept of accountability in the period from 1984 to 1997. It incorporated the notions of delegate representation into its official language, ushering in a shift in governing philosophy that moved from ideas of ‘responsibility’ and ‘virtuous guardians’ to ideas of ‘mandate’,

The British legacy 11 ‘accountability’ and ‘representation’. Along with the change in rhetoric, formal and informal arrangements were put in place to institutionalize the concept of ‘accountable government’. The representation of the Legislative Council was expanded. The colonial governor and his top bureaucrats were answerable to the legislature, and the relationship between the top officials and the general public was re-shaped. These sudden changes engendered by the colonial power posed a question, however. What was the logic that lay behind them?

The logic and limits of ‘accountable government’ The practice of colonial trusteeship in Hong Kong appears to be unique on two grounds. First, the British official class had a firm grasp on power throughout most of its colonial rule here; substantial changes did not occur until 1984. Neither the petitions at the turn of the twentieth century nor the activism that emerged in the 1950s and 1960s shook the colonial power in any respect. Moreover, the territory appeared to be immune to the independence movements that elsewhere washed across the world political order in the post-war era. Second, the biggest momentum for political change came from the colonial power. In the absence of a local independence movement, the British suddenly abandoned the vocabulary of ‘trusteeship’, and instead, from the early 1980s, actively promoted the idea of ‘accountable government’. The dominance of colonial power in Hong Kong in the early colonial years, grounded in Burkean notions of trusteeship, was sustained by two factors: the weakness of local activism, and the lack of international support for local political movements. The expatriate merchants behind the petitions of 1894 and 1916 had no local social base, nor were they interested in the political rights of the mass Chinese population. The activism that emerged in the 1950s and 1960s was also elitist at its core. The proliferation of political parties and groups was the result not of a broad social movement but of schism among core members. For example, the persistent internal splits of the United Nations Association of Hong Kong first gave rise to the Hong Kong Democratic Self-Government Party, and then to the Labour Party. Hence the growing number of parties reflected their internal fragmentation rather than the expansion of popular political activism. In addition, Hong Kong’s political activists gained little support from the international community. The two petitions to the United Nations calling for selfgovernment were quietly buried, when members of the United Nations Petitions Sub-Committee deemed the request ‘inappropriate’ for consideration because the issue of self-government in Hong Kong was ‘not included in the Committee’s Programme of Work’.43 MPs in the British parliament, whether or not they were sympathetic to Hong Kong’s quest for constitutional development, were all inclined to accept the official line of argument, that ‘because of Hong Kong’s special position’ on the border of mainland China, ‘constitutional development toward self-government is not possible’.44 After his fact-finding trip to Hong Kong, the Conservative MP Anthony Royle told fellow MPs that ‘time was not ripe for an extension of the electoral franchise’ in Hong Kong, because he had

12 The Political Future of Hong Kong heard ‘no feelings at all expressed on the subject of expanding the electoral franchise’ and that ‘the proximity of Communist China prohibited the enlargement of the electorate’.45 It was the absence of a strong social base in Hong Kong and the lack of support from liberal forces elsewhere that had much to do with the continued supremacy of colonial power and the dominance of the Burkean idea of trusteeship in the early colonial period. It was not because the notion of ‘trusteeship’ had any particular appeal in Hong Kong. Rather, the political movements that emerged here failed to mount a meaningful challenge to colonial rule. While the notion of trusteeship could best defend an unauthorized colonial power in Hong Kong, political reality had not reached a point where the adoption of a new language would be necessary. This changed, however, once the transfer of Hong Kong’s sovereignty to China had been decided. The sudden shift of official language from virtual representation to delegate representation happened when China’s future resumption of Hong Kong’s sovereignty became inevitable. The British government found itself in a situation where the entire world was waiting to see how it would interpret and carry out its ‘moral obligation’ towards Hong Kong. The British Nationality Law of 1983 effectively denied any right of abode in the UK for British subjects in Hong Kong, causing immense anxieties in Hong Kong. Such a change to the nationality laws was seen as a deliberate effort to release the British government from any responsibility toward the Hong Kong people, should they become refugees after 1997.46 A British Christian group described the change in nationality law as ‘ducking responsibility’ on the part of the British government, and criticized Britain for downgrading the citizenship of the Hong Kong people and threatening their human rights.47 A Catholic organization based in London maintained that the British government, as a government committed to democratic principles, had a particular duty to Hong Kong people. ‘Britain has a responsibility to ensure that any transfer of sovereignty which ends the territory’s colonial status protects and guarantees the rights and interests of those who live there’, it stated.48 In May 1984, the British parliament held a half-day debate on the issue of Hong Kong. A delegation from Hong Kong’s Office of Members of the Executive and Legislative Councils (OMELCO) rushed to London to express the mounting anxiety of Hong Kong people before the debate. But the trip caused immense friction between British politicians and Hong Kong legislators. While British MPs considered the demand of their counterparts from Hong Kong unreasonable, the latter saw the former as insensitive and irresponsible to the Hong Kong people. 49 By 1984, British officials in Hong Kong were finding that the conventional language of trusteeship, once used to legitimize and defend British control in the colony, was coming back to haunt them. The British government was under an intense international spotlight. It was believed that Britain had a moral obligation to protect the people of Hong Kong from the communist regime in China, one way or another. Although the British government could reinterpret its ‘duty’ and ‘responsibility’ toward the people of Hong Kong in any way it liked, it could, nonetheless, not ignore national, international and local perceptions of its

The British legacy 13 responsibility. Of course, it was not image in itself that the British government cared about. More importantly, unfavorable perceptions would undermine the government’s ability to secure parliamentary support for its final accord with China. Moreover, resentment towards Britain would eventually hinder the capability of the colonial government to govern Hong Kong in its remaining years. Consequently, the British government chose to duck its ‘responsibility’ for the Hong Kong people by ‘devolving’ it to the future Hong Kong government. By introducing democratic elements into the political system, the future of Hong Kong would be guarded by Hong Kong people alone. It would, presumably, be up to Hong Kong people themselves, through an elected government, to protect the territory from communist China’s possible intrusion or oppression. In this way, Britain would relieve itself of responsibility for any fallout in the territory after 1997. Britain could then retreat from Hong Kong with a ‘modicum of dignity and honor’.50 It was with this same logic that the second attempt to promote an ‘accountable government’ emerged. Chris Patten, the last British governor, arrived at a time when the territory was immensely stirred up by the Chinese government’s handling of the student demonstrations in Tiananmen Square in June 1989. Demands for the British government to protect the Hong Kong people arose again in Britain and Hong Kong. The Foreign Affairs Committee of the House of Commons called for an accelerated pace of democratization in Hong Kong as the best insurance for the territory’s future. Meanwhile, the debate on the right of abode of Hong Kong people was renewed in Britain’s House of Lords, where it was suggested the Nationality Act should be amended.51 Meanwhile, executive councillors and legislators in Hong Kong also stepped up the pressure on Britain. OMELCO published a pamphlet arguing that the British government ‘has a moral obligation to provide a safe and secure future for all Hong Kong people, and a direct constitutional responsibility to restore the right of abode to the 3.25 million British subjects in Hong Kong’.52 In addition to these pressures in the UK and Hong Kong, there were changes in Britain’s China policy that also contributed to Patten’s reform package. Following the fall of the Berlin Wall and the demise of communist regimes in Eastern Europe, the British government anticipated the fall of the communist regime in China in the aftermath of the Tiananmen incident. With such an outlook, the British government sought to recover the ground it had lost to China in the early period of negotiation.53 The British government thus chose to resume its ‘moral obligation’ to the development of representative government in Hong Kong,54 despite the fact that it had already made the commitment to converge Hong Kong’s political system at the end of its rule with the post97 constitutional blueprint laid out in the Basic Law.55 But this resumed ‘moral obligation’ appeared to be particularly comforting to anxious minds and hearts in Hong Kong, as its population began to realize that they were neither eligible for nor capable of migrating to other countries. The move in official language from trusteeship to delegate representation reflected a shifting strategy to cope with the changes that would be caused by Hong Kong’s sovereignty transfer. It underscores the logic of colonial rule in Hong

14 The Political Future of Hong Kong Kong. That is, colonial dominance continues when challenges to its power are relatively insignificant. Accommodation would be made when accommodation best serves its interest. The advocacy of ‘accountable government’ in Hong Kong was a policy adopted to cope with a series of challenges – the possible influx of migrants and refugees from Hong Kong, the embarrassment resulting from international criticism of its inadequate assistance to Hong Kong people, and the anticipated difficulties of rule in Hong Kong. The colonial government set in motion the changes to Hong Kong’s political system, but such a progressive move had a specific objective – to turn an unfavourable situation around so that it could retain power in its remaining years in Hong Kong. On examining the effects of the constitutional changes implemented near the end of colonial rule, the underlying intention to retain power becomes obvious. Despite the shift in official language, the political transformation in the transitional years by no means lived up to the rhetoric. The British government had promoted the development of a Westminster style of government in 1984. Yet the Westminster approach had never materialized, nor had the concept of accountability been institutionalized as it is under parliamentary governments. With parliamentary democracy, the concept of accountability is underpinned by two mechanisms: the electoral accountability of the House of Commons to the general public, and the accountability in turn of the executive core, the Cabinet, to the House of Commons. Parliament’s ability to sanction the Cabinet with a vote of ‘no confidence’ is the most vital mechanism by which government responsiveness, responsibility and answerability are enforced. In Hong Kong, however, the attempt to develop a Westminster-style democracy proposed by the Green Paper in 1984 was quickly stifled. The colonial government backtracked in response to opposition from the business elite and the Chinese government. The envisaged ‘representative government’ turned out to be a fairly limited ‘representative legislature’, as presented in the White Paper released the same year. The legislature was granted neither the power to appoint nor the legal mechanism to sanction the governor and the executive core. The government remained, in essence, a trustee because the governor continued to be appointed by London, performing solely as the agent of the sovereign state. The executive continued to dominate the policy-making process, while the legislature remained off the political stage. The government could choose to, but could also refuse to, answer questions in the legislative chamber. Accountability meant only the very limited electoral accountability of a limited number of legislators to their very narrowly confined electorates. Even Chris Patten’s reform package fell short of making any significant inroads to institutionalizing an agent–principal relationship between the governing and the governed. Neither the relationship between the executive and the legislature, nor that between the governor and the people, mirrored the kind of political relationship found in British parliamentary democracy. It is arguable that the constitutional reforms were never intended to turn the executive–legislature relationship upside down. Such a step would raise a fundamental question about the selection of the governor, and would thus undermine the authority of colonial government and the control of Britain over Hong Kong. This underlying concern for control in

The British legacy 15 Hong Kong’s last years as a British colony explains the huge gap between the rhetoric of ‘accountable government’ and the political changes that had actually been achieved by the end of British rule.

The British legacy: coping with challenges and living with contradictions Viewed in the context of Britain’s colonial history, the incorporation of liberal democratic ideas into colonial governance and the corresponding revamping of political structures was not an innovation but a general British legacy. Time and again, the British colonial powers coined new terms and introduced new political structures in response to the challenges of changing circumstances. Between the 1840s and the 1860s, when demands for self-government made themselves apparent in British white settlements, ‘responsible government’ was the catchword. In the inter-war period, a ‘dual mandate’ system emerged under the supervision of the League of Nations. Both phrases, and the political constructs corresponding to them, were strategic choices, which served to cope with the challenges of the day while aiming to retain colonial dominance in the colonies. In the historical context of decolonization, the rise of ‘accountable government’ in Hong Kong was merely an old strategy revived for a new situation, with its objectives, practice and consequences very much those of the past. The concept of ‘responsible government’ was conceived as a remedy for the pressures for self-government that emerged in Canada, and later in other settlement colonies in North America in the 1830s and 1840s. First expressed in the famous Durham Report in 1835, ‘responsible government’ was a recommendation from Lord John G. Lampton Durham, who was sent to examine and find solutions to rebellions in Upper and Lower Canada. In the report, Durham suggested that sufficiently developed colonies should be granted ‘responsible government’.56 ‘Responsible government’ served as a framework in which the relationships between the British government and its white settlements, including the Province of Canada, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick, as well as New Zealand, Australia and, later, the Cape Colony, were to be redefined, while the structure of colonial government was to be reconstituted.57 Conceptually, ‘responsible government’ was to embody the ‘wise principle’ of parliamentary democracy as practised in Britain. Structurally, a constitution would be adopted whereby the effective power of the executive was to be transferred to a cabinet possessing the confidence of the legislature. The colonial governor appointed by London would be reduced to a ceremonial role similar to that of the Queen of England.58 With the colonial governor elevated into a ceremonial role, the white settlements would, it was thought, become self-sustaining, self-regulating and ‘systematic’ polities requiring no defence or economic assistance from the Crown.59 However, when ‘responsible government’ was put into practice, a huge gap between what had been demanded and what was practised became obvious. Under ‘responsible government’, for example, the Governor General of Canada,

16 The Political Future of Hong Kong representing the British Monarch, had the power to veto any and all legislation passed by the Canadian Parliament, which was led by a chief minister representing the majority party in the parliament. The British government remained in control of the most vital decisions, including the disposal of land,60 foreign policy, defence and some trade affairs, and would do so for years to come.61 The control of such crucial matters suggests that local legislatures, regardless of how they were composed, remained in essence subordinate to the colonial power, while the Crown continued to possess the authority to distribute social benefits in the colonies whenever and however it wished. The gap between rhetoric and the actual practice of ‘responsible government’ was not an unfortunate deficiency in the implementation of a great idea. The emergence of nationalism in white settlements, encouraged by the independence movement in America, had made itself apparent. There was an awareness, in the minds of Durham and politicians and officials in Britain who preceded him, that nationalism had to be accommodated one way or another. Durham’s concept of ‘responsible government’ provided the means by which an imperial framework could evolve to adapt to changes in circumstances, and arrest the progress of independence while it was still embryonic.62 Indeed, the new concept was a reformist effort, aiming to resist the tendency that ‘colonies grew, developed and matured, and when ripe, they dropped off the vine as the American colonies of England and Spain had already done’. Reformists argued that to insist on maintaining the rule of empire, as advocated by some British administrators, would lead to repeat performances of the American Revolution.63 The concept of ‘responsible government’, therefore, reconciles the imperative to preserve the British Empire with the imperative to accommodate the aspirations for self-government in the white settlements of the mid-nineteenth century. Here, the essential difference between the concepts of ‘responsible government’ and ‘self-government’ implies that the choice of words was not an accident. The term ‘self-government’ suggested a national government by the locals and for the locals, and the status of nationhood. ‘Responsible government’, however, hinted at the quality of governance, and such quality was assumed to be measurable by its capacity for promoting social economic development, administrative prudence and moral standards. By presuming an objective ‘good’ that transcends mere local interests, ‘responsible government’ evades the profound difference between the colonized and the colonizer, thus defusing the frictions between the two. Indeed, only with the concept of ‘responsible government’ could Britain’s continued control of resources in the colonies be justified. In the inter-war years, trusteeship was embraced by the big powers in the international arena. It evolved into a contemporary form, known as the Mandate System, as a consequence of the First World War. As the peace settlement provided, Great Britain acquired control of the greater part of the German colonies and much of the Turkish Empire. These territorial acquisitions were made under the Mandate System of the League of Nations, implying something short of annexation and, in the former Turkish territories, called for early realization of selfgovernment.64 Setting out the governing principles and machinery of the system, Article 22 of the Covenant of the League of Nations stipulated that those ex-enemy

The British legacy 17 territories ought to be governed by a ‘mandatory power’, or one of the victory states as the guardian, because the territories were, as the Covenant stated, ‘inhabited by people not yet able to stand by themselves under the strenuous conditions of the modern world’. The rule of guardian states, nonetheless, was subject to internationally prescribed conditions designed to prevent certain abuses. Such an arrangement was justified on the grounds that the ‘well-being and development’ of these territories formed ‘a sacred trust’ of civilization,65 a phrase coming from Burke’s famous opening speech to the House of Commons in 1788. 66 The Mandate System was often referred to as ‘dual mandate’ to highlight the dual role of a guardian state. On the one hand, it had to act on behalf of ‘the world at large’. On the other hand, it had to represent the natives. This meant, first, that a guardian state must ensure an open-door policy, prohibiting a monopoly over economic benefits from the territory. Second, the guardian state must ensure the material and moral well-being and social progress of the inhabitants.67 ‘Dual mandate’ thus embodied a kind of Machiavellianism, in which the mandated territories’ economic resources were shared among the big powers, while an international humanitarian face favoured the well-being of the native people. Institutionally, the ‘moral principles’ for which a guardian state was answerable were buttressed by a mechanism of supervision. A guardian state had to submit regular reports on the conditions and administration of the mandated territory. Upon receiving such reports, the Permanent Commission advised the Council of the League of Nations regarding necessary action, and the Council might take action to modify the frontiers of certain mandated territories.68 Under the Convention of St Germain, any dispute arising as to the application of this convention was submitted to a tribunal for arbitration and, therefore, might come before the Permanent Court of International Justice69. In other words, the Mandate System came with a sanctioning mechanism. The mandatory powers were obliged to answer to, and to be sanctioned, by an international organ. However, under the Mandate System, substantial legal, economic and political controls remained in the hands of the dominant powers rather than with the natives, just as in the case of ‘responsible government’. While British imperial power alone dominated the colonial territories in its white settlements, the victors of the First World War collectively wielded ultimate control over all territorial acquisitions under the Mandate System. In this regard, the Mandate System was just a step short of imperialism.70 It is not surprising, then, that the British Empire reached its greatest territorial extent precisely at the end of the First World War.71 Similarities between the concepts of ‘accountable government’ as it emerged in twenty-first-century Hong Kong, the ‘responsible government’ of nineteenthcentury North America, and the ‘dual mandate’ of the inter-war period are readily apparent. They each incorporate liberal democratic ideas, aiming to cope with changes brought by changing political circumstances. Given this, it is not surprising that Hong Kong’s ‘accountable government’ should share the same defects as its predecessors. An inherent tension was embedded in the concepts, giving rise to inner contradictions in the political constructs built on these concepts. Like ‘responsible government’ and the ‘dual mandate’, ‘accountable

18 The Political Future of Hong Kong government’ could do nothing but wait for circumstances to bring about its eventual demise, just as had happened with previous frameworks. The inner tension in the idea of ‘responsible government’ was due to differing definitions of ‘responsibility’, one applying to the colonial governor representing the imperial power, the other applying to the locally constituted government in the white settlements. As practice revealed, the governor’s position under the ‘responsible government’ ranged from difficult to impossible, depending on the personality and the local political setting. Controversies over Victoria’s Convicts Prevention Act, Canada’s tariffs, and New Zealand’s native policy demonstrated the immense difficulty in demarcating the colonial and imperial areas of interest,72 consequently bringing the responsibility of the governor into conflict with that of the local government. Moreover, because ‘responsible government’ presumed self-reliance, the British parliament became increasingly reluctant to grant assistance to the colonies for financial and defence purposes. 73 With the ‘dual mandate’, the ‘mandate’ to the ‘world at large’ clashed with the ‘mandate’ to the natives. The ‘dual mandate’ was justified on the grounds that the native population was unfit for self-government and that the mandatory powers were thus delegated by the League of Nations. Such delegation of power implied that the population would be allowed to govern themselves once they had become ‘mature’. But what kind of maturity was called for? Fitness for self-government, in the eye of the mandatory powers, lay in the ability to secure international trade and investment; the ability to rule according to the administrative standard of the ‘civilized world’; and the ability to produce native rulers strong and ‘responsible’ enough to respect international law.74 Obviously, a native government might never be able to satisfy the three conditions put forward by the international powers: protecting international trade and investment and the existing international law, while achieving Western administrative standards. On the contrary, it was quite possible that representative institutions might see the rules governing the existing power relations as altogether unjust.75 As Kenneth Robinson noted, the satisfaction of the first ‘mandate’ might have to depend on the denial of the second ‘mandate’. Self-government for the natives thus was only a remote hope. 76 But since the concepts were meant to be equivocal, so that the unbridgeable disagreement between the imperial powers and the natives could be evaded and concealed, inner tension in these concepts was inevitable. The evasion of power struggles could only be achieved by imparting these frameworks with a double meaning. In a nutshell, colonial power was underpinned by virtual representation, justifying imperial control by stressing the moral quality and competence of the colonial masters. In contrast, beneath the quest for self-government was the belief that government must represent the natives, and that representation provides the legitimacy to rule. The frameworks of ‘responsible government’, ‘dual mandate’ and ‘accountable government’, in fact, tried to combine two opposing schools of thought: virtual representation and delegate representation. At an institutional level, inner contradictions in the political structures became obvious in the following years. ‘Responsible government’ brought a governor who represented not only sovereignty but also the real interests of the British

The British legacy 19 crown. The areas of interest thus became a persistent source of friction, testing the ability of the governor to demarcate the rights and obligations of each, while subjecting his own allegiance to an acid test. Britain’s continued controls over foreign policy, defence, trade, and land distribution made native parliaments ineffective, and led to further nationalist agitation and discontent. Similarly, the ‘dual mandate’ placed the guardian states in a paradox. Even though the League of Nations proved in the event to be extremely reluctant to protect the interests of native populations against mandatory states, the latter found themselves in a defensive position nonetheless. The powers and administrations of mandatory states had constantly to be defended against the petitions brought to the League of Nations by national groups and natives. The paradox embedded in ‘responsible government’ and ‘dual mandate’ entailed the extreme fragility of these constructs.77 The inner tension in the concept of ‘accountable government’ in Hong Kong and the underlying contradiction in the political structure corresponding to it are thus not difficult to understand. The strong impetus to ‘accountable government’ resulted in pervasive changes in perceptions of legitimacy to rule, with profound ramifications for the political future of Hong Kong. The idea of accountability implied a changed power relation between government and the governed, especially when viewed in the context of constitutional reforms in the last decade of British rule. As a ‘trustee government’ a colonial government could choose to interpret its ‘responsibility’ in any way it felt comfortable with, while the colonized could do nothing but accept such an interpretation. The notion of ‘accountable government’, however, gave the general public the right to expect a certain kind of conduct from the government. The introduction of ‘accountable government’ ushered in a perceptual change in Hong Kong. In 1984, the general public did not necessarily understand the concept of accountability as electoral sanction and control, as implied by the agent–principal relation in liberal democracies. But once it was brought into government documents and speeches, the concept became the basis of the population’s demands, and the government thus was forced to respond. Moreover, as the term ‘accountability’ began to permeate the community, it provided a legitimate platform from which the demand for installing sanctioning mechanisms, in the form of elections, could no longer conveniently be dismissed. One could not possibly introduce ‘accountable government’ while nonchalantly rejecting demands for enfranchisement based on the same concept. It is in such a context that Hong Kong’s half-formed political system came into being at the end of colonial rule. The political structure moved away from a colonial authoritarianism in which power was concentrated in the hands of a governor appointed by the sovereign state. But it was also far from being a locally constituted representative government. As such, the system was bound to be fragile and unsustainable in the long run. The gap between the rhetoric of ‘accountable government’ and the political reality was bound to produce dissatisfaction. It provided a convenient platform upon which liberal democratic forces might manifest themselves, and advanced the liberal case for political change. A situation thus arose where the notion of trusteeship could not legitimately live much longer after 1984.

20 The Political Future of Hong Kong In a nutshell, the British strategy of adaptation could be described as living with contradictions. But such a strategy could only succeed in a fairly limited time frame under fairly conducive political conditions. In a rapidly changing political environment, this strategy might only serve its purpose at a particular historical juncture. As history showed, the notion of ‘responsible government’ held the North American colonies together under the imperial power only temporarily.78 It soon became the means, not of maintaining the status of dependence, but of facilitating the progress of independence. Great Britain eventually disengaged itself from the settlement colonies peacefully, hoping to leave behind as much order and good feeling as possible. The Mandate System was similarly short-lived. As Robinson noted, it was ‘defined by the strategic preoccupations of the British statesmen, the economic pressures to which they responded and the reluctance to surrender power from which they were by no means exempt’.79 It facilitated the emergence of such new liberal groups as labour and feminist groups, international activists and organizations representing Britain’s overseas subjects.80 These forces played out more vigorously in the following decades, reengineering the substance of imperial rule, while paving the way for eventual decolonization in the post-war era. The evolution of virtual representation from ‘responsible government’ to ‘dual mandate’ has been a series of attempts to cope with challenges to imperial power from the late nineteenth century to the post-war era. These concepts and constructs have been the products of a dynamic interplay between forces that sought to continue imperial supremacy and those on a quest for self-government. As such, bureaucrats in colonial governments, officials in the Colonial Office, Members of the British Parliament, and liberal internationalists in the League of Nations were not just philosophers seeking to maximize human moral capabilities but real political actors manoeuvring within a complex web of interests. British as well as world powers sought a compromise with the progressive forces by adopting such liberal concepts while continuing the practices of their colonial dominance. The evolution of these terms demonstrates the magnitude and scope of decolonization within a rapidly changing international political landscape, and the degree and extent to which the interests of Britain and other victorious post-war states needed to be justified, defended and re-strategized. Hence, the emergence of ‘accountable government’ and the half-baked representative government in Hong Kong, a territory whose decolonization symbolizes the complete demise of the British Empire,81 was not entirely unexpected. It was an attempt to cope with the challenges brought about by Hong Kong’s sovereignty transfer, such as a possible influx of migrants and refugees to Britain from Hong Kong, the need to maintain dignity and honour in the international area, and the necessity of maintaining power during its remaining time in the territory. In proposing the idea of ‘accountable government’, Britain sought to evade its responsibility toward Hong Kong once and for all. In consequence, however, the colonial government created an immense gulf between reality and heightened expectations for democracy, and it was such disparities and contradictions that China, the incoming sovereign, came to inherit.

The British legacy 21 Notes 1 E. Burke, ‘Speech on Fox’s East India Bill (1783)’, in P. J. Sanlis (ed.), The Best of Burke: Selected Writings and Speeches of Edmund Burke (Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, Inc., 1963), p. 446. 2 Hong Kong Legislative Council, ‘The legislative council debates official report, Oct. 1984’, in Hong Kong Legislative Council Official Report of Proceedings, 1984–5, Part I (1985): 9. 3 Basic Law, Article 43, para. 1 and 2. 4 Ibid., Article 45, para. 1. 5 The first Chief Executive was returned by a 600-member Election Committee before the Basic Law went into effect on 1 July 1997 according to a special provision passed by the National People’s Congress; Basic Law, Appendix I, para. 6. The selection method for the Chief Executive specified in the Basic Law went into effect only when selecting the second Chief Executive in 2002; Basic Law, Appendix I. 6 The selection method for the Chief Executive specified in the Basic Law would be valid until further review after 2007; Basic Law, Appendix I. 7 H. F. Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), p. 56. 8 Ibid., pp. 56–7. 9 Ibid., pp. 128–9. 10 The Legislative Council was then composed of seven official members, two unofficial members selected from the Chamber of Commerce and the Justice for the Peace, and three appointed unofficial members. Hong Kong Government, ‘Petition for an amendment to the constitution of the colony, 1896’, in Hong Kong Government Reports Online (1853–1941), http://sunzi1.lib.hku.hk/ hkgro/view/s1896/1490.pdf (accessed 28 February 2007). 11 Hong Kong Government, ‘Correspondence relating to the petition for greater representation of the public in the Executive and Legislative Councils, 1916’, in Hong Kong Government Reports Online (1853–1941), http://sunzi1.lib.hku.hk/hkgro/view/s1916/2191.pdf (accessed 28 February 2007). 12 The Executive Council was then composed of two unofficial members and seven officials, Hong Kong Government, ‘Correspondence relating to the petition for greater representation of the public in the Executive and Legislative Councils, 1916’. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid. 15 As result of the 1894 petition, two additional unofficial members, chosen from the unofficial members in the Legislative Council, were to be appointed to the Executive Council, thus ending the monopoly of power of official members in the Executive Council. This petition also resulted in one additional unofficial Chinese member to be appointed to the Legislative Council, together with an additional official member so as to maintain the overall balance between the official and unofficial members. This unexpected addition of a Chinese member was on the grounds that the ‘Chinese community is the element which is least represented while it is also far the most numerous’, and it would be beneficial to ‘attach them (the Chinese) more closely to the British connection’, but it is equally possible that the addition of a Chinese member could dilute the interest of British merchants within the Legislative Council. The Petition in 1916, however, failed to bear any fruit. The Secretary of State for the Colonies declined to make any concessions. He didn’t even bother to elaborate his rejection, except to reiterate the reasons his predecessors had already articulated. Hong Kong Government, ‘Petition for an amendment to the constitution, 1896’ and Hong Kong Government, ‘Correspondence relating to the petition for greater representation of the public, 1916’, in Hong Kong Government Reports Online (1853–1941). 16 Hong Kong Government, ‘Petition for an amendment to the constitution of the colony, 1896’. 17 Hong Kong Government, ‘Correspondence relating to the petition for greater representation, 1916’. 18 Ibid. 19 Hong Kong Government, ‘Petition for an amendment to the constitution of the colony, 1896’. 20 The population in 1891 was 221,441, of which 210,995 were Chinese, 1,448 British, 2,089 Portuguese, 208 German and 93 Americans. See Hong Kong Government, ‘Petition for an amendment to

22 The Political Future of Hong Kong

21 22 23 24

25

26

27

28 29 30

the constitution, 1896’. The census for 1911 shows the total population was 456,739, composed of 12,075 non-Chinese and 444,664 Chinese. The British male adult civil population numbered a mere 1,640. Hong Kong Government, ‘Correspondence relating to the petition for greater representation, 1916’. Hong Kong Government, ‘Petition for an amendment to the constitution, 1896’. Ibid. Ibid. The Hong Kong Civic Association claimed to promote ‘progress and stability’ in Hong Kong by focusing on social and livelihood issues such as the cost of living, the adequacy of hospitals, the level of school fees and rentals. Nonetheless, the association also drew attention to constitutional issues. In its Tenth Anniversary Commemoration pamphlet, it was stated that ‘the Urban Council should be given greater responsibility in matters such as education and health, and that there should be elected members in the higher government councils: the Legislative Council and, eventually, the Executive Council’. The association, however, refrained from calling for self-government or independence, a political stance it regarded as the major demarcation between the association and radical groups. Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘Hong Kong Civic Association (1964–1965)’, in Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: CO1030/1607). The United Nations Association of Hong Kong was established as a non-political body and admitted to the World Federation of United Nations Associations in Geneva in 1953. In the 1960s, the group was split and superseded by groups under the banner of the Self-Government Group and the Hong Kong Democratic Self-Government Party promoting ‘the realization of self-government in Hong Kong, the stimulation of the growth of democracy in Hong Kong, the elevation of Hong Kong to a self-governing city within the British commonwealth’. The disagreement among core members in the Democratic Self-Government Party further split the party and gave birth, in 1964, to the Labour Party of Hong Kong, which called for a fully elected Legislative Council and eventual self-government in Hong Kong; Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘United Nations Association: Hong Kong (1963–1965)’, in Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: CO1030/1608); and ‘Hong Kong democratic self-government party (1964–1965)’, in Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: 1030/1611). The Urban Council was established in 1935 to deal with narrowly defined local affairs. Although its function was similar to its predecessor’s, the Sanitary Board that had existed since 1883, there were a few seats reserved for elected members. The elected members were gradually increased, and, by 1956, the Urban Council was comproed of six ex-officio members, six appointed and six elected members. Subject to Legislative Council approval, the powers of the Council included making bylaws on matters such as sanitation, public health and housing. Eligible voters were limited to those on the lists of special jurors or common jurors, recognized teachers and taxpayers over 21 years of age. The estimated potential electorate was thus only 33,350 out of a population of 2.5 million, with registered voters amounting to 15,638: Y. W. Lau, A History of the Municipal Councils of Hong Kong, 1883–1999: From the Sanitary Board to the Urban Council and the Regional Council (Hong Kong: Leisure and Cultural Services Department, 2002), p. 10, and Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘Secretary of State’s Annual Report to Parliament: Hong Kong (1954–1956)’, Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: CO1030/216), and ‘House of Commons adjournment debate on Hong Kong (1956)’, Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: CO1030/337). Foreign and Commonwealth Office of Great Britain, ‘Constitutional developments, Jan. 1968–Dec. 31, 1969’, in Foreign and Commonwealth Office: Hong Kong and West Indian Department ‘C’ and Hong Kong Department: Registered Files, Hong Kong and British Honduras (HW and HK Series) [microform] (Richmond, Surrey: Public Record Office, 2001, Ref: FCO 40/153). Commonwealth Office and Foreign and Commonwealth Office of Great Britain, ‘Constitutional developments, Jan. 1, 1968–Dec. 31, 1969’. Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘United Nations Association’. Ibid., and ‘Secretary of State’s report to Parliament: Hong Kong (1954–1956)’, in Colonial Office [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: CO1030/216).

The British legacy 23 31 Commonwealth Office and Foreign and Commonwealth Office of Great Britain, ‘Constitutional developments, Jan. 1968–Dec. 31, 1969’. 32 Ibid. 33 According to the Green Paper, there would be six seats returned by electoral college and six by functional constituents in 1985, 12 for each category in 1988 and either 14 or 20 each in 1991, while appointed seats were to be reduced from 29 in 1984, to 23 in 1985 and 16 in 1988 with the options of further reduction either to 12 or zero in 1991. Official numbers were to be reduced from 18 in 1984 to 13 in 1985 and further reduced to ten in 1988 and 1991. From A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), table 1, p. 91. 34 Members elected from Legislative Council were to increase to four in 1988 and eight in 1991 while appointed members were to be reduced from 12 in 1984 to eight in 1988 and two in 1991. Ex-officio members were sought to remain four throughout the years to 1991: A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy, p. 91. 35 Hong Kong Legislative Council, ‘Legislative council Hong Kong session, 1983–84’, in Hong Kong Legislative Council Official Report of Proceedings, 1984: pp. 1209–15. 36 Ibid, p. 1210. 37 Ibid., p. 1214. 38 During the Sixth National People’s Congress, held in Beijing in June 1983, Deng Xiao-ping told the delegates from Hong Kong that Hong Kong’s future should be resolved by September 1984, otherwise, China was prepared to resolve it according to its own ideas: M. Roberti, The Fall of Hong Kong: China’s Triumph and Britain’s Betrayal (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1996), p. 64. 39 Sino-British Joint Declaration, Annex I. 40 J. Dimbleby, The Last Governor: Chris Patten and the Handover of Hong Kong (London: Little, Brown & Co., 1997), pp. 108–13 and A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy, pp. 188–9. 41 Chris Patten, ‘Our next five years: the agenda for Hong Kong’, in Legislative Council, Official Record of Proceedings, 7 October 1992. 42 Ibid. 43 When considering the petition from the United Nations Association of Hong Kong requesting that Hong Kong’s case being heard by the UN Committee on Colonialism, the Polish delegate in the Petitions Sub-Committee believed that Hong Kong was an integral part of the People’s Republic of China, and it would not be appropriate for the committee to consider this request in the absence of the PRC. The delegate of Ethiopia in the sub-committee, however, supported the delegate of India, who suggested that the sub-committee postpone the decision in order that further consideration be given to it. This was agreed on by the sub-committee. In its letter to the Foreign Office, the UK Mission to the United Nations wrote, with a hint of congratulation, ‘there appeared to be a general reluctance on the part of the members of the sub-committee to become involved in such a delicate question as Hong Kong, and we consider it likely that the request for a hearing will be quietly forgotten’. Indeed, the request was buried as predicted by the UK Mission. The second petition also fell on deaf ears, with sub-committee members all agreeing that ‘consideration of this communication should be deferred in view of the fact that Hong Kong had not been included in the committee’s programme of work’: Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘United Nations Association: Hong Kong (1963–1965)’, in Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: 1030/1608). 44 On various occasions, British officials and politicians argued that ‘because of Hong Kong’s special position, constitutional development toward self-government is not possible’. These included Sir Leslie Monson, Deputy Under-Secretary of State, in his trip to Hong Kong in October 1969, Lord Shepherd in his meeting with unofficial members of the Executive and Legislative Councils during his trip to Hong Kong in June 1969, and officials in the Colonial Office, when they responded to the inquiry from Labour MP J. Rankin in 1965, and when they briefed the Commonwealth Prime Ministers Conference in 1969: Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘Hong Kong Democratic Self-government Party (1964–1965)’, in Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London: Public Record Office, 1991), Ref: CO1030/1611. 45 Colonial Office of Great Britain, ‘United Nations Association: Hong Kong (1963–5)’, in Colonial Office 1030 [microform] (London, Public Record Office, 1991, Ref: CO1030/1608).

24 The Political Future of Hong Kong 46 W. Easey, Ducking Responsibility: Britain and Hong Kong in the 80s (Manchester: Christian Statesman, 1984), pp. 8–9. 47 Ibid, p. 6. 48 Catholic Institute for International Relations, The Future of Hong Kong (London: Catholic Institute for International Relations, 1982), p. 16. 49 Roberti, The Fall of Hong Kong, pp. 89–91. 50 Dimbleby, The Last Governor, p. xiv. 51 The recommendations from the Foreign Affairs Committee of the House of Commons included the direct election of half of the sixty-member Legco in 1991 and complete direct election for all members in 1995; election of the SAR’s first Chief Executive by a democratically constituted electoral college six months before the transfer of sovereignty and the election of subsequent chief executives by universal suffrage; the committee also suggested that a bill of rights be introduced in Hong Kong and that no Chinese troops be stationed there after 1997: A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy, p. 164. 52 The Office of Members of the Executive and Legislative Councils of Hong Kong, Hong Kong is Our Home (Hong Kong: Government Printer, 1989), p. 2. 53 Qi-chen Qian, Ten Essays on Diplomacy (in Chinese) (Beijing: Shijie Zishi Publishing Inc., 2003), p. 348. 54 Roberti, The Fall of Hong Kong, pp. 295–9. 55 Following the release of the Green Paper in 1984, China openly objected to political reforms initiated by the colonial government. Owing to pressure from Beijing, the subsequent White Paper scaled down the scope of reform. The constitutional review in 1987 also met with immense criticism from Chinese officials, but the two sides decided to compromise by allowing a small percentage of directly elected seats, ten, in the legislature in 1991, with a consent to converge with the Basic Law that had yet to be finalized in 1990. See A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy, pp. 132–3, and Xu Jia-tun, The Memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: The Hong Kong United Press Ltd., 1994), pp. 170–5. 56 Wikipedia, ‘Responsible Government’, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Responsible_government. 57 Nova Scotia and the Province of Canada each became a ‘responsible government in 1848, followed by Prince Edward Island in 1851, New Zealand in 1852 and New Brunswick and the Cape Colony in 1854: Wikipedia, ‘Dominion’, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominion#Historical_development (accessed 28 February 2007). 58 J. W. Cell, British Colonial Administration in the Mid-Nineteenth Century: The Policy-Making Process (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1970), pp. 96–7. 59 Ibid. 60 Ibid., p. 101. 61 D. B. Swinfen, Imperial Control of Colonial Legislation: 1813–1865 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), pp. 1–2, and also Wikipedia, ‘Self-governing colonies’, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Self_governing_colonies (accessed 28 February 2007). 62 Swinfen, Imperial Control of Colonial Legislation, p. 103. 63 Ibid. 64 K. Robinson, The Dilemmas of Trusteeship: Aspects of British Colonial Policy between the Wars (London: Oxford University Press, 1965), pp. 1–2. 65 Cell, British Colonial Administration in the Mid-Nineteenth Century, p. 21. 66 H. D. Hall, Mandates, Dependencies and Trusteeship (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1948), p. 33. 67 Robinson, The Dilemmas of Trusteeship, pp. 20–1. 68 N. Bentwich, The Mandate System (London: Longmans Green and Co, 1930), p. 109. 69 Bentwich, The Mandate System, pp. 8–9. 70 Robinson, The Dilemmas of Trusteeship, p. 67. 71 Ibid., p. 1. 72 Cell, British Colonial Administration in the Mid-Nineteenth Century, p. 157 and p. 181. 73 Ibid., p. 207. 74 Ibid., pp. 71–3.

The British legacy 25 75 Ibid., p. 71. 76 Contrary to Robinson, Hall held a more positive interpretation of the Mandate System. He believed that democracy was an assumption behind the Mandate System. His interpretation, however, did not refute the fact that there was no concrete timetable for the realization of such a goal: Hall, Mandate, Dependencies and Trusteeship, p. 128. 77 Given this contradiction, it was inevitable that conflict between the interests of native populations and those of the mandatory powers and other world powers would play out in the following years. The assumption that open competition would result in fair prices for exports and imports for natives was proven false, for the market was more than imperfect. In 1937, European importers, who together bought 98 per cent of the world’s cocoa, set the world price at a low level, stirring up immense anger among cocoa farmers from the Gold Coast. In Kenya, natives bore a relatively greater burden of taxation, as the government decided to develop new crops for export, while a greater part of government expenditure on agricultural services, research and education was directed to the needs of European plantation enterprises. In East and Central Africa, labour recruitment by European enterprises left serious disruptions on the transitional society. These cases demonstrate that the dual mandate was an impossible task for the guardian states as trustees, given the competing economic interests among the international powers, the guardian states and the natives: Robinson, The Dilemmas of Trusteeship, pp. 68–83. As conflicts of interest surfaced, the sanction mechanism of the Mandate System was put to test. As supervision of the Permanent Mandates Commission and cases tried in the International Court of Justice eventually demonstrated, the mandatory powers wielded decisive weight in practice. In fact, the Commission founded its mission on the principle of confidence in and collaboration with the guardian states to begin with. Although the Commission was said to recognize the rights of individuals and groups to submit petitions, it nonetheless reduced the flow of petitions by requesting petitions to come through the mandatory powers. Moreover, the Commission made it known that neither it nor the League of Nations were concerned with the administration in the mandated territory, which was the exclusive function of the respective mandatory power. Thus, in dealing with a 1927 report on Samoa over a local disturbance, the Commission stressed that the mandated state alone was responsible for law and order there, although recommendations were made to the government in question. When considering a petition from the Palestine Arab Congress protesting against the system of government in Palestine and requesting the establishment of democracy and parliamentary institutions in 1928, the Commission replied that the mandatory power alone was to determine the regime form applicable. The conduct of the Commission suggests that the principle of responsibility to the natives was largely left to the sole interpretation of the mandatory state. From the viewpoint of petitioners, the sanctioning devices built into the Mandate System were ineffective in protecting the interests of the natives: Hall, Mandate, Dependencies and Trusteeship, pp. 111–15. 78 Cell, Colonial Administration in the Mid-Nineteenth Century, p. 112. 79 Robinson, The Dilemmas of Trusteeship, pp. 70–4. 80 S. Pedersen, ‘Modernity and trusteeship: tensions of empire in Britain between wars’, in M. Daunton and B. Riege (eds), Meanings of Modernity (Oxford: Berg, 2001), p. 212. 81 The term ‘British Empire’ had ceased to exist by the time Hong Kong’s decolonization unfolded. Instead, the term ‘Commonwealth’ was used to refer to a group of loosely associated nations of previous British colonies in the post-war era. But Hong Kong’s sovereign transfer does formally end the British colonial empire that lasted for two centuries: J. Samson, The British Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 199.

2

China’s strategy Constructive vagueness as compromise

The government and legislature of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be composed of local inhabitants. The chief executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be selected by election or through consultations held locally and be appointed by the Central People’s Government … The legislature of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be constituted by elections. The executive authorities shall abide by the law and shall be accountable to the legislature. Annex I, Sino-British Joint Declaration1

There is a boundary and criterion for Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong; that is, Hong Kong must be governed by [a group of] Hong Kongers [of which] patriots constitute the main body … What [kind of people] can be called patriots? The criteria for patriots include respecting our nation, supporting wholeheartedly the resumption of the motherland on the sovereignty of Hong Kong, and doing no harm to Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability. Deng Xiao-ping, 22 June 19842

In April 1990, the delegates of the seventh National People’s Congress voted to adopt the Basic Law as a mini-constitution for Hong Kong after 1997. Since its issuance, this mini-constitution has given rise to prolonged quarrels over the meaning of ‘accountability’, and the method of selecting the Chief Executive. Many of the disputes seemed to mirror earlier stages in decolonization history, the rows that arose over ‘responsible government’ in nineteenth-century North America and over the ‘dual mandate’ in the period following the First World War. Yet the Basic Law was engineered by the Chinese government and the Hong Kong elite as a result of nearly five years of negotiation. There was neither the presence of a British figure, like Lord Durham in the case of ‘responsible government’, nor a representative from international power like Woodrow Wilson in the case of the Mandate System. More puzzling was the fact that ‘accountability’ was a concept alien to political culture and practice in mainland China. Nonetheless, ‘accountability’ emerged in four articles in the Basic Law. Why did

China’s strategy 27 Beijing concede to a concept and a dualistic structure that later caused such difficulties for its rule in Hong Kong?

‘Patriots’ ruling Hong Kong: China’s ideal At the outset of the Sino-British negotiations on the issue of Hong Kong’s sovereign transfer, Beijing leaders made it clear that they intended to style the future Hong Kong after the British colonial system, in which power was concentrated in the hands of an executive branch led by a governor appointed by the sovereign state. The chief executive and its governing team would be nothing more than a representative of the sovereign state, maintaining law and order, economic prosperity and social stability in the territory on behalf of the sovereign. It was under such assumptions that the ‘One country, two systems’ framework was constructed, and the policies of ‘Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong’, ‘high degree of autonomy’, and ‘no changes for fifty years’ were articulated. As Deng Xiao-ping stated in 1984, ‘We [people in the mainland and Hong Kong] share a common idea, a common purpose. That is … to maintain Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability in the next thirteen years [leading to the date of sovereignty transfer] and beyond.’3 Chinese leaders attributed Hong Kong’s remarkable economic success to three distinctive features of the colonial system: the high degree of concentration of power in the hands of a London-appointed governor, a pervasive system of elite consultation, and a permanent and professional civil service establishment.4 As Xu Jia-tun, the Director of Xinhua News Agency and also the chief representative of communist China in colonial Hong Kong, noted, ‘The three features of Hong Kong government paved the way for the success of the British colonial rule [in Hong Kong] for one hundred years … especially for promoting Hong Kong’s stability and economic growth in the past twenty years. We have to pay attention to and utilize [these features]’.5 With such conviction, Chinese leaders vehemently objected to any changes that might upset the colonial system during the transitional years. Neither the British style of parliamentary government nor the separation of powers practised in the United States were attractive to Beijing leaders, while the idea of party competition for governing powers was sternly opposed. As Deng said, Hong Kong’s system should not be entirely westernized … Hong Kong has practiced neither the British system, nor the American one in the past one and half centuries. If the separation of powers practiced in America or parliamentarism in Britain is now copied, or [if we] judge Hong Kong’s democracy according to these systems, I am afraid that will be inappropriate.6 Deng made it clear that Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability, not the grant of political rights, were the overarching constitutional objectives. Steps to broaden representation seen in other post-colonial polities were considered as undermining prosperity and stability in Hong Kong. China’s adherence to the colonial political

28 The Political Future of Hong Kong system and its distaste for democracy in fact resulted in immense friction between Beijing and London over constitutional reforms. China not only opposed the Green Paper released by the colonial government in July 1984, five months before Beijing revealed its own blueprint for Hong Kong in the Joint Declaration, but later on, in 1992, bitterly criticized Patten’s reform package, labelling him ‘the criminal of all time’.7 From the perspective of Beijing’s leaders, the future governing elite in Hong Kong were to be agents of central government, who would ensure the prosperity and stability of capitalist Hong Kong on behalf of central government. This perception was based on the assumption that China’s national interests coincided with those of Hong Kong’s people, and Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability served the needs of both. However, Chinese leaders were never equivocal about the relative weight between the national interest and that of the Hong Kong people, and that between capitalism in Hong Kong and socialism in the mainland, should there be any conflict of interest. In his meeting with British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in 1984, Deng warned: I want the Prime Minister to tell people in the world and in Hong Kong, that the ‘One country, two systems’ framework comprises not only the capitalism, but also socialism that is now practiced with firm determination by one billion people in China’s main constituent territory. One billion Chinese reside in the main constituent territory; near twenty million Chinese in Taiwan, and five million and five hundred thousand in Hong Kong. There is an issue of relationship between one billion [on the Mainland], and the twenty million [in Taiwan] plus five million and five hundred thousand [in Hong Kong]. The enormous main constituent territory where socialism is practiced … is the premise … [and] only with such premise we allow the practice of capitalism on small territories with limited scale by our side. We believe that the practice of capitalism on small territories with limited scale would benefit the development of socialism.8 What Deng implied was that the very existence of capitalism in Hong Kong served a specific purpose for the nation as a whole. National interest would precede local interest should any conflict emerge between socialist mainland and capitalist Hong Kong. Although Deng did not speak specifically about the role of a future Hong Kong government and its ruling elite should they be caught in between the two, his speech nonetheless provided a conceptual map from which the trace of a solution would emerge. That is to say, short-term sacrifice of local interests for the purpose of long-term national interest would be called for. It is with such a perception of the relative importance of mainland and Hong Kong that Beijing leaders time and again emphasized the ‘patriotic’ quality of Hong Kong’s future leaders. Patriotism was seen as the foremost criterion by which the future political elite should be selected. As Deng suggested: There is a boundary and criterion for Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong.

China’s strategy 29 That is, Hong Kong must be governed by [a group of] Hong Kongers [of which] patriots constitute the main body … What [kind of people] can be called patriots? The criteria of patriots include respecting our nation, supporting the motherland’s resumption of Hong Kong’s sovereignty wholeheartedly and doing no harm to Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability.9 Deng’s speech implied that the idea of ‘Hong Kong people ruling people’ was to be practised with a qualification. Only ‘patriots’, rather than any citizens of Hong Kong, would be allowed to rule Hong Kong. This additional qualification suggested that people who might rise from below through democratic elections would not be qualified to govern, unless they pass the loyalty test administered by the central leaders. In fact, Deng himself explicitly ruled out popular election as the method of selecting future leaders in Hong Kong. He said: Would general election be beneficial to Hong Kong? I don’t believe … Those who govern Hong Kong should love the motherland and love Hong Kong. Would such kind of people be certainly selected by general election? 10 It was with such belief in patriotism that Deng encouraged the participation of local elites in government affairs during the transitional years. They should, said Deng, become involved in public affairs so as to prepare for an eventual leadership role in the future Hong Kong. But, clearly, political participation was seen as exclusively the right of ‘patriotic’ elites. It was on that quality that their competence would then be evaluated and their ruling skills crafted. Although Beijing leaders did not elaborate their preferred characters for the Chief Executive, the explanation for choosing Tung Chee-hwa as the first Chief Executive shed a light on their preferences. Reporting to the selection process for the first Chief Executive to the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region Preparatory Committee on the eve of Hong Kong’s handover, Qian Qi-chen, VicePremier and Chairman of the Preparation Committee, explained that the first Chief Executive was selected based on his ability to ‘comprehensively, accurately understand the principle of ‘One country, two systems’, with earnest determination to implement it’; he was ‘an acceptable person to all sides, capable of uniting a group of people around him, and leading a group of broadly based Hong Kongers to ensure long-term prosperity and stability in Hong Kong’.11 Qian mentioned nothing about the Chief Executive being able to gain a mandate from the people whom he was supposed to represent. The emphasis on the patriotism of Hong Kong’s future ruling elite was rooted in Chinese political tradition. It has to be explained by the ‘reciprocal accountability’ that has been practised within the institutional framework in mainland China. In fact, relationships between the state and the individual in Chinese political culture differ vastly from those in cultures that have a strong belief in natural rights. A harmonious relationship is assumed as opposed to adversarial ones. As Andrew Nathan noted, Confucianism envisions society as a moral order created by man, not by nature, and calling for the fulfilment of the ruler’s and the people’s innate

30 The Political Future of Hong Kong prompting as social beings. To comply with the moral order, the ruler has to extend his charismatic virtue to the full, and the individual has to forgo his parochial interest for the higher collective good.12 Collective good is considered more important than individual good; long-term benefits are deemed more valuable than short-term ones; and complete benefits precede partial ones.13 The adoption of Marxist and, later, Leninist thought in mainland China did not alter this fundamental perception of the state and the individual. The Chinese Communist Party considers itself as representing the collective good, as demonstrated by its achievement in unifying the nation, in establishing an independent republic in 1949, and in its continued efforts to build socialism in China for the benefit of all Chinese. Hence, the authority of the party-state is grounded on the survival of the nation while the welfare of the people is seen as the chief obligation of the state. In such a conceptualization, the dominance of the party-state is justified, while individual interests are limited if they are legitimate at all.14 The perception that the state’s chief obligation is to advance the welfare of the people, or Mingben thought, has resulted in some distinctive features in Chinese constitutions. First, a common core of political rights, including speech, publication, assembly and association, was recognized. These rights, however, were not considered to be derived from human personhood but from citizenship in the state, and could be granted or withdrawn by the state. Second, constitutions were often written as political programmes, of which certain rights, such as the right to vote, were presented as goals to be realized according to the level of social and economic advancement. By implication, these rights were mentioned but often could not be enjoyed. Third, the legislative organ was to have supreme power in theory. In practice, however, the party has formed the governments and formulated policies. Fourth, all but the Qing constitution recognized popular sovereignty in principle, while none provided for its effective exercise. Although means were provided for citizens to appeal against the acts of individual bureaucrats, no effective avenue has been opened for citizens to defend private interests against the law and policies of the state. The influence of the citizen over state policies has been so buffered and checked as to be negligible, and media criticism of the state remains under control to suit the political needs of the time.15 In the Deng Xiao-ping era, the constitution of the PRC has been amended several times as economic liberalization deepened. But the fundamental relationship between the party-state and the individual remains unchanged. As the Preamble of the Constitution of 1982 stressed, the constitution itself was not only a legal document setting out the fundamental system, or gen ben zhi du, of the nation but also the fundamental mission, or gen ben ren wu, of the nation.16 The party-state is positioned as indispensible in leading the nation toward the designated goal. What has been changed is the content of the mission and the means to achieve it. Hence, the constitution of 1982 set as chief objectives of the nation to ‘develop our nation into a high degree of civilization, and a higher degree of democratic socialist nation’. With the constitution of 1988, however, the mission of the nation now became to ‘develop our nation into a prosperous and strong … nation’, reflecting the adoption of economic liberalism.17 Despite these shifts,

China’s strategy 31 the dominance of the Chinese Communist Party persisted and party competition was to be prohibited. As the Preamble of the 1988 constitution maintained, ‘the multiparty consultative system under the leadership of Chinese Communist Party will continue to exist and develop’.18 Within the context of Mingben culture and the dominance of the Communist Party, there emerged a distinctive relation between central leaders and provincial cadres in mainland China. The political relationship between the leaders at the centre and the governors and officials in the provinces has been characterized as ‘reciprocal accountability’. The provincial officials are selected by, and thus owe their accountability to, the party centre. Ordinary citizens have been excluded from the leadership selection process. Even after the decentralization of the Chinese nomenklatura system in 1984, the party centre continues to assign and reassign nearly five thousand of the country’s leading officials periodically, including all provincial governors, party secretaries, heads of central ministries and commissions, heads of central party departments, senior military officials and even the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress.19 This centralized personnel system ensures the compliance of the country’s leading officials with the central authority, and allows effective party discipline by the centre over the provincial leaders. In fact, the centre’s control of appointments at sub-national level was one of its most effective means, in addition to fiscal control, for keeping the provinces and regions on a tight leash.20 Nevertheless, the relationship between party leaders and their subordinates in the provinces and regions was not entirely top-down. The lines of authority run in both directions. While the central leaders appoint the officials, the officials in the central committee choose, or at least ratify the choice of, their leaders. Thus, government officials were both the agents and the constituents of central leaders. Officials hold their positions at the will of the party leadership, and party leaders hold their positions with the support of the officials in the selectorate. Such support is particularly crucial during factional infighting at the top. This appointment-support, two-way flow constitutes reciprocity, a relationship in which neither side has definitive power. 21 However, although a common feature of communist institutions,22 ‘reciprocal accountability’ in the Chinese political context should not be understood as merely a self-regenerating and self-perpetuating cycle of powers. In China, it is the collective good, the mission that has been set out to be achieved, that legitimizes the party’s dominance. Whether it be for the ‘higher degree of democratic socialist nation’or a ‘prosperous and strong’ nation, the party-state relies on provincial leaders and officials for information and policy implementation. Provincial officials, on the other hand, have been expected to articulate the interests of their particular regions or agencies. Thus, the centre must take the interests of the ‘agents’ into account and consider suggestions from below seriously.23 In a sense, both ‘agents’ and ‘principals’ are in the same boat, and their collective survival depends on the achievements and performance of the party-state as a whole. Hence, neither harsh punishment of provincial officials nor blind compliance with the centre would be desirable, since either could eventually endanger collective survival.

32 The Political Future of Hong Kong In the light of political culture and practice in mainland China, Beijing’s leaders’ emphasis on the patriotic quality of a future ruling elite in Hong Kong, and their adherence to the British colonial system, can be easily explained. First of all, the governing elite in Hong Kong were supposed to stand above local interests, serving to ensure the achievement of the collective good. Democratic election, on the other hand, would give rise to those whose foremost interest would be to meet the demands of the local people. With a democratic system, the collective good defined as prosperity and stability by Beijing leaders, and the relative balance between the socialist motherland and the territory, were thought to be endangered. Second, the practice of ‘reciprocal accountability’ in the mainland preconditioned the relationships between the central leaders and the Hong Kong ruling elite, and between Hong Kong’s ruling elite and the Hong Kong people. The relationship between the centre and the ruling elite in Hong Kong must be formal and enforceable so as to safeguard the collective good. The relationship between the ruling elite and the general public in Hong Kong, however, would need to be tenuous and ritualistic, because it would be desirable to insulate the local elite from local politics. Of course, being a Special Administrative Region under communist China means that in the long run its institutions could not possibly deviate from those in the mainland too far to be viable. Although their selection process would differ, the ruling elite here would function as ‘agents’ of the centre to ensure the well-being of the territory, a role similar to their counterparts in other provinces. Moreover, a strong institutional tie between the centre and the patriotic ruling elite would be essential, because comprehensive fiscal and financial autonomy were to be granted to Hong Kong. The central government would be denied one of the tools normally effective in keeping the provinces on a tight leash. Without party cells in the future Hong Kong government, the centre could only exercise its control over the territory through the Chief Executive and the principal officials. But it would be misguided to believe that Beijing sought nothing more than blind obedience and compliance from the Hong Kong ruling elite. The ability to govern the capitalist city is of immense importance for central leaders. Although Hong Kong people might never entertain the idea of independence, disorder in Hong Kong would shatter the image of communist China in the world while entailing huge administrative cost. In this respect, the centre would have to rely on the capability and skills of the ‘patriotic’ ruling elite to unite the people of Hong Kong and manage this once vigorous capitalist city. Hence, at the historical juncture of the early 1980s, China as the incoming sovereign sought to retain the executive-dominant colonial system in Hong Kong because the system would both facilitate the realization of ‘collective good’ as defined by the state, and be somewhat congruent with ‘reciprocal accountability’ as practised on the mainland. In fact, the emphasis on the ruling elite’s ‘patriotism’ somewhat resembles the importance of ‘virtue’ in the British conservative tradition, which stressed the moral character of the ruling elite. The emphasis on collective good in a Chinese context also mirrors closely the emphasis on the ability to make presumably ‘sound’ decisions for the nation in the British tradition. ‘Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong’ was really meant to be ‘patriots ruling Hong Kong’, or ‘symbolic representation’.24 That is to say, the ruling elite are meant only

China’s strategy 33 to symbolize the presence of the Hong Kong people in the political process because of their Hong Kong origin. The substance of their representation, in fact, required parameters quite different from merely meeting the demands of the Hong Kong people. They were expected to govern with a broad perspective, transcending local interests. Indeed, they could be expected to make decisions against the interests of the local people if these interests were deemed to run against the collective ones. The political culture and institutional setting in the mainland explain the initial attempt on the part of central leaders to retain the colonial system. They found an affinity with British colonial trusteeship while being receptive to the executivedominant colonial structure. But intent aside, the central leaders nonetheless found themselves caught in between competing objectives. Although China had voluntarily made certain concessions in the Sino-British Joint Declaration, it came as a big surprise that liberals in Hong Kong refused to accept the interpretation of ‘accountability’ as merely referring to ‘answerability’ and ‘explanation’. It was an equal shock to find that the single word ‘accountability’ in the Joint Declaration could be spun to such a degree as to upset the original plan before the ink on the Joint Declaration even dried. By the time the drafting process for the Basic Law started in 1985, Beijing found itself on a slippery road, and had to seek out a new strategy in order to prevent itself sliding further into a different course of development.

Reconcile the competing objectives: from the Joint Declaration to the Basic Law Despite China’s adherence to a British style of colonial structure, it nonetheless found itself making concessions compelled by the circumstances of the early 1980s. By the time the Prime Minister of China sat down to sign the Joint Declaration with Britain in December 1984, Beijing had made two major concessions. The first was to allow local inhabitants to rule the future Hong Kong. Instead of sending a communist cadre from Beijing to assume the office of governor, to be called the Chief Executive after 1997, China agreed that the head of the region and of the government was to come from a locally constituted body subject to the approval of the central government. In addition, the future Hong Kong government would also be composed of local people. Thus, the Joint Declaration stipulates: The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region will be composed of local inhabitants. The chief executive will be appointed by the Central People’s Government on the basis of the results of elections or consultations to be held locally. Principal officials will be nominated by the chief executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region for appointment by the Central People’s Government …25 This paragraph mainly aimed to assure the world that no Communist Party

34 The Political Future of Hong Kong cadres would rule capitalist Hong Kong after 1997, and that Hong Kong government would be by local people. But China was somewhat ambiguous as to how the future ruling elite would be selected. The selection, as implied in the Joint Declaration, could be something close to democracy as the term ‘result of election’ seemed to suggest, but it could also be elitist and oligarchic as the phrase ‘consultation held locally’ hinted. Although in both cases, the Chief Executive would have to obtain authorization from the central government, the selection of Chief Executive had ceased to mirror exactly the process of colonial governor selection that China had admired so much. The second concession China made was to introduce election to the legislature. The appointment system whereby official and non-official members were selected by the colonial governor, which had existed for most of the colonial period until 1984, was discarded. Thus in Annex I of the Joint Declaration, where China explained its blueprint for the future of Hong Kong in great detail, it states that the ‘legislature of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be constituted by elections’.26 However, China seemed to have committed itself to more than just an elective legislature. Further on in the same paragraph that describes the method for selecting the legislators, it is stated that ‘The executive authorities shall abide by the law and shall be accountable to the legislature’.27 For the first time, Beijing seemed to suggest a political relationship between the executive and the legislative branch in which ‘accountability’, a concept that had appeared only five months earlier in Hong Kong, was the defining feature. It is noteworthy that the Joint Declaration comes with three lengthy annexes which are as binding as the Declaration itself. Furthermore, the Sino-British Joint Declaration was promulgated in both English and Chinese, and the Declaration itself specified that ‘both texts [are] equally authentic’.28 In the Chinese text, the word fu ze was adopted where the English text used ‘accountability’.29 It was then the connotations of ‘accountability’, or fu ze, and how ‘it’ ought to be implemented became the subject of heated debate. When the Joint Declaration was released, China’s real intentions regarding ‘election’, ‘consultation’ and ‘accountability’ were unclear. What was clear, however, was China’s need to enlist the support of Hong Kong people on the issue of sovereignty transfer, even if this entailed compromise. As soon as the rumour about Hong Kong’s sovereignty transfer to China spread, confidence in Hong Kong dropped dramatically. The Hang Seng index dived and the Hong Kong dollar fluctuated violently. Then the Sino-British negotiations became stalled on the issues of sovereignty. The British showed no sign of recognizing Chinese sovereignty, hoping instead that the status quo would be maintained for a longer term. Among local business elites, some proposed to retain British rule in Hong Kong in exchange for the return of the territory’s sovereignty to China. But both proposals were vehemently rejected by China. 30 Against this backdrop of mounting anxiety and resistance from the British, Chinese leaders stepped up their effort to woo the hearts and minds of Hong Kong people. Liao Cheng-zhi, in a meeting with Hong Kong industrialists, made two promises: first, that Hong Kong would be ruled autonomously by its own

China’s strategy 35 people with its own system, and the lifestyle in the territory would remain unchanged; second, that China would not send a single soldier or official to Hong Kong. Although the latter promise was refuted by Deng Xiao-ping shortly after, Liao’s promises highlighted the efforts being made by Beijing’s leaders to appease public sentiment in Hong Kong. Upon his arrival as the new head of the Xinhua News Agency in Hong Kong in 1983, Xu Jia-tun courted public favour by cultivating relationships with a wide range of Hong Kong people. Deng Xiaoping himself spelled out in detail the ‘One country, two systems’ framework to Hong Kong delegates to Beijing in June 1984, just six months before the Declaration was signed.31 When a second round of Sino-British talks began in July 1983, China pledged that it would interfere with only defence or foreign relations, that Hong Kong could elect its own Chief Executive and that no socialist reforms of any kind would be implemented in Hong Kong against local wishes. The British then gave up its attempted continued presence in Hong Kong. Instead, it began to concentrate on the post-1997 regime, trying to pin down Chinese promises in the Joint Declaration.32 Underlying China’s concessions was the imperative of Chinese communist leaders to reconcile two competing objectives: the achievement of national unification and the preservation of a flourishing Hong Kong as it was before. Indeed, the issue of sovereignty transfer was first raised by the British, and did not appear immediately to become the top priority of Beijing leaders. Once it was on the table, however, Beijing’s leaders could not bear the moral and political consequences of allowing an ‘unequal treaty’ to continue beyond 1997.33 And yet Hong Kong was channelling much needed foreign currencies to the mainland, and Deng’s ‘open door’ policies would imply an even bigger role for Hong Kong in channelling foreign investment, knowledge and new technologies to the mainland. Hong Kong as a capitalist city would be very beneficial for the socialist mainland, as Deng admitted bluntly. Therefore the two objectives must be achieved simultaneously. The realization of one at the expense of another would be meaningless. It was here that China ventured into uncharted territory, deviating from its preferred colonial system where power was concentrated in the hands of a governor appointed by the sovereign authority. It was here that China conceded an elective legislature. And it was here that a strange idea of ‘accountability’ emerged, intentionally or unintentionally, in the Sino-British accord. However, the Joint Declaration would prove to be a slippery road. In the summer of 1985, the Basic Law Drafting Committee was convened to draft the future constitution for Hong Kong, marking the unfolding of negotiations between China and the Hong Kong elite. Composed of 36 mainland legal experts and officials, and 23 Hong Kong drafters including lawyers, businessmen, bankers and educators, this committee had the task of translating China’s Hong Kong policies from their initial expression within the annexes of the Sino-British Joint Declaration into a legal document.34 As soon as the Drafting Committee started its work, disputes broke out over the interpretation of ‘accountability’, or fu ze. Mainland drafters, including officials from the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office and mainland legal experts, insisted that ‘accountability’, in the context of Annex I of

36 The Political Future of Hong Kong the Joint Declaration, meant nothing involving the authority of the legislature over the executive branch. The mainland legal experts argued that it referred specifically to four areas of interaction between the executive and the legislative branches. First, the Chief Executive must represent the government in presenting policy addresses to the legislature. Second, the government must respond to questions raised in the chamber of the Legislative Council. Third, the government must seek approval from the legislature on budgets and bills introduced by the government. Fourth, the principal officials in the government, including the Chief Executive, must accept the scrutiny of the legislature. Should serious breaches of law be discovered, a process of impeachment may be initiated, and the results of investigation by the judiciary will be reported to the central government for a final decision.35 In other words, ‘accountability’ reflected mainly the government’s ‘answerability’ to the legislature, coupled with fairly limited checks from the latter. The legislature can veto government budgets and begin the process of impeaching the Chief Executive, but it has no power to initiate bills as the members wish, nor can it unseat the Chief Executive without the consent of the central government in Beijing. This interpretation of ‘accountability’, or fu ze, and the mechanisms that sought to actualize it, was rejected by liberal members of the Drafting Committee.36 Led by Hong Kong barrister Martin Lee, the liberals maintained that ‘accountability’ meant more than the future government’s answerability to the legislature. In their view, ‘accountability’ had to embody the right of legislative councillors to control the government and to initiate bills in the Legislative Council. Moreover, the legislature should have the power to call a vote of ‘no confidence’ in the Chief Executive, and to call on principal officials and the Chief Executive to testify before the Council. In addition, they believed that the Chief Executive should not be granted the right to dissolve the legislature.37 What ‘accountability’ implied, argued Lee, was a political relationship in which the executive branch subordinates itself to the legislature. The legislature should be the decision-making body, while the executive branch executes and implements the decisions made by the legislature.38 Clearly, Lee interpreted the concept of ‘accountability’ as an agent–principal relationship between the executives and the legislature, in which the executive branch owed its allegiance to the legislature and thus must respond to its demands. The essence of ‘accountability’ lies with the power to sanction the ‘agent’ so as to enforce its responsiveness and responsibility. China thus came to realize that ‘accountability’ had various connotations, and that these had immense ramifications for the future political system in Hong Kong. As the dispute mounted, it became crucial to establish the intention behind the original use of the term ‘accountability’ in the Sino-British Joint Declaration. Some drafters called upon those in the British and Chinese governments who took part in the drafting of the Joint Declaration to define the term and explain its original intent. The British diplomats in London and colonial officials in Hong Kong, however, kept silent about how they had contributed to the adoption of this term, and how they had explained it to their Chinese counterparts during the negotiation.39 Ironically, Annex I of the Joint Declaration embodies China’s own

China’s strategy 37 blueprint for the future of Hong Kong, even though the British government sold it as an indispensible part of the package to the British parliament. The British had all sorts of legitimate reasons to keep mute, including the confidentiality of the negotiations and non-interference in China’s own negotiations with the Hong Kong people on the mini-constitution. As a result, the original intent of ‘accountability’ has never been confirmed by the British side. Nonetheless, Chinese officials insisted that China had not agreed to anything more than ‘answerability’. Lu Ping, then Deputy Secretary for the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office, denied in the press that Chinese had accepted anything more than the term implied under the British colonial system, that executive authorities shall ‘consult’ the legislature.40 Zhou Nan, head of the Chinese team in the SinoBritish negotiations, reportedly assured mainland drafters that the Chinese team had asked the meaning of ‘accountability’, and that the British team replied that ‘accountability’ referred to what was operated then: ‘the Governor makes reports [to the legislature] and the legislative members ask questions’.41 Other sources confirmed that the British negotiators hinted that Hong Kong’s civil service and the governor were already accountable to the Legislative Council, since the governor had to seek approval for all public expenditures and proposed bills of law and answer questions about policy in the Council. The Chinese team accepted the term only because they were instructed to preserve Hong Kong’s system as it existed during the colonial era.42 Mainland drafters and officials became frustrated when the liberal democrats in the Drafting Committee refused to accept such an explanation. In private, Chinese officials expressed agitation and resentment toward the British. They felt trapped, while regretting that their fellow negotiators lacked sensitivity to the liberal interpretation of the term ‘accountability’.43 But, how could they be sensitive to a term that was alien to the usual political practice in the mainland? The Chinese drafters were unable to persuade the liberal democrats in the Drafting Committee. The controversy ended with a vote in the subcommittee that was responsible for drafting the future political system. The war between the liberals on the one hand, and the mainland drafters allied with other Hong Kong drafters on the other, was in fact fought over punctuation: a battle over whether a comma or a colon should follow the word ‘accountability’.44 Captured in Article 64 of the Basic Law, the executive–legislature relation was finalized as: The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must abide by the law and be accountable to the Legislative Council of the Region: it shall implement laws passed by the Council and already in force; it shall present regular policy addresses to the Council; it shall answer questions raised by members of the Council; and it shall obtain approval from the Council for taxation and public expenditure. 45 By placing a colon after the phrase ‘The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative region must … be accountable to the Legislative Council of the Region’, mainland drafters sought to restore China’s interpretation in the Basic

38 The Political Future of Hong Kong Law. The term ‘accountability’ was then defined by the four elements immediately following the term. Namely, ‘accountability’ was only to mean the executive branch’s responsibility to present policy addresses, to implement laws, to answer questions and to obtain approval for taxation from the legislature. The scope of accountability thus became very specific and narrow. Had this article ended with a comma, the connotations of accountability would have been considerably broadened, rendering the term open to a variety of interpretations, including the notions of sanction and control. In a nutshell, the row over ‘accountability’ signified a battle over political models and the underlying power relationship between the territory and the centre. At the heart of the two competing interpretations were two opposing models of Hong Kong’s political future. At one end of the spectrum was Martin Lee’s proposal. Highlighting the agent–principal relation between the executive and legislative branches, Lee suggested that the Chief Executive be elected by the legislature, which in turn would be elected by universal suffrage. But he was not alone. A similar proposal submitted by 190 liberal democrats in the Basic Law Consultative Committee46 and supporters from the community also called for the Chief Executive to be nominated by the legislative members and elected by universal suffrage.47 The two proposals sought to empower the legislature, and were thus referred to as the ‘legislature-led’ models by mainland drafters. Opposing these two proposals were models that sought to retain power of the executive branch, while providing limited competition and participation for the selection of the Chief Executive. One proposal, provided by 89 businessmen, professionals and industrialists, called for the Chief Executive to be nominated by an advisory board in consultation with the central government. The candidates nominated would then be elected by universal suffrage or by an election committee. A similar proposal called for the candidates to be selected by a nomination committee within a broadly constituted election committee. The candidates would then be voted on by the election committee.48 Under these two proposals, the Chief Executive would retain a dominant role in the entire political system, much as the colonial governor of Hong Kong used to enjoy, although its selection process would be open to a limited number of contestants and selectorate. Hence the latter two models would not deviate too far from the colonial system, a system often referred to as ‘executive-led’ by the mainland officials. The mainland drafters strongly objected to the ‘legislature-led’ models. The reason was simple. China had conceded to the British in the Joint Declaration that the future government would be composed of local inhabitants and the legislature be returned by election. But however the Chief Executive and the legislature might be returned, these two branches were intended to be insulated from each other. Only with such insulation could the ruling elite in the government be prevented from becoming involved in local politics, so that the ‘collective good’ and ‘sound decisions’ could still be attainable. After all, Beijing did not concede to ‘Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong’ to the extent where China would lack any mechanism of control, neither did it accept ‘high degree of autonomy’ to the extent of de facto independence. Yet, if ‘accountability’ of the executive authorities to the

China’s strategy 39 legislature was to be interpreted as an agent–principal relation, as Martin Lee insisted, then the Chief Executive, as head of the executive branch, must also become an agent of the legislature, thus subject to the sanction and control of the latter. In such an event, the Chief Executive’s compliance to the central authority would be compromised, if not completely nullified. However, compromising its authority over Hong Kong was not what Beijing had envisaged when it signed the Joint Declaration. The parameter for Hong Kong’s system, as Deng lucidly expressed, is the co-existence of two systems, with the capitalist Hong Kong serving the needs of the socialist mainland. If the Communist leaders were to lose control over the territory, the political consequences would far outweigh the economic benefits. The principle of ‘One country, two systems’ would lose much of its grounds of justification for the Communist leaders. Hence, China had to stop itself from sliding any further on the slippery road. Yet Beijing’s imperative to preserve an executive-dominant system had to be balanced by the lingering concern over public confidence in Hong Kong. The conclusion of the Joint Declaration did not relieve Beijing from the need to stabilize the society. Rather, a new round of campaigns to restore public confidence in a future Hong Kong appeared necessary. During the period between 1984 and 1994 China fought a battle on several fronts. From 1984 onwards, the British government started to unveil its reform agenda. As election was introduced to the legislature, political groups started to emerge and the community became increasingly mobilized. While keeping a close watch on British colonial government, the Chinese leaders also had to worry about emerging signs of outward migration, as Hong Kong’s middle classes sought refuge in other developed countries, such as America, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. In fact, during this period, China established new avenues to channel local grievances and demands. Hence, apart from the Basic Law Drafting Committee, a Basic Law Consultative Committee was established. A greater number of Hong Kong people were invited to express their views on the future political system. Political co-optation also unfolded along established mainland institutions. A wide range of social notables were selected as Hong Kong delegates to the National People’s Congress, and as delegates to the national Chinese Political Consultative Conference. As if determined by fate, the second draft of the Basic Law was released in February 1989 just in time for a huge social turmoil. Hong Kong was immensely disturbed by the 4 June Tiananmen student movement which occurred in the summer of 1989. Millions of Hong Kong people took to the street to support the student movement in Beijing, followed by the resignation of liberal Hong Kong drafters from the Basic Law Drafting Committee. Even those who worked for Xinhua News Agency in Hong Kong showed their discontent towards the Beijing government over its handling of the student movement. The two pro-Beijing newspapers Wenwei Pao and Takung Pao openly expressed their dissatisfaction toward Beijing in editorials. Many employers in mainland enterprises and members of leftist unions in Hong Kong joined the protests.49 By the time of the promulgation of the Basic Law in April 1990, the confidence of Hong Kong people regarding their future had dropped to an historic low, and Sino-British relations went into a complete freeze. Amid

40 The Political Future of Hong Kong social turmoil, the Basic Law appeared to be a mere piece of paper. Its authority and effectiveness in the future was shadowed by immense uncertainty. The rapidly changing social climate after 1984 had profound implications for China’s handling of the drafting process of the Basic Law. In the final version of the Basic Law, the term ‘accountability’ was frequently adopted even though the document was formulated under the heavy influence, if not dominance, of mainland drafters. Despite Beijing’s claim that the concept of ‘accountability’ had been slipped into the Joint Declaration by the cunning British negotiators, mainland drafters did not prevent the concept from being used. In fact, ‘accountability’ appears in the English text of the Basic Law more frequently than one would have anticipated. Apart from Article 64, which stipulates that ‘the executive authorities shall … be accountable to the legislature’, a clause directly copied from Annex I of the Joint Declaration, the term ‘accountability’ was adopted in three other articles. The Chief Executive’s dual selection process in the Joint Declaration was translated, quite inventively, into the phrase of ‘dual accountability’ in Article 43. Moreover, the concept of ‘accountability’ also appears in Article 57, which stipulates that a Commission against Corruption ‘shall function independently and be accountable to the Chief Executive’, and in Article 58, which reads that a Commission of Audit ‘shall function independently and be accountable to the Chief Executive’. But none of the above had been thoroughly discussed when the Basic Law was issued. The final version attracted little attention as it was overshadowed by the tremendous impact of the Tiananmen incident.

China’s strategy: constructive vagueness as political compromise In fact, ‘accountability’ was a constructive translation of the Chinese term fu ze in the Chinese text. The term fu ze appeared in six articles: in four it was translated as ‘accountability’, and in two it was translated as ‘responsibility’. Specifically, fu ze appeared in Articles 43, 57, 58 and 64 in the Chinese text, where it was translated as ‘accountability’ in the corresponding articles in the English text. Where the term fu ze appeared in Articles 48 and 73, the concept was translated as ‘responsibility’ in the English text.50 Clearly, the term ‘accountability’ was not a precise translation of fu ze in the Basic Law, since in other contexts ‘responsibility’ was the preferred translation. That ‘accountability’ and ‘responsibility’ were chosen in separate articles in the English version suggests a conscious choice of words. Yet such consciousness regarding word choice does not exist in the original Chinese text. There is no evidence to suggest that fu ze in Article 63 and in Article 43 meant anything different from fu ze in Article 73 and Article 78. The consistent use of fu ze throughout the Chinese text and the inconsistency of its English translation reveals a profound conceptual and linguistic issue. The difference between ‘accountability’ and ‘responsibility’ can only be distinguished and understood in the context of liberal democracy. In a society where general elections have yet to take place, ‘accountability’ is an alien concept, impossible to understand except in association with the ideas of electoral sanction and control. As a result, the subtle

China’s strategy 41 distinctions between ‘accountability’ and ‘responsibility’ make sense only to those familiar with the English language and the political context from which the term ‘accountability’ arises. Such subtleties do not make sense in the Chinese political context and would be indiscernible to most mainland Chinese. In other words, the term fu ze, in the process of translation, has been reinvented. This inventive translation becomes more apparent when contrasting the concept of fu ze with wen ze, a Chinese term that did not emerge until a decade after the Basic Law was issued. The meaning of wen ze combines ‘questioning’ with ‘blaming’, and corresponds more closely to the English concept of ‘accountability’. The constructive use of ‘accountability’ was hardly an accident. Rather, it served particular purposes. The dispute over the concept caused by the Joint Declaration should have taught mainland officials a hard lesson. If the term’s appearance in the Joint Declaration had been a diplomatic blunder, then it is quite inconceivable that a repetition of the same mistake – and a more serious mistake, the second time round – could have been permitted when drafting the Basic Law. After all, mainland officials and experts constituted two-thirds of the membership in the Basic Law Drafting Committee. They could simply have voted out the term, as they ruled out undesirable political models. Remedies could also have been sought had the use of the term been caused by insensitive translators. However, mainland officials and legal experts did not prevent it from appearing in the English text, although the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress issued a decision later stating that only the Chinese version enjoyed legal status.51 In effect, the term achieved its intended purpose – it provided the Basic Law with a liberal image. ‘Accountability’, especially in the context of Article 43, which states that ‘the Chief Executive … shall be accountable to the Central People’s Government and Hong Kong Special Administrative Region’, gave the entire political construct a liberal spin. By accentuating the Chief Executive’s ‘dual accountability’, Article 43 achieved a dramatic effect that Article 45, which merely detailed the procedures by which the future Chief Executive would be selected, could not possibly attain. In fact, Beijing, as the incoming sovereign, needed ‘constructive vagueness’ to woo the minds and hearts of Hong Kong people and stabilize society, as entailed by the circumstances of the transitional years. It needed ‘constructive vagueness’ just as the retreating colonial power required ‘accountable government’, albeit for different reasons. The ‘accountable government’ provided the colonial government with necessary room for manoeuvre. The idea of ‘accountable government’ enabled it to prevent an outpouring of refugees from Hong Kong, to preserve its honour and dignity in the eyes of the international community, and to retain power in Hong Kong in its remaining years of rule. Likewise, Beijing had to exploit ‘constructive vagueness’ for its own benefit. The liberals on the drafting Committee had seized on the word ‘accountability’ in the Joint Declaration in order to advance proposals that would fundamentally upset the executive-dominant model preferred by Beijing. The rapidly changing socio-political climate resulting from constitutional reforms initiated by colonial government also called for remedies. However, Beijing could hardly make concessions on the political model to the

42 The Political Future of Hong Kong extent of compromising state control over the future executive. What could be matters for compromise, however, were words that would not mean much without the legal provisions to substantiate them. After all, how difficult could it be to adopt a liberal language if that adoption did not imply forgoing powers? Indeed, if a liberal footnote could help to sell the Basic Law, why not? Hence Beijing took over the word ‘accountability’ from the British and made the concept work for its own advantage. Beijing’s adoption of ‘constructive vagueness’ as a strategy to cope with political hurdles of the time can also be seen in the unsettling nature of the Basic Law itself. The Basic Law promises a progressive path towards universal suffrage for the selection of the Chief Executive. Article 45, para. 2, stipulates that ‘the ultimate aim is the selection of the Chief Executive by universal suffrage upon nomination by broadly representative nominating committee in accordance with democratic procedures’. This clause envisions a political future for Hong Kong in which the Chief Executive will eventually have to acquire the mandate to rule. In other words, local control over the office of the Chief Executive will materialize one day, and his/her ‘accountability to Hong Kong SAR’ will eventually be realized. This vision for universal suffrage created a vast political space between here, the status quo where only an exclusive few are allowed to select the Chief Executive and the office of Chief Executive is overpowered by state authority, and there, the situation in which asymmetrical power relationships would be eliminated and the incumbent will be subject to local control and sanction. But what remained unspecific were the concrete steps and timetables to build the bridge between here and there. However, the ambiguous space between here and there was necessary because ambiguity was conducive to achieving settlement among competing political stakeholders. Those who demanded universal suffrage had their objective written in the Basic Law, although it was only to be realized in the future. Those who wished to retain the executive-dominant model would also have their interests preserved for the time being. Indeed, the sense of ‘ultimate’ could be seen as unreal and far distant from the moment that the drafting process of the Basic Law was actually completed. Throughout the 1980s, Beijing had to negotiate various hurdles. It had to compromise in order to achieve national unity without killing the vibrant capitalist Hong Kong. ‘Constructive vagueness’ was a strategy by which Beijing could make a liberal democratic political gesture, while continuing to preserve its fundamental interests. The strategy was adopted for the construction of the Joint Declaration, and more so for the drafting of the Basic Law. What might not have been anticipated was how the pervasive use of ‘accountability’ precipitated the spread of the term in the community. The promise of ‘ultimate’ realization of universal suffrage provided an impetus that transformed the concept of ‘accountability’. The conservative notion of ‘accountability’ as ‘answerability’ and ‘consultation’ could manage only a temporary existence. Once the idea of universal suffrage was introduced, the concept of accountability soon became associated with mandates, responsiveness and control. Thus, for those who refused to accept the current political system, either because of the uneven distribution of political rights within the community, or because of the asymmetrical distribution of power between the

China’s strategy 43 state and the territory over the office of Chief Executive, or a combination of the two, ‘accountability’ provided a platform upon which political challenges could be unfolded. In the context of Hong Kong’s sovereignty transfer, debating the connotations of ‘accountability’ was never purely an intellectual exercise but was closely linked to the constitution-building process of the 1980s. The dispute was triggered by the Joint Declaration, and played out more fully during the Basic Law drafting process. It concerned executive–legislature relations, partly as they hinged upon the political structure for the office of Chief Executive, but more importantly as an issue of competition between the centre and the local over the control of the Chief Executive. Whether the concept should be interpreted as sanction and control, as it was understood in the liberal democratic context, or purely as answerability and consultation, as preferred by mainland drafters and officials, has profound implications for the political system in Hong Kong, as well as for central authority over the territory. If the term is interpreted in the liberal democratic fashion, indicating an agent–principal relation between executive authority and the legislature, then an executive-dominated system would be hard to justify, while demand for comprehensive political reform would be all the more legitimate. Conversely, if the term is interpreted as mere consultation and answerability, then the forces for further reform of the executive-dominated system would have less of a solid foundation. In theory, the promulgation of the Basic Law in April 1990 should have put an end to the dispute over ‘accountability’, and over political models. The conclusion of Article 64 eliminated the possibility that the legislature would prevail over the executive branch. By defining the concept of ‘accountability’ in an extremely narrow and exclusive fashion, legislative oversight was to be limited. In addition, the legal provisions for the office of the Chief Executive implied that, apart from the 800 selectors, Hong Kong’s people would possess virtually no mechanism to control the office. Thus, ‘accountability’ in both Article 64 and Article 43 offered far less than what the liberals had asked for. But the promulgation of the Basic Law did not end the controversy. Rather, it precipitated it. The Basic Law has opened up fresh avenues for quarrels precisely because of the pervasive use of the concept ‘accountability’ within the Basic Law, and because of the unsettling nature of the Basic Law itself. Given that the concept shows up frequently in the Basic Law, it became difficult to refute the impression that the term refers to a certain type of obligation that has been understood in the community, or at least shared by those who drafted the Basic Law. For those who read only the English version of the Basic Law and understand ‘accountability’ along liberal democratic traditions, the Basic Law will be a flawed document, since there appears to be a vast shortfall between the legal provisions and the rhetoric for democracy. It was in the context of such a shortfall that the first Chief Executive, Tung Chee-hwa, assumed the office on 1 July 1997.

44 The Political Future of Hong Kong

Notes 1 Joint Declaration of the Government of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Government of the People’s Republic of China on the Question of Hong Kong, Annex I, para. 2. 2 Deng Xiao-ping, ‘On one country two systems, June 22 and 23, 1984’, in Deng Xiao-ping on One Country Two Systems (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 2004), p. 11. 3 Deng Xio-ping, ‘Maintaining prosperity and stability in Hong Kong, October 3, 1984’, in Deng Xiao-ping on One Country and Two Systems (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 2004), p. 17. 4 Xu Jia-tun, The Memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: The Hong Kong United Press Limited, 1994), pp. 179–83. 5 Ibid., p. 183. 6 Deng Xiao-ping, ‘Speech at meeting with the Basic Law Drafting Committee of the Hong Kong special administrative region, April 16, 1987’, in Deng Xiao-ping on One Country and Two Systems (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 2004), p. 56. 7 J. Dimbleby, The Last Governor: Chris Patten and the Handover of Hong Kong (London: Little Brown and Company, 1997), p. 156. 8 Deng Xiao-ping, ‘China will keep its promise, December 19, 1984’, in Deng Xiao-ping on One Country and Two Systems (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 2004), p. 39. 9 Deng Xiao-ping, ‘On one country two systems, June 22, 1984’, in Deng Xiao-ping on One Country Two Systems (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 2004), p. 14. 10 Deng Xiao-ping, ‘Speech at the meeting with the Basic Law Drafting Committee of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, April 16, 1987’, in Deng Xiao-ping on One Country and Two Systems (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 2004), p. 57. 11 Qian Qi-shen, ‘Speech at the Fifth Plenary Session of Hong Kong SAR Preparatory Committee, October 5, 1996’, in Chinese Leaders’ Discussion on Hong Kong (Hong Kong: Mingchuang Publishing Inc., 1997), pp. 235–6. 12 A. Nathan, ‘Sources of Chinese rights thinking’, in Human Rights in Contemporary China, R. Edwards, L. Henkin and A. Nathan (eds) (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), pp. 127–8. 13 Nathan, ‘Sources of Chinese rights thinking’, p. 127. 14 Ibid., pp. 141–54. 15 Ibid., pp. 120–4. 16 ‘The Constitution of the People’s Republic of China, December 4, 1982’, in A List of Comparisons of Successive Amendments to the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China (in Chinese) (Beijing: Chinese Law Press, 2004), p. 27. 17 ‘A list of comparisons of successive amendments to the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China’, in A List of Comparisons of Successive Amendments to the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China (in Chinese) (Beijing: Chinese Law Press, 2004, p. 3. 18 Ibid., p. 3. 19 S. L. Shirk, The Political Logic of Economic Reform in China (California: University of California Press, 1993), pp. 82–3. 20 V. C. Falkenheim, ‘China’s evolving region-centre relations: implications for Hong Kong’, in Hong Kong and China in Transition (Toronto: Joint Centre for Asia Pacific Studies, 1994), p. 64. 21 Shirk, The Political Logic of Economic Reform in China, pp. 82–83. 22 Ibid., p. 82. 23 Ibid., p. 349. 24 Hanna F. Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), pp. 93–111. 25 Joint Declaration of the Government of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Government of the People’s Republic of China on the Question of Hong Kong, session 3, para. 4. 26 Joint Declaration, Annex I, para.2. 27 Ibid., para. 2.

China’s strategy 45 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36

37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46

47 48 49 50 51

Ibid., para. 2. Ibid., para. 9. W. Dick, Hong Kong, Hong Kong (London: Unwin Hyman Ltd., 1990), pp. 208–10. Ibid., pp. 206–9. Ibid., p. 206. Deng Xiao-ping, ‘Our basic positions on Hong Kong issue (September 24, 1982)’, in Deng Xiaoping on One Country Two Systems (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) 2004), p. 1 Li Hou, The Return Journey (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (HK) Co., Ltd, 1997), p. 141. Jie-fong Zhang et al., No Change for Fifty Years? The Dynamics Surrounding the Making of the Basic Law among China, Britain and Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Long Chao Publishing Inc., 1991), p. 100. ‘Liberal democrats’ has been a widely used label to refer to those who promoted a faster pace of democratization in Hong Kong collectively as a progressive force after the transitional years. They were seen collectively as a progressive force. See A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), pp. 56–9. In the Basic Law Drafting Committee, Martin Lee and Szeto Hwa were seen as representatives of this force, and the views articulated regarding the concept of accountability came primarily from Lee. Zhang and others, No Change for Fifty Years?, pp. 102–3. Li, The Return Journey, p. 156. M. Roberti, The Fall of Hong Kong: China’s Triumph and Britain’s Betrayal (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1994), p. 152. Xu, The Memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong, p. 185. Ibid. The then Director of the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office, Liao Cheng-zhi, reportedly said that Hong Kong’s sovereign transfer involved only a change of flag and governor, without any change to the political and economic system. His view was considered as reflecting the mindset of China’s top leaders in the early 1980s, Xu, The memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong, p. 184. Xu, The Memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong, pp. 184–5. Mingpao, 18 January 2004. Basic Law, Article 64. The Basic Law Consultative Committee was established to facilitate local consultation on the drafting of the Basic Law. A few members on the Basic Law Drafting Committee joined the Consultative Committee to bridge the drafting process with the opinions expressed by society at large. Roberti, The Fall of Hong Kong, pp. 146–51. Li, The Return Journey, pp. 154–6. Ibid. Xu, The Memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong, pp. 385–98. Basic Law, Article 73, para. 9. The English version of the Basic Law was officially approved by the National People’s Congress, nevertheless, the SCNPC issued a decision in 1990, that in any discrepancy between the two versions, the Chinese one would prevail. Liu Zheng, Yu You-ming, and Cheng Xiang-qing (eds), The Full Text of the Works of the National People’s Congress (in Chinese) (Beijing: Law Press China, 1999), p. 471.

3

Serving two masters The paradox of the Chief Executive

The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be accountable to the Central People’s Government and the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region in accordance with the provision of this Law. Article 43, The Basic Law1

I am a Chinese. I believe the long term interests of Hong Kong and those of the nation coincide. Hong Kong’s prosperity would help the nation; Hong Kong would excel better when the nation is prosperous. I hope Hong Kong under my leadership would contribute to the development and peaceful reunification of the nation. Tung Chee-hwa, 20 December 19962

On 1 July 1997, Tung Chee-hwa was sworn in as the first Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Before he assumed the office, Tung offered an optimistic view about his job as the Chief Executive of the new Special Administrative Region. As the epigraph to this chapter suggests, Tung believed in a mutually beneficial and harmonious relationship between the communist central government and capitalist Hong Kong in the long run. While this belief may have been valid, Tung was nonetheless troubled by a persistent loss of public confidence in his government during the greater part of his term in office. Dissatisfaction mounted over various policy decisions, and over the pace of democratization. In March 2005, Tung resigned abruptly, citing health problems, before he had completed his second term in office. His then chief aide, the Chief Secretary for Administration Donald Tsang Yamkuen, a veteran civil servant groomed during the colonial era, came to power as his successor. Although this leadership change revived public confidence in the government, debates about further democratization continued to divide the community.

Serving two masters 47

Institutional constraints on and expectations of the Chief Executive The post-97 Hong Kong political system came under stress from two kinds of institutionally embedded tension. The first arises from the dual selection process for the Chief Executive, a process that results in a ‘dual loyalty’ dilemma for the Chief Executive. The second arises from the institutionalized competition between the executive branch and the legislature, each of which exists and is selected independently of the other. In the post-handover years, these tensions have become manifest through the office of the Chief Executive, and the second tension has exacerbated the ‘dual loyalty’ dilemma of the first. It is because of what the Basic Law stipulates that the Chief Executive is confronted with a ‘dual accountability’ paradox. According to Article 43, he has to be simultaneously ‘accountable to Central People’s Government and the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region’. The Basic Law thereby creates a situation where one servant must serve two masters. Legally speaking, ‘the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region’ refers literally to an administrative entity, which by itself can neither act nor react. ‘Accountability’ to an administrative entity in itself is of little substance. But this provision creates room for the expectation that the Chief Executive must be accountable to the general public in Hong Kong.3 If Article 43 leaves room for dispute over the substance of ‘dual accountability’, then Article 45 confirms that the paradox of the Chief Executive is a real one. This article stipulates that the Chief Executive is selected locally and appointed by the Central People’s Government. Annex I of the Basic Law further defines the local electorate as the Election Committee between 1997 and 2007. Changes in the selection method for the Chief Executive subsequent to 2007 could be made following agreements between the incumbent Chief Executive, the legislature and the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress, with the ultimate aim of achieving universal suffrage for the selection of the office-bearer.4 This means that the Chief Executive is vertically ‘accountable’ to the Hong Kong people, although the Hong Kong people are, for the time being, represented by the Election Committee. Institutionally, the stress arising from the ‘dual accountability’ is somewhat alleviated by the asymmetrical distribution of power between the central authority and the local electorate. Thus the Chief Executive’s compliance is expected to be skewed towards the central government at the expense of the local electorate. This is because, first, the Election Committee ceases to function after the selection of the Chief Executive, and a new one arrives just before the next selection takes place. The collective will of the Election Committee thus can only be exercised once in its entire lifespan, unless circumstances arise where the office becomes vacant because of the resignation or death of the incumbent. This was the case in 2005 when the office was vacant following the resignation of Tung Chee-hwa, and the Committee that selected Tung had to be re-convened to select his successor. But in the normal run of events, the Committee as an institution cannot hold the

48 The Political Future of Hong Kong

National People’s Congress Standing Committee People’s Republic of China

Central People’s Government (appoint/approve)

The Legislative Council (HKSAR) (approve bills/budgets)

The Office of Chief Executive

Non-official executive councillors

The Judicial Branch (HKSAR) (judicial review)

Principal officials

Election Committee (select the CE)

Figure 3.1 Institutional arrangements for the office of Chief Executive

Chief Executive accountable once it has sent the candidate to office. Even though any candidate can run for the office for two terms, each Election Committee only exists for five years. Hence the Committee’s control over the office remains ineffectual. The tension of ‘dual accountability’ is also alleviated because the Election Committee has been constructed so as to have an outlook on the office similar to that of the Beijing leaders. Prescribed by the electoral law enacted in Hong Kong, the number of selectors in the Election Committee was increased from 400 in 1996 for the selection of the first Chief Executive, to 800 in 2001 for the selection of the second and in 2007 for the third Chief Executive. But the selectors accounted for only about 0.01 per cent of Hong Kong’s population.5 In addition, the constituency base for the Election Committee remained extremely narrow right up to 2006. It represents only about 220,000 people in various professions and government institutions, or about 3.2 per cent of the total population.6 These 800 selectors were returned by votes cast by individual eligible voters, corporate or institutional votes, or nominated by designated groups without an election.7 These 800 seats were distributed equally among four sectors. They are the commercial and financial sector, including commercial and financial corporations and associations; the professional sector with accountants, doctors, educators and lawyers as

Serving two masters 49 constituencies; the labour, social service and religious sector, with members and bodies that fall in these categories; plus representatives from the Legislative Council and the District Councils, and members from the Hong Kong delegation to the National People’s Congress (NPC) and the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC).8 Consequently, sectoral interests are protected while grassroots interests are under-represented. Those of retirees, social welfare recipients and housewives are completely excluded. The make-up of the Election Committee thus gives it a highly elitist and conservative outlook, with a tendency to preserve the status quo in which its members have vested interests. The Chief Executive’s accountability hence amounts only to his/her answerability to the selected few. The Committee’s main function acts as a buffer in between the Chief Executive and the general public. In a best-case scenario, it insulates the Chief Executive from popular demands. In a worst-case scenario, it could hijack the Chief Executive for its own grievances should a sufficient number of selectors be organized to do so. In comparison, the influence of the Central People’s Government over the office is channelled through several avenues. First, Article 45 of the Basic Law grants central government the power to appoint the Chief Executive after the Election Committee has selected the candidate for the post. By implication, the central government could veto the candidate if the choice of the Election Committee does not coincide with that of central government. Second, central government possesses the authority to approve the appointment and removal of principal officials of the Hong Kong government, upon the Chief Executive’s suggestions.9 This means that central government has considerable leverage over the formation of the executive core, or the ‘cabinet’. To put it differently, the Chief Executive’s power independently to form his/her own cabinet is limited accordingly. Third, Article 73 of the Basic Law grants central government the power to make a final decision on the impeachment of the Chief Executive, should two-thirds of the legislative members pass a motion to impeach the incumbent.10 This unequivocal power of central government marginalizes the role of the local legislature regarding the issue of the incumbent’s survival. Taken together, Articles 45 and 73 ensure the central government’s solid and effective control of the office of Chief Executive. Central government could wield power at the most critical junctures of the political career of the Chief Executive: his rise to the office; the formation of his government; and the end of his political career as incumbent Chief Executive. Of course, central government could choose not to exercise these powers to their fullest extent and to approve all decisions made locally. In a scenario where the central government chooses to interpret these powers as symbolic, then the leverage of the local institutions, the Election Committee, the office of the Chief Executive and the Legislative Council can increase accordingly. But any decision whether to exercise such powers or to keep them as symbolic remains vested in central government. As well as being caught between central government and a local electorate, the Chief Executive is also constrained by institutionalized tension between the executive branch and the separately elected and independent legislature. Article 64 of

50 The Political Future of Hong Kong the Basic Law stipulates that ‘The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must abide by law and be accountable to the Legislative Council of the region’.11 Since the Chief Executive is also the head of the Hong Kong government, by implication he also must be accountable to the legislature. The provision to substantiate this principle of legislative oversight lies with Article 73, which specifies legislative oversight in three areas: (a) bills and budgetary measures initiated by the Hong Kong government; (b) the personal conduct of the Chief Executive; and (c) the endorsement of the appointment and removal of judges in the Court of Final Appeal and the Chief Judge of the High Court proposed by the Chief Executive.12 The legislature’s power in the first area constitutes the most effective tool by which it can hold the government answerable. Nevertheless, in the case of a standoff between the government and the legislature over budgetary measures and bills passed by the legislature, the Chief Executive and his government retains the upper hand, since the Basic Law grants the Chief Executive the power to make budgetary provisions without the consent of the legislature, and to return bills to the legislature on the grounds that they are ‘not compatible with the overall interests of the region’. In a serious dispute, the Chief Executive may also dissolve the legislature, if the Council twice passes a bill the Chief Executive refuses to sign.13 The only possible way that the legislature could win a standoff would be for the new legislature to take the same stance as the dissolved one on the budget or a bill in dispute. The Chief Executive would then have to resign, if compromise was out of the question.14 In such a scenario, the Basic Law provides no mechanism by which central government can intervene, leaving the legislature alone to determine the fate of the Chief Executive. The second most important sanction comes from the legislature’s prescribed authority to investigate and impeach the Chief Executive for ‘serious breach of law or dereliction of duty’.15 If a motion of investigation is initiated by one-quarter of the legislative members and passed by members, the legislature can authorize the Chief Justice of the Final Court of Appeal to form and chair an independent investigation committee. A decision to impeach the Chief Executive would be made if two-thirds of the legislative members voted for it. Nonetheless, this sanction mechanism could be curtailed, since only the decision of the central government on impeachment will be final.16 Legally, the legislature can also frustrate the Chief Executive by refusing to endorse his proposed candidates for the judges of the Court of Final Appeal and the chief judges of the High Court. In short, the Basic Law preserves the dominance of executive branch vis-à-vis the legislature, thus preventing a possible executive–legislature impasse, but the legislature possesses a certain degree of leverage over the executive. The judicial branch, which can exercise certain powers regarding the conduct of the administration, provides another institutional check on the government, and at least implicitly on the Chief Executive as well. Following common law practice, the judicial branch can exercise a judicial review of administrative decisions and conduct according to existing legislation and codes of conduct. This judicial power, however, is limited, because of its narrow scope of application. Although the implications of judicial review for the fate of the Chief Executive are fairly

Serving two masters 51 indirect,17 the process nonetheless carries some weight in the policy-making and implementation processes of the government. The office of the Chief Executive operates within the broad centre–Hong Kong context, and such a context also exerts influence on the conduct of the incumbent. In fact, executive, legislative and judicial powers in Hong Kong are all derived rights. As such, these powers are confined and limited by authorities at the national level. The appointment of principal officials, including the Chief Executive, underscores the limitation of executive power in Hong Kong. The NPC and the SCNPC can also exercise control on legislation passed by the local legislature. The Basic Law stipulates that the SCNPC may return and invalidate a bill passed by the Hong Kong Legislative Council, if it considers the bill ‘not in conformity’ with the provisions of the Basic Law.18 On the judicial side, the SCNPC is invested with the authority to interpret the Basic Law on matters within the responsibility of the central authority or concerning centre–Hong Kong relations. The courts of the region are required to follow such interpretation, except the judgment previously rendered.19 Finally, any constitutional change in Hong Kong has to be monitored and checked by the central authorities. The SCNPC is also authorized to propose the amendment of the Basic Law upon receiving the request from the SAR government, with the consent of two-thirds of the Hong Kong deputies of the NPC, twothirds of the legislators and the approval of the Chief Executive. The amendments are subject to approval by the NPC.20 These provisions suggest that the executive, legislative and judicial powers of local institutions, as well constitutional changes crucial to the political life of Hong Kong, are all confined, though the precise boundary may be drawn and redrawn according to the dynamics between the centre and the territory. Such legal provisions suggest that there are effective means by which central authorities can redefine Hong Kong’s autonomy as circumstances require. Such a legal context of centre–Hong Kong relations has immense ramifications for the conduct of the Chief Executive. In sum, the office of the Chief Executive operates amid institutionally embedded tensions. The first tension arises from the dual selection process of the office-bearer; the second arises from institutionalized competition between the executive branch and the legislature. Both kinds of tension have been mitigated by rendering one institution relatively weak compared to its competitor. In the first case, the local electorate remains ineffective in exercising its control over the office of the Chief Executive when compared to the central government. The ‘dual accountability’ dilemma of the Chief Executive is thus alleviated to a degree. But the underlying tension remains important in shaping the behaviour of the Chief Executive and his choice of governing strategy. In the second case, the legislature is relatively feeble vis-à-vis the executive branch. But that asymmetrical distribution of power does not remove the institutionalized incentive to frustrate the other party. In this regard, the institutional framework under which the office of Chief Executive operates differs vastly from that for his colonial predecessor. Despite the fact that the office of Chief Executive operates amid institutionalized conflict, the general public nonetheless has high expectations of the incumbent. That he has a duty to be ‘accountable’ to Hong Kong implies he must respond

52 The Political Future of Hong Kong to the needs and wishes of the people in the community, although the precise nature of that ‘accountability’ is seen differently by different segments of the society. As both the head of the territory and the head of the government, the office of Chief Executive is invested with both political and executive functions. Those with strong beliefs in liberal values, such as those in education, social services, NGOs, and the legal and media sectors, more often than not stress the role of the Chief Executive as a political leader. They expect the Chief Executive to protect the rule of law, the liberty of Hong Kong people, to resolve political conflict within the territory, to maximize the autonomy of the territory and, above all, to further democracy and protect Hong Kong from any possible intrusion of central powers into local affairs. In short, they hope the Chief Executive will be a regime-innovator, working to overcome his institutional constraints and expand the boundaries of local autonomy. But expectations that the Chief Executive be a regime-innovator represent the views only of the most liberal-minded segments in the community. The greater part of the population stress the responsibility of the Chief Executive to address bread-and-butter issues. Surveys conducted in the past decade show the public hold persistently pragmatic views about the Chief Executive. They perceive the primary responsibilities of the incumbent as being to stimulate the economy and to improve people’s livelihoods. The four most salient issues in the minds of the Hong Kong people, according to surveys conducted before the release of the annual policy addresses, were economic development, employment, social welfare and housing. In fact, economic development, employment and social welfare were ranked as the top three, in descending order, among 12 issues surveyed, in five out of ten years between 1997 and 2006. In four out of ten years during the same period, housing was seen as one of the three most important tasks to be addressed by the Chief Executive. In fact, there was no significant change in popular perceptions of the most important issues throughout the decade regardless of changes in the leadership.21 In contrast, the same set of data also suggest the Chief Executive’s political function, either as a negotiator with Beijing on behalf of Hong Kong, or as a facilitator among different political forces within the territory, was relatively undervalued. During the decade, those who ranked ‘political development’ as an important task for the government constituted about 2 to 3 per cent during the first eight years, but this rose to 5.1 and 4.9 per cent in 2005 and 2006 respectively.22 The increased importance of political development suggests that the significance of constitutional reform has become accentuated near the end of Hong Kong SAR’s first decade, but bread-and-butter issues continue to be the chief concern of most people. Such an instrumental view of the Chief Executive’s role and his administration could be explained in part by overriding concern about the economic downturn caused by the Asian Financial Crisis immediately after 1997, but it was also consistent with the prevailing political culture in the territory. Surveys conducted during the 1990s indicated a continuity in the Mingben Chinese political culture in the territory, or a paternalistic view of government, together with emerging liberal values. On the eve of Hong Kong’s handover, a large majority of the respondents, 69.8 per

Serving two masters 53 cent, approved of the statement that ‘a good government is one which treats the people as though they are its children’, a traditional Chinese perception of government, and 59.1 per cent of respondents placed social order above individual freedom.23 Such strong support for Chinese traditional values was consistent with findings in the 1980s,24 suggesting a continuity in the ethos of Hong Kong people against the background of liberal democratic movements throughout the 1980s and 1990s. Nonetheless, some liberal values were also detected with 27.4 per cent of respondents placing freedom, democracy and human rights higher than traditional values such as loyalty, filial piety, benevolence and righteousness. Yet another 31.1 per cent of respondents deemed traditional and liberal values to be equally important.25 Blind support and obedience to paternalistic government were rejected by a majority, 63.8 per cent, of respondents. Against this backdrop, social stability and economic prosperity, or group-oriented values, were ranked by 52.6 and 23.3 per cent of respondents respectively as the most important responsibilities of the Hong Kong government. Democratic government and individual freedom were favoured by only 10.4 per cent and 7.7 per cent of respondents respectively.26 The above surveys highlight the mixed, or dualistic, political culture in Hong Kong. Even though liberal values of freedom, democracy and human rights have made inroads in Hong Kong, the political culture is still in process of transition towards a liberal one. The bulk of the population in Hong Kong has yet to embrace liberty, democracy, and accountability as intrinsic values, or election as a prerequisite for a legitimate government. On the contrary, Hong Kong people stress the instrumental function of the government, emphasizing its delivery of social goods. As long as the government performs what the people expect, whether or not elections are held is of secondary importance. In fact, this mentality is also confirmed by Hong Kong people’s lack of enthusiasm regarding institutional checks and balances. A comparative study of Hong Kong, Taiwan, and urban mainland cities suggests that Hong Kong people were no more willing than Chinese in other places to instigate competition between government institutions, although they generally endorse the idea of popular accountability, with 69.2 per cent of respondents agreeing.27 But when asked about separation of powers, Hong Kong respondents showed less support for it, 39.1 per cent, than did urban mainland Chinese, 46.7 per cent. Within Hong Kong, respondents were quite divided among themselves, with 39.1 per cent agreeing and 44 per cent disagreeing and strongly disagreeing with the adoption of separation of powers.28 Yet electoral sanction and institutional competition constitute the core of the liberal notion of accountability. Without these mechanisms, government accountability would lose its reinforcing tools, and the meaning of this term would move closer to less legally-binding and more elusive concepts such as answerability, responsibility or obligation. The above surveys reveal two important issues for understanding public expectations of the Chief Executive. First, Hong Kong people in general hold an instrumental view of government, expecting it to improve economic conditions and people’s livelihoods. While this pragmatism is congruent with traditional Mingben political culture, there are signs of cultural transition. The weight of political development, referring to the introduction of popular elections in the context of

54 The Political Future of Hong Kong post-handover politics, has been increased in recent years. This suggests that the public is observant of swings in socio-political conditions. Hence, circumstances may lend much importance in the surge of either set of values, thus the corresponding expectations of the Chief Executive. Second, the existence of Mingben values in the territory suggests that commonalities exist between the central government and the local inhabitants. Both agree that the Chief Executive’s major responsibilities lie with his administrative function. But expectations diverge between Beijing’s leaders and the liberal segments in Hong Kong. While political activists in Hong Kong expected the Chief Executive to negotiate with the central government on behalf of the locals, central leaders saw him as a delegate of the centre, preserving the national interest. When expectations clash, the Chief Executive is bound to be caught in a dilemma. The above analyses suggest that, both institutionally and perceptually, the office of the Chief Executive has features very different from the office of governor in the colonial era. First of all, the British crown alone appointed the governor, and the loyalty of the governor remained undivided until the last day of British rule in Hong Kong. In contrast, the Chief Executive’s power comes from two sources, and consequently his loyalty is divided, institutionally between the local electorate and the central government, and symbolically between capitalist Hong Kong and communist China. Indeed, the Chief Executive’s ‘dual accountability’ is less a legal problem than a political one, because legal provisions alleviate the stress by rendering ineffective the exercise of local sanctions on the Chief Executive, and by defining the local electorate in an extremely narrow fashion. But the latter solution was meant to be temporary. With projected expansion of the local electorate, the outlook of the local constituency would shift and thus the tension between two ‘masters’ would eventually come into full force within the 50-year timeframe. Second, unlike the colonial governor, the Chief Executive is constrained by a legislature whose power derives from a completely different source, and by implication, its devotion goes to constituencies much more broadly based than that of the Chief Executive. Hence, competition between the two has been institutionalized, while cooperation only occurs when circumstances become a matter of mutual interest. Indeed, the ability of the colonial governor to command respect and cooperation from the legislature was weakened after indirect and direct elections for the legislature were introduced in the mid-1980s, but the effect of election only became accentuated after 1997 with the gradual increase of elected seats within the legislative chamber. The stress between the legislature and the Chief Executive has been increased since the executive branch, led by the Chief Executive, is by law supposed to be ‘accountable’ to the former, a notion unheard of in former colonial days. Third, the Chief Executive’s skewed compliance towards the central government is also conditioned by the centre–Hong Kong framework in which the office operates, including the power of central authority to appoint the core executives, and the authority of the NPC and SCNPC over local legislations, adjudication and constitutional changes. The extent to which local autonomy can be realized, especially for crucial decisions such as the appointment of principal officials, the impeachment of the Chief Executive, and the interpretation of laws and the

Serving two masters 55 constitutional development, depends very much on the extent to which the central authorities choose to exercise their prescribed powers. Only when central authorities decide to exercise these powers nominally can the extent of local autonomy be accordingly expanded. The Chief Executive is perceived very differently from the former colonial governor. Although most Hong Kong people hold instrumental views about the government, still a certain proportion of the population expects the Chief Executive to promote democracy, and to stand up to pressures from Beijing when circumstances require. Moreover, they expect the Chief Executive to lead and to govern the city, with its seemingly unfettered but in fact strained and fractured power, as effectively and efficiently as the former colonial governors. As a result, the Chief Executive must walk an extremely fine line between central government, the Election Committee, the legislature and the general public. He has to struggle with a host of often competing interests and demands, constantly searching for viable decisions within a complex and delicate milieu.

A tightrope for survival: the strategic choices of the incumbents In the past decade, two chief executives have assumed office, and these two adopted different strategies to their conduct of this office. From his arrival in office on 1 July 1997, the first Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa decided to conduct his duty primarily as a regime-conservator. He immersed himself in bread-and-butter issues within his institutional boundaries, and was reluctant to touch issues that would test his political skills and competence. Not until he returned to office for a second term in 2002 did he begin to move inch by inch to revamp the political structure. Upon his assumption as Tung’s successor in March 2005, Tsang Yinkuam came on board with a different emphasis. He appeared to have a keen awareness of the institutional friction between the executive and the legislature, and weak political support for his office. While trying to perform as a political facilitator between the competing forces, he also introduced a political reform package aiming at broadening the representation of the Election Committee and the Legislative Council. Although neither Tung nor Tsang could have acted without acknowledgement from the central government, their different approaches to the office suggest nonetheless that the strategies of individual incumbents can shape the practice of the office, and that an incumbent has both room for manoeuvre as well as constraints on movement. During his eight years in office, Mr Tung focused primarily on the task of improving the economy and the livelihood of people. His policy initiatives ranged from identifying new engines of growth, increasing the supply of housing units, reducing unemployment, improving the quality of education, and increasing expenditure on elderly care. Declaring that promoting ‘the well-being of the people is the most fundamental task of a responsible government’, Tung began his term by setting the target to construct at least 85,000 flats per year so as to improve the living conditions of the local inhabitants.29 Even after the Asian Financial

56 The Political Future of Hong Kong Crisis hit Hong Kong at the end of 1997, Tung maintained the policy of improving housing conditions in 1998, in addition to taking measures to prevent the further slide of the economy.30 The effort to improve the well-being of the people can also be seen in his other policy initiatives. The Tung administration increased government spending on education, with expenditure on education rising to HK$44 billion annually,31 or around 23 to 24 per cent of GDP. Measures were adopted to provide new elderly residential care facilities, and to increase monthly subsistence payments to the elderly.32 When the economic contraction deepened, unemployment came to the top of Tung’s policy agenda. From 2000 to 2005, public constructions were increased to provide an additional 45,000 jobs annually, temporary contract jobs in public sectors were extended by 10,000, and billions of dollars were spent on retraining unskilled adults and unemployed youth.33 In his eight years in office, not one of Mr Tung’s policy speeches did not announce two or three programmes concerning these above-mentioned issues. Against the backdrop of these measures, Tung also worked ferociously to revive the ailing economy and to reduce the government deficit resulting from the economic contraction. Albeit within the framework, or the rhetoric, of ‘small government and big market’ doctrine which had been practised in Hong Kong since the colonial days, Tung sought to capitalize on the rapid economic development in the mainland as a strategy to cope with the ailing economy in the territory,34 a decision that caused intense dispute between him and his chief aide Anson Chan, the Chief Secretary for Administration. After he returned to office for a second term, Tung identified four industries as Hong Kong’s economic pillars: finance, logistics, tourism and producer services.35 In the following years, Tung worked meticulously to seek the central government’s support for these strategic areas. Consequently, the central government removed restrictions on the number of mainland visitors to the territory, allowing an influx of mainland tourists to Hong Kong. A Closer Economic Partnership Agreement was sealed to the effect that billions of imports into and exports from the mainland would enjoy tariff-free treatments, enabling the creation of tens of thousands of new jobs in the territory.36 Central government also discouraged Beijing’s municipal government from competing with Hong Kong for the construction of a Disneyland theme park.37 Consistently favourable central policies towards Hong Kong contributed to the economic revival in the territory, while helping to alleviate the pain of recession in the later half of Tung’s administration. Tung’s governing style as a regime-conservator working within the institutional limits of his office could be explained by a host of factors: Hong Kong’s historical change; the economic conditions that immediately followed the sovereignty transfer; Tung’s personal beliefs and values; and his experiences in government of the complexities of the tasks involved. As the first Chief Executive of the new Hong Kong Special Region, Tung had to meet the heightened expectations, clearly indicated in opinion polls, of the new administration brought by the sovereignty transfer. His policies could, if implemented successfully, cultivate a sense of belonging that was deemed important for the new administration at this historical juncture. Second, the persistent decline of economic growth in the first five years

Serving two masters 57 of Tung’s term in office compelled the government to address bread-and-butter issues, especially unemployment. Third, Tung’s preoccupation with livelihood issues was very much congruent with his own personal inclinations as a man raised in a traditional family. In his speeches, Tung often appeared genuinely to embrace many traditional Chinese values, calling upon the people to observe the collective good and social harmony, while stressing government’s obligation to take care of the needy. In the first Policy Address of his second term as Chief Executive, delivered in 2003, Tung made an emotional call to various parties to forgo political infighting and to work together for the benefit of the community: For ourselves and our next generation, I sincerely hope we can all put the community’s common interests first when we proceed along this path of development. We are all in the same boat and should, therefore, support and care for one other. We should, in particular, show our sympathy and do our best to take care of the disadvantaged in the community. 38 Tung’s governing strategy could also be well explained by his inclination to view politics as an unproductive undertaking. It was well known among his close aides that Tung disliked politics and perceived political activists and groups as selfseeking opportunists. At a private dinner with half a dozen academics which he hosted in 2001, Tung focused on soliciting their views on boosting growth and creating job opportunities, despite there being a number of political scientists present. Had he chosen to, he could have consulted these political scientists on how he might restore public confidence and improve his relationships with political parties.39 This incident is but one of numerous examples demonstrating Tung’s disregard for the political dynamics at play during his period in office. Finally, Tung’s preoccupation with livelihood issues might also be explained by his limited experience of public affairs. As a businessman, Tung’s exposure to the political world only began in 1992, when he was appointed as an Executive Councillor by the last colonial governor. His experience in politics had been largely confined to a role as an advisor, although he had served on the Basic Law Consultative Committee from 1985 to 1990.40 Given his skills and experience, to have ventured into such unfamiliar territories as promoting human rights, facilitating political dialogue among competing forces, or expanding the boundaries of the institutional framework of his office might have been perceived as extremely risky. In theory, Mr Tung’s governing strategy was a rational choice. Promoting growth and preserving social stability were the areas where the expectations of local inhabitants and the Beijing leaders converged. Hence, by focusing on breadand-butter issues, Tung would create a win–win situation for both parties, while allowing himself to occupy a comfortable position between the two masters. As S. K. Lau observed, ‘Tung’s governing style had an auspicious start. His paternalism was well received and his policy agenda was in general accord with that of the Hong Kong people.’41 But Tung failed to anticipate changes in circumstances brought about by the economic downturn. Tung’s strategy required sufficient resources, and the continuous downward spiral of economic growth seriously

58 The Political Future of Hong Kong called into question the affordability of his policy initiatives. Moreover, what had been intended to be apolitical turned out instead to be highly political. Competition among interest groups erupted over a range of policy initiatives. As the result of the continuous economic downturn after 1997, the government’s fiscal position worsened from 1998 to 2004: the government’s consolidated deficit rose from HK$23.3 billion for the 1998–9 fiscal year to HK$63.3 billion in 2001–2 fiscal year, and then to HK$40.1 billion for the 2003–4 fiscal year. It was not until the 2004–5 fiscal year, the year that Tung abruptly resigned, that the government regained a foothold with a surplus of HK$21.4 billion.42 This deterioration of the fiscal position meant the Tung administration had to streamline expenditure elsewhere in order to retain a budget balance. The administration therefore sought to reduce the size of the civil service establishment by 10 per cent, to impose salary reductions of 6 per cent, and to freeze the recruitment of civil servants across the board.43 These measures prompted fierce criticism from unions representing civil servants, and litigation against the government was brought forward by civil servants. Some of the policy initiatives appeared to have good intentions but in fact affected vested interests. For example, Tung’s education reforms met with serious resistance from teachers, who felt their job security was being undermined and their work habits seriously challenged by the reform measures. Tung’s initiative on housing policies was also perceived as aggravating the sharp decline in the property market initially caused by the Asian Financial Crisis. Frustration mounted among property owners. In the end, grievances and dissatisfaction over policy decisions were further fuelled by political parties, which organized various rallies on behalf of these adversely affected stakeholders. Consequently, the popularity of the Tung administration declined considerably in the years after he came to office. Despite his intention to avoid sensitive issues, Tung could not avoid situations where his loyalty would be put to an acid test. As provided by the Basic Law, the Hong Kong SAR government after its establishment had to translate Article 23 into local legislation. This article stipulates that the ‘Hong Kong Administrative Region should enact laws on its own to prohibit any act of treason, secession, sedition, or subversion against the Central People’s Government, or theft of state secrets, to prohibit foreign political organizations or bodies from conducting political activities in the Region and to prohibit political organizations or bodies of the Region from establishing ties with foreign political organizations or bodies’.44 After setting aside the legislation for five years, Tung’s administration, urged by Beijing leaders, put forward an anti-subversion bill for public consultation in 2002 and scheduled a vote on the bill concerned in the legislature in 2003.45 However, some in the community feared that the legislation would curb the liberty and freedom of Hong Kong people in terms of their organization and assembly for political events, and would allow state intrusion into Hong Kong affairs. Tung was not ready to withdraw the proposal even despite public suspicion. Tung’s Secretary for Security Regina Ip, a civil servant turned minister, lobbied forcefully for the introduction of the bill in the legislature, and engaged in heated debates with people from different walks of life in public forums and seminars. Since the government showed no intention of prolonging the consultation as demanded,

Serving two masters 59 80

Overall marks

70

60

50

40

30

2006/09 2006/06 2006/03 2005/12 2005/09 2005/06 2005/03 2004/12 2004/09 2004/06 2004/03 2003/12 2003/09 2003/06 2003/03 2002/12 2002/09 2002/06 2002/03 2001/12 2001/09 2001/06 2001/03 2000/07 1999/01 1997/07

Year/Month

Figure 3.2 Evaluation of the performance of the Chief Executive

legal professionals, in collaboration with political parties, organized a mass rally to protest against the proposed legislation. To the surprise of many, hundreds of thousands of people turned up to express their grievances. Many professionals, university and high school students, retirees and artists marched on the streets to express their discontent.46 The demonstration, later referred to as the ‘1 July grand rally’ was a concerted display of social discontent under the banner of democracy. Along with those who opposed the legislation of the anti-subversion bill and called for further democratization, there were also people expressing their grievances over government housing policies, civil service reform, rising unemployment, the government’s management of the SARS epidemic. The Chief Executive was severely criticized for serving the needs of central government at the expense of local needs. As the editor of the South China Morning Post lamented: One of the prime responsibilities of the Chief Executive of Hong Kong is to be accountable to the central government. No one could accuse Tung Chee-hwa of falling short of this requirement during the time he has been at the helm. There is, however another duty imposed on our city’s leader, and it is of equal importance – to represent and be accountable to, the people of Hong Kong. And it is here that Mr. Tung at times has been found wanting … 47 In view of the public outrage, the Liberal Party, the third largest party in the legislature, threw its weight behind the protesters. The sudden revolt of the Liberal Party left the government lacking the votes necessary to pass the bill in the legislature. The government had to postpone the legislation to an indefinite date. 48

60 The Political Future of Hong Kong Although Tung’s first term was seriously weighed down by political disputes, it was not until his second term that Tung began to take measures to revamp the political system. The Principal Officials Accountability System (POAS) unveiled in 2002 sought institutional changes in two respects. First, the top echelon of government positions, three secretaries and 11 bureau chiefs, became the political appointees of the Chief Executive, subject to the approval of central government. These officials served at the Chief Executive’s pleasure and would, in theory, be held accountable for policy errors and mishaps. Second, under the POAS the Executive Council was transformed by drawing leaders from larger political parties into the council, as unofficial members or ministers without portfolios.49 The new system represented a radical departure from the previous one, in which secretaries, who were also heads of policy bureaus, rose from the permanent civil service establishment. By making the top positions in the government into political appointments, the Chief Executive could now select his own allies from all walks of life, and build a loyal team of members with a similar outlook. This would help the Chief Executive avoid a passive situation where his close aides had different orientations on policies, a bitter experience that Tung had had with his close aide Anson Chan. The POAS hence worked to enhance the power of the Chief Executive in commanding compliance from his core executives. By appointing leaders from larger political parties on to the Executive Council, this reform would also lessen tension between the executive branch and the legislature and help to ensure the legislature’s approval of government policies. A governing coalition, between the Chief Executive, the Liberal Party, representing small and medium businesses, and the pro-Beijing Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong (DAB), began to be institutionalized. Finally, the POAS implied recognition of political parties as important players in the territory. Even for the political parties that emerged in the early 1990s, their functions as parties had not been legally recognized. The introduction of the POAS hence ushered in a political practice that would enhance the role of parties in local politics. In the end, the POAS quietly provided the fine details to the political system as defined by the Basic Law. It signified the remedies to the embedded tensions within the scope allowed by the mini-constitution. Unfortunately, Tung resigned before the benefit of the POAS was fully realized. In March 2005, Tsang came to power as Tung’s successor. Although his governing strategy would not be fully revealed until his return to office in July 2007 for a full term, he nonetheless exhibited some distinctive traits while governing the city between 2005 and 2006. In contrast to his predecessor, Tsang did not shy away from his political role. He appeared to embrace his political role by identifying himself as a ‘politician’ when he campaigned for the office in the by-election. In fact, on his return to office, Tsang was poised to be a political facilitator for dialogue between Hong Kong democrats and Beijing. Shortly after he assumed office, Tsang led 59 legislators on a two-day visit to the Pearl River Delta, including ten legislators from the pro-democracy camp who had been banned from setting foot on the mainland for the previous 16 years because of their support for

Serving two masters 61 the student movement in 1989. The Communist Party Secretary Jiang De-zhang, also a member of the Standing Committee of the central Politburo, came to receive the delegation. This ice-breaking meeting between central leaders and the veteran Hong Kong democrats thus sparked hopes for reconciliation between the two, and possible steps toward further democracy in Hong Kong. Tsang also sought to further alleviate tension between the executive and the legislature. Under the POAS set in motion by his predecessor, Tsang expanded the total number of non-official members in his new Executive Council to 15 so that he could appoint more members from political parties as ministers without portfolio.50 As a result, in addition to the Liberal Party and the DAB, who already secured representation on the previous Executive Council, a member from a small, but strategically important political group in the legislature and a former vice-chair of the Democratic Party were drawn into the cabinet.51 Moreover, Tsang proceeded to expand the POAS by increasing the layer of political appointees. A consultation paper was released shortly after, inviting opinions on the planned creation of 22 additional political appointees as aides to the appointed bureau chief, thus doubling the size of his governing team. 52 Tsang also revamped the Strategic Commission for Development, an advisory body established by his successor to formulate economic strategies. The Commission was transformed into a quasi-political venue in which constitutional development was debated and mapped out between competing forces. Its membership was expanded to 156, including representatives from political parties, district councils, professionals, and members of both Hong Kong and mainland business enterprises.53 As an advisory body without a constitutional presence, the Commission’s increased political weight appeared somewhat puzzling. But the Commission’s increased significance revealed the Chief Executive’s desire to gather opinions about constitutional development from channels other than the legislature, over which he had no firm control. Under Tsang’s leadership the Commission moved quickly to formulate principles for constitutional development. The Commission appeared to overstep the legislature and become positioned to become a constitution-making body, a development that enhanced Tsang’s political clout. Tsang’s short period in office provides insufficient evidence to assess fully his governing style. What has been seen so far is a lack of enthusiasm for particular welfare provisions, whether the housing programmes, the subsidies for the elderly or the job creation schemes that Tung had worked on religiously during his years in office. Of course, Tsang touched on all these issues, but was equally vocal about alleviating poverty, enhancing family values and continued investment in education. A few new policy areas have been identified, including the environment, social justice and fairness in competition,54 but it remains to be seen to what extent Tsang will be prepared to tackle these issues. In terms of economic policies, Tsang appears ready to go further along the path set by his predecessor in fostering close economic integration between Hong Kong and the mainland. He has frequently travelled to the neighbouring mainland cities, and has worked enthusiastically for the Pan-Pearl River Delta Regional Co-operation and Development Forum, an

62 The Political Future of Hong Kong initiative that brings together nine provinces and regions of southern China, along with the two Special Administrative Regions of Hong Kong and Macao for joint developmental tasks.55 When the eleventh five-year economic plan was formulated on the mainland, he made it known that he had lobbied the central government to secure the territory’s strategic positioning as a financial, logistic and trade centre in the national economic plan. A high profile economic summit was held in Hong Kong just before he announced his candidacy for the office of Chief Executive for the next five years. At this summit, business heavyweights gathered to elaborate strategies for capitalizing on the robust mainland economy for the benefit of the territory.56 Tsang’s distinctive approach to the office of Chief Executive, and its difference from his predecessor’s, can be explained by the changing socio-economic climate in which he took office, lessons learned from the previous administration, and his personal predispositions and experience as a seasoned civil servant. Tsang arrived in office with a recovering economy. Economic growth regained momentum and the unemployment rate declined steadily between 2003 and 2006. The extent of the unemployment problem had decreased compared with previous years, although growing income disparity has become an increasing concern. Furthermore, Tsang came to office in the wake of the mass demonstrations of summer 2003 that had contributed to Tung’s eventual downfall. Tung’s lack of support from the legislature and the community at large had been unmistakeably demonstrated. The friction between the executive branch and the legislature could no longer be brushed under the carpet. Inevitably, Tsang had to address the political issues, and further expanding the POAS was one means available to him. Tung’s strategy could also be explained by his natural predispositions. Coming from a humble family, Tsang moved up the ladder in the bureaucracy in his 40 years as a career civil servant. He held various important positions such as Director-General of Trade, Secretary of Treasury, and Financial Secretary in both the colonial and SAR governments. He had become well equipped with the necessary skills and competences for the conduct of public affairs before he attained the office of Chief Executive. He might not be a fighter for democracy by nature but he was savvy enough to understand the intricate relationship between politics and public administration. Despite positioning himself as a political leader, Tsang was nevertheless bruised shortly after he assumed power. In late 2005 Tsang’s government released a constitutional reform package, proposing to double the size of the Election Committee from 800 to 1600, and to increase the number of seats in the legislative council by 10 to 70. Half that increase was to be allocated to members directly returned from geographical constituencies, and half from functional constituencies.57 This package sought to broaden the constituency base for the Chief Executive as well as that for the legislature. Tsang, imitating the US president, appealed for the support of people through radio broadcast three times, a public relation exercise that Tung only learned in his later years in office. However, the proposal was defeated in the legislature. The image of Tsang’s new administration was seriously shattered as a consequence.

Serving two masters 63

Stressed Chief Executives: contingencies and structural flaws Examining the post-handover Hong Kong government, the performance of the new administrations was affected both by immediate contingencies and by intrinsic structural flaws. The contingencies are matters of the choices of the incumbents and of the economic conditions within which each incumbent had to carry out their respective governing strategies. It was in the context of such strategic choices that the structural flaws, including the ‘dual accountability’ paradox and the structural tensions between the executive branch and the legislature, manifested themselves. Institutional tensions was increased given, first, the absence of political parties serving as a glue between the two institutions, and, second, the political divide between an elite-dominated Election Committee and a multi-faceted legislature. The performance of the Tung administration was heavily weighed down by the unexpected economic downturn that hit the territory immediately after 1997. The unfavourable economic conditions not only limited his scope for manoeuvre but also precipitated agitation towards the new government. Tung constantly had to respond to a succession of economic crises, from the rise in unemployment, declining property prices, the depletion of government coffers, and rising concerns over expenditure on welfare provisions. In contrast, Tung’s successor came into office with a considerably improved economy. After nearly three years of economic revival, unemployment rate went down to 5.5 per cent for the 3rd quarter from a peak of 8.6 per cent, the growth rate returned to 6.5 per cent for the first half of 2005, and consumer confidence was restored as the consumer price index rose to positive territory in early 2005.58 The improved economy of 2005 gave Tsang the necessary conditions to introduce new policy initiatives should he choose to do so. Hence, the vast differences in short-term economic trends became a major contingent factor in the performance of the incumbent. A further crucial contingent factor is the choice of Chief Executive. Tung Cheehwa was chosen because he was seen as a trustworthy agent for central leaders, who was acceptable to all sides. While his integrity might have been impeccable, his experience in governing a post-colonial capitalist city was untested. Tung had served as an Executive Councillor for a number of years during the colonial era, but he was basically a stranger to government. Compared with Tsang, he lacked experience in conducting day-to-day government business, and was less sensitive to the dynamics surrounding his office. Moreover, he could not command the respect of and cooperation from a Civil Service that had been established in the colonial era. His rhetoric of ‘serving the people’ might have been the same old cliché used time and again by colonial governors, but his use of it within a paternalistic and nationalistic context was foreign to senior civil servants. They valued effectiveness and efficiency and approached government business with incrementalism. Tung’s inability to form a close affinity with senior officials was most clearly illustrated by the friction between him and Anson Chan. Their disagreement ranged from the introduction of the POAS system to the integration of Hong Kong’s economy with the mainland. It was only after Chan’s departure

64 The Political Future of Hong Kong that both initiatives could be set in motion, following which they proceeded at full steam in the following years. The choice of incumbent was crucial in the sense that it determined the choice of governing strategy. This can be seen in the diverse governing approaches to the office of the two chief executives. Tung chose to launch various social policies as key elements of his new administration, but his initiatives placed heavy demands on government resources. The persistent economic downturn of the period put the viability of this strategy in doubt. The policy to increase the supply of flats that he had so passionately launched was later quietly dropped, because of the continuing depletion of government coffers and the decline of the property market, a market that the government relied on for the bulk of its revenues. Furthermore, although his policy initiatives might have been at first apolitical, in fact they challenged vested interests. It was at this point that members of the civil service establishment and the elites in the Election Committee whose support was pivotal to his continued rule began to turn against him. Tsang, on the other hand, chose the consolidation of his political power as his foremost task upon assuming office. Although the recovering economy implied considerably improved resources for introducing welfare measures, Tsang did little to revive the policy initiatives of Tung’s administration, and neither did he venture into new measures that would have long-term implications for government resources. Tsang’s different approach to office may in part be explained by the nature of his role as an interim Chief Executive between 2005 and 2006 but most of the dissimilarity has to be explained by his sensitivity, as a government insider, to the political dynamics surrounding his office. Instead of providing housing units, or increasing subsidies for the elderly or social security provisions, Tsang began to strengthen the POAS and expand further the Executive Council under the banner of restoring strong government. Tsang’s political moves, including the re-engineering of the Commission for Strategic Development and the increase in the number of political appointees, show his skill in killing two birds with one stone. While these measures strengthened his political base, Tsang also appeared to be responding to the quest for democracy. Tsang’s acquaintance with domestic politics was also shown in his readiness to forgo programmes that raised controversy. Despite his desire to assert his authority, he decisively postponed government construction projects and the introduction of the Goods and Service Taxes when political debate became heated prior to elections for the Election Committee.59 However, Tsang could only work with the limited political resources at his disposal. Neither could he alone decide the pace and extent of democratic reform. This implies that the viability of Tsang’s approach would depend very much on the receptiveness of central government to the measures concerned. In this regard, Tsang, like his predecessor, has to strike a delicate balance between regimeconservator and regime-innovator within the space permitted by Beijing. Within each chosen strategy, institutionally embedded tensions became apparent. The separate existence of the executive branch and the legislature meant that collision between the two institutions would be the norm and collusion the exception. It would require the existence of commonality and mutual interest over a specific policy or bill for the two to cooperate. As a result the government must constantly

Serving two masters 65 lobby for support for the bills and policies it introduces and negotiate with the diverse political forces in the legislature. Institutional tension is increased by the lack of a governing party to reduce conflict between the two institutions as there would be in the American presidential system. The Chief Executive by local electoral law must be non-partisan.60 Hence situations can arise where the government becomes vulnerable, particularly when major political parties join hands to oppose it. The postponement of the anti-subversion legislation during the Tung administration is a case in point, and the withdrawal of the introduction of the Goods and Services Tax is another example in the Tsang administration. Indeed, the introduction of the POAS was intended to mitigate tensions between the executive and legislature by forming a quasi-cabinet in which coalition parties have a voice in the policy-making process. But the effect of this quasi-cabinet remains to be seen. So far, the prodemocracy parties continue to occupy more than 40 per cent of the legislative seats. When united, the pro-democracy parties can still humiliate the executive. The Chief Executive has been pulled apart by the competing demands of two independent institutions, the Election Committee and the legislature, both of them able to wield a degree of power over the Chief Executive. In a nutshell, the Election Committee, as an institution representing business tycoons, political notables and the rising bourgeoisie, is inclined to maintain the status quo. Policies with significant implications for the redistribution of resources or political power will inevitably meet resistance among the members of the Election Committee. The legislature, however, as an institution representing the masses, has been seized as a platform for liberal forces. Although the pro-democracy force by no means controls the legislature, it can nevertheless use the legislative chamber to promote a popular cause. The Chief Executive has to walk a fine line between the two institutions, and the respective interests they represent. Of course, the incumbent would become most vulnerable should he lose the support of the Election Committee, his constituency and also the dominant force in the society. The antiTung movement which emerged in 1999 demonstrates how the Chief Executive may lose the support of members in the Election Committee by introducing policy initiatives that affect vested interests. The open criticism of Tung’s administration from important figures in the Election Committee threatened his return to office for a second term. A crisis was only prevented when the central government intervened. This incident exemplifies how the Chief Executive must walk a thin line between preserving the status quo and conceding to popular demands. Finally, the ‘dual accountability’ of the Chief Executive also aggravates a tendency to performance failure. Although the Chief Executive is legally required to prioritize the interests of national government before those of locals, the liberal gestures of the Basic Law compel the incumbent to respond to the needs and desires of Hong Kong people. This gap between legal necessity and political sensitivity places a heavy burden on the incumbent, testing his political skills and competence in handling frictions between his two ‘masters’. Tung’s downfall over the anti-subversion legislation provides an example of fatally divided loyalty. However, it was clear that tensions among competing interest groups had been played out well before the ‘dual loyalty’ of the Chief Executive was called into

66 The Political Future of Hong Kong attention. The Chief Executive was blamed for all kinds of socio-economic ills and his removal was thought to be the solution. The awareness that the general public had little say in choosing the Chief Executive exacerbated the frustration. As a result, accumulated discontent sought expression in the political confrontation between the centre and the locals over the anti-subversion legislation. In this regard, the ‘dual loyalty’ dilemma of the Chief Executive was rather less salient than the predicament he faced trying with limited resources to manoeuvre among competing interest groups. But, of course, the former would complicate the latter, and the latter would precipitate the former problems. It remains to be seen whether a good record of performance in government will substantially reduce the stress on the office arising from competing interests within the territory and between the centre and the territory. It might be that a satisfactory performance by the Chief Executive will alleviate internal frictions, and foster a rapport between the local population and Beijing. But this remains hypothetical until the currently postponed anti-subversion legislation is re-tabled, at which point the issue of ‘dual accountability’ and the political sustainability of the existing Basic Law will again be tested. To conclude, both contingencies and structural flaws affected the performance of the Hong Kong government. Among the contingencies were the choices of the Chief Executive, and his selected governing strategies. But structural tensions surfaced when the designed strategy failed to achieve the expected results. In the case of Tung’s administration, it was resource implications and the politicization of his policy initiatives that contributed to his downfall. A person who combined political nous with a strategy sensitive to given socio-economic conditions was of primary importance for the post-handover Hong Kong government. The extent to which the incumbent can walk between hurdles, lead a civil service establishment, and reconcile competing demands to preserve vested interests and redistribute resources and powers has profound implications for how and whether structural weaknesses become manifest. However, while they place great demands on the Chief Executive, structural flaws are not necessarily fatal. Experience from the past decade demonstrates that legal provisions and practices mutually shape each other in order to define the exact meaning of an institution. The innovation of the POAS shows clearly that the Basic Law can evolve progressively to suit the political needs of the post-handover era. In addition, the different approaches adopted by the two executives suggest that the executive role is both institutionally defined but also subject to re-interpretations. In short, the Basic Law is not a straitjacket but a legal document which gives room for further evolution provided it is possible to reach consensus between competing political players.

Notes 1 Basic Law, Article 43, para. 2. 2 Tung Chee-hwa, ‘Interview by the new China news agency, December 20, 1996’, in Chinese Leaders’ Discussion on Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Mingchuang Publishing Co., 1997), p. 241. 3 Lee Kuan Yew, the former Prime Minister of Singapore for example, pointed out that the difficulty

Serving two masters 67

4 5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12

13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

26

of the Chief Executive lay with his/her ‘thankless job’ of serving two masters, Takung Pao, 13 March 2005. This interpretation of ‘the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region’ as an interchangeable term with ‘the Hong Kong people’ is also shared by Hong Kong scholars. A. B. L. Cheung, ‘The changing political system’; and T. K. Y. Wong, ‘The changing public perception of the Chief Executive’; both in The First Tung Chee-hwa Administration: The First Five Years of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, S. K. Lau (ed.) (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2002), pp. 54–5 and p. 393 respectively. Basic Law, Article 45, para. 1, 25 and Annex I. The Hong Kong population stood at 6,900,000 in 2006 according to the government census, Mingpao, 23 February 2007. Takung Pao, 17 May 2006. The Election Committee of 2006 was composed of members from four sectors of society, with a total of 38 sub-sectors. While 60 incumbent legislators, 36 Hong Kong delegates to the NPC, and 40 representatives nominated by religious groups automatically assume membership in the Election Committee, the rest were elected within each sub-sectors with eligible corporations, associations, or individuals. Hong Kong Government, Electoral Affairs Commission, Guidelines on Electionrelated Activities in respect of the Election Committee Subsector Elections, www.eac.gov.hk/en/ ecse/ecse_guide.htm, Appendix B, C, D, E and F (accessed 28 February 2007). Hong Kong Government, Electoral Affairs Commission, Guidelines on Election-Related Activities in Respect of the Election Committee Subsector Elections. Basic Law, Article 15 and Article 48, para. 5. Ibid., Article 45 and Article 73. Ibid., Article 64. Bills proposed by the government must obtain a single majority vote, while bills, motions and amendments to government bills must obtain a simple majority in each of the two groups: functional constituencies and geographical constituencies, together with, before 2004, the members returned from the Election Committee, Basic Law, Appendix II, para. 2. Basic Law, Article 49 and Article 50. Ibid., Article 52. Ibid., Article 73, para. 9. Ibid., Article 73. Article 81 of the Basic Law stipulates that the judicial system previously practised in Hong Kong should be maintained, except for those changes consequent upon the establishment of the Court of Final Appeal of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. A legal review of administrative action thus continues to function in the SAR, though it is seen as ‘weak’ compared with the legal review of the constitutionality of legislations, J. E. Lane, Constitutions and Political Theory (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), p. 153. Notwithstanding, the quest for judicial review of government policies increased in the post-handover years, the issues involved ranging from the government’s decision to cut civil servants’ pay levels, to the decision on land reclamation in the Victoria Harbour area. Basic Law, Article 17. Ibid., Article 158. Ibid., Article 159. University of Hong Kong, ‘Public opinion programme’, hkupop/hku.hk (accessed 28 February 2007). University of Hong Kong, ‘Public opinion programme’. S. K. Lau, ‘Political culture: traditional or western’, in Indicators of Social Development: Hong Kong 1997 (Hong Kong: The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1999), pp. 142–3. S. K. Lau and H. C. Kuan, The Ethos of the Hong Kong Chinese (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1988), p. 80. Lau’s survey indicated that 32.1 per cent stressed traditional Chinese values and 27.4 per cent stressed Western values, while 31.1 per cent thought Hong Kong needed both Chinese and Western values. S. K. Lau, ‘Political culture: traditional or western’, p. 144. Lau, ‘Political culture: traditional or western’, pp. 143–4.

68 The Political Future of Hong Kong 27 Yun-han Chu and Yu-tzung Chang, ‘Culture shift and regime legitimacy: comparing mainland China, Taiwan and Hong Kong’, in Chinese Political Culture 1989–2000 (New York: M.E. Sharpe, 2001), p. 332. 28 Chu and Chang, ‘Culture shift and regime legitimacy’, pp. 331–2. 29 Tung Chee-hwa, Building Hong Kong for a New Era, Policy Address 1997, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/ pa97/english/paindex.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 30 Tung Chee-hwa, From Adversity to Opportunity, Policy Address 1998, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/ pa98/english/index.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 31 Tung, From Adversity to Opportunity. 32 Tung Chee-hwa, Building Hong Kong for a New Era, and From Adversity to Opportunity. 33 Tung Chee-hwa, Seizing Opportunities for Development, Promoting People-based Governance, Policy Address 2004, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/pa04/eng/index.htm, and Working together for Economic Development and Social Harmony, Policy Address, 2005, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/ 2005/eng/index.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 34 Tung Chee-hwa, Capitalizing Our Advantages, Revitalizing Our Economy, Policy Address 2003, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/pa03/eng/p17.htm. 35 Ibid. 36 Hong Kong SAR Government, Press Release April 15, 2005, www.info.gov.hk/gia/general/ 200504/13/04130180.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 37 K. Poon and H. C. Kuan, ‘The hollowing-out of the one country two systems framework: China’s Hong Kong policy in a changing context’, in China’s Challenge in the Twenty-First Century, Joseph Cheng (ed.) (Hong Kong: City University of Hong Kong Press, 2003), pp. 702–3. 38 Tung, Capitalizing Our Advantages, Revitalizing Our Economy. 39 Author’s interview. 40 Xinhua New Agency, http://news.xinhuanet.com/ziliao/2002-03/07/content_305338.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 41 S. K. Lau, The First Tung Chee-hwa Administration: The First Five Years of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, S. K. Lau (ed.) (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2002), p. 7. 42 Hong Kong SAR Government, The 2006–7 Budget: Information Pack for the Financial Secretary’s Consultations, November 2006, www.budget.gov.hk/2007/eng/pdf/information_pack.pdf (accessed 1 March 2007). 43 Tung, Capitalizing Our Advantages, Revitalizing Our Economy. 44 Basic Law, Article 23. 45 Qian Qi-shen, ‘The vice-premier had publicly urged the Hong Kong government to enact local legislation on the anti-subversion law’, in South China Morning Post, 18 July 2003. 46 South China Morning Post, 2 July 2003. 47 South China Morning Post, 6 March 2004. 48 Government of Hong Kong, ‘Proposal to implement Article 23 of the Basic Law’, www.basiclaw23.gov.hk/english/index.htm (accessed 28 February 2007). 49 Tung Chee-hwa, Building on Our Strength, Investing on Our Future, Policy Address 2001, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/pa01/e131.htm and Xinhuanet (24 June 2002). 50 Donald Tsang, Strong Governance for the People, Policy Address 2005–6, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/ 05-06/. 51 Hong Kong SAR Government, the Executive Council, www.ceo.gov.hk/exco/eng/members.htm (accessed 15 March 2007). 52 Ibid. 53 Donald Tsang, Strong Governance for the People; and Proactive Pragmatic Always People First, Policy Address 2006–7, www.policyaddress.gov.hk/06-07/ (accessed 15 March 2007). 54 Donald Tsang, Strong Governance for the People; Proactive Pragmatic Always People First. 55 Donald Tsang, Speech at Hong Kong-Guangdong Business Forum in Vancouver, www.pprd.org.cn/ hkenglish/speeches1/200510/t20051031_3861.htm (accessed 11 September 2007 56 Hong Kong SAR Government, ‘Economic submit on China’s eleventh five-year plan and the development of Hong Kong’, www.info.gov.hk/info/econ_summit/eng/index.html (accessed 28 February 2007).

Serving two masters 69 57 Open Magazine, 1 December 2005. 58 Hong Kong SAR Government, The 2006–7 Budget: Information Pack for the Financial Secretary’s Consultation. 59 The consultation for the introduction of Goods and Services Tax was introduced as a measure to broaden the tax base by the Tsang administration, but was eventually withdrawn in 2006 because of opposition from all three major political parties, including the government-allied Liberal Party and the DAB, www.info.gov.hk/gia/general/200607/18/P200607180110.htm(accessed 1 March 2007). 60 Hong Kong SAR Government, Constitutional Affairs Bureau, ‘Guidelines to the election of Chief Executive’, www.eac.gov.hk/pdf/chief/en/2007_CE_Guidelines/CE_Chap01.pdf (accessed 1 March 2007).

4

Contesting the boundaries Beijing and democrats in action

Today I saw tens of thousands of people taking part in a rally for democracy and asking for a road map and a timetable for introducing universal suffrage in Hong Kong. Let me say this to them: I have heard their voice, I have felt their feelings and I share their pursuit; and the Central Government perfectly understands their aspirations. [ … ] We are working hard to achieve this. Both the Central Government and this Administration are actively leading this community towards universal suffrage in an orderly fashion … I am 60 years of age. I certainly want to see universal suffrage taking place in Hong Kong in my time. Chief Executive Donald Tsang Yam-kuen, 4 December 20051

In the post-handover years, Hong Kong was inflamed by social discontent. Rallies and marches emerged with a breathtaking frequency unseen in the history of Hong Kong. Waves of protests first appeared as Hong Kong’s economy dived into negative territory between 1999 and 2000. During that period, those who appeared unlikely to be social activists suddenly found demonstrating to be a convenient method for airing their grievances. For example, over one thousand doctors staged a protest against the government’s revamp of the medical professionals’ grading structure. Social welfare workers marched on the street to protest the government’s decision to change the financing system of non-government organizations. Two thousand property owners rallied to vent their anger over asset depletion. Residents rallied to protest against the government’s urban renewal plans. Students and mainlanders jointly marched against the ruling of the Standing Committee of the NPC on the right-of-abode case.2 In these rallies, protesters blamed Tung for the problems, and chanted ‘Down with Tung’ as the solution to the issues that concerned them.3 Tung’s return to office for a second term in 2002 was greeted with an even larger scale of social disturbance. A huge rally amassed in July 2003 over the issue of anti-subversion legislation , and similar protests calling for universal suffrage continued to arise, albeit with fewer followers, in subsequent years. It was not until the beginning of 2006 that the momentum of social unrest began to lose steam. In a nutshell, the developing movement calling for Tung’s resignation and the

Contesting the boundaries 71 introduction of universal suffrage for the Chief Executive represented challenges from local liberal democratic forces, aiming at contesting the boundaries of state authority and local autonomy. As a link between communist mainland China and capitalist Hong Kong, the office of Chief Executive has inevitably become a focus of the conflict. The abrupt leadership changes in the spring of 2005 was but one manifestation of the contest, underlying the reframing of strategies on the part of the party-state when confronted with rigorous challenges. But, as events of the previous decade illustrated, both challengers and defenders had to conduct their strategies within a rapidly changing social climate. They have both taken advantage of the opportunities provided by circumstances, but have also been constrained by their respective institutional situations. The complexities and intricacies of the dynamic interplay between Hong Kong democrats and the Beijing authorities in the last decade provide useful lessons for predicting the likely political trajectory of the region’s future.

Declining amid uprisings: the irony of pro-democracy parties The rise of social discontent in the late 1990s was immediately exploited by prodemocracy parties to support their demands for further democratization in Hong Kong. They were quick to attribute unsatisfactory economic performance, administrative blunders, rising unemployment rate and the discontent over reform initiatives to problems in the political system, and called for the introduction of direct election for the selection of the Chief Executive and for the Legislative Council. As such, the social unrest that emerged in 1999 created a social environment that was conducive to the democracy movement, and provided opportunities to expand the support base for pro-democracy political parties. However, although they were entering a period of social unrest from which they should have benefited, the prodemocracy parties were actually on their way to imminent decline. The pro-democracy party alliance, a loose association of political parties that often voted in line within the Legislative Council,4 witnessed its social support dwindling and its alliance weakened between 1999 and 2003. Led by the Democratic Party, the alliance included The Frontier, the Hong Kong Confederation of Trade Unions (HKCTU) and the Hong Kong Association for Democracy and People’s Livelihood (HKADPL) as its core members. These parties had gained seats in the legislative chamber after direct elections for the Legislative Council were introduced by the colonial government in the mid-1990s. These parties had established district offices, and were represented on the territory’s 18 District Councils, although their relative political strength, on both the Legislative Council and the District Councils, varied considerably.5 The pro-democracy parties only just passed their first electoral test, the 1999 District Council election. This election was held to select 390 councillors across the 18 geographic districts.6 Although the Democratic Party put up 170 candidates, it only managed to secure 86 seats. While the party preserved its position as the largest political party in the District Councils, it could only achieve a

72 The Political Future of Hong Kong slim margin, 3 seats, over its rival, the Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and the Progress of Hong Kong (DAB), the leftist party which often voted to support the administration in the legislature. This electoral result alarmed the Democratic Party because its electoral advantage over the DAB was now significantly undercut. While the DAB had made significant inroads to electoral success, lifting its level of support from 45 per cent in the 1994 District Council election to 47 per cent in 1999, the Democratic Party’s own level of support had dropped from 56 per cent to 50 per cent over the same period. 7 The signs of decline were repeated a year later when the first post-97 Legislative Council election took place. The Democratic Party was able to preserve 12 seats, retaining its position as the largest political party in the legislature, but the percentage of votes gained by the party fell by 8 per cent, from 42 per cent in 1995 to 34 per cent in 2000. In contrast, the rival DAB raised its share of votes over the same period by 5 per cent, to 29.6 per cent. As a result, the DAB won 11 seats, a sharp increase of 3 seats from the previous election, making it now the second largest political party in the legislature. This electoral result demonstrated the vulnerability of the Democratic Party to a drop in voter turn-out, which dropped sharply from over 50 per cent in 1995 to a mere 43.5 per cent in 2000. On the other hand this result illustrated the resilience of the DAB. It was able to retain its core supporters despite being ripped apart by an alleged scandal involving its vice-president at the peak of the campaign.8 If the signals from these two elections were not enough to show the looming dangers for pro-democracy parties, the opinion polls conducted by the Chinese University of Hong Kong confirmed a steady decline in public support for the Democratic Party as a flagship of the pro-democracy party alliance. Those respondents who believed the Democratic Party was the party that most closely represented their interests dwindled quickly within a matter of only three years, from 22 per cent in January 1996 to 16.3 per cent in November 1999, when the first post-97 District Council election took place. The decline continued in the following year, and by the time the first post-97 Legislative Council election was held, the percentage of respondents identifying themselves with the Democratic Party was further trimmed to 15 per cent.9 This persistent downward trend illustrated the diminishing social support for the Democratic Party, if not the pro-democracy party alliance as a whole. In the context of rising social unrest, the Democratic Party’s decline between 1997 and 2000 seemed at odds with political conditions that ought to have been favourable to the party’s platform. These contradictory developments, however, illustrated a predicament of the pro-democracy parties at this historical juncture. As a leading party in the pro-democracy party alliance, the Democratic Party between 1999 and 2000 had been weighed down by internal splits. Conflict broke out over a range of issues, including the political platform, economic policies and power struggles among the senior and junior members. While moderates in the party advocated a more conciliatory attitude towards Beijing and the Tung administration, thus shifting the party towards the middle ground, other members insisted that the party should stand firm on rejecting anything that fell short of

Contesting the boundaries 73 universal suffrage. In addition to ideological differences, the party was divided on labour issues. Faced with growing grievances among the grass roots constituents about rising unemployment and increasing hardship, some party radicals in the party pressed the case for a minimum wage; other party members, however, opted for a continued pro-free market stance. Finally, disputes also broke out over the continued dominance of senior party leaders in decision-making processes. Younger party members pressed the case for more opportunities for junior members in the elections and for leadership positions in the party.10 The infighting ended with the unseating of a moderate vice-chairman of the party in 1989, the resignation from the party of veteran party members, and the defection of a dozen young mavericks. In the following years the maavericks went over to The Frontier, which was relatively loosely organized but politically more radical.11 But the internal splits of the Democratic Party merely reflected the wider political context within which the Democratic Party sought to survive. As the weaknesses of Tung’s administration continued to become apparent, there emerged a tendency to politicize social and economic issues, with a resulting proliferation of small activist groups with a propensity for radical political platforms. This increasing social radicalism had serious implications for the Democratic Party and the pro-democracy party alliance in the legislature as a whole. First, the pro-democracy parties could no longer monopolize the political scene. As doctors, students and property owners took to the streets, they were organized by unions, associations, charismatic figures and even pro-government parties. As early as 2000, the Liberal Party, which was allied to the government, started to organize rallies,12 and another government ally, the DAB, jumped on the bandwagon some time later, with the result that the DAB saw its popularity increase. The percentage of respondents who saw DAB as representing their best interests rose almost 10 percentage points from May 1997 to September 2000.13 The emergence of small groups and the increased activity of the rival parties undercut the social base of the pro-democracy parties. Second, within the pro-democracy party alliance, a subtle redistribution of power occurred. Although the biggest party in the legislature, the Democratic Party nevertheless found its sister groups gaining popularity at its own expense. Opinion polls illustrated a gradual climb of The Frontier and the HKCTU. Those respondents who saw The Frontier as mostly representing their interests rose from 0.6 per cent in September 1996 to 3.2 per cent in August 2000, a month before the first post-handover legislative election took place. Likewise, those who believed the HKCTU mostly represented their interests increased from 0.2 per cent in August 1997 to 1.9 per cent in September 2000.14 The effect of these changes was the weakening of the Democratic Party in particular, and the crowding-out of the pro-democracy party alliance as a whole, although the first signs of this were very subtle. The elections of 1999 and 2000 paved the way for the eventual downfall of the Democratic Party as the flagship of the democracy movement in 2003. When the mass rally triggered by the anti-subversion legislation occurred in July 2003, it was organized by over three dozen organizations under the banner of the Civil Human Rights Front. The Civil Human Rights Front included political parties,

74 The Political Future of Hong Kong human rights groups, gay rights and women’s rights advocacy groups, media organizations, the office of district councillors, and mainland human rights groups based in Hong Kong.15 The Democratic Party and its allied parties such as The Frontier and the HKCTU were only a handful among the many who mobilized the collective action. Further influences on the mass rally were radio programme hosts and newspapers who held critical views on the government.16 Apple Daily printed calls for participation on its front pages on the days preceding the mass rally. Joseph Zen Ze-kiun, a Roman Catholic Cardinal and bishop of Hong Kong, took part in a prayer gathering at the Victorian Park before the rally began. The landslide victory of the rally, in terms of its impressive turn-out and its later impact on leadership change, established the reputation of civil groups in Hong Kong. Subsequently, two seemingly contradictory but logical and inter-related developments emerged in mid-2003. As much as the mass demonstration against the anti-subversion legislation signalled the peak of the social movement in the post-handover years, so it also declared the Democratic Party’s loss of its leadership position in the pro-democracy movement. Riding on the tide of the mass rally, the pro-democracy party alliance as a whole won a landslide victory in the District Council election that immediately followed. Of the 226 candidates from pro-democracy parties, 150 gained seats in the election. The Democratic Party alone sent 95 members to the District Councils.17 But that temporary rebound did not prevent a serious realignment of the pro-democracy parties once a new face appeared on the horizon. This realignment paralleled with the formation of a broader pan-democracy camp, the collaboration of prodemocracy political parties and civil groups inside and outside the legislative chamber.

Reinventing to stay alive: the dilemma of the Civic Party As the constitutional review process began to unfold in the spring of 2004, a new face, the Article 45 Concern Group, began to emerge. As the name of the group suggested, this group was composed of barristers who organized themselves on a platform requesting the implementation of the promised direct elections for the office of Chief Executive as stipulated in Article 45 of the Basic Law. The core members of this group received extensive media exposure in the preceding mass rallies, including the protests against the Standing Committee’s ruling on the rightof-abode case, and the mass rally against the anti-subversion legislation. The professional background of the group gave it immense credibility in society since political disputes entailed legal expertise. The group also gained trust from the community because of its communicative attitude towards Beijing, which was seen as an alternative to the Democracy Party and its allied parties who had met with little success in engaging in dialogue with the central and Hong Kong governments. The group saw its public ratings soar in a matter of months. By the time had come for the election of the new Legislative Council in summer 2004, the core members had already geared up for the electoral competition. As a result, all four candidates from the Article 45 Concern Group succeeded in the election.

Contesting the boundaries 75 The arrival of the Article 45 Concern Group had a tremendous impact on the composition of the pro-democracy party alliance within the Legislative Council. Despite a record voter turnout of 55.6 per cent, the Democratic Party only secured nine seats, a massive loss compared with the 12 seats it won in 2000. The Frontier, a sister party in the alliance, also failed to keep the two seats it won in the previous election, managing only to preserve one. But with the four seats won by the Article 45 Concern Group, and seats gained by independent pro-democracy candidates, the size of the pro-democracy party alliance was in effect expanded. Hence, the pro-democracy alliance could wield from 20 to 25 votes out of a total of 60, depending on the votes of the independent pro-democracy legislators on the margin of the alliance.18 The rise of the Article 45 Concern Group in the legislature was extremely significant for the pro-democracy party alliance as a whole. Although only the second largest group within the alliance, the Group was nonetheless positioned to be the glue that would hold the alliance together within the legislative chamber. Given the unequivocal decline of the Democratic Party and the ascent of maverick independent pro-democracy legislators, the alliance appeared on the verge of collapse due to increased diversity. The possibility of disintegration also appeared imminent due to the presence of the rejuvenated rival coalition. Both the DAB and the Liberal Party won a handsome margin in the election, the former rising to become the largest political party after scooping up 12 seats, while the latter increased its seats to 11.19 As a consequence the importance of the Article 45 Concern Group to the pro-democracy party alliance was evident, ushering in an inevitable realignment within the alliance. From mid-2004 to late 2005, the Article 45 Concern Group increasingly became the centre of gravity for the pro-democracy parties. Before assuming a leadership role, however, the Group had to pass a test that the Democratic Party seemed to have failed. It had to show solidarity with other groups in the pan-democracy camp, taking what opportunities it could in order to expand its support. The risk was that it could lose its independence of political judgement and the ability to act rationally if its relationship with the pan-democracy camp became too intertwined. In fact, the civil rights groups had taken over the flag of universal suffrage. The mass rally on the anniversary of Hong Kong’s handover had become an annual event organized by the Civil Human Rights Front, although the Front’s exact composition was constantly changing. Slogans such as ‘Striving for universal suffrage for 2007 and 2008’, ‘Opposing Government–business collusion, striving for comprehensive direct elections’, and ‘Equality, justice for a New Hong Kong, democracy and universal suffrage for new hopes’ were adopted as themes for the protests. Indeed, this continued campaign for universal suffrage gave all pro-democracy parties the opportunity to cultivate their constituencies, and parties were compelled to stand firm and show solidarity and identity with civil rights groups. However, the continued activism of civil rights groups also presented a problem for these parties. They were increasingly out of the driving seat for directing political development. As such they were extremely slow, and maybe also reluctant, to respond to changes in the public mood that occurred shortly after 2003.

76 The Political Future of Hong Kong In fact, from early 2004, Hong Kong’s economy began to show signs of revival. As the GDP reached positive territory, employment improved and consumer confidence started to rise. Social grievances began to subside once the government decided to postpone its anti-subversion legislation , and two cabinet members were sacked in the aftermath of the mass rally. The unexpected resignation of Tung Cheehwa in the spring of 2005 further reduced public grievances with Beijing and the Hong Kong government. Then, upon his arrival in office, the new Chief Executive showed his readiness to facilitate communications between the pro-democracy parties and Beijing by initiating an ice-breaking trip for all legislators to Guangdong, including those from the pro-democracy parties who had been forbidden to step on mainland soil since the 4 June incident of 1989. Meanwhile, Beijing, under the centralized leadership of vice-president Zeng Qing-hong, extended an olive branch by inviting members of the Article 45 Concern Group to seminars and forums where both sides debated constitutional development. This ushered in a period of detente and diplomacy, between the Beijing and Hong Kong governments on the one hand and the democrats on the other, between late 2004 and the first half of 2005. Public expectations regarding possible compromise between Beijing and the pro-democracy parties thus rose in view of the improvements in communication between the two sides. A big test for the Article 45 Concern Group occurred in October 2005 when the Hong Kong government, under the leadership of the new Chief Executive, released its constitutional reform package. This reform package proposed two major changes in Hong Kong’s political system. First, the membership of the Election Committee would be doubled from 800 to 1600, the bulk of the increase going to 529 District Councillors from the 18 District Councils, including those appointed by the government. Second, the number of legislators would increase from 60 to 70, five of the new members being directly elected from geographical districts, and the other five new members being returned from a new and yet-to-bedefined Functional Constituency for District Councils.20 Initially, the pro-democracy party alliance indicated their willingness to approve the proposal on condition that the 159 appointed members in the District Councils would be excluded from the expanded Election Committee. Many in the pro-democracy alliance, including members of the Article 45 Concern Group, were ready to approve the proposal should such an amendment be made, although hardliners in the alliance disagreed.21 Those who were willing to approve the package anticipated that Beijing would make such a concession; the Chief Executive, however, hinted that the chance for concession was slim.22 In the following weeks, the political winds shifted abruptly to a radical direction. Some in the alliance stepped up the call for full democracy by launching a signature campaign in newspapers. A dozen political parties and civil groups began to prepare for another mass rally to be held just before the vote on the reform proposal took place in the legislature. Suddenly, the stakes were raised, when the democrats called for a timetable and roadmap to full election to be attached to the proposal as the condition for their votes. In an attempt to establish dialogue with the pro-democracy alliance before the mass rally, representatives from the

Contesting the boundaries 77 Standing Committee of NPC and HKMAO invited social notables, including legislators from the Article 45 Concern Group, to a meeting, but the group turned down the invitation.23 The Chief Executive also repeatedly appealed to the public for support on television and radio programmes.24 But all these efforts were in vain. The 24 members in the pro-democracy party alliance showed remarkable unity, and the reform proposal was eventually vetoed in the legislature at the end of 2005.25 The exact cause for the sudden shift in the demand for concessions, from a limited to a comprehensive one requesting a timetable and roadmap for universal suffrage, remains unknown. But several explanations can be advanced in light of the events preceding the shift. It could be that the alliance became convinced, following its initial intention to accept the package on condition of small changes to the original proposal, that Beijing could afford a bigger concession. Thus, it organized the rally in order to press the button on Beijing, a button that had worked in 2003. After all, the then incumbent Tung Chee-hwa was eventually removed because of a mass rally. Another possible explanation was that the Article 45 Concern Group saw the political debate surrounding the electoral reform proposal as an opportunity to enhance its political appeal. It thus went along with the radical shift, and may even have helped to mobilize for the rally. This explanation is congruent with the fact that the Group announced its plan to form a political party just before the rally took place, thus boosting the morale of the protestors. Another possible calculation was that defeat of the reform proposals would shatter the image of the new Chief Executive. Tsang could become a lame duck after the rally just like his predecessor, in which case Beijing might have to consider another leadership change. In either case, organizing a rally to push for greater concessions appeared to be more a calculated strategy than a pure accident. Whatever the calculations behind the shift, the rally did not achieve its intended results, nor did the turn-out this time match that on 1 July 2003. 26 Beijing sat idle over the news of the defeat of the reform proposal in the Legislative Council. The new Chief Executive vowed to put the incident behind him and to work on economic issues instead. The defeat of the the government’s reform proposal brought both advantages and disadvantages for the pro-democracy parties. Politically, the pro-democracy parties within the legislative chamber showed unity with the civil organizations outside, and demonstrated the ability to flex their political muscles to the Hong Kong and the central governments. At the same time, however, the veto meant that parties were undermining their own future. The increased seats in the legislature and the expansion of the Election Committee would have meant increased opportunities for those sitting on the backbenches. The proposals, if approved, would have increased the appeal of political parties as a career for aspiring young people, and could have rejuvenated the aging parties. Rejecting the reform proposals was thus almost like committing political suicide. And while vetoing the reform proposal boosted the credibility of the pro-democracy parties among those at the liberal extreme of the political spectrum it irritated those in the middle and at the conservative end. Polls suggested the majority of Hong Kong people, 58.8 per

78 The Political Future of Hong Kong cent, accepted the government reform package on its announcement by the government in October while only 23.6 per cent expressed their disapproval.27 And although 66 per cent of respondents supported the idea of including a timetable for full democracy in the reform package, only 35 per cent of respondents agreed with the proposition that the pro-democracy parties should veto the package if the government rejected the timetable idea, and 56 per cent of respondents disapproved of such a veto.28 The success of the pro-democracy parties in vetoing the reform package was at the same time a curse that would eventually come to haunt them. Riding on their victory over the reform proposal, the Article 45 Concern Group completed its transformation from a barristers’ club into a broadly-based political party, the Civic Party, in early 2006. The new party drew its core members from the academic circle, the civil rights groups, the media and the social service sector. Its establishment as a formal political party strengthened its position among the pro-democracy parties. But the pro-democracy alliance seemed to plunge into another crisis. It was evident that neither the Hong Kong nor the central government would introduce any constitutional reform for a considerable period. Yet, constrained by legislative rules, the pro-democracy parties could hardly propose reform on their own. In other words, pro-democracy parties would be stuck with the status quo for a long time. Prolonged stalemate would damage the pro-democracy parties, and, in fact, all groups seeking entrance into existing institutions. The new party, as well as the alliance as a whole, appeared to be trapped in a dead-end that they had helped to create. In the summer of 2006, the Civic Party moved to reframe its strategy in order to get out of the trap. The Civic Party decided to put up a candidate for the post of Chief Executive in 2007. Accordingly, the party would participate in the selection of the Election Committee held at the end of 2006. This about-turn had been attempted by the Democratic Party a year previously. After many years of boycotting the election of the Chief Executive for fear of ‘legitimizing an undemocratic process’, in 2005 the Democratic Party put forward its president to compete in the election of the Chief Executive. The attempt was ill-fated because the candidate did not receive sufficient nominations to formally enter the race.29 This time the Civic Party took over from where the Democratic Party had left off, and mobilized all its affiliates to compete in the election of the Election Committee so that its candidate could secure enough nominations to enter the race. This decision contrasted sharply with the move to veto the reform package in the previous year. The veto was an uncompromising gesture, suggesting that pro-democracy parties would accept nothing less than the certainty of universal suffrage. However, the decision to take part in the selection of the Chief Executive signalled a degree of compromise with the existing political order. Although a pragmatic move, the about-face was nonetheless rejected by The Frontier and other pro-democracy mavericks in the alliance. The reframed strategy proved a huge success for the Civic Party and the prodemocracy parties as a whole. By mobilizing democracy sympathizers in different professions, the pro-democracy camp together won 134 seats out of the 800 selectors in the Election Committee.30 The Civic Party candidate could thus secure the necessary nominations, and formally entered the race as the candidate for Chief

Contesting the boundaries 79 Executive. In the spring of 2006, election forums were televised that featured the public appearance of two candidates, modelled on presidential debates in the United States. For the first time in Hong Kong’s history an opposition challenger was able to contest the territory’s foremost important political office.31 The contest for the office of Chief Executive consequently gained much greater significance, and changed the nature of the election. While previous elections were conducted as games within an exclusive club, the election this time was a show for the general public. The incumbent was expected to win within the elitist Election Committee, but constant public opinion polling conducted by independent institutions nonetheless made it a quasi-general election in which both candidates had to appeal for public support. In short, the shift from boycott to participation in the election of the Chief Executive in 2007 not only allowed the pro-democracy parties to pull themselves out of their political predicament but also effectively reshaped the political dynamics of the existing institutional framework.

Old coalition and new realities: the party-state’s steep learning curve For Beijing too, the politics of the post-handover years compelled it to constantly search for new strategies to cope with new situations. On the surface, the political contour of the post-handover years does not present a vast difference to that of the transitional years. The party-state continued to rely on its established coalition to govern capitalist Hong Kong and to fend off challenges from pro-democracy forces. The governing coalition comprised three main groupings, the first two being the business heavyweights and the corporate professional elites – bankers, accountants, engineers, architects, and so on, who wished to preserve a freewheeling capitalist market combined with managerialism, meritocracy, and a perceived equal opportunity for career advancement protected by existing law and order.32 Beijing’s alliance with conservative business and professional interests was formed during Hong Kong’s transitional years, and became institutionalized in the post-handover political system, as can be seen from the over-representation of business and professional interests in the Election Committee, the preservation of seats for professionals in the design of the Functional Constituencies, or representation based on professions such as industry, business, accountants, lawyers, and so on in the legislature. Until 2012, the number of legislators returned from Functional Constituencies will remain balanced against those directly elected from geographical districts.33 In fact, many Hong Kong business tycoons and professionals had already been absorbed into the Hong Kong delegations to the NPC and CPPCC, as a result of Beijing’s efforts to co-opt Hong Kong business interests, made necessary by the sovereignty transfer. Within their dual role, both as important business figures and as delegates to the NPC and CPPCC, they guarded carefully the political status quo in the Election Committee, and in the legislature. The business tycoons and professional elites, however, exerted their policy-making influence quietly, either in their own personal capacity, or through the business and professional associations whose connections with the HKMAO in Beijing

80 The Political Future of Hong Kong dated back to the transitional years.34 Within this coalition, however, there was also an organized business and professional interest, the Liberal Party, representing the interest of small and medium firms. Formed in 1993, the Liberal Party was originally organized by elites within the colonial legislature. At the eve of handover, it occupied ten seats in the legislature, the majority of its members coming from Functional Constituencies.35 The traditional leftist groups, led by the Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong (DAB), and the Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions (HKFTU), were another important component of the governing coalition. Growing out of leftist associations and teaching and labour unions that had historically resisted colonial dominance, the DAB and HKFTU had formulated close ties with and had allegedly been financed by Beijing. The DAB was established to counterbalance liberal forces in the transitional years after three members from the leftist wing had suffered a total loss in the 1991 Legislative Council election. Up to 2007, the DAB had a membership of 9,000. The HKTUC, on the other hand, had been established much earlier in 1948, and had a membership of 300,000. The DAB and HKFTU together sent 13 members to the legislative chamber in 2004. In addition, DAB also secured 82 seats on the District Councils, and ten delegates in the National People’s Congress.36 Their ideological affinity with Beijing made the DAB and HKFTU important components of the governing coalition. But Beijing faced problems with this coalition in the years immediately following the handover. In 1999 and 2000, the old coalition begin to show signs of disarray as protests were frequently voiced, venting grievances at the Tung administration, and as the pro-democracy force launched an offensive calling for the resignation of the Chief Executive. The Liberal Party jumped on the bandwagon, organizing a rally for property owners concerned about the depreciating value of their assets. One Hong Kong delegate to the CPPCC openly expressed his dissatisfaction with Tung, and hinted at the need for a new Chief Executive.37 Business tycoon Li Ka-shing, a member of the Election Committee that selected Tung, publicly expressed his unhappiness about the disturbances in the community, and suggested he might consider pulling out of Hong Kong should the social turmoil continue.38 Although Li did not criticize Tung personally, his displeasure cast an unfavourable light on Tung’s management of public affairs. In fact, Li, his family members, and subordinates from his business corporations occupied half a dozen seats in the Election Committee.39 To add to the drama, differences between Tung and his chief aid Anson Chan became apparent. Just as Tung began to seem vulnerable, rumours spread that Chan herself had ambitions for the office of Chief Executive. This resulted in a highly publicized meeting between vice-premier Qian Qichen and Chan in Beijing. In the 90-minute meeting Qian reportedly urged Chan to support Tung’s leadership.40 The signs of disarray in the old coalition thus became very apparent. This disarray can be explained by the unsatisfactory performance of the Tung administration, combined with the adverse impact of Tung’s policies on the business and professional elites. Though stemming from paternalistic inclinations, at their core Tung’s policies conflicted with the interests of those wishing to preserve

Contesting the boundaries 81 Hong Kong’s status quo. Moreover, the adverse impact of Tung’s reforms was exacerbated by the economic downturn. The social status of the established professional elites was on the verge of slipping downwards. The Liberal Party’s move in taking to the street was congruent with the perceived decline in livelihood of property owners, and Anson Chan’s defiance was resonant with the grievances of civil servants who had seen their salaries trimmed in a matter of a few years after 1997. The collapse of the governing coalition echoed the decline of support from business and professional elites, a coalition in its broad sense in the larger community. For Beijing, the crumbling coalition meant that the offensive launched by the pro-democracy forces was all the more daunting. It had to shore up the coalition’s support from within before dealing with the challenges from outside. Measures were adopted to smooth out the turbulence within the executive core, and to revamp the system so as to repair the fractured executive power. In January 2001 Anson Chan abruptly announced her resignation as the Chief Secretary for Administration, a year and two months before her term ended, citing ‘personal reasons’. Although Chan dismissed speculation that her earlier trip to Beijing was implicated in her resignation, many believed her departure had been foreshadowed by her meeting with vice-premier Qian Qi-shen. But Chan’s departure was only the prelude to a more profound structural shake-up that would pave the way for Tung’s second term in office. The introduction of the Principal Officials Accountability System (POAS) gave the Chief Executive the power to appoint his own, like-minded men to key government posts, while further consolidating the governing coalition by formally absorbing members of the Liberal Party, the DAB and the HKFTU into the cabinet as ministers without portfolios. Evidently, towards the end of 2000, the consolidation of a disintegrating coalition was of paramount concern. Not only did it concern the fundamental question of governability but it also touched on the capacity of the coalition to fend off challenges from the pro-democracy forces. Chan’s departure and the introduction of the POAS, however, brought only a moment of stability for Beijing and the Chief Executive, and did nothing to prevent the coalition from plunging into a new crisis. A year after the POAS had been put into place, the anti-subversion legislation once again called into question the unity of the coalition. After the mass rally in July 2003, the Liberal Party executive councillor unexpectedly resigned from his post and announced his party’s decision to oppose the government’s bill. The Liberal Party’s sudden revolt caught Tung and Beijing off guard, and they could do little else but postpone the bill. If the rebellion of the Liberal Party left a bitter taste, then the crushing of the DAB in the District Council election immediately following the mass rally came as another shock. The DAB had shown unwavering support for the legislation. The party vice-chairman commented in public that those who had participated in the massive demonstration were misinformed. This comment prompted an immense public outcry and the party had to issue a public apology for the attack on the protesters. But this apology did not save the DAB . Only 78 candidates, about 30 per cent of total candidates, succeeded in the election, a huge drop from the 47 per cent

82 The Political Future of Hong Kong success rate the party had enjoyed in 1999 in the previous district election.41 Among the defeated was the vice-chairman of the Party. If the sudden about-face of the Liberal Party showed the fragmentation of the coalition, then the DAB’s electoral defeat was an ominous development that called into question the coalition’s ability to survive in a new era. Both parties had complained that their support for the Tung administration had not ensured them sufficient political rewards.42 From the perspective of the allied parties, even the POAS had not yet significantly altered the situation, because members from these two parties sat in the expanded Executive Council without substantial ministerial powers. The political price, as the parties grumbled, could not be reconciled with the rewards. What the complaints really revealed was the profound dilemma facing the Liberal Party and the DAB. As political parties, they needed to cultivate their support among the general public. They could not always defend the government’s policies against the interests of their constituencies, unless such actions were offset by demonstrable political benefits. Of course, the Liberal Party was less compelled by the demands of its constituencies. It remained an elitist party and its members mostly sought to win seats in the Legislative Council through Functional Constituencies. In the 2004 elections for the Legislative Council, a decade after the party was established, only two out of a total ten party members returned to the chamber through direct elections held on geographical districts. However, in circumstances where dissatisfaction with Tung’s administration was pervasive and fell across sectoral interests, the Liberal Party had to pay attention to public opinion to ensure the party could survive in future elections. Though elitist in origin, the Liberal Party had been harbouring thoughts of transforming itself into a mass party. In retrospect, the anti-subversion legislation seemed to offer an opportunity for a publicity stunt that might gain it more supporters. In fact the Liberal Party wasted no time in capitalizing on its increased public ratings after the event. It launched a campaign to attract new party members such as housewives, university students and retired civil servants. It also pledged to expand services at district levels, and subtly shifted away from its profree-market stance.43 By 2004 the party had its flags flying and was poised to be a mass party. As a party dependent on popular support, the DAB faced a sharp choice between supporting an unpopular Chief Executive and winning elections. The party’s leftist tradition and its grass roots interests were at odds with the capitalist status quo that the post-handover SAR government wanted to maintain. As a result, the party increasingly found itself in situations where it had to vote for policy initiatives that fundamentally ran against the interests of its core constituencies. Internal splits between its union and mainstream leaders began to emerge and with increased frequency the party had to allow its legislators to vote against the party line on government bills and policies in the legislative chamber. The party’s poor showing in the District Council election after the shelving of the anti-subversion legislation was a direct reflection of the party’s internal contradictions, between blind support for the Chief Executive and being a party for the masses. The defeat sent an unequivocal message to the DAB, and thus also to Beijing, that the party seriously

Contesting the boundaries 83 needed to reformulate its political position if it still aspired to be a viable political force in Hong Kong. The defeat of the anti-subversion legislation hammered home some clear messages. It was seen as a complete failure of Beijing’s agent in Hong Kong, the Liaison Office, which was responsible for collecting and analysing information about Hong Kong, providing policy suggestions to central government and implementing policy directives. The office’s apparent failure to detect massive social unrest of such magnitude set Beijing’s leaders aback. Twelve days after the demonstration, it was leaked out that the central government had sent teams of officials to Hong Kong to re-assess the political situation and to talk to a wide spectrum of people.44 Apart from expanding its intelligence-gathering channels, Beijing also centralized its Hong Kong decision-making by placing vice-president Zeng Qing-hong in charge of various institutions managing Hong Kong affairs, including the Liaison Office in Hong Kong and the HKMAO. Under Zeng’s supervision, a new coordination team was established that included members from the Legislative Working Units of the Standing Committee of the NPC, the National Development and Reform Commission of the State Council, and officials from both the Liaison Office and HKMAO. The task of this team was to formulate Hong Kong policies that took a comprehensive and embracing view of the region’s political, economic and constitutional developments. Under Zeng’s leadership, a new research arm, the Institute of Hong Kong and Macao Affairs, under the Development Research Centre of the State Council, was established to monitor public opinion and political movements in Hong Kong. This Institute was staffed by legal experts from mainland universities, retired officials who had extensive knowledge and experience of Hong Kong affairs, and senior managers from mainland corporations in Hong Kong.45 In addition to the establishment of a new decision-making body and a research arm, the Liaison Office in Hong Kong also expanded its staffing, recruiting legal and political experts from mainland universities in order to enhance its intelligence-gathering and analytical capacities. As 2004 dawned, the party-state had rationalized the relevant institutions and set new mechanisms in place in order to chart a completely different course of interaction between Beijing and the liberal forces in Hong Kong.

Adapting to the games: Beijing’s reframed strategy If the landslide defeat of the anti-subversion legislation was an embarrassment, then it was one that bred some new strategies that would unfold in the following years. After Zeng was formally installed to coordinate all institutions dealing with Hong Kong affairs in late 2003, Beijing underwent a paradigm shift in its approach towards liberal democratic forces in the territory. The strategy formulated during the transitional years, relying on a loose coalition of ‘patriots’ to rule Hong Kong was further developed and enriched in three aspects. First, the governing coalition, especially organized interests within the coalition, was strengthened institutionally to better underwrite the executive-dominant political system. Second, the handsoff approach practised in the years immediately following the handover was

84 The Political Future of Hong Kong replaced by more direct engagement in the socio-economic and political affairs of Hong Kong. Third, the interpretation of ‘patriots’ was broadened, and a candidate’s qualities of competence, skills and popularity were taken into account when selecting the Chief Executive. Along with the shift in strategy, Beijing learned to adapt to the games of a liberal society: the games of rule by law, of election, and of popular opinion. By exercising its legal power, becoming involved in electoral engineering, and responding to popular sentiment Beijing sought reconciliation with the public desire for democracy, while continuing to defend the state’s authority over capitalist Hong Kong. Beijing’s first move to cope with the momentous developments in the territory was to introduce a constitutional reform. In December 2003, the politically bruised Chief Executive made his annual duty visit to Beijing. Tung returned home with the permission to begin a constitutional review, which he unveiled subsequently in his January 2004 policy address. A task force, led by the Chief Secretary for Administration, and also including the Secretary for Justice and the Secretary for Constitutional Affairs, was established to conduct a ‘serious constitutional review’.46 The constitutional review was timely. In fact, riding on the momentum of the mass rally in July 2003, the pan-democracy camp continued to organize protests in the following months, blaming the incumbent as the biggest barrier to Hong Kong’s democracy.47 The pro-democracy legislators also tabled a motion in the Legislative Council, requesting the government to release immediately a consultation paper on the introduction of direct election for the office of the Chief Executive in 2007 and for the legislature in 2008.48 Although the motion was defeated, it nonetheless signalled that similar moves were likely. The Chief Executive appeared compelled to introduce some reform measures in order to avoid a repeat of the anti-subversion legislation debacle. But Beijing was determined to keep control of the review process. President Hu Jin-tao’s meeting with Tung was followed by a session in which four mainland legal experts spelled out the parameters for the forthcoming constitutional review. In a highly publicized interview printed in a mainland newspaper, Beijing, via its legal experts, declared that five principles were fundamental to any constitutional reform. First, the principle of ‘One country’ should not be undermined by any change in the constitution. Second, any political change in Hong Kong must not harm centre–Hong Kong relations. Third, the interests of different segments in society would be observed. Fourth, social stability would be maintained, and fifth, changes would not be determined by the Hong Kong people alone.49 In short, the five ‘principles’ stressed two points. First, Hong Kong’s political reform was too important to be left to Hong Kong people alone and the central government must play a role in the constitutional review process before it developed serious implications for the power of the central government over the territory. Second, Beijing still considered it important to preserve the interests of Hong Kong’s capitalists, and to a certain extent the professional elites, who in terms of voting power would be disadvantaged in a political system based on popular election. The constitutional review in the following months thus unfolded under Beijing’s careful watch. After the Task Force submitted two reports on the consultation

Contesting the boundaries 85 conducted in Hong Kong, the Chief Executive submitted his own reports to the Standing Committee of the NPC. In his report, Tung recommended changes should be made for the selection of the Chief Executives in 2007 and for the selection of the Legislative Council in 2008. In the same month, the Standing Committee of the NPC gave its own decision based on the Chief Executive’s recommendations. It agreed that both selection methods should be amended, but set the limits of possible amendments. That is, universal suffrage would not be considered for the selection of the Chief Executive in 2007 or for the Legislative Council in 2008. In addition, any increase of seats in the legislature would be equally divided between members returned from Functional Constituencies and members directly elected from geographical districts.50 After the Standing Committee established the ceiling for constitutional reform, the Task Force then released two reports, which continued to narrow down the options. In October 2004, the Task Force released its final proposals for constitutional reform, in which the size of the Election Committee would be doubled to 1600, and seats in legislature would increase by 10, to 70. The district councillor would be the biggest winner of the proposed change.51 The 2004 constitutional reform proposal cleverly implemented Beijing’s new strategy to deal with the call for democracy. The proposal signalled a compromise with the quest for democracy, but a compromise carefully orchestrated to prevent any unpleasant shocks for Beijing. By doubling the size of the Election Committee and increasing the seats in the Legislative Council, Beijing opened more space for political contestation and participation, and appeared to be responding to the call for further democratization. Also, since it would mainly benefit the district councillors, the proposal projected a populist image. However, the practical effects of the proposal had been carefully calculated to avoid seriously upsetting the existing equilibrium among different social forces. In fact, the Democratic Party held about one-fifth of the total 529 seats on District Councils, while the DAB and Liberal Party together held less than two-fifths. As a result, all parties would see their political space expanded under the new proposal. But their relative weights on the Election Committee would remain more or less unchanged. Since members being returned from other sectors would also increase proportionally, the political weight of, respectively, the capitalists, the industrialists, the accountants and the political notables would also remain relatively unchanged in the expanded Election Committee. The same equilibrium between political parties was also preserved in the Legislature Council. The five increased seats for members returned from geographical districts would be subject to competition among the political parties, although the democrats were expected to maintain a relative advantage given their previous record in geographical districts. However, this advantage would be discounted since five additional new seats would be returned from District Councils. In short, the proposal would certainly not provide the democrats with a competitive edge. They would have to fight hard for their share of the newly created seats both in the Election Committee and in the Legislative Council, and their influence in the two reformed institutions was unlikely to increase so dramatically as to significantly upset the status quo.

86 The Political Future of Hong Kong The constitutional review exercise was a move to reconcile the pressures for political change. It suggested that Beijing was not entirely rigid. It showed some degree of flexibility in adapting to the demand for democratization once circumstances compelled it. But reconciliation did not mean that Beijing would casually forgo its own stakes in Hong Kong’s political system. Whatever the result of the constitutional review in Hong Kong the authority of the state over the territory would have to be preserved. As such, the central government would not risk a freewheeling review process, nor could it permit any reform initiatives that would compromise the state’s control over the territory. After all, reconciliation was a means to enhance its power so that its stake could be constantly, and hopefully even more effectively, preserved. The review was an exercise by which the foundations of the state’s control would be reinstated and the immediate dangers to the status quo would be minimized. Hence, its adoption came with limitations, especially regarding the selection of the Chief Executive. The constitutional review also suggested that Beijing had learned to exercise the power vested in the Standing Committee of the NPC to ensure an incremental change. This exercise of legal power was foreshadowed by the sudden increase in number of legal experts in the Liaison Office, and in the newly formed coordinating team and the Research Institute of Hong Kong and Macao Affairs under Zeng’s leadership. Exploiting legal means to achieve its political ends was a newly found power for Beijing in the aftermath of the mass rally. This tactical use of legal means could not be separated from the emergence of the Article 45 Concern Group. The Group’s rise in the political arena, which with hindsight can be seen as key to the re-invention of the pro-democracy parties, appeared to have had an impact on Beijing’s reframing of its own strategies. Beijing seemed to have come to the realization that capitalist Hong Kong could be effectively managed if mainland officials could effectively manipulate the appropriate legal instruments. This realization turned out to be valid. The presence of officials with legal expertise gave Beijing an effective tool with which to fend off attacks from the pro-democracy camp. Without the legal means political power would be left bare and Beijing would lack the persuasiveness to achieve its political ends in front of Hong Kong people, and in front of the world. The second game that Beijing learned to play was the election game. Aroused by the DAB’s immense setback in the November 2003 District Council election, Beijing stepped up its efforts to coordinate different factions within the pro-Beijing alliance. As the Basic Law stipulated, the four seats allocated to members from the Election Committee were phased out as the second post-handover Legislative Council ended its term in 2004. The 2004 election would then return a legislature with its 60 seats being equally distributed between Functional Constituencies and geographical districts. This means the four members from the Hong Kong Progressive Alliance (HKPA), a smaller party composed of pro-Beijing entrepreneurs, lawyers and professionals, would have to fight with other candidates in the traditional leftist camp, mostly the candidates from the DAB, in functional constituencies or geographical districts, thus ensuring competition among candidates within the pro-Beijing alliance for votes from leftist supporters. After backroom

Contesting the boundaries 87 persuasion, all four members were persuaded to give up their participation in the 2004 election.52 The withdrawal of the HKPA candidates prevented the predicted split vote and allowed the DAB candidates to excel. In fact, the withdrawal of HKPA candidates from the election was only part of a larger consolidation plan. As soon as the dust of the election had settled, the DAB and HKPA completed their merger,53 thus ushering in a process by which the pro-Beijing alliance would improve its internal cohesion, strengthen its electoral competitiveness, and better employ its resources. Accompanying the consolidation of the leftist alliance before the 2004 election, there was a discernible shift in the political platform of the DAB. Their electoral defeat in the District Council elections had taught the DAB a hard lesson about popular feeling. As the Legislative Council election approached, DAB shifted its political stance, although with some care, by openly supporting the introduction of universal suffrage in Hong Kong in 2012, the next possible date once direct elections for the year of 2007 and 2008 had been ruled out by the SCNPC’s decision. Meanwhile, the party pledged that it would not blindly support the government. It would exercise its votes in the legislative chamber with independence and a critical mind.54 It also increased its efforts to recruit professionals and middle-class voters, aiming to move towards the middle of the political spectrum and capture more supporters. By 2007, the DAB and the Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions (HKFTU) began to consciously differentiate their roles. With the DAB moving towards the middle, the HKFTU started to sharpen its image as a labour party so as to retain its original grass roots supporters.55 These concerted efforts suggested the leftist party alliance had laid careful plans both to expand and to localize their support, with increased sensitivity to the social context in which they operated. The consolidation effort eventually paid off in the Legislative Council election in 2004, althought it initially appeared to be an uphill battle for the DAB. Given the apparent victory of the pro-democracy force in the District Council election in the previous year, and the continued momentum calling for universal suffrage, the DAB’s electoral future appeared to be bleak. The party chairman had low expectations of the party’s competitiveness in the coming election, suggesting the party would be content if the turn-out gave them ten seats, an equivalent of its result in the previous election.56 But such anxiety over the election proved to be the motivation for an all-out campaign. Informed sources indicated that the Liaison Office brought back a retired official, with much previous election experience of coordinating the leftist alliance, to chart their electoral campaigning.57 Rumours also broke out that various mainland agencies, both in Hong Kong and in the mainland, had contacted their Hong Kong employees, business associates, and villagers to vote for ‘patriots’. Although the precise effect of such alleged coordination and mobilization remains unknown, the DAB, to the surprise of people on both sides of the fence, turned out to become the biggest winner in the election. It secured 12 seats in the Legislative Council, and for the first time became the largest political party, replacing the Democratic Party, in the Legislative Council. Beijing’s engagement in the election had ramifications for parties on both sides of the political divide. Although Beijing had never ceased to organize the traditional leftist groups electoral engineering on that scale had not been seen before.

88 The Political Future of Hong Kong The effort to consolidate and enhance the leftist alliance underlined the realization that party politics had been and would continue to be a political reality of Hong Kong. For a long time Beijing had refused to recognize parties as legitimate political forces, afraid that the pro-democracy political groups would have a stronger appeal than those from the ‘patriotic’ camp. But such rejection of party politics has been toned down in recent years while informal recognition and acceptance of party politics has slowly become the reality. In a visit to Beijing after the mass rally, the DAB was formally received as a political party by Beijing.58 Indeed, Beijing’s recognition strengthened the DAB’s political stance as the only party that could communicate with central government, thus providing legitimacy for its expansion. Given the general public in Hong Kong had become increasingly impatient with the political stalemate between Beijing and the pro-democracy political parties, this recognition gave the DAB a competitive edge. With Beijing’s blessing, the DAB could also function more as a political party, rather than as a patriotic group whose moral commitments would always override the need for political survival. However, Beijing’s recognition of the DAB as a political party would have important ramifications. It would make Beijing’s rejection of other political parties, including those from the pan-democracy camp, more difficult, if not now then certainly in the future. But the DAB’s electoral victory would have sent a message home that the risks of direct election were not necessarily unmanageable. With Beijing’s confidence in general elections boosted, formal recognition for political parties might not be too distant. In short, both the DAB’s gradual transformation into a rational, broad-based local political party and Beijing’s recognition of party politics would have a positive impact on Hong Kong’s political future. The third and arguably the most important game that Beijing learned was the public opinion game. As discussed in previous chapters, Deng Xiao-ping envisioned a capitalist Hong Kong governed by ‘patriots’. ‘Patriots’ referred to those who supported China’s regaining of Hong Kong wholeheartedly, and who could consider the interests of the nation above those of local politics. Although this definition of ‘patriots’ appeared fuzzy and lacked definite features, it was nonetheless clear that other qualities such as competence, experience and even popularity were underplayed in the leadership selection process. However, the resignation of Beijing’s hand-picked Tung and the rise of Tsang to the office of Chief Executive suggested that Beijing had made a pragmatic change in its leadership selection. ‘Patriotism’ was no longer the paramount concern. Instead, competence and popularity had become important qualities for Hong Kong’s most important leader. The news of Tung’s departure did not leak out until two weeks before his resignation. But there was no shortage of ominous developments preceding this. In a highly publicized meeting between President Hu Jin-tao and Tung and his principal officials, held in Macao in December 2004, Hu lectured – in front of television cameras – the Hong Kong officials. He requested Tung and his chief aides to ‘find mistakes’, to ‘improve governance’, and called for ‘unity’ among members in the governing team.59 This meeting was a very plain expression of the central government’s dissatisfaction with Tung, because it departed sharply from the

Contesting the boundaries 89 usual practice of Beijing leaders. Tung had always been able to gain stern support from Hu’s predecessor Jiang Ze-min. It was because of the firm support of central government that Tung survived the anti-Tung movement in 1999, and it was with similar backing that he survived the social turmoil triggered by the anti-subversion legislation of 2003. But the wind from Beijing seemed to blow in an opposite direction at the end of 2004. Following Hu’s critical remarks, Tung admitted openly that his policy initiatives had fallen short of meeting public demands and vowed to improve his governance by heeding voices from all walks of life.60 But that self-criticism seemed to come too late. By early March, rumours about Tung’s resignation were spreading. Three days after being formally nominated to the post of vice-president of the CPPCC, Tung announced his resignation, citing health reasons.61 Tsang, Tung’s Chief Secretary for Administration, became the deputy Chief Executive, and was formally selected as Tung’s successor in the by-election held a few months later. The choice of Tsang as Tung’s successor raised not a few eyebrows among those in the leftist camp. He was, in their eyes, nowhere near a ‘patriot’. From a humble family, Tsang had served the British colonial government for four decades before assuming the posts of Financial Secretary and then Chief Secretary for Administration in the new SAR government. Tsang was seen as close to his former supervisor Anson Chan, who had proved a critic of Tung in her final years in office. Moreover, Tsang had accepted the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, which led many in the leftist camp to call into question his loyalty and integrity as a Chinese. His trademark bowtie also hinted at a cultural identity incongruent with what might be expected from a ‘patriot’. During the SARS epidemic, Tsang was given the responsibility of ensuring the city’s hygiene, a job many perceived as reflecting Tung’s distrust of him. For many in political circles, Tsang was the most unexpected successor to Tung. But Tsang had what Tung lacked. Since rising to the position of Chief Secretary for Administration in 2001, Tsang had continuously enjoyed the highest public ratings, far ahead of the Secretary for Finance and the Secretary for Justice. His popularity also consistently surpassed Tung’s. During the controversy over the anti-subversion legislation the popularity of the entire administration hit a historic low point, only 9.2 per cent of respondents approving the government’s performance.62 But Tsang’s performance was rated at 58 points in a 100-point scale, compared with 42.8 for the Secretary for Justice, 38.9 for Tung.63 After the Standing Committee of the NPC ruled out the possibility of universal suffrage for the selection of the Chief Executive in 2007 and the composition of the Legislative Council in 2008, Tung’s public rating was at 42.6 on a 100-point scale, compared with his two subordinates the Secretary for Finance at 55.6, and the Secretary for Justice at 44.9. Tsang, however, beat all of them with an impressive 57.2 points, 15 points above his boss.64 The sharp contrast in popularity between the two Chief Executives explains Beijing’s leadership change. Though not a ‘patriot’ to many in the leftist camp, Tsang nonetheless presented an alternative for Beijing. In promoting Tsang to the office of Chief Executive, Beijing expected that the stress on the office would be dispelled and the political momentum for direct election

90 The Political Future of Hong Kong 60

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Year/Month Figure 4.1 Satisfaction with the performance of the Hong Kong SAR government

arrested. In fact, that was what happened. After the leadership change, public opinion of the government steadily improved. In March 2005, only 24.3 per cent of respondents expressed their satisfaction with the government, but the percentage nearly doubled a year later.65 Of course, the leadership change was not intended to improve public opinion per se. Improving public opinion was also a means to an end. It would help Beijing position itself better to meet the challenges ahead. By the spring of 2005, Beijing had its bottom-line secured. The immediate danger of direct election had been ruled out by the NPC Standing Committee’s verdict of the previous year. A concession in the form of leadership change was therefore manageable. More importantly, Beijing had to prepare for its next battle. The constitutional review that had been cooking in the stove would have to be put on the table eventually. A politically bruised Chief Executive would impede the smooth passage of this reform package in the legislature. Moreover, the new reform proposal could be expected to open up room for political debate, thus heightening competition between different political forces. If there was to be a contest for the office of Chief Executive in 2007 then the competitiveness of the candidates, in terms of competence, skills and public support, would be crucial. The contest brought uncertainty and thus risk for Beijing. A leadership change in 2005 would provide the interim incumbent with the opportunity to gear up for the 2007 battle. In a worst-case scenario, such a shift might bring instability, but temporary instability would be offset by the increased predictability for the future contest. In a best-case scenario, such a shift could take the heat off the democratic movement, and pave the way for a peaceful leadership succession later. The leadership change can be read as a capitulation by Beijing in the face of public pressure in Hong Kong, but can also be

Contesting the boundaries 91 60

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Figure 4.2 Satisfaction with Beijing’s Hong Kong policy

seen as a strategy to reduce its political risk in years to come. In fact, public polls suggested that Hong Kong people were receptive to the leadership change. Satisfaction with Beijing’s Hong Kong policy rose steeply after Tung’s resignation, although Beijing’s adoption of economic policies favourable to Hong Kong after 2003 had already resulted in improved public perceptions of the central leaders.66 Beijing learned to play the public opinion game with remarkable speed and effectiveness.

Inertia, predicaments and adaptation in a moving game The events that unfolded in post-handover Hong Kong illustrate how political conflict erupted, and conflict resolution was sought by competing actors, Beijing and the Hong Kong government on the one hand, and the pro-democracy parties on the other. Seizing the opportunity presented by the failures of the Hong Kong government in the first years after the handover, pro-democracy forces launched a serious challenge to the existing political structure, demanding the introduction of universal suffrage. What made this challenge more daunting for Beijing was the crumbling ruling coalition that was meant to underwrite the executive-dominant political system. Beijing thus had to make changes in order to alleviate structural stress, while compromising in order to cope with challenges from both within and outside. The introduction of the POAS, the replacement of Beijing’s hand-picked Tung Chee-hwa by a more popular senior civil servant, and the proposal for limited reform could all be seen as Beijing’s re-strategizing effort, aiming at

92 The Political Future of Hong Kong accommodating the momentum for democracy. Evidence suggests that these adaptations achieved the desired results. The tension between Beijing and the general public in Hong Kong had been alleviated since 2005, although tension between pro-democracy parties and Beijing continued to linger. But, incentives for adaptation aside, the solutions would not possibly deviate dramatically from mainland institutions and political practices that conditioned the decisions of the central leaders. Above all, conflict resolution could not be sought without taking into account the political stakes, the instruments available, and the risks associated with possible alternatives. These constraints explain the limitations of the strategies adopted by Beijing. On the other hand, the pro-democracy parties by no means operated in a free space. The alliance was not unified, let alone capable of charting its own course of development. In a sea of social uprising, the alliance had to prevent its own decline. It was compelled to stay in line with the emerging civil groups, while striving for relevance in political negotiations within the existing political framework. In most circumstances these two objectives were mutually reinforcing, but sometimes proved to be contradictory, especially when differences between the parties and the authorities became irreconcilable. The alliance’s decision to veto the constitutional reform proposal illustrated how satisfying the first objective could create serious difficulties in satisfying the second. The subsequent aboutface of the Civic Party, forgoing the ‘all-or-nothing’ approach to democracy, demonstrated the importance of overcoming such a political predicament. The party had to reframe its strategy by working within the existing political framework instead. As such, the strategies, and the reconstruction of strategies, emphasized the political paradoxes, and the difficulty of adapting to a game in which both sides were moving. For Beijing, the extent to which the Basic Law’s constructive vagueness was seized on by pro-democracy forces as a weapon against the status quo was anything but expected. In fact, the constitution of the PRC is itself full of liberal posturing, just like the Basic Law, and yet the CCP’s dominance in political life has never been shaken by the mere existence of liberal language in the text of the constitution. For example, Article 2 of the current PRC constitution stipulates that ‘all powers of the People’s Republic of China belong to the people’.67 Article 3 of the constitution stipulates that the ‘National People’s Congress and the People’s Congress at all levels are all elected by democratic election, responsible to the people and being monitored by the people’. The PRC constitution further states that ‘the executive organs, judicial organs, procuratorate organs of the State arise from the People’s Congress, responsible to it and being monitored by it’.68 Hence, the people’s congresses at the national and provincial levels are vested with powers to appoint government officials. For example, the National People’s Congress is vested with the power to elect and remove the President and VicePresident of the state, the Chairman of the State Central Military Commission, the Chairman of the Supreme People’s Court, and the Procurator-General of the Supreme People’s Procuratorate. It also has the power to appoint the Vice-Premier of the State Council, the State Councillors and heads of ministries.69 At the level of

Contesting the boundaries 93 provinces and autonomous regions, the people’s congresses possess the power to elect and remove governors and vice-governors at provincial, city, prefecture and county levels.70 However, these powers have always been nominal. The party organizations always control the nomination of national and provincial government officials. For instance, the candidates for the president and vice-president of the state are selected from a list of nominees submitted by the Central Committee of the CCP, although they are ratified by the presidium of the National People’s Congress before the first plenary session of each new congress. The candidate for premier is nominated by the president but in fact is provided by the Central Committee of the CCP.71 Congressional delegates at national and provincial levels did not render meaningful challenges to the CCP’s dominance until the mid1990s.72 Likewise, provincial governors and provincial governments in the mainland, the counterparts of the Chief Executive and the Hong Kong government, are also subject to the ‘dual accountability’ paradox. They are supposedly elected by provincial congresses, but in effect have to obey ‘the unified leadership of the State Council’ as stipulated by the PRC constitution.73 But because the party remains dominant in the leadership selection, provincial governors and officials in the State Council are likely to follow the line given by the party. The stress of ‘dual accountability’ is thus unlikely to surface as long as the people’s congresses continue to be marginalized in leadership selection processes, and party discipline over the national and provincial officials remains effective. Although delegates at the provincial people’s congresses were granted the power to nominate their own candidates with joint petitions of 30 signatures,74 the problem of ‘dual accountability’ has not emerged as a cause of concern for Beijing leaders. Hence, the party-state was unlikely to be concerned with the possible repercussions from the constructive vagueness of the Basic Law. It was caught off guard when the pro-democracy forces pressed their request to bring the legal substance of the Basic Law in line with its liberal facade. Their insensitivity to the implication of this gap explains the complacence of central leaders, who considered Hong Kong’s sovereignty transfer as a ‘mission completed’, and their tendency, under the former president Jiang Ze-min, to support the Chief Executive vocally without adopting any intervening measures. Indeed, a number of legal disputes broke out concerning the exact demarcation of authority between the NPC and the Hong Kong Court of Final Appeal, and worries surfaced over the resilience of Hong Kong’s political, social and economic institutions, but it was generally observed that Beijing adopted a hands-off approach in the first few years after the handover.75 Beijing’s response to the anti-Tung movement that emerged between 1999 and 2000 exemplifies how political habit shaped the perception of conflict, and the choice of solution. Beijing first perceived the anti-Tung movement as an internal dispute between the Chief Executive and his chief aide Anson Chan. This interpretation was congruent with Beijing’s conventional approach, in which the Hong Kong ruling class were seen in terms of ‘patriots’ versus those who are ‘unpatriotic’. This overlooked differences in governing philosophy and administrative

94 The Political Future of Hong Kong style that intertwined with political manoeuvring. The paternalistic and ad hoc policy agenda adopted by the Tung administration was at odds with a presumably systematic, apolitical, and efficiency-oriented civil service whose institutional memory extended into its colonial past. Hence Beijing and the first Chief Executive were slow to take note of the structurally embedded problem of fractured executive power. The subsequent introduction of the POAS was a significant institutional innovation. It attempted to restore the executive’s authority by creating a layer of political appointees at the disposal of the Chief Executive, and to alleviate the institutionalized stress between the legislature and the executive branch by bringing representatives from political parties into the Executive Councils. As the result, the governing coalition was further institutionalized as the Liberal Party and the DAB were absorbed into the expanded Executive Council. The adoption of the POAS was a creative practice of the constitution, demonstrating the scope for manoeuvre in the Basic Law to resolve real political dilemmas. But it would be wrong to assume that the POAS signified a departure from Beijing’s original blueprint for Hong Kong. In strengthening the Chief Executive’s powers to appoint like-minded allies into key policy positions, and in creating bridges between the executive and the legislature, the POAS was, in short, intended to perpetuate the executive-dominant political system as it was founded by the paramount leader Deng Xiao-ping. Such an approach was not only congruent with the political vision of former central leaders but also conditioned by central authority’s overarching concerns regarding the territory. Since Tsang came to office as the Chief Executive, he has continued to strengthen and expand the POAS, as reflected in his intention to increase the number of political appointees at the levels of deputy director of bureaus and assistants to directors of bureaus. It is also likely that the representation of allied parties will be increased in the future Executive Council. However clumsy it appears to be, the executive-dominant system is unlikely to be scrapped in the foreseeable future, given the state authority’s overarching concerns for the territory, the absence of a viable alternative that would address the same concerns, and the current lack of any compelling circumstances that might cause an alternative to be accepted despite its risks. Indeed, if a system does not work well the first reaction would be to smooth it and enhance it rather than discard it. It is logical that Beijing leaders would seek solutions within the established frameworks. Tung’s resignation, arguably Beijing’s most significant intervention in the posthandover years, also showed how concessions were sought within the institutional and cultural constraints confronting Beijing’s leaders. The 20-month lag between the mass demonstration and Tung’s resignation spells out the tremendous complexities of such a decision. Demands for the incompetent Chief Executive’s removal posed challenges to the accustomed practice of ‘reciprocal accountability’, the conventional decision-making process and the mode of conflict resolution within the communist institutional framework. For the central leaders, a decision to reward or punish a cadre took into account his compliance to party rules and his

Contesting the boundaries 95 competence to handle administrative tasks. If a cadre was deemed to be disloyal or incompetent, the power to remove him would lie with the party-state. A set of complex factors such as factionalism and elite competition within the party hierarchy may shape the decision, but the people were excluded from the decisionmaking process. Second, Chinese political culture is characterized by its emphasis on consensual decision-making at both the top levels of government and the lower levels of society, and by the tendency to deny the existence of conflict.76 Confucian values combined with Communist Party discipline require that solutions to political infighting be masked behind a set of coded languages. The mobilization of mass support for elite competition is strictly forbidden.77 These cultural traits and modes of conflict resolution provide a context in which the delayed resignation of Tung can be understood. The time lag was necessary to prevent direct association of the resignation with the mass demonstration, in order to deflate any public expectation that similar circumstances might provoke similar decisions in the future. Only a short time before he announced his resignation, Tung was promoted to Vice-president of the Standing Committee of the CPPCC, suggesting the dismissal had to be masked by a nominal promotion. Furthermore, time was necessary to find a suitable position for the incumbent, and for the best opportunity to announce the change. Above all, the time lag was congruent with the fact that the number of candidates for the office of Chief Executive was extremely limited. Provincial cadres might be dismissed overnight in view of the abundant supply of candidates within the Communist Party hierarchy. In the case of Hong Kong, however, not only is a unified and disciplined ruling party absent, but the selection of alternatives would be complicated by the presence of diverse interests within the governing coalition. Decisions about a leadership reshuffle could not be made casually, on the one hand because there was a limited pool of candidates, and on the other because of the delicate factional balance within the coalition, including big and small businessmen, traditional leftists and senior civil servants. Whatever the significance of the leadership reshuffle, Beijing missed the best opportunity to effectively arrest the momentum for democratic change. By spring 2005, the political landscape had already transformed. The immense success of the mass rally held in July 2003 produced a multifaceted alliance, including political parties, faith-based associations, media personalities, student unions, gay rights groups, women’s groups, environmentalists, and representatives of exiled mainlanders. These loosely associated groups could marshal a massive turn-out of their followers under the overarching banner of universal suffrage. But within this multifaceted alliance there were various clusters of leaders and dispersed interests. The presence of this pan-democracy camp presented a huge challenge to Beijing. It found itself in a new game in which neither the leadership reshuffle nor the subsequent constitutional reform proposal produced the desired effect. Once roused, the multifarious pro-democracy groups were not ready to rest so soon, although public grievance towards the government was effectually dispersed by the leadership change. But Beijing was not the only actor that found itself in a political predicament. The pro-democracy parties had their own problems. Led by the Democratic Party,

96 The Political Future of Hong Kong the pro-democracy party alliance found itself on a downward slope after 1999. The two opposing trends, the emerging momentum for democracy and the dwindling support for pro-democracy parties, proved to be a two-edged sword for prodemocracy parties. In other words, the success of the pro-democracy parties in mobilizing social support for direct elections in the end bred their own downfall. As soon as society became politicized and civil organizations mushroomed, the pro-democracy parties disappeared in a sea of banners. The pro-democracy parties had neither the power nor the legitimacy to direct, let alone control, the social momentum because the banner of direct election implied a principle of equality among political organizations. Arising only after the handover, the new groups were less structured, with fewer principles or long-term visions. As a result, they could be flexible and act quickly when the opportunity arose, just as social movements emerged elsewhere in the recent years.78 As new groups continually popped up to organize rallies, conflict erupted among them. The competition for power and political recognition among groups explains their tendency to capitalize on any events where there might be even a hint of government misconduct.79 Moreover, mass demonstrations were also prompted by emerging charismatic figures. These new leaders cast into the shade former pro-democracy stars from political parties. While they wielded immense mobilization power, their individualistic style posed a serious challenge to Hong Kong’s long-established pro-democracy parties. The decline of the pro-democracy parties in the midst of social unrest reveals their profound political dilemma. As political parties, they sought to share power, although controlling the government was out of the question under the existing structure, by participating in formal institutions. Taking part in the elections for the Legislative Council and District Councils was a way to enter the formal institutions, and exercise influence under the existing rules of the game. The essential difference between the pro-democracy parties and their associated civil organizations outside the legislative chamber lay theoretically with the parties’ function to link individuals into the political process and to translate public demands into programmes that could be accommodated and implemented by the government. However, the pro-democracy parties were unable to perform the roles of opinionaggregator or -translator, and above all were unable to effectively influence government policies. The dysfunction of pro-democracy parties in part was caused by the limited power of the legislature as designed by the Basic Law, but it was also exacerbated by the political stalemate between the administration and the prodemocracy parties. The distrust of Beijing leaders towards core members in prodemocracy parties who had actively supported the 4 June Tiananmen Square student protests in 1989 resulted in a near 16-year ‘cold war’ between the two. In keeping with the strained relationship, the first Chief Executive adopted a nonengagement strategy soon after taking office. Although Tung responded to inquiries from pro-democracy legislators in the legislative chamber, and even invited them to the government house for parties and banquets, the pro-democracy parties were nonetheless ruled out from the real political game. Likewise, the pro-democracy parties gave full vent to their criticisms of government, and capitalized on

Contesting the boundaries 97 every opportunity to expose the Chief Executive’s legitimacy problems. As the deadlock between the two persisted, a radical wing in the alliance surfaced, becoming visible as internal frictions erupted with the Democratic Party, and as defiant members from the Democratic Party switched their loyalty to the comparatively radical and also less rule-bound Frontier. By then, the pro-democracy parties were trapped in a strange cycle. On the one hand, their dysfunction precipitated their radicalization. But in return, this radicalization furthered their marginalization. When the Democratic Party, The Frontier, and the HKCTU joined some 30 other groups to form the embracing Civil Human Rights Front, the role differentiation between the pro-democracy parties and civil groups had completely disappeared. Arguably, the new civil groups, owing to their flexibility and simplicity, were much quicker to action than the relatively structured and rule-bound political parties. The functions of pro-democracy parties thus were called into serious question. The arrival of the Article 45 Concern Group on the political scene in 2003 and 2004 was a telling example of the pro-democracy parties’ need for transformation. Not only the professional background but also the moderate political posturing of the Group had an immense appeal for democracy supporters who had grown increasingly impatient about the prolonged political stalemate between the prodemocracy parties and Beijing. Article 45 Concern Group hence was seen as a viable alternative to the Democratic Party, and its ascent in the legislature chamber signified the realignment of the pro-democracy party alliance. Yet the Article 45 Concern Group did not act in a political vacuum. Like it or not, the Group encountered the same dilemma as the Democratic Party, and soon found itself between a rock and a hard place. As a pro-democracy group, it had to stay in line with the pan-democracy camp inside and outside the legislative chamber. It was also inclined to capitalize on the rising momentum for democracy, for its own interest. But these imperatives put it in a difficult position as to retain its platform as a moderate alternative to the Democratic Party. Indeed, Beijing adopted a friendly and a communicative gesture towards the Article 45 Concern Group as soon as the group entered to the Legislative Council in the summer of 2004. Evidence suggests that Beijing was willing to accept the Group as a legitimate player with whom it could negotiate. But regardless of friendly gestures, the relationship soon turned sour. Mutual distrust resulted in a classic situation of ‘prisoner’s dilemma’. While Beijing thought the Group had to support the reform proposal before negotiating further democratization measures, the Group thought otherwise.80 Finally, the Group chose to stand firm with the pro-democracy camp, raised its stakes for concession and stepped up pressure. As the gap between the two widened, reconciliation between Beijing and the pan-democracy camp became out of reach. This inability to successfully break the political stalemate exemplifies the immense difficulty for moderate and rational players to emerge within the camp. The political landscape after 2003 presents a paradox for the pursuit of democracy in Hong Kong. The proliferation of civil organizations and their collective pursuit for democracy seems to shed a positive light on the democratic future of Hong Kong. But at the same time, the existence of such a multifaceted pan-

98 The Political Future of Hong Kong democracy camp, with its tendencies to resort to mass rallies and to escalate demands, presents problems for making incremental change through negotiations and compromises. The rapid shift from making demands for the elimination of appointed district councillors from the expanded Election Committee in the reform proposal, to the quest for a timetable and a roadmap for democracy, illustrates how the political game was constantly made anew. In fact, the shift moved the game to another level, which Beijing was evidently unprepared for. Adapting to this ever-moving game caused great difficulties for both Beijing and parties who aspired to make concrete deals within the current political setting. Consequently, the democrats lost the opportunity to make inroads in reforming the existing political system, albeit the proposed changes were small. However, the transformation from the Article 45 Concern Group into a broadlybased Civic Party shows the ability of a pro-democracy party to reinvent itself to meet the political challenge of the time. The decision to participate in the election of the Election Committee in 2006 and the selection of the Chief Executive in 2007 suggests the pro-democracy party alliance is resilient enough to retain its political viability. Without the Civic Party’s leadership in reframing the strategy, the prodemocracy parties would be stuck in a blind alley. However, neither realignment nor restrategizing will automatically resolve the political paradox once and for all. Given a wide spectrum of civil groups, many maverick legislators and an array of charismatic figures, the Civic Party has a daunting task ahead. In order to be a feasible political force, it has to integrate the loosely associated pro-democracy parties into a coherent and disciplined whole. It has to resist the tendency to be swayed by radical elements within the pan-democracy camp. Meanwhile, it has to convince Beijing that it alone presents possibilities for negotiation, and is willing to work out a mutually agreed timetable for democracy. In short, its challenge lies with its ability to integrate the pan-democracy camp and its ability to persuade Beijing to give it a seat at the negotiation table. The challenges for Beijing are equally daunting. It is confronted with a crumbling governing coalition, and a range of opponents on the other side of the fence. Past experience demonstrates that political inertia and institutional impediments have prevented it from responding quickly. Its slow response to demands for change undermined the effectiveness of the measures it adopted. The swifter pace of change in the political arena in recent years suggests that such inertia and institutional hindrance would even be more damaging to its rule in Hong Kong. Beijing has to overcome institutional pitfalls, conventional political reasoning, and to react quickly to effectively arrest political momentum. In the long run, Beijing has to search for a solution to its fragmented coalition. As electoral competition has increased, the DAB and Liberal Party have behaved and, inevitably, will increasingly behave like political parties whose foremost interest is in winning elections. Beijing will need to find new strategies to cope with this now-predictable defiance of allied parties within the coalition if the executive-dominant system is to function with reasonable stability and effectiveness. As such, Beijing, just like the prodemocracy parties, must cope with both internal and external challenges.

Contesting the boundaries 99 Notes 1 ‘Tsang Yam-kuen speaks to the media after the public rally on 4 December 2005’, Hong Kong SAR Government press release, www.info.gov.hk/gia/general/200512/04/P200512040248.htm (accessed 6 March 2007). 2 A. Y. So, ‘Social protests, legitimacy crisis, and the impact towards soft authoritarianism’, in S. K. Lau (ed.), The First Tung Chee-hwa Administration, pp. 399–401 and 407–13. 3 So, ‘Social protests, legitimacy crisis, and the impact towards soft authoritarianism’, p. 401. 4 The term ‘pro-democracy party alliance’ is adopted to refer to the pro-democracy political parities that often vote in the same line in the Legislative Council, and ‘pan-democracy camp’ to refer to the loosely associated pro-democracy political parties and civil society groups that have organized massive rallies since 2003. 5 In December 2006, the DP had a membership of 600, 9 legislators and 78 district councillors; The Frontier had one representative in the Legislative Council, six district councillors, with membership unknown; HKCTU had two representatives in the legislature, two district councillors, and a membership of 170,000; the HKADPL had a membership around 100 and one legislator and 24 district councillors; Democratic Party, www.dphk.org/e_site/index_e.htm; Hong Kong Association for Democracy and People’s Livelihood, www.adpl.org.hk; The Frontier, www.frontier.org.hk/ intro.php; Hong Kong Confederation of Trade Unions, www.hkctu.org.hk/aboutctu8.php# (accessed 4 March 2007). 6 ‘Apart from the 390 directly elected seats, there were also a total of 129 seats at the disposal of the government and seats reserved for designated groups’, Mingpao, 1 December 1999. 7 Mingpao, 30 November 1999. 8 Mingpao, 12 September 2000. 9 Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Survey on Support for Political Parties, www.cuhk.edu.hk/hkiaps/telpress.htm (accessed 28 November 2004). 10 Hong Kong Economic Journal, 19 April 2002; and Singtao, 19 April 2002. 11 South China Morning Post, 19 April 2002 and Takung Pao, 19 April 2002. 12 Hong Kong Commercial Daily, 26 June 2000. 13 Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Survey on Support for Political Parties, www.cuhk.edu.hk/hkiaps/telpress.htm (accessed 28 November 2004). 14 Ibid. 15 Mingpao, 2 July 2003. 16 University of Hong Kong, ‘Public opinion programme’, http://hkupop.hku.hk/chinese/columns/ columns22.html. 17 Mingpao, 25 November 2003. 18 Mingpao, 14 September 2004 and South China Morning Post, 14 September 2004. 19 Mingpao, 14 September 2004. 20 Government of Hong Kong SAR, Constitutional Affairs Bureau, The Fifth Report of the Constitutional Development Task Force: Package of Proposals for the Methods for Selecting the Chief Executive in 2007 and for the Forming of the Legislative Council in 2008, www.cab.gov.hk/cd/eng/ report5/index.htm and Open Magazine, 1 December 2005. 21 Mingpao, 22 December 2005. 22 Ibid. 23 Oriental Daily, 1 December 2005. 24 Takung Pao, 15 November 2005. 25 Mingpao, 22 December 2005. 26 Mingpao, 5 December 2005. 27 Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong Institute of Asia-Pacific Studies, ‘Telephone Survey Research Laboratory’, www.cuhk.edu.hk/hkiaps/telpress.htm (accessed January 2007). 28 Ibid. 29 Singtao, 10 October 2006. 30 South China Morning Post, 12 December 2006. 31 Mingpao, 2 March 2007.

100 The Political Future of Hong Kong 32 For the formulation of this alliance, see A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy (Maryland: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), p. 16 33 Government of Hong Kong SAR, Constitutional Affairs Bureau, ‘Decision of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress on Issues Relating to the Methods of Selecting the Chief Executive of Hong Kong Special Administrative Region in the Year of 2007 and Forming the Legislative Council of Hong Kong Special Administrative Region in the Year of 2008, 26 April 2004’, www.cab.gov.hk/cd/eng/basic/pdf/es5200408081.pdf (accessed 5 March 2007). 34 A. Y. So, Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy, p. 16. 35 Mingpao, 12 September 2000, and The Liberal Party, www.liberal.org.hk/contents (accessed 5 March 2007). 36 Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong, www.dab.org.hk/tr/ main.jsp?content=category-content.jsp&categoryId=1038; Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions, www.ftu.org.hk (accessed 5 March 2007); ‘Committee of Mainland Affairs, Taiwan Executive Yuan’, Comparative Study on Political Parties in Hong Kong (Chinese) (Taipei: Committee of Mainland Affairs, Taiwan Executive Yuan, 1995), pp. 18–20. 37 South China Morning Post, 28 December 2001. 38 Hong Kong Commercial Daily, 30 August 2000. 39 In 2006, Li’s family and his business corporations sent a total of 13 candidates to compete in the election for the Election Committee that would select the new Chief Executive in 2007; eight of them succeeded; Singtao, 16 January 2007. 40 Mingpao, 30 September 2000. 41 South China Morning Post, 24 November 2003. 42 S. K. Lau, ‘Tung Chee-hwa governing strategy: the shortfall in politics’, in The First Tung Cheehwa Administration, p. 29. 43 Liberal Party, www.liberal.org.hk (accessed 1 March 2007). 44 South China Morning Post, 24 July 2003. 45 This Institute is composed of senior researchers and academics on the mainland, and a dozen to twenty senior managers and researchers from major mainland enterprises in Hong Kong serve as advisors in their personal capacity. Members of this Institute hold joint meetings with officials from the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office and the Liaison Office, and these meetings were often chaired by Zeng Qing-hong, or Liao Hui, the Deputy Head of the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office, Mingpao, 9 March 2004, Hong Kong Economic Times, 10 March 2004, Singpao, 14 March 2004, and author’s interview with informed sources in the period of late 2003 to early 2005. 46 Tung, Seizing Opportunity for Development, Promoting People-based Governance, Policy Address, 2002. 47 South China Morning Post, 13 October 2003. 48 Mingpao, 5 October 2003. 49 South China Morning Post, 5 December 2003. 50 The Government of Hong Kong SAR, Constitutional Affairs Bureau, ‘The first to fifth report of the constitutional review task force’, www.cab.gov.hk/cd/eng/past/index.htm, and Open Magazine, 1 December 2005. 51 The Government of Hong Kong SAR, Constitutional Affairs Bureau, The Fifth Report of the Constitutional Development Task Force: Package of Proposals for the Methods for Selecting the Chief Executive in 2007 and for the Forming of the Legislative Council in 2008, www.cab.gov.hk/ cd/eng/report5/index.htm and Open Magazine, 1 December 2005. 52 Takung Pao, 28 July 2004. 53 South China Morning Post, 17 February 2005. 54 Takung Pao, 6 July 2004 and Hong Kong Economic Times, 4 September 2004. 55 Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong, www.dab.org.hk/tr/index.jsp, and Hong Kong Federation of Trade Union, www.ftu.org.hk/. 56 Takung Pao, 6 July 2004. 57 Author’s interview. 58 South China Morning Post, 20 August 2003. 59 South China Morning Post, 21 December 2004.

Contesting the boundaries 101 60 Tung Chee-hwa, Working Together for Economic Development and Social Harmony, Policy Address 2005. 61 Mingpao, 11 March 2005. 62 Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong Institute of Asian-Pacific Studies, ‘Telephone Survey Research Laboratory’, www.cuhk.edu.hk/hkiaps/telpress.htm. (accessed 5 March 2007). 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid. 65 Ibid. 66 Ibid. 67 ‘The Constitution of the People’s Republic of China, 4 December 1982’, The List of Comparison of Constitutions of the People’s Republic of China (Beijing: Law Press, 2004), p. 27. 68 Ibid., p. 27. 69 Ding-jian Cai, The Institution of Chinese People’s Congress, 4th edn (in Chinese) (Beijing: Law Press, 2003), p. 340. 70 Cai, The Institution of Chinese People’s Congress, p. 340. 71 Ibid., p. 349. 72 Beginning in the mid-1980s, NPC delegates began to assert their independence from the party, but much of the effort met with competing efforts from the CCP leadership to rein in delegates. In the 1995 Plenary Session, over one-third of the delegates failed to support the CCP’s nominee for Vicepremier, and over a quarter of the delegates also failed to support State Council proposals for a draft Banking Law and a draft Education Law. In recent years, the delegates have become increasingly assertive in introducing their own items into the NPC legislative and political agenda. This, in turn, has prompted the CCP to provide guidelines requiring party and executive officials to be more available to NPC delegates, in order to explain policies. The CCP was said to be considering amending its nomination procedures, so as to allow the NPC to vet the CCP-considered nominations before the official nomination list is set. See M. W. Dowdle, ‘The constitutional development and operations of the National People’s Congress’, Columbia Journal of Asian Law, 11, 1 (Spring 1997): 8–11. 73 Article 110, ‘The constitution of People’s Republic of China’, in List of Comparison of Amendments to the Constitution of People’s Republic of China (Beijing: China Law Press, 2004), p. 108. 74 List of Comparison of Amendments to the Constitution of People’s Republic of China, p. 350. 75 Wong Yiu-chung, ‘One country and two systems: where is the line?’, in Wong Yiu-chung (ed.), ‘One Country, Two Systems’ in Crisis (Maryland: Lexington Books, 2004), p. 27, and K. L. Chan, ‘Taking stock of “one country, two systems”’, in ‘One Country, Two Systems’ in Crisis, Wong Yiuchung (ed.) (Maryland: Lexington Books, 2004), p. 55. 76 R. Kluver, ‘Political culture and political conflict’, in Chen Guo-ming and Rin-go Ma (ed.), Chinese Conflict Management and Resolution (Westport: Ablex Publishing, 2002), p. 225. 77 Kluver, ‘Political culture and political conflict’, pp. 227–8. 78 W. P. Shively, Power and Choice: An Introduction to Political Science (New York: McGraw-Hill Companies, 2005), pp. 299–301. 79 South China Morning Post, 8 December 2005. 80 Singtao, 19 December 2005.

5

Democracy within communist China Possibilities and constraints

The method for selecting the Chief Executive shall be specified in the light of the actual situation in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and in accordance with the principle of gradual and orderly progress. The ultimate aim is the selection of the Chief Executive by universal suffrage upon nomination by a broadly representative nominating committee in accordance with the democratic procedures … Article 45 of the Basic Law1

A federated capitalist region within a unitary communist state? In the post-handover years, Beijing’s leaders’ response to the recurring quest for democracy in Hong Kong has been overshadowed by their concern to maintain state authority over the territory. It is therefore essential to reveal the underlying reasons for such anxiety before the trajectory of Hong Kong’s democratic development can be plotted. Essentially, democracy in Hong Kong presents two challenges to central leaders: the first is the possibility of channelling anti-communist force overseas to the mainland, and the second is the concern over the repercussions that democracy in Hong Kong might create in neighbouring provinces and cities on the mainland. The mass rally of July 2003 seemed to reinforce such doubts and fears. Not a few mainland officials responsible for formulating Hong Kong policies revealed their growing distrust of pro-democracy forces in Hong Kong, and were prepared to resist models that might effectively halt the political momentum calling for direct elections for the office of Chief Executive and for the legislature. In fact, within the institutions responsible for Hong Kong affairs there could be found both alarmists and also sympathizers, who interpreted demands to remove the incompetent Chief Executive and increase democracy in the region from different angles. The alarmists perceived the anti-Tung movement and the mass demonstrations against the Hong Kong government as evidence of emerging anti-China hostile forces in Hong Kong. A heightened sense of ‘enemy situation’, or di qing, developed. The demands for direct election of the Chief Executive in Hong Kong were therefore seen as a conspiracy of American and British ‘hostile forces’ and their ally, the Roman Catholic Church, to undermine China’s rule in Hong Kong. The alarmists took as

Democracy within communist China 103 evidence participation in the mass rallies of a Hong Kong Catholic bishop and the estranged former Chief Secretary for Administration. They regretted immensely the post-1997 hands-off approach to Hong Kong affairs, and suggested that uncompromising measures should be adopted. An advisor to the newly established State Council’s think-tank, the Research Institute for Hong Kong and Macao Affairs,2 noted: Since Hong Kong’s return to China, the Western forces led by Britain and America have never treated Hong Kong affairs as internal affairs of China. [They] never stopped meddling and intervening. The pro-democracy groups [in Hong Kong also] directed their spears at the central government from the beginning, as seen from their party platforms. [They] have continuously instigated confrontations, and caused difficulties for the formulation and implementation of the Basic Law. Concerning the issues of the legislation of the Basic Law Article 23 and constitutional development, [pro-democracy groups] collaborated with American and British hostile forces and the Roman Catholic Church. [They] have done all they could to stir up [public sentiment] and making noises; [they] engineered the mass rally on 1 July that precipitated the current political polarization and instability in Hong Kong. … Are the pro-democracy groups longing for liberty and democracy, or [do they] attempt to overthrow the Basic Law, while destabilizing Hong Kong and subverting China?3 The perception that the democracy movement in Hong Kong was part of a Western conspiracy to destabilize Hong Kong and to subvert China explains Beijing’s extreme reluctance to introduce direct election for the office of the Chief Executive. What the ‘enemy situation’ implied was that the office of Chief Executive must be in the hands of ‘patriots’ in Hong Kong, or ai guo ai gang ren shi. The loyalty of the Chief Executive to the motherland was of the utmost importance in ensuring Hong Kong’s unity with China. Election, on the other hand, would provide opportunities for ‘non-patriots’, that is, the pro-democracy groups. Should they assume governing power, suggested the advisor, Hong Kong would risk becoming an independent or semi-independent polity. Hence, the central government’s bottom line for Hong Kong policy, stated the advisor, does not lie with mere resumption of sovereignty of the territory, but must be embodied in effective implementation of that sovereignty. Effective implementation of sovereignty referred to making major decisions such as the choice of the Chief Executive and the development of Hong Kong’s political system.4 Not all decision-makers subscribed to this alarmist view of an ‘enemy situation’. The advisor himself believed, to a certain degree, that the demand for democracy in Hong Kong reflected the sentiment of the people, or the ‘people situation’ (min qing). But even so, he was still concerned about the possibility that prodemocracy groups would one day assume the ruling power in Hong Kong: Even if we could dare to believe that the pro-democracy forces may not possibly overthrow the Basic Law, topple the ‘One country, two systems

104 The Political Future of Hong Kong framework, or to turn Hong Kong into an independent or semi-independent polity when they control the Legislative Council and the office of Chief Executive, they could still continuously make trouble for the central government, and even criticize the central government for its governance in the Mainland by exploring the grey areas in the Basic Law, [thus providing] opportunities for international hostile forces to intervene [in China]. I believe this is not what the central government wishes to see.5 The above passage illustrates the anxiety among policymakers about China’s territorial integrity and regime stability on the mainland. The mass rallies in Hong Kong were seen to spring not from the genuine sentiments of Hong Kong’s people but from the influence of hostile Western forces. The pro-democracy forces thus were seen as dangerous agents of foreign enemies. Mainland decision-makers were also concerned about a possible domino effect that political reform in Hong Kong might create in other provinces and ethnic autonomous regions in China. As the adviser stressed, further democratization in Hong Kong raises three questions about centre–territory relations. The foremost question is whether the same degree of reform could be granted to other provinces and ethnic autonomous regions that advance similar demands. The second question is whether liberal forces in Hong Kong would grow and penetrate into neighbouring provinces and regions, serving as a catalyst for political movements there. The third question is whether liberal forces would campaign to overthrow the party-state, as a few pro-democracy groups in Hong Kong had hinted in their party pamphlets, thus causing instability in the current regime itself.6 What senior decision-makers find particularly intimidating about these issues is that China has entered a highly delicate period in which a single incident might cause an outbreak of massive social unrest. This anxiety arises from the awareness that political reform in China is long overdue, and that the strong economic growth that has been underpinning regime stability since 1989 may not be sustainable in the long run in the light of the expected decline of growth rate, fuelled by energy shortage for example, in the coming decades. Given the foreseeable limitations of growth, rising social discontent and widening regional disparity, social problems are likely to surface. Consequently, the call for some form of political reform would seem to be inevitable.7 Consequently, the question of how to handle the political demands in Hong Kong has often been considered in conjunction with the issue of social unrest, though not necessarily similar in nature, in other regions and provinces. As noted by the advisor previously quoted: What happened in Hong Kong [recently] could also happen in the mainland several years later. How to sum up the experiences and lessons of governance so as to prevent the 4th June [Tiananmen] incident recurring in Hong Kong, to prevent disturbance caused by improper handling of the quest for democracy, has been my utmost concern in recent years. China needs to undergo a process of intellectual enlightenment. And [only] based on such enlightenment, can orderly reform of the political system aiming at constitutionalism proceed.

Democracy within communist China 105 Otherwise, China’s economic miracle generated by twenty years of economic reform could be destroyed over night. 8 This passage illustrates a conceptual gap between some in the pro-democracy forces and the policymakers in Beijing regarding the issue of political change in Hong Kong. Some in Hong Kong tend to view the issue of political change from the local perspective, considering the centre–Hong Kong relationship to be a ‘special one’ because of the distinctive historical and cultural experiences of Hong Kong. But Beijing leaders and mainland officials increasingly view Hong Kong within a broader central˜provincial framework as Hong Kong affairs increasingly need to be managed within a broad national framework. The perception that the emergence of liberal forces in Hong Kong signifies an impending storm in China has both positive and negative implications. It suggests that Chinese senior officials are well aware of the inevitability of political reform, both in Hong Kong and on the mainland. But it also suggests that it was the similarity between the liberal movement in Hong Kong and the emerging unrest in other regions that senior officials focused on in particular. Thus there seemed to be a quest for a one-size-fitsall solution to demands for democracy and their impact on the central–provincial power structure. The formulation of a one-size-fits-all solution would be timeconsuming given the immense disparities among provinces and regions, let alone its possible effectiveness in curing the root problem for Hong Kong. Moreover, the stakes for central government in such a comprehensive measure would be immense, and the safety requirements would be equally demanding. Accordingly, the room for reform would shrink. However, the anxiety about possible implications of a popular election in Hong Kong for centre–Hong Kong power relations was not entirely irrational. It has to be understood in the context of the current centre–Hong Kong relationship. Under the ‘One country, two systems’ framework the centre’s authority over the territory constitutes an anomaly in the patterns of centre–province power distribution within the PRC. Since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China, central control over provinces, minority regions and directly administrated cities has been exercised through two instruments, namely, the party’s dominance over leadership selection and the limits imposed on provincial competences.9 The centre–Hong Kong structure, however, is a very different story in both respects. Leadership selection, the appointment and removal of local leaders, in China is conducted through the nomenklatura system. Although the system underwent immense changes in the post-Mao era, it still functions with remarkable effectiveness today. In the reform era in the 1980s, a substantial decentralization of powers took place under the liberal-minded leader Zhao Zi-yang. However, in the wake of the student movement in June 1989, the CCP has strengthened its power over leadership selection by recentralizing the previously decentralized powers. For example, the distinction between ‘leadership positions’ and ‘non-leadership positions’ within the civil service was abolished so as to bring all positions under central control.10 The party’s role in selecting leaders in economic enterprises and service units was reinstated. The reintroduction of central control in 1990 reached

106 The Political Future of Hong Kong further down the organizational hierarchy, even to the sub-provincial levels. Positions such as prefectural bureau chief and deputy chief again fell into the scope of management of the Central Organization Department. The authority of the party centre, under the 1990 nomenklatura system, was also extended to China’s 14 centrally-planned cities and special economic zones, including Hong Kong’s neighbouring cities such as Guangzhou and Shenzhen.11 By 1998, the distinction between political and professional positions was abolished altogether, and a ‘leader’ versus ‘non-leader’ distinction was put in place.12 This implies that all key positions, regardless of their nature, were at the recommendation of the party centre. In short, despite two decades of economic liberalization in China, the central CCP control over leadership selection in mainland China remains pervasive. Horizontally, it extends to almost every sector from the civil service, to economic enterprises and service units, and from media establishments to universities. Vertically it runs from state, down to provincial and prefectural bureaus. In such a context, the legal provisions guarding centre–Hong Kong power distribution deviate sharply from the usual pattern of central–provincial relations in the mainland. Compared with other provinces, minority autonomous regions and special economic zones, the central control over the leadership selection in Hong Kong is rather tenuous. The pervasive nomenklatura system stops at the Lo Wu border, and the leadership selection processes in Hong Kong are prescribed by the Basic Law. The number of positions in which the party-state has a say is relatively small. While the appointment and removal of the Chief Executive is the single most important instrument of control, the influence of the party-state over leadership selection, channelled through the Chief Executive, is confined to about 20 secretaries, principle officials, and bureau chiefs within the administration.13 Even if the planned expansion of the political appointees at the level of deputy directors of bureaus is to be adopted in 2007, the total number of positions with which the centre could wield influence would remain below 30. 14 The centre–Hong Kong relationship represents an unprecedented case in the history of PRC also in terms of the division of competencies. Although decentralization of legislative and administrative powers to provinces and regions has taken place since the Deng Xiao-ping era, thus transforming the command-compliance pattern of central–local relationships seen in the Mao era, the kind of comprehensive devolution seen in other countries has never occurred. Indeed, local latitude over policy determination expanded as changes in trade, investment, and fiscal management took place in the course of the 1980s and 1990s. A much more complex interaction between the centre and the provinces has emerged. With the provinces gaining in discretionary powers and autonomy at the expense of the central authority, intensive bargaining and negotiation between the centre and provinces has evolved. As a result, the growing assertiveness of provinces and the willingness to accommodate provincial interests and demands on the part of central government have been observed.15 However, despite the increased scope for local discretion and autonomy over policies and the emergent patterns of negotiation between the centre and provincial leaders,16 the erosion of central control over the provinces is more apparent than real. As Jae Ho Chung argues, the power

Democracy within communist China 107 of Beijing has indeed been reduced by extensive decentralizations, but this does not mean that the centre is weakened vis-à-vis the provinces. It only means that the centre has been willing to tolerate local special interests because these might facilitate regional growth and thus serve the ultimate goal of national development. Local assertiveness does not mean that the centre always has to give way to such assertiveness. Rather, it can choose to discipline the regions by shifting favourable treatment to other provinces, or decentralize its powers to sub-national units.17 Chung pointed out that the decentralization did not proceed irrespective of the types of policies. The centre may be more willing to solicit local initiatives on some policies while insisting on total compliance on others, depending on the resource implications, the impact and the scope of such policies. 18 The centre’s firm authority can also be observed from the distribution of legislative powers between the centre and provinces. Despite the fact that the legislative powers of provincial People’s Congresses have been incorporated into the PRC Constitution adopted in 1982, provinces have always exercised self-restraint and voluntarily adapted their legislation to bring regional ordinances into line with national policies.19 In short, even after almost two decades of economic liberalization, the centre remains in firm control over the provinces and regions. The centre’s flexibility in accommodating the local desire for policy determination has never been translated into substantial redistribution of competencies between the centre and the provinces. The centre–Hong Kong relations, however, exhibit some distinctive characteristics. Under the ‘One country, two systems’ framework, Hong Kong enjoys comprehensive autonomy with a locally composed legislature, an independent judiciary system with a Final Court of Appeal, and a separate civil service establishment. State authority is embodied in three aspects. First, there is the power of the Standing Committee of the NPC to scrutinize local legislation, to interpret the Basic Law, and to intervene in cases concerning centre–Hong Kong relations. Second, there is the authority of central government to appoint and to remove principal officials after a series of local procedures. In terms of policy-making, Hong Kong government is free to make almost all policies, with the exception of foreign affairs and national security. Some policies normally labelled as ‘high politics’, such as tax, fiscal, financial, trade and investment policies all fall within the jurisdiction of the Hong Kong government, let alone the policies falling into the domain of ‘low politics’, such as employment, industrial, transportation, education and energy policies.20 The above comparisons suggest that Hong Kong resembles more a federated region within a unitary state. The extensive executive, legislative and judicial powers Hong Kong enjoys render it more autonomous than those regions within federal states. The regional governments’ Länder in Federal Germany, for example, have to submit to central government the control of air transport, railroads and postal services, in addition to defence and diplomacy, while sharing power with the centre over a range of other policies. 21 Moreover, the communist nomenklatura system is devoid of any use here as an instrument in keeping the region on a tight leash. The limited number of positions under central control increases the anxiety arising from the lack of social and

108 The Political Future of Hong Kong economic interlacing between the centre and the territory, thus accentuating the challenge involved in granting further autonomy to the region at the centre’s expense, not to mention the potential distrust entailed by different political systems.

Scenarios for restructuring the office of the Chief Executive The further expansion of democracy in Hong Kong, especially the expansion of electoral participation for selecting the Chief Executive, needs to be examined within a two-dimensional framework of centre–Hong Kong relations, the competency and the leadership-selection dimensions. In other words, the achievement of general elections for the office of the Chief Executive hinges upon two questions: the extent to which the desire of the centre to rule over capitalist Hong Kong can be compromised, and the extent to which demands for further democracy can be accommodated by the institutions and the political culture of the communist mainland. Figure 5.1 illustrates the two-dimensional competition between the centre and the region within which changes in the method of selecting the Chief Executive must be calculated. It suggests the two dimensions of competition cannot be maximized simultaneously. A gain in one dimension implies a loss in the other, and a shift in the balance on one scale causes a shift in the balance on another. In other words, the interaction between central government and Hong Kong on the issue of selecting the Chief Executive must be characterized by correlations and trade-offs between different areas, and the scope for Hong Kong to determine the choice of the Chief Executive will be constrained if everything else remains the same. Correlation To change the method of electing the Chief Executive in favour of the region implies a movement of the Y’Y axis upwards. This movement yields a reduction of the aggregated area Bt and a corresponding expansion of the aggregated local autonomy At, thus causing a shift in the relative weight of At:Bt from the current level of the proposition. What this shift in relative weights of At:Bt suggests is that a change in favour of the local inhabitants should not be seen in isolation but must be viewed as a further expansion of local autonomy with a corresponding reduction in the aggregated state power over the territory. It would thus require the state to make concessions. Trade-off The correlation between a change in the selection method for the Chief Executive and a decline in state-aggregated power over the territory highlights the need for the state to be willing to accommodate such a change. However, the centre’s readiness to accept reduced state controls depends on its perception of the dangers implicit in such a reduction. These might include, for example, the risk of territorial secession

Democracy within communist China 109 CE selection controlled by HK Y' (0,1)

Prior The Commonwealth consent model

The Scotland model

Ex post response

Y't At

State authority X (–1,0)

t

0

Local autonomy X' (1,0)

Bt

Yt Y (0,–1) CE selection controlled by the CPG

Figure 5.1 The dimensions of competition between the Hong Kong SAR and the CPG

and the repercussions of such a decision in the other regions and territories of unified China. For such a shift in aggregated powers to take place would call for more than the centre’s current level of trust of the region, as well as the centre’s confidence in its ability to manage such a change. Taking the current level of trust and confidence as a given, further democratization in the selection of the Chief Executive would entail a trade-off. An upward movement of Y’Yt would have to be accompanied by a shift of Y’Yt to the right on the XX’ axis so as to maintain At:Bt relatively unchanged. That is to say, the power gained by local inhabitants over the office of Chief Executive would have to be offset by a loss in other dimensions of autonomy. This is another way of suggesting that the centre must seek assurance in other aspects, possibly by recovering some devolved powers in return, so as to retain the overall distribution of aggregated powers unchanged. Constraint The above correlation and the trade-off suggest that the two dimensions of competition cannot be maximized simultaneously. An expansion in one dimension implies a reduction in other dimensions, thus any movement in one dimension is constrained by the adaptability to such movement in another dimension. In other

110 The Political Future of Hong Kong words, the possibility of further increase of local control over the Chief Executive is constrained by the political dynamics in China. Put in the context of political reality, this means that the Chief Executive, as a local deputy of the central government, would be constrained by cultural and institutional conditions there. A further change in the selection method must be within the limits of the adaptability of the institutions in the mainland. Thus, the more alienating a political request is perceived to be, the less likely it is to be adopted. On the contrary, the more congruent a request is with the current cultural and institutional conditions, the greater would be the chance of its success. In short, any change in the selection procedures for the Chief Executive will impinge upon existing centre–Hong Kong relations, and thus must be sought within the parameters of central–provincial relations imposed by the centre. Given the comprehensive autonomy already enjoyed by Hong Kong, changes made in the region’s favour would imply further expansion of local autonomy and a corresponding decline in state control: this would engender some anxiety among the central leaders. If the current level of confidence and trust between the centre and the region remains unchanged, the possibility for such a change is limited. The room for change, however, lies either with the possibility of redistribution of competencies between the centre and the region, or with further expansion of institutional adaptability and cultural transformation in the mainland. Within the parameters discussed above, there are four possible scenarios for restructuring the office of the Chief Executive that might alleviate the stress for the incumbent, and resolve the tension between the centre and the region. The most radical scenario would resolve the dilemma of the Chief Executive andde-fuse the tension between centre and the region by separating the functions of the head of the region, who could possibly be named as the Governor, from the functions of the Chief Executive who heads the Hong Kong government. Central government’s authority over the territory would be embodied in its appointment of the Governor, while local control over the Chief Executive could be established by the introduction of universal suffrage in Hong Kong. Mirroring the relationship between the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth countries, this model could be called ‘the Commonwealth model’. The second scenario is to reduce the tension by further trimming state power. The central government’s appointment of the Chief Executive and his cabinet members would become nominal, allowing the Chief Executive to rise from local elections and choose his cabinet at his pleasure. Mirroring the status of Scotland within the United Kingdom, this model may be called the ‘Scotland model’, whereby a territory has been allowed to form its own local government within a unified state. Under this scenario, the Chief Executive would be directly elected in Hong Kong according to democratic procedures, and central government would agree always to appoint the elected person or to permit the removal of an incumbent when the Legislative Council has decided to that effect. The third scenario may be called the ‘prior consent’ model. Under this scenario, central control over the selection of the Chief Executive remains tangible, while local control over the Chief Executive would also be substantiated as prescribed by

Democracy within communist China 111 the Basic Law. In this scenario, the competition between the centre and the region would be resolved by introducing a negotiation process between the centre and region within a nomination committee. This means that Beijing’s prior approval of a candidate would have to be obtained before that candidate could stand for general election in the territory. The fourth scenario may be called the ‘ex post response’ model. Under this scenario, the status quo would be maintained. The central authority would continue to exercise substantial power over the choice of Chief Executive, while local participation in the selection would remain restricted. However, the central government would exercise its power with greater sensitivity to the demands and interests of local inhabitants after the Chief Executive is elected. In a way, sensible political conduct on the part of the centre would function as a substitute for a formal structural change, preventing political tensions from escalating into destabilizing forces. These four models are elaborated below. Scenario one: the Commonwealth model In the first scenario, the two functions currently vested in the office of Chief Executive would be split between two separated offices, one representing the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and the other leading the Hong Kong SAR government. The head of the region, who might be called the Governor, would be appointed by the central government according to its own criteria and from its own centralized personnel system. The head of the Hong Kong SAR government, the Chief Executive, would be elected by the local people following democratic procedures. In this scenario, the quest for democracy would be fulfilled, and the incumbent’s ‘dual accountability’ dilemma could be alleviated. If applied in the real political setting in Hong Kong, the function of Governor would be vested in the head of the central government’s Liaison Office in Hong Kong, whose career path would have taken him up the mainland’s political ladders. This scenario resembles the British Commonwealth model in its early days when the Governor-General in Commonwealth countries such as Canada, Australia and New Zealand would have been recommended by the British monarch and government to represent the state. The Prime Minister, as head of government, owes allegiance to an elected parliament. The major difference between the Hong Kong SAR and Commonwealth countries is that Hong Kong has adopted a quasi-presidential system in which power is centralized in the office of the Chief Executive, rather than the parliamentary system as in the member countries of the Commonwealth. This model has the advantage of resolving, legally, the competition over the office of the Chief Executive while preserving the unity of the nation state. Its disadvantage, however, is that it implies a radical departure from the existing constitution of Hong Kong, and would entail a significant amendment to the Basic Law. The political and social costs of such a massive constitutional change would be difficult to assess. In addition, it remains uncertain how effective this model would be in

112 The Political Future of Hong Kong resolving the politics surrounding the office of Chief Executive. The success of the Commonwealth model lies in the fact that the Governor-General, by convention, does not exercise the prerogatives vested in the office by the constitution. In fact, Governor-Generals have often been nominated by regional Prime Ministers in recent years, and the Crown’s power of appointment has become completely nominal. Moreover, the Commonwealth countries decide their own independent policies on foreign affairs and national security, and legislative or judicial supervision by the British parliament or courts disappeared long ago in history. Thus, even if the Commonwealth model could be adopted to resolve tensions between Hong Kong and Beijing, a few crucial questions remain. The first question is whether the central government would continue to exercise its power over foreign policy and national security. Given that Hong Kong remains a Special Administrative Region within a unified China, the answer to this question seems to be definite. That is to say, if war erupted across the Straits, the Hong Kong government would have to align itself with the central government in measures against Taiwan, such as a trade embargo and military sanctions. But what if public opinion disagreed? Then friction between the Chief Executive and the Governor would inevitably erupt. The second question is whether the Standing Committee of the NPC would continue to exercise its power of oversight of local legislation, and interpret the Basic Law when it saw fit? As long as these powers remain in place, confrontations would arise between the Chief Executive, as the most central figure in formulating bills and policies under Hong Kong’s political setting, and the Governor, representing the will of the central authority. What these questions show is that the contradictions implicit in the current responsibilities of the Chief Executive would then be translated into personalized confrontations between the two offices, of the Chief Executive and the Governor, while the grounds for conflict would stay the same. The history of Commonwealth countries demonstrates that the model was only created and maintained because Britain relinquished its real political power over these territories. As discussed in Chapter 2, the ‘responsible governments’ in the ‘white settlements’, consisting of a combination of a locally elected Chief Minister working alongside a London-appointed Governor, were short-lived precisely because the imperial powers over the control of land, trade policy, foreign and defence affairs, and legislative oversight were meant to be real. Friction between the local government and the colonial Governor was thus inevitable, precipitating the momentum for self-government and the eventual withdrawal of imperial power from the territories. The territories under ‘responsible government’ then acquired Dominion status, later forming the Commonwealth, by rendering all prerogatives of the Governor nominal ones, and by allowing these countries to conduct their own foreign and defence policies. The presence of Britain in Commonwealth countries hence became entirely symbolic. Although the Chief Executive, in this re-structuring, would be selected independently of the local legislature, the Chief Executive would not be independent of

Democracy within communist China 113 party politics when general elections were held. The Commonwealth model thus is unlikely to be effective in resolving the stress of centre–Hong Kong competition, although it might appear to alleviate the dual accountability dilemma for the Chief Executive. The model would only transform the tension into personalized confrontations between the Chief Executive and the Governor. Scenario two: the Scotland model The tension between the centre and the region, and the demand for direct election to the office of Chief Executive, might be resolved by adopting the Scotland model. In this scenario, the Chief Executive continues to function both as head of the region and as head of the Hong Kong SAR government. But central government’s power over the appointment of Chief Executive would be made symbolic so as to accommodate the local will. The Chief Executive would be selected by local general election, while central government would always endorse the election results. Should the case arise where the Hong Kong legislature decided to pursue a course of action against the Chief Executive, the central government would ratify an incumbent’s impeachment according to formal procedures. This scenario mirrors closely the devolution of Scotland within a unified United Kingdom. The Scotland Act 1998 devolved both legislative and executive powers to a new Scottish Parliament.22 The Scottish Parliament has been allowed to form its government in accordance with the results of parliamentary election. The Scottish Executive has now replaced the Scotland Office, which was a Whitehallcontrolled regional administrative office. The stressed Secretary of State for Scotland, who was at the political apex of the Scotland Office in Edinburgh, but appointed by the Prime Minister and assisted by administrative staff from the unified UK civil service, has thus disappeared from the political scene.23 Policy areas with domestic importance formerly handled by the Scotland Office were transferred to the Scottish Executive, for example, agriculture and fisheries, economic development, education, environment, health, local government, social work, civil law, criminal justice, tourism and the arts. In addition, the Scottish Parliament enjoys a wide range of legislative powers except for those areas reserved by Westminster. In fact, the Scotland Act 1998 did not begin by listing the devolved powers but by listing the reserved powers of Westminster. This approach resembles more closely the practice in federated states where the powers of the federal government are limited and explicit, while the residual powers are comprehensive and implicit.24 The Scotland model illustrates one approach to meeting the demand for representative government at the sub-national level and of resolving the conflict between central authority and local autonomy within a unified state. Hong Kong and Scotland are clearly very different, given that a quasi-presidential system operates in Hong Kong and a parliamentary one operates in Scotland. But the Scotland model sets a precedent for a region within a unified state to enjoy the power of forming its own government. The advantage of this model is that its scenario remains within the parameters of the Basic Law. To adopt this model would only require an amendment

114 The Political Future of Hong Kong of the local ordinance regarding the election of the Chief Executive, so that the office would be elected by ‘one man one vote’ instead of a restricted Election Committee. However, what has resolved friction between Scotland and London may not be easily copied to resolve tension between Hong Kong and Beijing. Scottish devolution occurred in a very different context of central–regional relations. In fact, even after 1998, the power of the Scottish Parliament and its government is still limited in a few significant aspects. The national government reserves its decision-making powers over policies categorized as ‘high politics’, including those on the currency, macro-economic management, immigration, nationality and trade, in addition to defence and foreign affairs. Policies categorized as ‘low politics’, such as energy, employment, and transportation also fall under the jurisdiction of the national government. In part, the retention of decision-making powers over such a comprehensive range of policies aims for administrative practicality, such as to retain a uniform UK market and prevent cross-regional conflicts. But more importantly, it also indicates the sovereignty of Westminster and the subordinate nature of the devolved institutions. In fact, the British parliament reserves the power to make vital checks on legislation passed by the Scottish Parliament, while Westminster’s right to pass legislation on any Scottish issue is assured.25 The Scotland Act 1998 states that devolution ‘does not affect the power of the Parliament of the UK to make laws for Scotland’, thus offering Westminster the potential to reverse devolution itself.26 The autonomy of Scotland is further limited by its lack of funding to carry out the programmes preferred by its own parliament and government. The Scotland Act 1998 allows the Scottish government only a three per cent levy on income tax as additional revenue. The financial resources of the Scottish government come from a block grant from Westminster. Neither a sales tax nor any other form of income sharing between the UK and Scottish governments is allowed. Financial limitation seriously constrains the autonomy of the local government for it cannot pursue its programmes except by redistributing the central grant among different policy areas. 27 In short, the Scotland Act in 1989 granted Scotland the power to form its own government but this constitutional transformation did little to undermine the central authority significantly. The central authority retains the essential clout to bring Scotland into line with its national policies, and to keep the region on a leash. In contrast, the central government in Beijing is short of formal powers over resource allocation and policy determinants that could function as disciplinary tools, although instruments for influence have emerged and will continue to emerge in the future because of speedy economic integration between the territory and the mainland in past decades. Until comprehensive integration takes place, Beijing’s authority over the region relies heavily on its ability to select a trustworthy Chief Executive, and shaping the executive core of the Hong Kong government. The implications of forgoing its authority over key political positions in the region would have consequences far more profound than in the case of Scotland vis-à-vis the UK parliament. Hence, the possibility of adopting the Scotland model would depend on the extent of socio-economic integration between Hong Kong and the mainland in the future.

Democracy within communist China 115 In the event that Hong Kong’s social and economic developments become closely intertwined with that of the mainland, cooperation on policy issues would ensue. As mutual coordination increases, the central government’s disciplinary instruments, though maybe informal, would also increase. Beijing’s reliance on its chief agent in Hong Kong would thus be reduced accordingly. On the other hand, the positive contribution of the centre would reduce the possibility of a radical departure of the region from its normal course of development. These developments would hence provide conditions facilitating the adoption of the Scotland model. Scenario three: the ‘prior consent’ model The third scenario that could be considered both to accommodate the demand for a directly elected Chief Executive and to alleviate the tension between the centre and the territory is to establish a mechanism by which compromise between Beijing and the region can be achieved before the election for the office takes place. As envisioned by the Basic Law, local control over the Chief Executive will eventually be realized within the 50-year time frame. If central government continues to exercise its prescribed powers over the appointment of the Chief Executive, a centre–territory impasse could ensue. One way to avoid this potential impasse would be to build in a negotiation process prior to the polling. Since Article 43 of the Basic Law stipulates that the Chief Executive must be nominated by ‘a broadly representative nominating committee’ before standing for election, negotiations between the two parties could take place within this committee. To achieve this end, the nominating committee would need to be composed both of representatives from the region, such as the elected members from the Legislative Council, as well as representatives from central government, for example, the Liaison Office. Negotiations regarding the list of candidates to be put forward for popular vote could then be conducted within the nominating committee so as to achieve compromise between the two sides. A candidate who had gone through such a process, and was also elected by universal suffrage in Hong Kong would both receive the necessary popular mandate and also be acceptable to Beijing. A constitutional crisis could thus be avoided. The details of how this nominating committee would be constituted, or the threshold for nomination, could be negotiated among competing stakeholders. The objective of this model is to ensure competition between the centre and the territory takes place within the nomination process, and ‘prior consent’ for the candidates would be obtained before the contender stands for popular election. This ‘prior consent’ model has several advantages. First, it is within the parameters provided by the Basic Law. Second, it is congruent with the political culture in the mainland, which prefers to confine political competition within a limited circle and through designated channels. Furthermore, the adoption of this model could be achieved with relative ease and stability. It is not too difficult to imagine, within the current political context, the current Election Committee being converted into a nominating committee with its constituent elements slightly redesigned. The disadvantage of this model is that the degree of contestation for the office of the

116 The Political Future of Hong Kong Chief Executive would be limited, thus undermining the legitimacy of the Chief Executive. However, the extent of participation in the selection of the Chief Executive under this model would be immensely expanded compared with the current selection method. The effectiveness of this ‘prior consent’ model in resolving tension between the centre and the region, however, depends on the dynamics within the nominating committee. The current Election Committee has been criticized as being heavily influenced, if not completely controlled, by Beijing, even though it does not include any formal representatives from the central institutions. The only possible agents who might channel the interests of the centre could be the 36 Hong Kong delegates to the NPC now present in the Committee.28 Because of its highly restricted selection process, the Hong Kong delegation to the NPC were seen as agents of the central authorities, rather than as representatives of the region.29 The Hong Kong members of the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) presented in the Election Committee have also been seen as channelling the preference of Beijing on the choice of Chief Executive. These Hong Kong members of the National Committee of the CPPCC are also selected by central institutions, notably, the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office and the Liaison Office,30 and have been seen as reflecting rather more the will of Beijing than that of the locals. However, the influence of the centre on the choice of Chief Executive is exerted through intensive lobbying within the Election Committee, and by relying on the common interests that exist between central leaders and the selectors. The reason is a simple one. Even if all Hong Kong delegates to the NPC and members of the National Committee of the CPPCC on the Election Committee diligently obeyed orders from Beijing, they constitute less than one-tenth of the current Election Committee membership of 800. The total number of Hong Kong delegates to the two national institutions is also outweighed by the number of representatives from local institutions, including legislators, the district councillors and representatives from new territories.31 Hence, if the centre has been seen to be highly influential in ensuring that its preferred candidate wins the race, then its influence was achieved not by sending its own representatives to the Election Committee but by ensuring that the Election Committee collectively shares Beijing’s view. What the selectors in the Election Committee and Beijing leaders have in common, to put it crudely, is the desire to preserve an elitist political system while maintaining a freewheeling market economy. In this respect, the limitations placed on the size and composition of the Election Committee become essential for ensuring a desired outcome. A notable peculiarity of this situation is that, although it is often believed that Beijing is influential in the choice of the Chief Executive, there has not yet been any formal representative from the central institutions present in the Election Committee. In fact, Beijing’s influence over the choice of Chief Executive remains highly circumstantial. The selectors, primarily concerned with their stakes in the community, are in fact only imperfect substitutes for formal central agents. Seeing issues from the national perspective is not necessarily their priority. Hence, changes in circumstances may entail shifts in the alliance, and Beijing’s coalition

Democracy within communist China 117 with the selectors cannot be expected always to be solid. Intensive lobbying must be conducted to shore up such a coalition in times of crisis. In fact, the disquiet of selectors and Hong Kong delegates to the CPPCC seen in the course of 1999 and 2000 demonstrated uncertainties within the Election Committee. If the Hong Kong representatives of central institutions have not been perfect substitutes for central agents, then the other members of the Election Committee would be even less so. The reliance on informal agents to influence the outcome of the Chief Executive selection process presents difficulties for further democracy in Hong Kong. Because Beijing’s interests can only be assured by limiting the size and composition of the Election Committee, a further expansion of participation in the selection of the Chief Executive would imply an increase in the cost of political persuasion. Direct elections hence would be seen as disastrous because of the increased risk of complete loss of control over the selection of the Chief Executive. Hence, given the fact that central authority has a legitimate interest in the choice of the Chief Executive, there must be institutionalized channels whereby the centre can express formally, but also transparently, its wishes. Only on such a basis could further expansion of participation in selecting the Chief Executive be made possible. Scenario four: the ‘ex post response’ model The last scenario may be called the ‘ex post response’ model. Under this scenario, the status quo of the current method for selecting the Chief Executive would remain in place. The central government would continue to exercise its power over the selection of the Chef Executive, while local participation in the selection of the Chief Executive would remain restricted. However, central government would exercise its power with greater sensitivity under this scenario. It would support a candidate who can sustain public support, while letting go an incumbent who loses public confidence. In a sense, central government would exercise its power with enhanced responsiveness as a way of offsetting the detrimental effects of the asymmetrical distribution of power between the centre and the region. The advantage of this model is that it requires no constitutional change to the current political setting but only a behavioural change on the part of Beijing. But the very advantage of using extraconstitutional means is also the disadvantage of the model. It means that the legitimacy problem of the Chief Executive would linger on, and that public support for the Hong Kong government would continue to depend heavily on its performance. The effectiveness of this model, however, may not be as insignificant as its modest claims may imply. As discussed in previous chapters, the recurrent demand for democracy rose out of frustration over the performance of the first Chief Executive and his administration. The delayed response to the calls for the removal of the unpopular incumbent contributed to the precipitation of democratic movements. If Beijing had been willing to let go of the unpopular incumbent and to allow other candidates to emerge on the political scene at the turn of 2000, then the spread of public agitation might have been prevented. Without the accumulated effects of discontent, the mass rally held in July 2003 could have been avoided. Oddly enough, Beijing moved in the opposite direction. Not only did it support the first Chief

118 The Political Future of Hong Kong Executive for a second term in office but it also allowed him to run uncontested. The lack of responsiveness to the political demands eventually resulted in greater public agitation, and provided the necessary conditions for political mobilization. What this ‘ex post response’ model calls for, in essence, is the formation of political conventions as alternatives to constitutional changes. As practised in Britain, political convention – in the form of resignation or the requested resignation of scandal-hit public figures – has worked as effectively as any legal mechanism in restoring public confidence. This model would be particularly useful in Hong Kong because of the mixed political culture. The general public have been primarily concerned with the performance of the government. Improving the competence of the Chief Executive would thus be effective in restoring public support for the government, and arresting the momentum for political change. Even if the development of political conventions might not completely offset the negative impact of the asymmetrical distribution of power, it could reduce the tensions between the centre and the region. Of course, the effectiveness of this model depends on how quickly the political culture in Hong Kong could transform itself. If political events in the past decade have had the effect of significantly reengineering the belief systems of the masses and raising the mobilization capacity of political groups, then responsiveness would not completely cure political problems at their root. In short, there is a spectrum of scenarios by which the tension between the centre and the region might be alleviated and further democratization of the office of the Chief Executive could be achieved. The first model calls for the separation of the functions of the Governor as the head of the territory from that of the Chief Executive as the head of the government. Based on the Commonwealth model, this model entails a radical departure from the existing constitutional arrangements and would require serious constitutional revision. The second and the third solutions focus on exploring the possibilities that exist within the Basic Law. If central control over the Chief Executive could be made symbolic, then the region could exhance its autonomy in forming its own government similarly to that of Scotland within the United Kingdom. But in a scenario where the centre insists on exercising its power, then the quest for democracy may be met by building a ‘prior consent’ within the nominating committee. Finally, a solution to the tension between the centre and the region may be found in a change of behaviour, rather than a change in the constitution. If the central government as the dominant power could exercise its authority with greater sensitivity, rewarding or punishing its agent with reference to his competence and popularity, then the strained relationship could also be repaired. The above four scenarios are illustrated in a twodimensional diagram so as to indicate their respective implications.

Hong Kong’s democracy within an evolving China The viability of these models as solutions to central–regional tensions, and as responses to the quest for democracy, has to be evaluated within the context of a transforming China. If the heightened sense of ‘enemy situation’ and the anxiety

Democracy within communist China 119 over the domino effects of Hong Kong’s constitutional change act as constraints on Hong Kong’s democratic future, then possibilities for change also arise in the light of the changing political dynamic in mainland China. Among the positive developments are the increased assertiveness of the people’s congresses at both the national and the provincial levels and the emerging wen ze system in China. Both changes shed light on possible steps towards constitutional reform in Hong Kong. While it is likely that Hong Kong may venture on a measured course of development, the steps taken may not be insignificant in terms of their impact on politics within the region, and the dynamism between the centre and the region. The delegates in the national and sub-national congresses have been increasingly assertive since the adoption of the new constitution in 1982. Because the new constitution provides a much more comprehensive description of the constitutional powers and responsibilities of the NPC within the constitutional system, the legislative function of the NPC has expanded at the expense of that of the State Council. Its authority with respect to the judicial review of administrative actions of the subsidiary organs of the State Council, as well as of the private actions of individual administrative actors began to be established.32 In line with the expansion of NPC functions and authority, NPC delegates began to assert their independence by refusing to endorse State Council proposals for legislation, or to support the reports from the Supreme People’s Court and the Supreme People’s Procurate. The national delegates also began to challenge the CCP’s nominations for posts within the central government. The most significant inroads were made in the 1995 Plenary Session where over one-third of the delegates failed to support the CCP’s nomination of Vice Premier, Jiang Chun-yun.33 Moreover, such acts of defiance by NPC delegates were echoed by their counterparts at the provincial level. Around 1988, the CCP failed to secure the appointment of all of their nominees for provincial- and regional-level government positions in 18 of the 27 provinces and regions. The provincial People’s Congresses voted down as many as 19 per cent of the total party nominees. On the other hand, delegates managed to have their own representatives installed as vice-governor in four provinces, as vicedeputy of the Standing Committee of the People’s Congress in three provinces, and as Secretary of the Standing Committee of the People’s Congress in one province. Although party control over the selection of provincial leaders was strengthened after the Tiananmen Square incident in 1989, two party nominees for provincial governorships were vetoed by the delegates in 1995. 34 The assertiveness of the delegates to the national and provincial people’s congresses illustrates the changing dynamics between the party and the legislature at both national and sub-national levels. It suggests the erosion of party control over government posts at both the national and provincial levels. Although this erosion is still far from ending the nomenklatura system in China, it has ushered in a complex process of negotiation between the delegates and the Party over leadership selection. In fact, following the large delegate opposition to the CCP’s nomination of Jiang Chen-yun for Vice Premier in 1995, the CCP was considering amending its nomination procedures so as to allow the NPC to vet the CCP’s considered nominations before the official nomination list is set up. This intention

120 The Political Future of Hong Kong in fact signified a process similar to a ‘prior consent’ process. Meanwhile, the CCP and the State Council have jointly promulgated internal guidelines requiring party and executive officials to be more accessible to NPC delegates. The guidelines also require party and executive officials to be more sensitive in their dealings with the NPC delegates.35 These changes signify the emergence of a culture in which the state cadres owe some answerability to the delegates from the NPC, and in which patterns of negotiation are forming between the representatives of the people and the party-state. The significance of these developments also lies in its impact on the accountability structure of provincial governments. In China, governments at provincial and regional levels assume ‘dual accountability’, just like the Chief Executive in Hong Kong, Article 96 of the Chinese Constitution stipulates that People’s Congresses at various local levels will assume supreme authority, and be responsible for local legislation and forming the local governments. As the executive organs of the provincial People’s Congress, provincial governments are answerable and accountable to the local Congresses. Nonetheless, Article 110 of the Chinese constitution stipulates that provincial governments are also responsible to the State Council, and ‘must obey the unified leadership of the State Council, and report to state executive organs above’.36 These clauses create a situation of dual accountability, and the duality was resolved by marginalizing the power of the provincial Congresses to vote their own representatives into the governments. On the other hand, the provincial governments’ accountability to the State Council is ensured by the party’s monopoly power over selecting the leaders of local governments.37 Hence, the increased assertiveness of the People’s Congresses at the local level has important implications for the accountability of the provincial governments, suggesting that the current domination of the State Council may no longer be sustainable. In short, the emergence of a culture of answerability, the signs of ‘prior consent’ between NPC delegates and the party-state, and negotiation between central and local congresses suggest that models that embody a degree of confined negotiation would have a high possibility of being adopted. The emergence of the concept of wen ze and the attempt to institutionalize a wen ze system on the mainland in recent years suggest that models which imply informal changes would stand a better chance than those requiring formal constitutional changes. Beginning in 2003, the word wen ze appeared in public discourse in the mainland mass media. Unlike the terms ze ren (responsibility) or fu ze (taking responsibility) that have previously been used in Chinese political discussion, wen ze carries with it the connotations of ‘questioning’ and ‘blaming’, closely reflecting the essence of the liberal notion of accountability. The term wen ze appeared in the spring of 2003, when the SARS epidemic struck a few cities on the mainland, including the capital city of Beijing, causing thousands of casualties. While panic spread in China, international criticism mounted over the alleged cover-up of the disease at the outbreak of the epidemic, which was thought to have led to the spread of the disease to Hong Kong and other nations. The new leadership in Beijing, led by President Hu Jing-tao and Premier Wen Jia-bao, quickly reacted to the international and domestic pressures by dismissing the Minister of

Democracy within communist China 121 Health and the Mayor of Beijing, and top officials in the affected regions. It was reported that a total of 120 officials were held responsible for the cover-up, or for incompetence in preventing the spread of the epidemic. They were either suspended from duty, demoted, or received a disciplinary warning.38 This decision to sanction responsible officials set a precedent for the following year. From the spring of 2003 to the summer of 2004, the punishments for provincial and city officials responsible for major accidents that involved the loss of life and assets continued. For example, within a couple of months in the spring of 2004, a managing director of a state petroleum corporation, a county magistrate in Beijing and the Mayor of Jiling were told to resign because of accidents that had occurred within their administrative jurisdiction. These disciplinary decisions were widely discussed in the media, and raised public expectation that similar sanctions would be applied to all official wrongdoers.39 The connection of wen ze with the notion of accountability was attempted by Wen Jia-bao himself in a meeting held in June 2003. Wen was reported to have declared that the punishment for the irresponsible cadres was a ‘common practice’ in countries where the rule of law prevailed, and China was to adopt this practice so as to improve its performance. 40 As it has been so far articulated, the concept of wen ze covers a wide range of responsibilities. Wen ze means a mixture of political, administrative, financial and even moral accountabilities in mainland China. The separation between political, administrative or financial accountability, and the idea that different types of accountability imply different rules and punishment, are not seen here. Maybe the nomenklatura system renders such distinctions and separations meaningless, or even impossible, since party cadres occupy senior positions within the political, administrative, and business hierarchies. As Professor Du Gang-jian from the State Administrative College commented, ‘resignation for the sake of taking responsibility is an act of shouldering the political and social responsibilities for the accounted person. It can effectively fill the gap between legal responsibility and irresponsible behavior.’41 In fact, as the Hu administration proceeded to formalize wen ze into a system, administrative, political, financial and moral accountabilities were all treated as one. When the temporary provisions for the wen ze system were promulgated in early 2004, they were issued under the name of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party, and entitled Temporary Provisions for the Resignation of Party and Administrative Cadres, in which party and administrative officials alike are subject to four types of resignation. These include self-resignation to accept the responsibility for a government blunder, or yin jiu ci zhi, and obligatory resignation as a punitive measure from above, or ze ling ci zhi.42 The emergence of the concept of wen ze has to be understood in the broad context of Chinese political changes over the past two decades. Deng Xiao-ping’s pragmatic approach to China’s economic development and his advocacy of ‘fourway transformation’ led to the introduction of meritocratic systems for leadership recruitment and cadre promotion throughout the political hierarchy, a process dubbed ‘meritocratic winnowing’ by Andrew Nathan.43 Such a process was brought about as a result of institutional differentiation and specialization that has been driven by marketization in China since the 1980s. Technical competence,

122 The Political Future of Hong Kong administrative skills and experience have since then been increasingly emphasized for the promotion of state cadres, while personal loyalty and factional allegiance have been discounted.44 Such institutional differentiation and specialization helped the regime to regain its legitimacy after the crisis of the Tiananmen Square student movement in 1989. The regime has thus been able to show its resilience without undertaking profound democratization. 45 It is within such a broad trend of institutional changes and the promotion of meritocracy that the concept of wen ze has spread. By suspending, demoting and dismissing irresponsible officials, the wen ze system provides a means of venting public grievances. Motivated by its desire to continue to rule, the Party sanctions irresponsible officials but without granting the ultimate control mechanism, elections, to the people. As such, the wen ze system can be seen as a progressive step forward from the ‘reciprocal accountability’ between the cadres and the leaders. By responding to the grievances of the people, the flow of answerability has changed from being a two-way to a three-way process. On the other hand, wen ze is not a perfect substitute for the liberal notion of accountability which primarily relies on election to enforce the concept. As such its effect would not be the same as comprehensive institutional and constitutional reforms. It may not be surprising, therefore, that some classic British conservative concepts began to appear in twenty-first-century mainland China. For example, President Hu Jing-tao articulated the notion of wen ze as the essence of ‘responsible government’, ze ren zheng fu. ‘Responsible government’ means, said Hu, that ‘an official cannot shift the blame to others when serious accidents … have caused the loss of lives and assets in his/her jurisdiction and during his/her term in office’. He stressed that ‘practising accountability is the proper behaviour of a responsible government’.46 Taking Hu’s remarks further, some intellectuals interpreted wen ze primarily as nurturing ‘the virtue of officialdom’, or guan de, and ‘a culture of officialdom’, or guan chang wen hua. In the end, they said, the objective of wen ze was to establish a government by law so that ‘the grant of power must be accompanied with responsibilities; the exercise of power must be scrutinized; any violation of law must be investigated; and an infringement of rights must be compensated’.47 What has been conspicuously absent is the idea of government by people, and being controlled by the people. These discussions on wen ze reflect the mind-set of the Chinese ruling elite who value rule by law higher than rule by the people. The elaboration of the idea of wen ze by political leaders in China sheds light on Beijing’s decisions regarding Hong Kong. A heightened sense of wen ze among central leaders is congruent with the decision to let go of an unpopular incumbent, and to support a popular, albeit maybe less trustworthy Chief Executive in 2005. Beijing’s increased emphasis on the performance, as opposed to the compliance, of state officials suggests that central government will carefully take the pulse of the public in the territory. Hong Kong’s future chief executives are likely to be selected with increased emphasis on competence, skills and popularity. Nonetheless, wen ze remains different to the liberal notion of accountability, and what it can deliver falls a long way short of what popular elections could achieve. Hence,

Democracy within communist China 123 it is likely to lead to the development of models that entail the adoption of incremental changes rather than models that entail significant changes to existing structures. In conclusion, Hong Kong’s political development is likely to lie with evolution rather than revolution. In the short term, lingering concern over di qing and anxiety about state authority eliminate the possibility that the Commonwealth or the Scotland model would be adopted. The ‘prior consent’ model, however, stands a better chance because it is more likely to fall within the scope of adaptability of institutions and the political culture on the mainland. It would also be more congruent with current political dynamics in China, and could be adapted with relative ease given the current political setting in Hong Kong. Finally, it is most likely that political conventions will continue to emerge that help to alleviate the structural tension between the centre and the region. The central government is likely to respond quickly to political developments within the territory in order to effectively arrest social movements while they are still in their infancy. In fact, in 2007, both Beijing’s quickened responses, and the impact of these, have already been observed.

Notes 1 Basic Law, Article 45, para. 2. 2 The Research Institute for Hong Kong and Macao Affairs was established in December 2003 in the wake of the massive demonstration in Hong Kong held on 1 July 2003. This Institute is a subsidiary of the Development Research Centre of the State Council, and reports to the Vice-president Zeng Qing-hong directly. The Institute serves as an additional channel to collect information and identify Hong Kong’s social, economic conditions and political problems apart from the two established channels: the Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government in Hong Kong and the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office. Its establishment was seen as a reaction to the failure of the Liaison Office to anticipate the outbreak of mass demonstrations in Hong Kong. Mingpao, 9 March 2004; Hong Kong Economic Times, 10 March 2004; Singpao, 14 March 2004, and author’s interview with informed sources in the period of late 2003 to early 2005. 3 Author’s interview. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid. 9 V. C. Falkenheim, ‘China’s evolving region-central relations: implications for Hong Kong’, in Burns, J. P. (ed.), Hong Kong and China in Transition (Toronto: Joint Centre for Asia Pacific Studies, 1994), p. 64. 10 J. P. Burns, ‘Strengthening central CCP control of leadership selection: the 1990 nomenklatura’, in China Quarterly 138 (June 1994): 458–91. 11 Ibid., pp. 467–9. 12 H. Chan, ‘Cadre personnel management in China: the nomenklatura system 1990–8’, in China Quarterly 179 (2004): 703–34. 13 Basic Law, Article 48, para. 5 stipulates that the Chief Executive has the power to nominate and to report to the Central People’s Government on the appointment and removal of Secretaries and Deputy Secretaries of Departments, Directors of Bureaux, the Commissioner Against Corruption, the Director of Audit, the Commissioner of Police, the Director of Immigration and the Commissioner of Customs and Excise. Para. 6 and 7 stipulates the appointment and removal of judges at all

124 The Political Future of Hong Kong

14

15 16 17

18 19 20

21 22

23

24 25

26 27 28

levels and public office holders, but their appointment and removal must be in accordance with legal procedures. In an effort to expand the POAS system, the Hong Kong SAR government introduced a plan to increase 22 politically appointed positions at the level of Deputy of Directors of Bureau and Assistant to Directors of Bureau, of which only the Deputy Directors of Bureau would require the approval of the central government should the plan be approved, Hong Kong: Government of Hong Kong SAR, Consultation Document of Further Development of the Political Appointment System, July 2006, p. 25. Falkenheim, ‘China’s evolving region-central relations’, pp. 65–8. Burns, ‘Strengthening central CCP control of leadership selection’, pp. 470–1. J. H. Chung, ‘Study of provincial politics and development in the post-Mao reform era: issues, approaches, and sources’, in Peter T. Y. Cheung and Chung J. H. (eds), Provincial Strategies of Economic Reform in Post-Mao China, (New York: M. E. Sharpe Inc., 1998), pp. 431–2. Chung, ‘Study of provincial politics and development in the post-Mao reform era’, p. 431. Falkenheim, ‘China’s evolving region-central relations’, pp. 65–8. The distinction of policy areas between ‘high politics’ and ‘low politics’ is adopted by Peter Lynch when he discusses the division of policy-making power between the national government and the Scottish government: P. Lynch, Scottish Government and Politics: An introduction (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2001), p. 28. W. P. Shively, Power and Choice: An Introduction to Political Science, 9th edn (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), p. 212. Although an elected assembly existed in Northern Ireland, and appeared in Scotland and Wales briefly in 1976, these assemblies possessed no executive powers. Owing to local conditions and pressures, Whitehall has undergone considerable administrative devolution in the post-war years by the establishment of government departments in each of the above-mentioned localities, namely, the Scottish Office, the Northern Ireland Office and the Welsh Office. These offices functioned as UK administrative bodies to implement and coordinate various government programmes concerning each locality, such as agriculture and fisheries matters, housing, roads, planning, industry and tourism, and so on. But these offices later assumed more than just administrative functions, being transformed into some sort of mini-government because of the expansion of their scope and decision-making powers, and their entanglement with local pressure groups: P. Norton, The British Polity (New York: Longman Publishing Group, 1991), pp. 239, 251–2; Lynch, Scottish Government and Politics, pp. 28–49. While the role of the Scottish Secretary was transformed and his team of ministers shrank considerably, the bureaucracy originally serving the Scotland Office was transferred to the Scottish Executive, Lynch, Scottish Government and Politics, pp. 41–2, 130. Lynch, Scottish Government and Politics, pp. 15–20. The Advocate General as a UK minister can refer Scottish bills to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council if he/she feels that a bill is outside the legislative competence of the Scottish parliament. The Scottish Secretary can also prevent the Presiding Officer (equivalent to the Speaker of the House in the US) of the Scottish Parliament from submitting a bill for Royal Assent on the grounds that the bill is incompatible with the UK international obligations, defence or national security, or that the bill intrudes into Westminster’s reserved powers, or that it would have an adverse effect on the operation of those reserved powers. Lynch, Scottish Government and Politics, p. 20. Lynch, Scottish Government and Politics, pp. 17–19. Ibid., pp. 22–3. Prior to Hong Kong’s return to China in 1997, the Hong Kong delegation to the NPC was selected by the People’s Congress of the Guangdong province. By then, the Hong Kong delegation to the NPC signified China’s sovereignty over Hong Kong, and served as a link between Beijing and people in the colonial Hong Kong, even though the delegation had never been allowed to organize public activities under the British colonial government. After China resumed sovereignty over Hong Kong, the Hong Kong delegation to the NPC continued to be selected according to a method determined by the Ninth NPC. The method for selecting the Hong Kong delegates to the Tenth NPC

Democracy within communist China 125

29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

was passed by the Fifth Plenary Session of the Ninth NPC, Cai Ding-jian, The Institution of the Chinese People’s Congress, 4th edn (Beijing: Law Press, 2003), pp. 168–9. There were 435 eligible selectors for selecting the 36 Hong Kong delegates to the NPC for the Ninth NPC commenced in March 1998, and the number was increased to 1000 for selecting the same number of delegates to the Tenth NPC commenced in March 2003, Cai, The Institution of the Chinese People’s Congress, pp. 168–9. Cai, The Institution of the Chinese People’s Congress, p. 169. The Government of Hong Kong SAR, Electoral Affairs Commission, ‘Election committee subsector elections’, www.info.gov.hk/eac/en/ecse/function.htm. M. W. Dowdle, ‘The constitutional development and operations of the National People’s Congress’, in Columbia Journal of Asia Law 11, 1 (Spring 1997): 1–10. Dowdle, ‘The constitutional development and operations of the National People’s Congress’, p. 8. Cai, The Institution of the Chinese People’s Congress, pp. 348–54. Dowdle, ‘The constitutional development and operations of the National People’s Congress’, pp. 10–11. Cai Ding-jian, A Precise Reading of the Constitution (in Chinese) (Beijing: Law Press China, 2004), pp. 364–8. Cai, A Precise Reading of the Constitution, pp. 384–5. Hong Kong Economic Journal, 11 June 2004. Yazhou Zhoukan, 2 May 2004. Hong Kong Economic Journal, 11 June 2004. Yazhou Zhoukan, 2 May 2004. Hong Kong Economic Journal, 11 June 2004. Andrew Nathan, ‘Authoritarian resilience’, in Journal of Democracy 14, 1 (2003): 6–17. Nathan, ‘Authoritarian resilience’, p. 10. Ibid., pp. 6–17. Ibid. Hong Kong Economic Journal, 11 June 2004.

6

Interpreting accountability Theories and politics

In March this year, the General Secretary of the Communist Party of China Hu Jintao hosted the meeting of Politburo, in which … the Temporary Regulations for the Resignation of Party and Executive Cadres … and [other] reform papers for cadre personnel management system were deliberated and passed … The release of the six papers was another important measure of the Central Committee to continuously reform the cadre personnel management system. … The main theme of these six papers is to better select and use talents under the guidance of the important thoughts of ‘three representatives’, the principles of ‘four modernization’ and dual weight on virtue and competence by adopting scientific schemes, democratic means, emphasizing appropriate conduct and strict discipline, so as to improve the qualityof leadership and the capacity of governance, to ensure the smooth implementation of reform, liberalization, and modernization through [a rationalized] organization. Xinhuanet, 8 September 20041

Accountability: theories and practices The politics surrounding the office of the Chief Executive in the post-handover years arose from the ambiguity of the term ‘accountability’ as it is written in the Basic Law. Among the interpretations put forward by competing political forces is the delegateship view of accountability, which defines the term not only as ‘rendering account’, but more importantly as ‘sanction’ following an unsatisfactory performance of the delegate. As stipulated by the Basic Law, the Chief Executive must be simultaneously ‘accountable’ to both the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and the Central People’s Government. This dual accountability can be seen as a mission impossible, because it seems to have created a situation whereby one agent serves two heterogeneous, and often competing, principals. The problem of ‘accountability’ has increased because the Basic Law has yet to provide the mechanism, election, which could substantiate the promised ‘accountability’ of the incumbent to the region. Only via elections, the proponents of this view argue, can the people of Hong Kong effectively exercise their controlling power over the office. On the basis of these views there were calls for popular election of the Chief Executive. However, despite its wide usage in political discourses, the scope and defining

Interpreting accountability 127 features of ‘accountability’ are less agreed upon than is commonly assumed. In a broad sense, accountability is variously associated with administrative accountability, constitutional accountability, financial accountability, electoral accountability, legal accountability and professional accountability.2 That is to say, all activities that fall within the public domain are to be guided by the principle of accountability. For example, administrative accountability reviews the expediency and procedural correctness of bureaucratic acts. Financial accountability subjects the use of public money by state officials to norms of austerity, efficiency, and propriety. Constitutional accountability evaluates whether legislative acts are in accordance with constitutional rules. Professional accountability monitors the observance of legal rules.3 In a narrower sense, however, political accountability focuses on two levels of activities: the activities of career political actors and the activities of government institutions. Within this narrow definition, accountability examines the appropriateness of the political conduct of political actors as representatives of the people, such as cabinet members, legislators and elected government officials. At the institutional level, political accountability addresses the appropriateness of the conduct of a representative institution, its policy-making process and the substance of its policies.4 Apart from the differences in the scope of political accountability, scholars differ very widely about what should be the defining features of political accountability. For example, Andreas Schedler defines accountability as a political relationship in which A is accountable to B when A is obliged to inform B about A’s past or future actions and decisions, to justify them and to suffer punishment.5 This definition accentuates three elements for political accountability: information, justification and punishment. But Schedler goes on to suggest that these three core elements are only usual, but not necessary features. ‘Information, justification and punishment are continuous variables that show up to different degrees with varying mixes and emphases. Even if one or two of them are missing’, says Schedler, ‘we may still legitimately speak of acts of accountability’.6 With Schedler’s conceptualization, the term ‘accountability’ is closer to its literal meaning of ‘answerability’, because punishment does not necessarily follow after an account has been rendered. In contrast, Manin, Przeworski and Stokes conceptualize political accountability primarily as a relationship between an agent and a principal in which, to borrow Schedler’s language, A is accountable to B when A is obliged to inform B of A’s past or future actions and decisions, to justify them and to suffer punishment by B in accordance with the preference of B. Explaining this in the policy-making process, Manin and his associates stress the enforceability of accountability. The electorate makes decisions on the renewal of the contract of the agent by evaluating the policy outcomes in the light of the electoral mandate, or the public preferences that the electorate had indicated at the outset.7 The key elements in their definition include the mandate, the responsiveness of the agent, and sanction. ‘Mandate’ in this context refers to specific programmes, or a set of programmes, associated with the successful political platform. Although Manin and his associates do not exclude the two core elements suggested by Schedler, i.e. information

128 The Political Future of Hong Kong and justification, they nonetheless consider them to be secondary compared with responsiveness and mandate. In this conceptualization, ‘accountability’ is no longer restricted to its literal meaning of ‘answerability’, but covers also the punitive consequences entailed in ‘rendering account’. The major distinction between Schedler and Manin lies with the different emphasis on the role of sanction. However, Schedler does not rule out sanction completely, but merely diverts the question of punishment to parties other than the accounting authority B. For example, A may be accountable to B, but whether A needs to be punished may be decided by a third party C, and A’s behavior may be evaluated according to D, an abstract principle that is independent of the preferences of B. Using the example of administrative accountability, the enforcement agent would be a third party C, the administrative court, that is independent from the accounting authority B, the political executives who supervise the administration. Using the example of constitutional accountability, the enforcement agent is also a third party C, the constitutional court that is independent of the electorate that elects the legislature. The political executives supervise the administration, and the electorate that elected the legislators are not vested with the power to judge, let alone make decisions about the fate of the accountable A. Moreover, the administrative and constitutional courts reach their decisions according to their own rules and precedents. In these cases, when C exercises its power of sanction, the administrative laws and constitutional principles are enforced, instead of the wishes of B. This separation of the accounting authority B from the enforcement agent C, and evaluative criterion D, suggests that the relationship between A and B in Schedler’s conceptualization departs from the principal–agent one as envisioned by Manin, because the latter assumes B is the judge of A’s behaviour, and B’s preference is the evaluating criteria. Schedler believes that democratic societies are best served by what is called as ‘recursive accountability’. This recursive model of accountability refers to a cycle of supervisory, explanatory, and controlling arrangements under which A is accountable to B, who is accountable to C, who is accountable to A again.8 In this model, constitutional review, administrative review, professional discipline and legal adjudication are all institutional arrangements that substantiate accountability. It is apparent that Schedler places a trust in mutual checks and balances involving diverse agents and principals, and multiple principles of accountability although how the cycle could be drawn to a close remains to be elaborated. This recursive model of accountability contrasts sharply with what Manin calls the ‘vertical’ model of accountability. In the latter, the agent and the principal form a direct and bottom-up single relationship. Competitive election is the institutional arrangement by which such a relationship is formed and dissolved. However, an intermediate model, ‘horizontal’ accountability, lies between the ‘recursive’ and ‘vertical’ models of accountability, Most lucidly articulated by Guillermo O’Donnell, institutional checks and balances, especially between two elected institutions, are seen as the ‘horizontal mechanism enforcing political accountability’.9 Concerned that individual voters lack the necessary resources to effectively bring agents into line with the principal’s preference, elected

Interpreting accountability 129 institutions are called on to function as substitutes for the principal in order to control other elected institutions on behalf of the principal. In this form of accountability, the agent of the people, such as the legislature, acts as if it were the ‘principal’ itself, holding the executive branch to account.10 By implication, institutional arrangements such as legislative oversight, impeachment, presidential veto, presidential power to dissolve the legislature and to remove the premier, function as the tools of horizontal checks and balances. The horizontal model falls between the ‘recursive’ and the ‘vertical’ ones because, on the one hand, it could be seen as an extension of the agent–principal relation, but on the other hand it could also be seen as a scaled down version of the recursive model. In the recursive model, the types of enforcement agent are extended to include non-elected institutions such as tribunals, auditing agencies, anti-corruption bodies, and human rights commissions that legitimately exercise control over elected as well as non-elected institutions.11 In short, the vertical, horizontal and recursive models form a spectrum of accountability mechanisms. The vertical model reflecting an agent–principal relationship occupies one end of the spectrum, while the recursive model referring to a circle of answerability and supervision lies at the another end. The horizontal model referring to checks and balances between elected institutions falls between the two. Along this spectrum, the principal’s control over the agent is progressively diffused. The preference of the principal is to be considered first as a sole criterion, second as one of several criteria, and then may be balanced, or even superseded by other principles such as constitutionality, administrative and financial prudence and human rights. Along this spectrum, the emphasis of accountability shifts from sanction and control, to answerability, justification, and supervision. In a nutshell, the diverse models and connotations of accountability underscore the different conceptualizations of representation, the role of statesmen, and the relationship between the governing and the governed. At one end of the spectrum, the delegateship view of representation, or the ‘accountability view of representation’ as it was termed by Hanna F. Pitkin, holds that genuine representation only exists when there is effective control over the representatives.12 An elected official is a representative only because the elected will be subject to removal at the end of the term.13 This delegateship view of representation is grounded on the belief that individuals are the best judges of their own interests. Politicians do not always know what their principal wants, and they are untrustworthy since they might well be serving interests of their own. States, whether aristocratic or democratic, are all unreliable as far as individual rights are concerned.14 A government is likely to run wild should it be left unchecked.15 In the light of such assumptions, a representative is thus expected to play the role of a mere delegate, a substitute for those who sent him. Accountability thus implies that the agent must act in accordance with, and within the limits of the instructions of the people who sent the delegate. Here, mandate means a specified preference for programmes, or a set of policies. Actions deviating from the expressed public preference would be regarded unfavourably by the principal, and thus must be sanctioned as a result.16 The delegateship view of representation underpins the vertical model of accountability.

130 The Political Future of Hong Kong In contrast to the delegateship view of representation, the authorization view of representation perceives election not as an act of holding-to-account, but an act of vesting authority in the representative.17 This school of thought believes a representative is someone who is authorized to act as soon as the right to act is conferred on them, while the represented must accept responsibility for the consequences of that act.18 Further down this line of thinking is the classic British conservative tradition of ‘virtual representation’. Most eloquently expressed by Edmund Burke, this tradition perceives the role of a representative as one of being entrusted to act, thus becoming a trustee rather than a delegate. A trustee acts for the welfare of the beneficiary, but does not necessarily have to be responsive to their wishes or be sanctioned by the beneficiary. Here, authorization and trusteeship theorists come to the same conclusion. They believe that representatives should not be bound by the wishes of their constituencies. Instead, they should be free and independent. They are experts who are best left alone to do their job, and who will look beyond the interests of their constituencies and act in the broad national interest.19 However, the authorization view of representation, and the classic British tradition of virtual representation differ on the essential question of election. While authorization theorists see election as a defining act that confers power on the representative, virtual representation does not. Political appointment by a higher authority can legitimately function as an act of entrusting. It is by their virtue, competence and skill that representatives are qualified to rule. It is based on such a notion of trusteeship that Burke, in the late eighteenth century, argued forcefully for the ‘accountability’ of the East India Company to the English Parliament, the institution that had entrusted it to rule in India, instead of Indians who were ruled. Accountability may be an important part of trusteeship, but accountability to the beneficiary of that trust is not a part of it.20 Nonetheless, what unites the authorization and trusteeship theorists is their suspicion, if not complete rejection, of unrestrained competition, individualism, and the very notion that society is held together by competing claims and antagonisms.21 Classic British conservatism viewed society as an organic whole inherited from history and tradition, and held that political authority was founded not on contract and consent, but on tradition, custom, inheritance and prescription.22 The purpose of the state and its leaders was to create unity, social solidarity and cooperation, to protect order and justice, and to ensure that collective interests took precedence over particular ones. Government leadership and decision making thus have to be entrusted to natural leaders – men and women with the talent and quality to hold the interests of the country in trust. Consequently, election as a formalistic representation is of lesser importance than the capacity to represent and make decisions by virtue of quality. 23 Theories aside, empirical studies suggest that all three models of accountability may be subject to criticism and each of them appears to suffer from particular flaws. Critics of the vertical accountability model say that it can neither ensure a good nor control a bad agent. A vast shortfall between the assumptions and the practice has been detected by surveys conducted in the United States where voters often perceive elections more as an opportunity to select good politicians than to punish bad incumbents. Such an attitude is a perfect rationale for voters, because what has been done

Interpreting accountability 131 wrong cannot be corrected by punishing the incumbent.24 But this attitude invalidates the threat of sanction, thus defeating the purpose of an election as a mechanism to protect society from irresponsible politicians. Also, voters in general dislike ‘office-seekers’, and tend to favour people who demonstrate integrity, principles and consistency. This preference again invalidates the assumption that an election works as a sanctioning device. For the theory of vertical accountability to hold, voters should vote for the ‘office-seeker’ type of politician because only this type of candidate would have a strong incentive to be responsive to voters. By the same logic, the call for term limits on various public offices also works to refute the control function of an election. The stricter the term limit, the lower would be the incentive for the elected individuals to keep themselves accountable. Why should a politician with no chance of running again be motivated to act strictly in line with their mandate? It would be perfectly rational if the agents took the opportunity to serve their own interests for the remaining time in office!25 While an election appears to be ineffective as a device for sanctioning or controlling representatives, neither could it keep governments accountable. Studies suggest that voters do not necessarily punish a government that switches its policy stance after taking power. Research conducted by Susan C. Stokes on governments in Latin America indicates that policy switches after electoral victories were more than just an occasional occurrence. From 1982 to 1995, there were seven presidential victories followed by policy switches out of a total of twelve presidential elections in Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Columbia, Costa Rica and the Dominican Republic.26 If the economy had improved by the end of the term, voters rewarded ‘switcher’ governments with more votes than they would have given to ‘non-switchers’.27 Such evidence suggests that voters do not necessarily want to hold governments accountable for their campaign pledges. If governments could demonstrate that their policy switch yielded good economic results, they would be better rewarded than otherwise.28 Stokes’ study not only confirms the view that elections only partially serve as a sanction device, but also reveals that voters want to hold governments accountable not for their pledges per se but for their overall performance in government. Although criticized here, vertical accountability does at least assume a direct and simple mechanism by which the agent could be controlled. In contrast, the horizontal and the recursive models breed problems of conflicting accounting authorities and competing accounting principles. For example, legislative oversight of the executive branch, a form of horizontal accountability, allows voters to control the executive branch through the actions of their agent, the legislature.29 The question thus arises whether an agent can be a perfect substitute for the principal. When discrepancies occur between the wishes of the people and the actions of the legislature, there is no definite rule by which the ultimate authority would lie with the people. Moreover, there is no guarantee that ‘second-layer’ accountability agencies would be free from the problems of the first layer. 30 The recursive model, critics say, runs into the danger of undermining democratic principles. Independently created, resource abundant and mission-specific institutions functioning as accountability enforcement agents are no more representative

132 The Political Future of Hong Kong than the state organs that they are supposed to control. Yet the distinction between liberal democracy and monarchy, aristocracy and any other type of regime lies precisely in that the people are the source of all political authority.31 Moreover, while institutions such as human rights commissions, accounting agencies, anticorruption bodies, or central banks are insulated from the state, they are also insulated from the people as well.32 Questions arise about how to ensure that the nonelected accounting agencies themselves will not develop bureaucratic interests of their own, and about to whom they in their turn can be held accountable. In fact, there could be ample reasons to suspect that non-elected, specialized, autonomous agencies would pursue their professional standards and single-minded mission in a manner that runs counter to the interests of the people.33 Finally, there is no evidence that such a multiplicity of accountability agencies with the inherent potential of conflicting principles would function better than a simple relationship between a principal and an agent as implied in the vertical model. On the contrary, the multiplicity of accountability agencies could blur the line of political accountability rather than clarify it, let alone enhance it.34 In short, each model, vertical, horizontal and recursive, presents some kind of flaw. For the vertical model, the difficulty in bringing practice into line with the theory undermines the validity of the model. For the horizontal and the recursive approaches, their inconsistency with democratic principles calls into question their justification. Nonetheless, the flaws embedded in each model may not be too difficult to explain. Grounded in their respective normative assumptions, logics and value judgments, each model inevitably tends to stress its own set of criteria while remaining oblivious to other logics and values that are at work in functioning democracies. This normative bias appears to be especially acute for the vertical model because it rests on narrow definitions of mandate, responsiveness and sanction. Take the cases where voters failed to sanction the ‘switcher’ governments for example. If the voters and the incumbent agent had acted ‘rationally’, as the vertical model would imply, then the people would either unjustly punish the incumbent that delivered the fruits of the policy ‘switch’, or miss the opportunity to taste those fruits. Thus, it is not the irrational behaviour of the principal and agent that gives rise to concern. Rather, it is the assumption of liberal accountability that responsiveness and control would be desirable at all costs and at all times. Consider the unanswered question concerning second-order accountability mechanisms. If distrust of the agent is the starting point for accountability, then it would be quite illogical to construct second- and even multi-layered accountabilities because second- and multi-layered mechanisms inevitably have to be built on some degree of trust in the substitutes for the principal. The fact that there exist many such constructs suggests that what has been taken for granted, namely distrust as the foundation of political relationship, requires a thorough re-examination. Maybe democracies built upon the agent–principal relationship do not exclude principles of entrusting and investing powers in representatives? Maybe the preference of constituencies is only one among many principles that are worth pursuing? Perhaps accountability is just one part of a larger construct of good governance, for which controlling devices are sometimes brought into service, but at other times

Interpreting accountability 133 are set aside so as to fulfil other worthwhile social purposes? The above discussion demonstrates that the values of sanction, responsiveness and mandate only work within certain limitations. In fact, the limitation of the liberal model of accountability is rooted in its own logics. First of all, the liberal accountability model stresses the importance of the mandate and sanctions. That is, the preference of the electorate is the criterion by which the agent’s performance should be evaluated and his fate decided. However, if an agent is commissioned to buy a pound of sugar and given specific instructions as to which route to take, and on which side of the road to walk, the agent, as a rational utility-maximizing person, would not consider going against these instructions. By following the instructions, the agent would be considered responsive and would expect to be rewarded. The agent would not take the initiative of acting upon best knowledge, even though he might know that on another route the traffic is lighter at that particular period of time. This example illustrates what Lucas called ‘the great paradox’ of responsibility.35 The mandate, if diligently complied with, may actually discourage desirable behaviour, and at the same time produce results that are contrary to the original intent. Sometimes, deviation from the original mandate may be desirable in terms of the final outcome. Thus, in order to enable the agent to make the best choice according to his best knowledge, a certain degree of autonomy must be granted. As Lucas argued, ‘accountability can only be meaningful when authority has been invested in the agent, not the instructions. The greater is the authority vested, the greater should the liability be’.36 Yet liberal accountability stresses the mandate without considering whether undesirable consequences might result from too rigid compliance. Liberal accountability emphasizes only the sanction without mention of authorizing the power that corresponds to it. The limitation of the liberal notion of accountability arises from its stress on responsiveness as the purpose in itself. But should responsiveness be a purpose in itself? As suggested by the above case, responsiveness, especially when the instruction is ill conceived, may not be in the interests of the principal. On the other hand, if the agent acts responsibly, that is, makes decisions according to his best knowledge, then the principal will benefit. Here, a tension between responsiveness and responsibility emerges. Responsiveness implies no risk for the agent, while responsibility does. Yet there are circumstances where responsiveness yields no benefit for the principal while responsibility does. Such a paradox implies an even bigger ethical and moral dilemma in general situations. An agent’s responsiveness to his constituency concerning, for example, a request for tax-cuts, may be achieved only at the expense of the rest of society, thus resulting in the agent’s irresponsibility to society as a whole because the national coffers would be depleted as a consequence. An agent’s responsiveness to the current constituency’s demand for a tax-cut, would imply irresponsibility towards the next generation, because there would be insufficient public funding available for the new generation. This problem of responsiveness suggests that the liberal accountability model is pursuing an objective that is not necessarily valid at all times. It frequently occurs that responsiveness cannot be maximized without affecting negatively some other aspects of society. Stefano Bartolini’s study on electoral

134 The Political Future of Hong Kong competition suggests that perfect responsiveness of the agent may not be desirable at all because this would incur immense social costs.37 For example, the elasticity of the voters may be increased to make political actors vulnerable to sanctions, but a complete elasticity of voters would lead to an exceptional volatility in the election process. In addition, the vulnerability of politicians may be increased so as to achieve policy responsiveness, but this may come at the cost of a ‘permanent campaign’ of the political actors, or the government concerned.38 Also, contests among agents may be maximized to make an election into a meaningful competition. But excessive contesting may result in fragmentation of the electoral offers. Hence, more often than not, electoral competition in the real world is preceded by party negotiations on the rules, entry barriers, and the electoral offers so as to eliminate the unfavourable consequences resulting from severe contesting. Such cooperative efforts to settle the canons of competition, argued Bartolini, should not be considered as an imperfection of the electoral competition, but an indispensable part of it, just as market competition has to be built on rules and norms that respect private rights and contractual law.39 What Bartolini’s study highlights is that responsiveness to the electoral mandate is only one among many of the values treasured in democracies. The values of social cohesion, stability of the government, and concern about political polarization and excessive fluctuations in elections often supersede the value of agent responsiveness. All of these values will tend to limit the extent to which responsiveness can be achieved. This finding illustrates that the liberal logic that sets out agent responsiveness as the ultimate goal of political accountability is itself flawed. Sanction is another key to liberal accountability. But sanction alone will not improve the performance of the agent in the future. Take the case of ‘sugarpurchase’ discussed above. If the agent returned empty-handed because the instructed path was blocked, he should be exempted from sanction because he had done the job diligently as instructed.40 But more often than not, the agent will be punished, whether for diverging from the instructions, or for implementing the illfated instruction. Because sanction in the liberal model is applied based on the consequences, differences in the causal relationship often escape investigation as the agent is held liable for failing to deliver the utility that the principal sees fit to request.41 Such a sanction places a heavy load on the agent. On the other hand, the accountability structure will not be improved as a result, because the precise source of the problem would not have been identified and treated at its roots. 42 Finally, the liberal accountability model assumes that the agent and principals form a static relationship. The agent takes the principal’s instruction as given. Yet the social and political world in which the accountability system operates is a dynamic one. Such a dynamic shapes and reshapes the pay-off structures of accountability and responsiveness. No agent or principal pursues their interests in isolation, but in relation to and interacting with each other. In fact, the dynamics between the agents and the principals mould and re-mould the sense of utility and the perception of the appropriateness of behaviour.43 What was taken as an exogenous mandate in the liberal accountability model in fact can become endogenous, as shown by Stokes’ Latin American voters who rewarded policy-switchers. The

Interpreting accountability 135 fact that the ‘switchers’ were rewarded suggests that there was a mutual influence on what was defined as an ‘accountable’, or to put it more precisely, ‘responsive’, behaviour. Therefore, it would be utterly wrong to treat a mandate as given, the agent as a passive delegate, and the definition of appropriate action as static. The difficulty of using the liberal accountability model to explain empirical evidence is by no means incidental. It reflects the limitations of liberal logic and values. The above discussion suggests that liberal notions of distrust, mandate, responsiveness and sanction do not function in isolation, but are based on and also combined with the ideas of trust, authorization, discretion, and a sense of social purpose. The narrow base of liberal notions of accountability explains the disparity between voters’ behaviour and the predictions of the model. Accountability would make no sense were the agent not vested with a certain degree of authority, or given some degree of autonomy to make choices according to his best knowledge. Accountability would make no sense if it only aimed to punish the perceived ‘wrong-doer’ without making improvements to the structure so that it could induce desirable behaviour in future. Liberal accountability hence is utterly incomplete. It pretends that accountability could function without a corresponding set of concepts, and at the same time it claims to be a purpose in itself, not a tool to serve a purpose. It is at this point that the contributions of classic conservative notions of accountability have to be better appreciated. The recursive model, embodying classic conservative values, embraces also supervision, justification and answerability without the threat of punishment. Indeed, democratic principles such as responsiveness to the electorate sometimes need to be balanced by other principles, such as constitutionality, legality, and prudence and order. These principles may sound conservative, but they prevent societies from plunging into instability or violence, while preserving fairness, justice, and smooth social transformation. Even though the recursive model permits discrepancies between voters’ preferences and the decisions of their representatives, it nonetheless would better preserve democracy in the long run. Hence, the notion of accountability in democracies is more inclusive than the liberal model describes. A model that could better capture such breadth must be one that could synthesize both the liberal and classic conservative dimensions of representation. The above discussion illustrates that the liberal notion of accountability, with its emphasis on distrust, competition, mandate, responsiveness and sanction, presents only half of the story. It has to function in combination, albeit also in competition, with the classic notions of trust, cooperation, the independence of representatives, with the aim of improving the accountability structure. Although the delegateship view and the trusteeship view of representation seem to form an antithesis, in fact they are also complementary to each other. Together they provide a pair of intellectual lenses through which the political construct of mature democracies can be appropriately appreciated. In fact, liberalism and classic conservatism present two sets of values underlying political systems in liberal democracies; that is, the values of individual freedom, accountable and limited authority, on the one hand, and the values of order, authority and subordination of particular interests to the social good, on the other. Throughout

136 The Political Future of Hong Kong the post-war era, the contest between these two sets of values has been manifested in many different ways. Inquiries into the proper balance and mix between accountability and authority, between political authority and bureaucratic power, between participation and leadership, and between democracy and governability all point to one single source of all paradoxes: how much control should be assigned to the people for a regime to be called a liberal democracy, and how much power should be conferred on the representatives and institutions so that a liberal democracy can properly function and flourish? The constitutional construct of all representative governments embodies these two contradictory yet complementary sets of values. Of course, one rather than the other may apparently be more emphasized in the institutional arrangements because of the prevailing political culture of that society, and because of the political dynamics of the day. But traces of the other may still be discernible, preventing the entire system from tipping completely over to one side or the other. For example, the strong belief in elected representatives as independent guardians of national interests is found in parliamentary supremacy in Britain and other parliamentary democracies in Europe. There the legitimation function of election, rather than its sanction function, has been highlighted.44 For example, the call for collective responsibility and administrative neutrality in parliamentary democracies insulates individual ministers and public servants from public pressure, preserving a stable and strong government.45 Yet, under the norm of ministerial responsibility before parliament, the liberal view of political accountability, responsiveness and mandate is ensured. Beneath such constitutional conventions and norms lies the competition and compromise between the ‘Whig’ and the ‘Peelite’ views of government. While the former stresses the liberal ideas of mandate, political accountability and responsiveness, the latter stresses the importance of having a strong and responsible government that is able to distance itself from various demands and to govern with stability.46 Even in democracies where liberalism prevails, such as in the United States, classic conservative thoughts have never ceased to have an influence. The election of the President of the United States may be said to best embody the agent–principal concept of democracy, and the separation of powers reflects the fear of power abuses resulting from too strong an executive authority. But it must be noted that both the ‘pluralist’ and ‘populist’ concepts of democracy compete with each other while coexisting side by side.47 The principal’s control over the President is expected to function through the Electoral College, an imprint of pluralist ideology.48 It must also be noted that the emphasis on law, not men, grants the Supreme Court, as the ultimate custodian of the Constitution, the legitimate power to declare Acts of Congress unconstitutional.49 Although the value of strong political authority cannot be legitimately argued in the American context, it is by no means the case that liberalism has been left unchecked, and the liberal notion of accountability has functioned, and will function, without a countervailing force in the United States. The preceding discussion on the models and connotations of accountability and the co-existence of liberal and classic conservative sets of values in the

Interpreting accountability 137 practice of liberal democracies sheds light on the challenge of political engineering confronting emerging polities. As discussed in Chapter 1, the struggle for independence in former British colonies was aided by, and in turn precipitated, the rise and spread of liberalism. The political dynamics were primarily played out between local liberal forces campaigning for liberty from the colonizer, and the self-defence of the colonial power under the banner of trusteeship. The intellectual war was thus first fought along the authorization–virtual representation axis, underlining a power struggle between the colonized and the colonizer. The triumph of independence movements thus marked the victory of liberalism, paving the way for its continued rise in the post-colonial polities. However, once independence has been achieved, the emerging polities have to confront their own questions as how to construct a government that would be both democratic and congruent with the local political conditions. The competition between liberal and classic conservative values thus becomes an internal one, underscoring the dynamic interplay between liberal forces campaigning for democracy and conservative forces aiming to preserve the status quo. In this regard, the history of decolonization often leaves deep imprints on the post-colonial politics of constitutional engineering.

The politics of accountability in an evolving China The existence of a spectrum of models of accountability and the underlying perceptions of representation explains both the inclusiveness and, as an inevitable corollary, the elusiveness of the term. ‘Accountability’ can be interpreted as sanction, responsiveness and control, but can also be inferred as mere answerability and responsibility without any strings attached. During Hong Kong’s political transition, diverse interpretations have been advanced by different political players. While China as an incoming sovereign insisted that the term, as it appears in the SinoBritish Joint Declaration, implies nothing more than ‘answering questions and explaining policies’ of the executive branch to the legislature, the liberal democrats in Hong Kong held the opposite view. They maintained that ‘accountability’ must entail the necessary sanction, and sanction must be ensured by direct election. The British colonial government as a retreating power remained evasive about what they meant by ‘accountability’. When promoting an ‘accountable government’ in Hong Kong, the British also introduced direct and indirect elections in Hong Kong. If this concerted effort appeared to endorse the liberal meaning of the term, the British negotiation team nonetheless, according to Beijing, sold this term to Chinese negotiators as mere ‘answerability’ when the two parties proceeded to finalize the wordings of the Joint Declaration. As the sovereignty transfer dawned in 1997, different political players held competing interpretations, and the exact meaning of the concept of ‘accountability’ remained controversial. If the history of decolonization can be any guide, then the controversy over the meaning of ‘accountability’ was by no means an intellectual debate but signified the real politics of Hong Kong’s transition. The competing political forces made use of the elusive meaning of ‘accountability’ to advance their respective political

138 The Political Future of Hong Kong objectives. British colonial government adopted the term in the early 1980s as it prepared its eventual withdrawal from Hong Kong in 1997. Promoting an ‘accountable government’ and introducing a partially elected legislature in the territory has to be understood as colonial government’s strategic choice to cope with the challenges of the time. By incorporating the liberal concept of ‘accountability’, the British colonial government could withdraw gracefully, while preserving, and even strengthening, its governing power in the remaining years of rule in the territory. The recurring effort to expand representation in the territory in the early 1990s also closely corresponded to the outbreak of the Tiananmen Square student protests in the mainland in 1989. As pressure mounted on Britain to fulfil its ‘moral obligation’ to protect Hong Kong from possible intrusion of communist China into the territory’s affairs, the British colonial government sought to take the heat off by extending suffrage within the territory. Given the remarkable similarities between the British colonial government’s promotion of ‘accountable government’ in Hong Kong and earlier references to ‘responsible government’ and the ‘dual mandate’ in the history of decolonization, it is no surprise that the partial democracy thus engendered in the end did not amount to seriously weakening the colonial political system. At the end of British rule, political power remained in the hands of a London-appointed governor. ‘Accountability’ under the British government had never come close to the meaning implied by the delegateship view of representation. The political relationship between the governing and the governed fell far short of being an agent–principal model. Nonetheless, with the introduction of an ‘accountable government’, a process commenced that ushered in the demise of virtual representation and the rising demands for representative government. Of course, the British government was not the only one that pursued its political objectives by making use of the elusive meaning of ‘accountability’. China as an incoming sovereign did exactly the same for its own ends. While acquiescing to Britain’s tactical insertion of the term ‘accountability’ in the Joint Declaration might arguably have been a diplomatic blunder on the part of the Chinese government, the persistent, and indeed more rigorous, usage of the term in the English version of the Basic Law could hardly be explained as a careless mistake. Despite Beijing’s claim that ‘accountability’ in the Sino-British Joint Declaration means nothing more than ‘answering questions and explaining policies’, it nonetheless did not prevent the term being spun towards the liberal interpretation. The Chinese term fu ze in the Chinese version of the document was constructively translated into ‘accountability’ in a few crucial clauses. In the end, fu ze was translated into two different terms in the English version, one as ‘responsibility’ and one as ‘accountability’ which signifies also the punitive consequences following acts of taking responsibility. As a result, the creative translation expanded the scope for interpretation. Yet, the constructive vagueness worked to the advantage of the incoming sovereign. It was through the use of terms like ‘accountability’, ‘election’ and ‘democracy’ that the Basic Law could be dressed in a cloak of liberalism so that China’s resumption of sovereignty over Hong Kong could be achieved with

Interpreting accountability 139 relative peace and stability. In this regard, the vagueness of ‘accountability’ was anything but unintended. The constructive vagueness signals a political compromise made between China’s imperative for national reunification and the necessity to alleviate the anxieties associated with its resumption of sovereignty. As a result, the political system framed by the mini-constitution both resembled the essential features of an executive-dominant system seen in the colonial era, and also institutionalized a certain degree of representation and participation. Unlike the colonial Governor, the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong SAR has to undergo a dual selection process. The candidate has to be selected by a locally composed, albeit extremely elitist, Election Committee, and appointed by the Central People’s Government in Beijing. Political compromise is also embodied in the form of unspecified promises for the gradual expansion of suffrage for the selection of the Chief Executive and the legislature. What was unexpected for the incoming sovereign power was that the shortfall between the liberal facade of the mini-constitution and its legal substance became manifest as soon as Hong Kong’s sovereignty transfer was completed, while the contradictions between the executive-dominant system and the expectations for democracy quickly came to the fore in the post-handover years. The virtual representation that had underpinned colonial governance appeared to be gone forever. Instead, there was the imminent rise in demands for representative government in the territory. The above discussion illustrates that the political manoeuvring between the retreating and incoming sovereign powers sowed the seeds for the controversy over the connotations of ‘accountability’. In this regard, the politics of ‘accountability’ that unfolded in the post-handover years was just the continuation of a prior political competition, although this time the conflict was between Beijing and the liberal forces in Hong Kong. By insisting that fu ze in the Basic Law meant nothing more than ‘answerability’ and ‘explanation’, Beijing sought to fend off the challenge from the liberal forces, and to slow down any moves towards full democracy in Hong Kong so as to safeguard the state’s authority over the territory. On the other hand, the liberal forces in Hong Kong continued to press the case for introducing direct election as a means to expand local autonomy within a unified China. The conflict over different interpretations hence was essentially a matter of competition between state-authority and the local autonomy. In the context of Hong Kong politics, ‘accountability’ is not only an elusive but also an evolving concept. It was shaped by the political dynamics of the transitional period, and has been re-shaped by the dramatic events which unfolded in the post-handover years. The performance failures of the Hong Kong government in the five years following the handover provided an opportunity to bring to light the faults of classic conservative interpretations of ‘accountability’. The inability to remove the unpopular Chief Executive demonstrated that ‘accountability’ would not amount to anything concrete and meaningful without the necessary tools of control. The liberal connotations of ‘accountability’ thus appeared to be ever more convincing, and consequently gained increasing support in the territory. As Beijing proceeded to support Tung Chee-hwa for a

140 The Political Future of Hong Kong second term in office, frustration with the political system mounted, eventually culminating in a massive movement against the anti-subversion legislation in 2003. The mass demonstrations in the summer of 2003 and in following years illustrate the degree to which the liberal interpretation of ‘accountability’ has gained increasingly pervasive power, which has in turn further developed the momentum of the quest for democracy. In fact, the strategies adopted by Beijing and the Hong Kong SAR government in response to the liberal challenges of the post-handover years have significantly, though maybe somewhat unintentionally, reinforced the liberal interpretation of accountability. Confronted with social unrest, the first Chief Executive introduced the Principal Officials Accountability System as a measure to strengthen his weakening legitimacy. Although intended primarily to shore up his authority over cabinet members and to repair the fractured executive power, the POAS nonetheless made use of the liberal notion of ‘accountability’, and consequently raised the public expectation that those officials whose performance fell short of public expectation would be punished. It was under this system that the two most unpopular ministers, the Secretary for Security responsible for selling the unpopular antisubversion legislation, and the scandal-hit Secretary for Finance, were forced to resign in the aftermath of the mass demonstration in 2003. After this, the resignation of unpopular government officials and public figures began to emerge as a convention. Although it happened at a much later stage, Beijing’s move to let go the unpopular Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa in the spring of 2005 also buttressed the liberal notion of ‘accountability’. As the dominant power, Beijing would never admit that the Chief Executive was ousted for his performance failures, but the public read the event with a keen awareness of the significance of the 2003 mass demonstration. Interestingly enough, public confidence in the POAS surged after the Chief Executive’s resignation even though the system came into being with the intention of shoring up the incumbent’s political strength. Indeed, as the head of the government, the Chief Executive is the foremost principal official in Hong Kong. Nothing could prevent the public from perceiving the leadership restructure, the replacement of an unpopular incumbent with a much popular one, as an integral part of the functioning POAS. Whatever Beijing’s original intentions may have been, the change in leadership reinforced the belief that performance failures of the governing elite should be addressed in one way or another. As the liberal notions of sanction and control of political leaders prevailed, it appeared increasingly difficult to resist the demands for election as a formal enforcement mechanism. In essence, behind the sanction of incompetent and unpopular leaders lies a keen awareness that sooner or later there needed to be a compromise with the quest for democratic government in Hong Kong. After a period of inertia and resistance, Beijing began to show some degree of adaptation. The electoral proposals released in 2005 sought to arrest the momentum for democracy by expanding the size of the Election Committee and increasing the number of seats in the legislature. The efforts to prepare allied parties for electoral competition

Interpreting accountability 141 60

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Figure 6.1 Evaluation of the Principal Officials Accountability System

also illustrate the recognition that full election would one day become a political reality. These attempts to accommodate the quest for democracy were in themselves acts that implicitly acknowledged the liberal connotations of ‘accountability’, which carried long-term implications for the perception of the responsibilities of the governing elite, and of the relationship between the governing and governed in the territory, although any formal acknowledgement of these implications might take years to come. However, the ways in which the concept of ‘accountability’ evolved and the steps that were taken to accommodate the quest for democracy within Hong Kong politics must not be viewed in isolation but in connection with the political changes that took place in mainland China over recent years. Post-handover Hong Kong witnessed the emergence of the term wen ze. Unlike fu ze, wen ze conveys more closely the punitive implication of the term ‘accountability’. Although it had first appeared in Hong Kong with the introduction of the POAS, this Chinese term was also gaining wider currency in mainland China from 2003 on. At the outbreak of the SARS epidemic, Beijing leaders publicly embraced this idea of punishing irresponsible officials who had allegedly concealed information from the public. Regulations and frameworks to demote, dismiss, or force resignation of government officials and high-ranking leaders of enterprises became established on the mainland in the following years. The increased acceptance of the idea of government accountability to the public suggests a gradual change of mind-set at the uppermost levels of central

142 The Political Future of Hong Kong leadership. The conventional ‘reciprocal accountability’ practised within the institutional framework in the mainland has been undergoing significant change. Although such change was primarily in response to changes in sociopolitical conditions there, it nonetheless was conducive to the adoption of conciliatory measures in Hong Kong. The acceptance of a popular civil servant as the Chief Executive, the release of an electoral reform proposal, and the electoral engineering and use of legal venues illustrate that Beijing has been learning to adapt to the games commonly practised in liberal pluralist societies. Beijing’s adaptability has been, and will continue to be, extremely critical for Hong Kong’s democratic future. In conclusion, the politics of ‘accountability’ as it unfolded in Hong Kong signifies competition at two levels. The first is the competition between liberal forces that press forward the quest for democracy and the forces that seek to preserve the status quo among local stakeholders. Behind this competition there lies a competition between two sets of values. On the one hand there are the emerging liberal notions of accountability, fears over intrusion of state powers in the territory, and advocacy of control of political leaders; on the other hand there are the traditional Mingben values of the territory, including adherence to order, prudence and belief in the practical functions of government. As such the controversy over the interpretation of ‘accountability’ could never be resolved by delineating the theoretical aspects of ‘accountability’ but would have to rely on achieving political consensus among competing political players, while being shaped by the prevailing political beliefs in the territory. Although the liberal forces have seriously challenged the political establishment in the post-handover years, and the liberal notion of accountability has gained wide public recognition, the political landscape of post-handover Hong Kong is far from being settled. It remains to be seen how long the liberal forces can sustain their momentum, especially after the Hong Kong government has improved its performance and a far more popular Chief Executive has come to power. In fact, the tendency to capitalize upon public grievances and to resort to mass demonstration could possibly be stretched too far. Given the mixed culture in Hong Kong, prolonged antagonistic posturing may backfire, and undermine the strength of pro-democracy parties in the territory. The quest for democracy in Hong Kong would thus be shaped by the prevailing political dynamics of the community. At the level of centre–Hong Kong relations, the politics of accountability symbolizes the contest over boundaries between state authority and local autonomy. Beneath this contest there lies the clash of political cultures and institutions. The emerging liberal notion of accountability, fear of intrusion of state powers in the territory, and advocacy of local autonomy in Hong Kong confronts the Confucian-cum-socialist beliefs that the state should be the agent for the implementation of socio-economic programmes, and that political rights come second to the economic and social well-being of the people. The gradual transformation of the practised ‘reciprocal accountability’ on the mainland, and the emerging convention of punishing irresponsible and incompetent cadres throw a positive light on the changing responsiveness of the central authorities. But the nature of this

Interpreting accountability 143 transformation implies that a quest that goes far beyond the adaptability of the political culture and institutions on the mainland would have limited success. The quest for democracy in Hong Kong thus has to exploit the room for manoeuvre brought by political changes on the mainland, while observing the limitations implied by instrumentality and incrementalism.

Notes 1 http://news.xinhuanet.com/newscenter/2004-09/08/content_1957449.htm. 2 A. Schedler, ‘Conceptualizing accountability’, in A. Schedler, L. Diamond and M.F. Plattner (eds), The Self-restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 1999), p. 22. 3 Schedler, ‘Conceptualizing accountability’, p. 22. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid., p. 17. 6 Ibid. 7 B. Manin, A. Przeworski, and S. C. Stokes (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 8–10. 8 Schedler suggested this recursive model as an idea but did not elaborate it sufficiently. It can be inferred from the discussion that recursive accountability refers more to a network of multiple mechanisms, including supervisory, explanatory and control mechanisms involving multiple agents and principals. How the circles can be drawn to a close was not elaborated. Schedler, ‘Conceptualizing accountability’, p. 26. 9 G. O’Donnell, ‘Horizontal accountability in new democracy’, in A. Schedler, L. Diamond and M. F. Plattner (eds), The Self-restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 1999), pp. 38–9. 10 O’Donnell, ‘Horizontal accountability in new democracy’, p. 38. 11 Schedler, ‘Conceptualizing accountability’, p. 3 and pp. 16–22. 12 H. F. Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), p. 56. 13 Pitkin, The Concept of Representation, pp. 56–7. 14 Ibid., p. 191. 15 R. C. Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideologies: Movements and Regimes, 5th edn (New York: HarperCollins, 1992), pp. 34–6. 16 Pitkin, The Concept of Representation, pp. 56–9, 144–6. 17 For Pitkin, there is a significant difference between the authorization view of representation and that of Burke’s trusteeship; the former is formalistic while the latter is substantive, the former means ‘standing in’ while the latter is ‘standing for’: Pitkin, The Concept of Representation, pp. 1–13. Burke’s notion of the trusteeship view was referred to as ‘virtual representation’: Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideology, pp. 84–5. 18 Pitkin, The Concept of Representation, p. 43, 38. 19 Ibid., p. 147. 20 Ibid., pp. 128–9. 21 Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideology, pp. 84–5. 22 Ibid., pp. 83–6. 23 Ibid. 24 J. D. Fearon, ‘Electoral accountability and the control of politicians: selecting good types versus sanctioning the poor performance’, in A. Przeworski, S. C. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 56–60. 25 Fearon, ‘Electoral accountability and the control of politicians’, pp. 60–2. 26 S. C. Stokes, ‘What do policy switches tell us about democracy?’, in A. Przeworski, S. C. Stokes

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and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 101. For every 1 per cent increase in GDP over the course of the term among non-switchers, there was a 1 per cent increase in the share of the vote, but the same increase in GDP was associated with a 3.5 per cent increase in the share of the vote for switchers. However, the voters punished the switchers more severely when GDP fell. Stokes, ‘What do policy switches tell us’, p. 116. Stokes, ‘What do policy switches tell us’, p. 116. B. Manin, A. Przeworski and S. C. Stokes, ‘Introduction’, in Democracy, Accountability, and Representation, p. 19. Schedler, ‘Conceptualizing accountability’, p. 26. M. F. Plattner, ‘Traditions of accountability’, in A. Schedler, L. Diamond and M. F. Plattner (eds), The Self-Restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 1999), p. 66. L. Diamond, M. F. Plattner and A. Schedler, ‘Introduction’, in A. Schedler, L. Diamond and M. F. Plattner (eds), The Self-Restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 1999), p. 3. Diamond, Plattner and Schedler, ‘Introduction’, p. 3. J. R. Lucas, however, discussed the concept of ‘polycentric responsibility’ which calls for great ethical and political judgment on the part of political actors, rather than placing an undue burden on the principal for control, J. R. Lucas, Responsibility (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 192. Lucas, Responsibility, pp. 186–7. Ibid. S. Bartolini, ‘Collusion, competition and democracy’, Journal of Theoretical Politics 11, 4 (1999): 435–70. Bartolini, ‘Collusion, competition and democracy’, p. 57. Ibid. Lucas, Responsibility, pp. 186–7. Harmon discussed a similar paradox of accountability facing public bureaucrats. On the one hand, bureaucrats are expected to respect their political accountability, administer state affairs according to the political purpose, but on the other hand, they are required to meet the standards of administrative accountability as measured by efficiency and effectiveness. Such a paradox was inherent in the dual role of bureaucrats: the maker and the answerer: M. M. Harmon, Responsibility as Paradox: A Critique of Rational Discourse on Government (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publishing Inc., 1995), pp. 63–179. H. L. Hart distinguished four kinds of responsibility: role-responsibility, causal-responsibility, liability-responsibility and capacity-responsibility: H. L. Hart, Punishment and Responsibility (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 223. Bartolini, ‘Collusion, competition and democracy’, p. 439. A. H. Birch, The Concepts and Theories of Modern Democracy (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 58– 9, 76–7. M. Flinders, The Politics of Accountability in Modern States (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), p. 7. Flinders, Politics of Accountability in Modern States, pp. 5–7. American democracy is defined in three ways: populist, in terms of the rule of the people, pluralist in terms of competition among sectors and pressure groups, and institutional in terms of a set of institutions and processes: Birch, The Concepts and Theories of Modern Democracy, pp. 49–50. Macridis, Contemporary Political Ideology, pp. 88–9. Ibid., pp. 90–1.

Appendix I Annex I (I–III) of the Sino-British Joint Declaration

I. Constitution Establishment of the Hong Kong SAR. The Basic Law The Constitution of the People’s Republic of China stipulates in Article 31 that the state may establish special administrative regions when necessary. The systems to be instituted in special administrative regions shall be prescribed by laws enacted by the National People’s Congress in the light of the specific conditions.* In accordance with this Article, the People’s Republic of China shall, upon the resumption of the exercise of sovereignty over Hong Kong on 1 July 1997, establish the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China. The National People’s Congress of the People’s Republic of China shall enact and promulgate a Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China (hereinafter referred to as the Basic Law) in accordance with the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China, stipulating that after the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region the socialist system and socialist policies shall not be practised in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and that Hong Kong’s previous capitalist system and life-style shall remain unchanged for 50 years. The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be directly under the authority of the Central People’s Government of the People’s Republic of China and shall enjoy a high degree of autonomy. Except for foreign and defence affairs which are the responsibilities of the Central People’s Government, the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be vested with executive, legislative and independent judicial power, including that of final adjudication. The Central People’s Government shall authorise the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region to conduct on its own those external affairs specified in Section XI of this Annex. Chief Executive. Principal officials. The legislature The government and legislature of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be composed of local inhabitants. The chief executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be selected by election or through consultations held locally and be appointed by the Central People’s Government. Principal officials (equivalent to Secretaries) shall be nominated by the chief executive of

146 Appendix I the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and appointed by the Central People’s Government. The legislature of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be constituted by elections. The executive authorities shall abide by the law and shall be accountable to the legislature. Language In addition to Chinese, English may also be used in organs of government and in the courts in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Regional flag and emblem Apart from displaying the national flag and national emblem of the People’s Republic of China, the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may use a regional flag and emblem of its own.

II. Legal system Laws previously in force After the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, the laws previously in force in Hong Kong (i.e. the common law, rules of equity, ordinances, subordinate legislation and customary law) shall be maintained, save for any that contravene the Basic Law and subject to any amendment by the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region legislature. Legislative power The legislative power of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be vested in the legislature of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. The legislature may on its own authority enact laws in accordance with the provisions of the Basic Law and legal procedures, and report them to the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress for the record. Laws enacted by the legislature which are in accordance with the Basic Law and legal procedures shall be regarded as valid. Laws of the SAR The laws of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be the Basic Law, and the laws previously in force in Hong Kong and laws enacted by the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region legislature as above.

III. Judicial system Previous judicial system After the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, the judicial system previously practised in Hong Kong shall be maintained except for

Appendix I 147 those changes consequent upon the vesting in the courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the power of final adjudication. Judicial power; precedents Judicial power in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be vested in the courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. The courts shall exercise judicial power independently and free from any interference. Members of the judiciary shall be immune from legal action in respect of their judicial functions. The courts shall decide cases in accordance with the laws of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and may refer to precedents in other common law jurisdictions. Appointment and removal of judges Judges of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region courts shall be appointed by the chief executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region acting in accordance with the recommendation of an independent commission composed of local judges, persons from the legal profession and other eminent persons. Judges shall be chosen by reference to their judicial qualities and may be recruited from other common law jurisdictions. A judge may only be removed for inability to discharge the functions of his office, or for misbehaviour, by the chief executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region acting in accordance with the recommendation of a tribunal appointed by the chief judge of the court of final appeal, consisting of not fewer than three local judges. Additionally, the appointment or removal of principal judges (i.e. those of the highest rank) shall be made by the chief executive with the endorsement of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region legislature and reported to the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress for the record. The system of appointment and removal of judicial officers other than judges shall be maintained. Power of final judgment The power of final judgment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be vested in the court of final appeal in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, which may as required invite judges from other common law jurisdictions to sit on the court of final appeal. Prosecutions A prosecuting authority of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall control criminal prosecutions free from any interference. Legal practitioners On the basis of the system previously operating in Hong Kong, the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region Government shall on its own make provision for

148 Appendix I local lawyers and lawyers from outside the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region to work and practise in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Reciprocal juridical assistance The Central People’s Government shall assist or authorise the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region Government to make appropriate arrangements for reciprocal juridical assistance with foreign states.

Appendix II Chapter IV of the Basic Law

Section 1: The Chief Executive Article 43 The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be the head of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and shall represent the Region. The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be accountable to the Central People’s Government and the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region in accordance with the provisions of this law. Article 44 The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be a Chinese citizen of not less than 40 years of age who is a permanent resident of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country and has ordinarily resided in Hong Kong for a continuous period of not less than 20 years. Article 45 The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be selected by election or through consultations held locally and be appointed by the Central People’s Government. The method for selecting the Chief Executive shall be specified in the light of the actual situation in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and in accordance with the principle of gradual and orderly progress. The ultimate aim is the selection of the Chief Executive by universal suffrage upon nomination by a broadly representative nominating committee in accordance with democratic procedures. The specific method for selecting the Chief Executive is prescribed in Annex I: “Method for the Selection of the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region”. Article 46 The term of office of the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative

150 Appendix II Region shall be five years. He or she may serve for not more than two consecutive terms. Article 47 The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must be a person of integrity, dedicated to his or her duties. The Chief Executive, on assuming office, shall declare his or her assets to the Chief Justice of the Court of Final Appeal of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. This declaration shall be put on record. Article 48 The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall exercise the following powers and functions: 1 To lead the government of the Region; 2 To be responsible for the implementation of this Law and other laws which, in accordance with this Law, apply in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region; 3 To sign bills passed by the Legislative Council and to promulgate laws; 4 To sign budgets passed by the Legislative Council and report the budgets and final accounts to the Central People’s Government for the record; 5 To decide on government policies and to issue executive orders; 6 To nominate and to report to the Central People’s Government for appointment the following principal officials: Secretaries and Deputy Secretaries of Departments, Directors of Bureaux, Commissioner Against Corruption, Director of Audit, Commissioner of Police, Director of Immigration and Commissioner of Customs and Excise; and to recommend to the Central People’s Government the removal of the above-mentioned officials; 7 To appoint or remove judges of the courts at all levels in accordance with legal procedures; 8 To appoint or remove holders of public office in accordance with legal procedures; 9 To implement the directives issued by the Central People’s Government in respect of the relevant matters provided for in this Law; 10 To conduct, on behalf of the Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, external affairs and other affairs as authorized by the Central Authorities; 11 To approve the introduction of motions regarding revenues or expenditure to the Legislative Council; 12 To decide, in the light of security and vital public interests, whether government officials or other personnel in charge of government affairs should testify or give evidence before the Legislative Council or its committees; 13 To pardon persons convicted of criminal offences or commute their penalties; and

Appendix II 151 14 To handle petitions and complaints. Article 49 If the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region considers that a bill passed by the Legislative Council is not compatible with the overall interests of the Region, he or she may return it to the Legislative Council within three months for reconsideration. If the Legislative Council passes the original bill again by not less than a two-thirds majority of all the members, the Chief Executive must sign and promulgate it within one month, or act in accordance with the provisions of Article 50 of this Law. Article 50 If the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region refuses to sign a bill passed the second time by the Legislative Council, or the Legislative Council refuses to pass a budget or any other important bill introduced by the government, and if consensus still cannot be reached after consultations, the Chief Executive may dissolve the Legislative Council. The Chief Executive must consult the Executive Council before dissolving the Legislative Council. The Chief Executive may dissolve the Legislative Council only once in each term of his or her office. Article 51 If the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region refuses to pass the budget introduced by the government, the Chief Executive may apply to the Legislative Council for provisional appropriations. If appropriation of public funds cannot be approved because the Legislative Council has already been dissolved, the Chief Executive may, prior to the election of the new Legislative Council, approve provisional short-term appropriations according to the level of expenditure of the previous fiscal year. Article 52 The Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must resign under any of the following circumstances: 1 2

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When he or she loses the ability to discharge his or her duties as a result of serious illness or other reasons; When, after the Legislative Council is dissolved because he or she twice refuses to sign a bill passed by it, the new Legislative Council again passes by a two-thirds majority of all the members the original bill in dispute, but he or she still refuses to sign it; and When, after the Legislative Council is dissolved because it refuses to pass a budget or any other important bill, the new Legislative Council still refuses to pass the original bill in dispute.

152 Appendix II Article 53 If the Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region is not able to discharge his or her duties for a short period, such duties shall temporarily be assumed by the Administrative Secretary, Financial Secretary or Secretary of Justice in this order of precedence. In the event that the office of Chief Executive becomes vacant, a new Chief Executive shall be selected within six months in accordance with the provisions of Article 45 of this Law. During the period of vacancy, his or her duties shall be assumed according to the provisions of the preceding paragraph. Article 54 The Executive Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be an organ for assisting the Chief Executive in policy-making. Article 55 Members of the Executive Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be appointed by the Chief Executive from among the principal officials of the executive authorities, members of the Legislative Council and public figures. Their appointment or removal shall be decided by the Chief Executive. The term of office of members of the Executive Council shall not extend beyond the expiry of the term of office of the Chief Executive who appoints them. Members of the Executive Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be Chinese citizens who are permanent residents of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country. The Chief Executive may, as he or she deems necessary, invite other persons concerned to sit in on meetings of the Council. Article 56 The Executive Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be presided over by the Chief Executive. Except for the appointment, removal and disciplining of officials and the adoption of measures in emergencies, the Chief Executive shall consult the Executive Council before making important policy decisions, introducing bills to the Legislative Council, making subordinate legislation, or dissolving the Legislative Council. If the Chief Executive does not accept a majority opinion of the Executive Council, he or she shall put the specific reasons on record. Article 57 A Commission Against Corruption shall be established in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. It shall function independently and be accountable to the Chief Executive.

Appendix II 153 Article 58 A Commission of Audit shall be established in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. It shall function independently and be accountable to the Chief Executive.

Section 2: The executive authorities Article 59 The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be the executive authorities of the Region. Article 60 The head of the Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be the Chief Executive of the Region. A Department of Administration, a Department of Finance, a Department of Justice, and various bureaux, divisions and commissions shall be established in the Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Article 61 The principal officials of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be Chinese citizens who are permanent residents of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country and have ordinarily resided in Hong Kong for a continuous period of not less than 15 years. Article 62 The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall exercise the following powers and functions: 1 2 3 4 5 6

To formulate and implement policies; To conduct administrative affairs; To conduct external affairs as authorised by the Central People’s Government under this Law; To draw up and introduce budgets and final accounts; To draft and introduce bills, motions and subordinate legislation; and To designate officials to sit in on the meetings of the Legislative Council and to speak on behalf of the government.

Article 63 The Department of Justice of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall control criminal prosecutions, free from any interference.

154 Appendix II Article 64 The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must abide by the law and be accountable to the Legislative Council of the Region: it shall implement laws passed by the Council and already in force; it shall present regular policy addresses to the Council; it shall answer questions raised by members of the Council; and it shall obtain approval from the Council for taxation and public expenditure. Article 65 The previous system of establishing advisory bodies by the executive authorities shall be maintained.

Section 3: The legislature Article 66 The Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be the legislature of the Region. Article 67 The Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be composed of Chinese citizens who are permanent residents of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country. However, permanent residents of the Region who are not of Chinese nationality or who have the right of abode in foreign countries may also be elected members of the Legislative Council of the Region, provided that the proportion of such members does not exceed 20 percent of the total membership of the Council. Article 68 The Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be constituted by election. The method for forming the Legislative Council shall be specified in the light of the actual situation in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and in accordance with the principle of gradual and orderly progress. The ultimate aim is the election of all the members of the Legislative Council by universal suffrage. The specific method for forming the Legislative Council and its procedures for voting on bills and motions are prescribed in Annex II: “Method for the Formation of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and Its Voting Procedures”. Article 69 The term of office of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be four years, except the first term which shall be two years.

Appendix II 155 Article 70 If the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region is dissolved by the Chief Executive in accordance with the provisions of this Law, it must, within three months, be reconstituted by election in accordance with Article 68 of this Law. Article 71 The President of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be elected by and from among the members of the Legislative Council. The President of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be a Chinese citizen of not less than 40 years of age, who is a permanent resident of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country and has ordinarily resided in Hong Kong for a continuous period of not less than 20 years. Article 72 The President of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall exercise the following powers and functions: 1 2 3 4 5 6

To preside over meetings; To decide on the agenda, giving priority to government bills for inclusion in the agenda; To decide on the time of meetings; To call special sessions during the recess; To call emergency sessions on the request of the Chief Executive; and To exercise other powers and functions as prescribed in the rules of procedure of the Legislative Council.

Article 73 The Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall exercise the following powers and functions; 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

To enact, amend or repeal laws in accordance with the provisions of this Law and legal procedures; To examine and approve budgets introduced by the government; To approve taxation and public expenditure; To receive and debate the policy addresses of the Chief Executive; To raise questions on the work of the government; To debate any issue concerning public interests; To endorse the appointment and removal of the judges of the Court of Final Appeal and the Chief Judge of the High Court; To receive and handle complaints from Hong Kong residents; If a motion initiated jointly by one-fourth of all the members of the Legislative

156 Appendix II Council charges the Chief Executive with serious breach of law or dereliction of duty and if he or she refuses to resign, the Council may, after passing a motion for investigation, give a mandate to the Chief Justice of the Court of Final Appeal to form and chair an independent investigation committee. The committee shall be responsible for carrying out the investigation and reporting its findings to the Council. If the committee considers the evidence sufficient to substantiate such charges, the Council may pass a motion of impeachment by a two-thirds majority of all its members and report it to the Central People’s Government for decision; and 10 To summon, as required when exercising the above-mentioned powers and functions, persons concerned to testify or give evidence. Article 74 Members of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may introduce bills in accordance with the provisions of this Law and legal procedures. Bills which do not relate to public expenditure or political structure or the operation of the government may be introduced individually or jointly by members of the Council. The written consent of the Chief Executive shall be required before bills relating to government polices are introduced. Article 75 The quorum for the meeting of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be not less than one half of all its members. The rules of procedure of the Legislative Council shall be made by the Council on its own, provided that they do not contravene this Law. Article 76 A bill passed by the Legislative council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may take effect only after it is signed and promulgated by the Chief Executive. Article 77 Members of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be immune from legal action in respect of their statements at meetings of the Council. Article 78 Members of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall not be subjected to arrest when attending or on their way to a meeting of the Council.

Appendix II 157 Article 79 The President of the Legislative Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall declare that a member of the Council is no longer qualified for the office under any of the following circumstances: 1 2

3 4 5 6

7

When he or she loses the ability to discharge his or her duties as a result of serious illness or other reasons; When he or she, with no valid reason, is absent from meetings for three consecutive months without the consent of the President of the Legislative Council; When he or she loses or renounces his or her status as a permanent resident of the Region; When he or she accepts a government appointment and becomes a public servant; When he or she is bankrupt or fails to comply with a court order to repay debts; When he or she is convicted and sentenced to imprisonment for one month or more for a criminal offence committed within or outside the Region and is relieved of his or her duties by a motion passed by two-thirds of the members of the Legislative Council present; and When he or she is censured for misbehaviour or breach of oath by a vote of two-thirds of the members of the Legislative Council present.

Section 4: The judiciary Article 80 The courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region at all levels shall be the judiciary of the Region, exercising the judicial power of the Region. Article 81 The Court of Final Appeal, the High Court, district courts, magistrates’ courts and other special courts shall be established in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. The High Court shall comprise the Court of Appeal and the Court of First Instance. The judicial system previously practised in Hong Kong shall be maintained except for those changes consequent upon the establishment of the Court of Final Appeal of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Article 82 The power of final adjudication of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be vested in the Court of Final Appeal of the Region, which may as required invite judges from other common law jurisdictions to sit on the Court of Final Appeal.

158 Appendix II Article 83 The structure, powers and functions of the courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region at all levels shall be prescribed by law. Article 84 The courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall adjudicate cases in accordance with the laws applicable in the Region as prescribed in Article 18 of this Law and may refer to precedents of other common law jurisdictions. Article 85 The courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall exercise judicial power independently, free from any interference. Members of the judiciary shall be immune from legal action in the performance of their judicial functions. Article 86 The principle of trial by jury previously practised in Hong Kong shall be maintained. Article 87 In criminal or civil proceedings in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, the principles previously applied in Hong Kong and the rights previously enjoyed by parties to proceedings shall be maintained. Anyone who is lawfully arrested shall have the right to a fair trial by the judicial organs without delay and shall be presumed innocent until convicted by the judicial organs. Article 88 Judges of the courts of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be appointed by the Chief Executive on the recommendation of an independent commission composed of local judges, persons from the legal profession and eminent persons from other sectors. Article 89 A judge of court of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may only be removed for inability to discharge his or her duties, or for misbehaviour, by the Chief Executive on the recommendation of a tribunal appointed by the Chief Justice of the Court of Final Appeal and consisting of not fewer than three local judges. The Chief Justice of the Court of Final Appeal of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may be investigated only for inability to discharge his or her duties, or for misbehaviour, by a tribunal appointed by the Chief Executive and

Appendix II 159 consisting of not fewer than five local judges and may be removed by the Chief Executive on the recommendation of the tribunal and in accordance with the procedures prescribed in this Law. Article 90 The Chief Justice of the Court of Final Appeal and the Chief Judge of the High Court of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be Chinese citizens who are permanent residents of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country. In the case of the appointment or removal of judges of the Court of Final Appeal and the Chief Judge of the High Court of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, the Chief Executive shall, in addition to following the procedures prescribed in Articles 88 and 89 of this Law, obtain the endorsement of the Legislative Council and report such appointment or removal to the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress for the record. Article 91 The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall maintain the previous system of appointment and removal of members of the judiciary other than judges. Article 92 Judges and other members of the judiciary of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall be chosen on the basis of their judicial and professional qualities and may be recruited from other common law jurisdictions. Article 93 Judges and other members of the judiciary serving in Hong Kong before the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may all remain in employment and retain their seniority with pay, allowances, benefits and conditions of service no less favourable than before. The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall pay to judges and other members of the judiciary who retire or leave the service in compliance with regulations, including those who have retired or left the service before the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, or to their dependants, all pensions, gratuities, allowances and benefits due to them on terms no less favourable than before, irrespective of their nationality or place of residence. Article 94 On the basis of the system previously operating in Hong Kong, the Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may make provisions for local lawyers and lawyers from outside Hong Kong to work and practise in the Region.

160 Appendix II Article 95 The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may, through consultations and in accordance with law, maintain juridical relations with the judicial organs of other parts of the country, and they may render assistance to each other. Article 96 With the assistance or authorization of the Central People’s Government, the Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may make appropriate arrangements with foreign states for reciprocal juridical assistance.

Section 5: District organizations Article 97 District organizations which are not organs of political power may be established in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, to be consulted by the government of the Region on district administration and other affairs, or to be responsible for providing services in such fields as culture, recreation and environmental sanitation. Article 98 The powers and functions of the district organizations and the method for their formation shall be prescribed by law.

Section 6: Public servants Article 99 Public servants serving in all government departments of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must be permanent residents of the Region, except where otherwise provided for in Article 101 of this Law regarding public servants of foreign nationalities and except for those below a certain rank as prescribed by law. Public servants must be dedicated to their duties and be responsible to the Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Article 100 Public servants serving in all Hong Kong government departments, including the police department, before the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, may all remain in employment and retain their seniority with pay, allowances, benefits and conditions of service no less favourable than before.

Appendix II 161 Article 101 The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may employ British and other foreign nationals previously serving in the public service in Hong Kong, or those holding permanent identity cards of the Region, to serve as public servants in government departments at all levels, but only Chinese citizens among permanent residents of the Region with no right of abode in any foreign country may fill the following posts: the Secretaries and Deputy Secretaries of Departments, Directors of Bureaux, Commissioner Against Corruption, Director of Audit, Commissioner of Police, Director of Immigration and Commissioner of Customs and Excise. The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region may also employ British and other foreign nationals as advisers to government departments and, when required, may recruit qualified candidates from outside the Region to fill professional and technical posts in government departments. These foreign nationals shall be employed only in their individual capacities and shall be responsible to the government of the Region. Article 102 The Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall pay to public servants who retire or who leave the service in compliance with regulations, including those who have retired or who have left the service in compliance with regulations before the establishment of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, or to their dependants, all pensions, gratuities, allowances and benefits due to them on terms no less favourable than before, irrespective of their nationality or place of residence. Article 103 The appointment and promotion of public servants shall be on the basis of their qualifications, experience and ability. Hong Kong’s previous system of recruitment, employment, assessment, discipline, training and management for the public service, including special bodies for their appointment, pay and conditions of service, shall be maintained, except for any provisions for privileged treatment of foreign nationals. Article 104 When assuming office, the Chief Executive, principal officials, members of the Executive Council and of the Legislative Council, judges of the courts at all levels and other members of the judiciary in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region must, in accordance with law, swear to uphold the Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China and swear allegiance to the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China.

Appendix III Chronology Date

Event

Summary

28.11.1999 The first District The Democratic Party (DP) won 86 seats, surpassing the Council Election Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong (DAB) by three seats. The percentage of after 1997 candidates from DP who succeeded in the race declined to 50% from the 56% in previous election. 47% of candidates from the DAB succeeded in the race, up from the 45% it enjoyed in the previous district council election. 1.7.2000 Anti-Tung 27 organizations, including political parties, movement associations, unions, and civil society groups held a rally, and demanded the resignation of the incumbent Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa. The Democratic Party won 12 seats, but the percentage 10.9.2000 The first of votes it shared was down to 34% from the 42% it Legislative Council Election received in the previous Legislative Council election. The DAB won 11 seats. Its share of votes rose by 5% to after 1997 near 30% as compared with the previous election. The Liberal Party won eight seats in the new legislature. Anson Chan, the Chief Secretary for Administration, 12.1.2001 Anson Chan announced her resignation from the post, citing personal announced her reasons. Her resignation was foreshadowed by her resignation meeting with Vice-premier Qian Qi-shen in Beijing three months before. Qian reportedly urged Chan to support Tung. This meeting was seen as the consequence of conflict between Tung and Chan. 1.12.2001 Principal Officials At the beginning of his second term, Tung Chee-hwa introduced the POAS as part of his government reform Accountability System unveiled programme. This system allows the Chief Executive to choose his principal officials as political appointees whereas previously all secretaries who were heads of policy bureaux had risen through the permanent civil service establishment. Under POAS, officials serve at the CE’s pleasure, and are held accountable for policy errors and government blunders in respective areas of their responsibility. This system also represented a departure from the previous system in which only the Chief Secretary of Administration, Financial Secretary and Secretary for Justice were ex-officio members in the Executive Council. In the new system, all secretaries, as well as leaders of the dominant political parties in the Legislative Council, are appointed to the Council. The party leaders serve as a link between the government and the legislature, but they were appointed as unofficial members initially – or ministers without portfolio. continued on next page

Appendix III 163 Date

Event

Summary

24.9.2002

Consultation on the legislation of Article 23 of the Basic Law

Citing its moral and legal obligations, the Hong Kong SAR government released a consultation paper to implement Article 23 of the Basic Law. As Article 23 of the Basic Law stipulates, ‘The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region shall enact laws on its own to prohibit any act of treason, secession, sedition, subversion against the Central People’s Government, or theft of state secrets, to prohibit foreign political organizations or bodies from conducting political activities in the Region, and to prohibit political organizations or bodies of the Region from establishing ties with foreign political organizations or bodies’. The new law invokes concepts of ‘treason’ against the PRC in certain circumstances. Critics claimed that this would erode freedom of speech. Suspicions were exacerbated by the refusal of the government to issue a White Bill on the legislation, causing groups such as Amnesty International to declare that it ‘has grave concerns about the proposals in the government’s consulation document and the lack of a draft White Bill which means that the public still do not know how the legislation will actually be worded’. It was said that the issuance of a blue paper containing the draft legislation to be passed in the legislature would leave no time for the public to voice its concerns. As the controversy erupted, political parties, legal professionals and civil society groups began to organize rallies in the following months.

1.7.2003

Mass rally against the legislation of Article 23 of the Basic Law

Hundreds of thousands of people marched from Victoria Park to the Government House in the central district to express grievances over the anti-subversion legislation, the government’s handling of the SARS epidemic, and their dissatisfaction with various policies and reforms adopted by the Hong Kong SAR government in the previous years. The organizers claimed the turn-out was around half a million, while estimates from independent research institutes and the figure released by Hong Kong Police ranged from 400,000 to 260,000.

7.7.2003

The legislation of Article 23 of the Basic Law was postponed

After its request to defer the proposed bill being rejected by the Chief Executive, the leader of the Liberal Party resigned from the Executive Council and the party vowed to vote against the bill in the legislature. In view of the fact that the government would be short of the necessary votes to pass the bill in the Legislative Council, it announced the deferment of the legislation to an undefined date. The government said it had informed the Central People’s Government about the postponement in advance.

continued on next page

164 Appendix III Date

Event

Summary

23.11.2003 The 2nd District The DAB suffered a serious blow as a number of Council Election heavyweights lost the election to contenders from the pro-democracy parties, including its vice-chairman. after 1997 Only 62 of the 206 candidates from the party succeeded the election, a loss of 31 seats as compared with the previous district council election. On the other hand, 95 of the 120 candidates from the Democratic Party won the election. The election also recorded an unprecedented level of voter turn-out at 40%, up from the 35.8% in the previous district council election. 7. 1. 2004

Constitutional Review Task Force established to start considering further development of democracy

In his policy address, the Chief Executive Tung Cheehwa announced his decision to establish a Constitutional Review Task Force. The Task Force was headed by the Chief Secretary for Administration, with members including the Secretary for Justice and the Secretary for Constitutional Affairs. It aimed, as vowed by the Chief Executive, to seriously examine the issues concerning the relevant provisions in the Basic Law, and to consult relevant authorities of the Central People’s Government on the constitutional development in Hong Kong.

27.4.2004

Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress issued its decision on the constitutional development in Hong Kong

The National People’s Congress Standing Committee ruled out the possibility of introduction of direct election for the selection of the Chief Executive in 2007 and for the composition of Legislative Council in 2008.

13.9.2004

The 2nd Legislative Council election

The DAB and its affiliate, the Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions, together won 13 seats, surpassing the Democratic Party, which won nine seats, and became the largest political party in the Legislative Council. However, with the rise of the Article 45 Concern Group, which won four seats, and independent pro-democracy legislators, the pro-democracy camp continue to wield around 18 to 25 votes within the legislative Council depending on the swing of the independent prodemocracy legislators at the margin of the coalition. The Liberal Party rose to become the second largest political party within the legislature after it secured 10 seats.

10.3.2005

The resignation of Tung Chee-hwa formally announced his resignation Tung Chee-hwa from the office, citing medical reasons. However, his resignation was foreshadowed by a televised meeting between Tung and President Hu Jin-tao in Macao in December 2004. In the meeting, Hu Jin-tao urged Tung and his principal officials to learn from past experiences, to look into the mistakes, and to strengthen governance. This meeting was seen as reflecting the dissatisfaction with Tung of Beijing leaders. continued on next page

Appendix III 165 Date

Event

Summary

16.6.2005

Donald Tsang Yam-kuen formally elected to the Office of Chief Executive

Tsang returned uncontested after securing 674 nominations and 714 votes from the 796 electors in the Election Committee.

28.10.2005 The Constitutional The government’s blueprint for further constitutional development aimed to double the size of the Election reform package Committee to 1,600, of which all 529 district was released councillors (among them 102 appointees) would be included in the expanded Committee. The seats in the Legislative Council would increase by 10, half of which would be allocated to directly elected members, and the rest returned by district councillors. 14.12.2005 Mass rally against The pro-democracy parties and civil society groups held a mass rally to express their opposition to the government’s reform package government’s reform proposal. The protesters demanded that a timetable and road-map to democracy be attached to the reform proposal. The pro-democracy legislators stood in unity, defeated 22.12.2005 Pro-democracy parties vetoed the the government’s reform proposal, although some in the reform package in pro-democracy camp showed signs of reconciliation at the initial stage after the proposal was first released. the legislature 19.3.2006 The Civic Party The Civic Party was launched. It comprised members established from the Article 45 Concern Group, academics, activists from non-governmental organizations and independent legislators. Unlike the Democratic Party, the Party avoided mentioning the 4 June Tiananmen Square incident in its political platform. Of the 137 candidates affiliated with the Civic Party, the 10.12.2006 Civic Party led Democratic Party and their allies, 114 won seats in the pro-democracy political parties to Election Committee. In seven sub-sectors, all candidates participate in the from the pro-democracy parties lists succeeded, including the legal sub-sector, the social service subelection of sector, and the high education sub-sector. This success Election immensely increased the likelihood for a pro-democracy Committee candidate to secure the required 100 nominations to formally enter the race for the next Chief Executive. Alan Leong formally entered the race for the next Chief 15.2.2007 Alan Leong, a core member of Executive after securing 134 nominations, thus increasing the competitiveness of the election. Televised the Civil Party, secured enough election forums for CE contenders thus were held for nominations to be the first time in the history of Hong Kong. a contender for the next Chief Executive Donald Tsang was elected as the Chief Executive after 25.3.2007 Donald Tsang he received more than 80% of votes in the Election was elected as Chief Executive Committee. Sources: Mingpao, South China Morning Post, Hong Kong SAR government online

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170 References Qian, Qi-chen, ‘Speech at the fifth plenary session of Hong Kong SAR preparatory committee, 5 October 1996’, in Zhao Rui and Zhang Ming (eds), Chinese Leaders’ Discussion on Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Mingchuang Publishing, Inc., 1997). —— Ten Stories of a Diplomat (in Chinese) (Beijing: Shijie Zhishi Chuban She, 2003). Roberti, M., The Fall of Hong Kong: China’s Triumph and Britain’s Betrayal (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1994). Robinson, K., The Dilemmas of Trusteeship: Aspects of British Colonial Policy between the Wars (London: Oxford University Press, 1965). Samson, J., The British Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Schedler, A., ‘Conceptualizing accountability’, in A. Schedler, L. Diamond and M. F. Plattner (eds), The Self-Restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 1999). Shirk, S. L., The Political Logic of Economic Reform in China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). Shively, W. P., Power and Choice: An Introduction to Political Science, 9th edn (New York: McGraw Hill, 2005). So, A. Y., Hong Kong’s Embattled Democracy: A Societal Analysis (Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999). ——‘Social protests, legitimacy crisis, and the impact towards soft authoritarianism’, in S. K. Lau (ed.), The First Tung Chee-hwa Administration (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2002). Stokes, S. C., ‘What do policy switches tell us about democracy?’, in A. Przeworski, S. C. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability, and Representation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Swinfen, D. B., Imperial Control of Colonial Legislation: 1813–65 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970). Tung Chee-hwa, ‘Interview by the New China News Agency, December 20, 1996’, in Chinese Leaders’ Discussion on Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: Mingchuang Publishing Co., 1997). Wong, K. Y., ‘The changing public perception of the Chief Executive’, in S. K. Lau (ed.), The First Tung Chee-hwa Administration: The First Five Years of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2002). Wong, Yiu-chung, ‘One country and two systems: where is the line?’, in Wong Yiu-chung (ed.), ‘One Country, Two Systems’ in Crisis (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2004). Xu, Jia-tun The Memoir of Xu Jia-tun in Hong Kong (in Chinese) (Hong Kong: The Hong Kong United Press Ltd, 1994). Zhang, Jie-fong and others, No Change for Fifty Years?: The Dynamics Surrounding the Making of the Basic Law among China, British and Hong Kong (in Chinese). (Hong Kong: Longchao Press, 1991).

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Index

Note: CCHK indicates an institution that existed under British colonial rule. 1 July 2003 mass demonstration xvi, 59, 95 accountability xviii, xx, xxi, 1–2, 8–14, 26, 34–38, 40–3, 137; broad senses 127; conservative view 135–6; definition in Basic Law 37–8; delegateship view 126, 129; enforceability 127–8, 134; liberal 132–5, 142; models of 127–9, 130–1; political 127–9; wen ze 120–3 ‘accountable government’ 17, 41, 138 agent–principal relationship 2, 14, 19, 31, 38, 43, 127, 131–2 American Revolution 16 ‘answerability’ 36, 137 anti-subversion legislation (Basic Law, Article 23) xvi, 58, 65–6, 81, 83 Article 45 Concern Group 74, 76, 86, 97, 98 Asian Financial Crisis xiii, 52, 58 Australia 15 avian flu xiv Bartolini, Stefano 133–4 Basic Law 3, 13, 33, 65, 138–9; Appendix I 1; Art. 23 58; Art. 43 xviii, 1, 41, 43, 46–7; Art. 45 1, 41–2, 47, 49; Art. 64 37, 43, 49–50; Art. 73 49–50 Basic Law Consultative Committee 38–9 Basic Law Drafting Committee 35–7, 39–40 British colonial rule 2, 13–14, 15, 137; reform agenda 39 British legacy xviii British Nationality Law (1983) 12 British parliament 11–12 Burke, Edmund 1, 2, 17, 130

Canada, Province of 15, 18, 24n57; Governor-General 15–16 Cape Colony 15, 24n57 capitalism, Hong Kong’s value to China 35 central government: challenges of democratization 102–5; dissatisfaction with Tung Chee-hwa 88–9; dominant power xviii–xix; electoral engineering 86–7; instigation of constitutional reform 84; new strategies re democratic movement 79, 83–91; and political reform102–5; response to prodemocracy movement 81, 91, 93; as stakeholder xix Central People’s Government 47, 49; control over Chief Executive 49 Chamber of Commerce (CCHK) 4 Chan, Anson 56, 60, 63–4, 80–1 Chief Executive, accountability 49, 51–2; competing imperatives xix–xx; contest for selection of (2007) 78–9; dimensions of competition between central government and Hong Kong 108–11; institutional constraints on 47–55; legal framework of office xxi, 47–50; loyalty to motherland 103; responsibilities 52; scenarios for restructuring office of 108–11 China, political change in 104, 118–23 Chinese Communist Party 30, 92, 105–6; and National People’s Congress 119–20 Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) 49, 79–80, 89, 116 Chinese political culture 95 Chinese political tradition 29 Civic Party 78, 98

Index 175 Civil Human Rights Front 73–5, 97 Closer Economic partnership Agreement 56 collective good 30, 31, 32, 38; role of governing elite 32 colonial governor, role of 15 Colonial Office (UK) 4, 7–8 colonial system of governance 27 Commission for Strategic Development 64 Commonwealth, as model for restructuring office of Chief Executive 110, 111–13 Confucianism 29, 95 Chinese constitution 30, 92–3; constructive vagueness of 92–3; distinctive features of 30 constructive vagueness xx, 40–3, 138–9; of Chinese constitution 92–3 Convention of St Germain 17 Cyberport xxiin6 Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong (DAB) 60–1, 72–5, 80–3, 94; electoral defeat 81–2, 85–8 Democratic Party 61, 71–5, 78, 85, 95, 97 democratic values xx democratization xvi demonstrations 70–4, 75, 96, 104,140 Deng Xiao-ping 9, 23n38, 26–9, 35, 88, 121 devolution, Scottish 113–14 di qing, ‘enemy situation’ 102–3, 118–19, 123 District Boards (CCHK) 9, 10 District Council 76; elections 71–4, 81, 96 Du Gang-jian dual accountability 47–8, 54, 65–6, 120; in mainland China 93 dual loyalty dilemma 47 dual mandate 15–20, 26, 138 dual selection process for Chief Executive 1, 47 Durham Report (1835) 15 Durham, Lord 15, 16, 26 East India Company 3 economic downturn 58 economic recovery xiii–xiv Election Committee xvii, 1, 47–9, 63, 76; lifespan 47; reform of 115–17 electoral engineering 86–7 Eurocentrism 5 ex post response, model for restructuring office of Chief Executive 111, 117–18

Executive Council (CCHK) 9, 21n12 Executive Council 60–1 executive-dominant system 94, 139 executive–legislature relationship 14, 37, 43, 38, 47, 51, 64–5 Frontier, The 71, 73–4, 97 fu ze xx, 34–37, 40–1, 120, 138–9 gen ben ren wu 30 gen ben zhi du 30 Germany, Lander 107 Gini coefficient xiv Goods and Services Tax 65 governance of Hong Kong: under colonial system 27; comparison with other provinces of PRC 106–7; dominance of executive 32; executive-led model 38–9, 41; governing coalition 79–80, 83; institutional checks on 50–1; legislature-led model 38; relative autonomy 107; scenarios for restructuring office of Chief Executive 108–11 Governor-General, as model for role of Chief Executive 111–12 guardian state 17 Hang Seng index 34 Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office 35, 83 Hong Kong Association for Democracy and People’s Livelihood (HKADPL) 71 Hong Kong Civic Association 6, 22n24 Hong Kong Democratic Self-Governance Party 6, 11, 22n25 Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions (HKFTU) 71, 73–4, 80–1, 87, 97 Hong Kong Liaison Office 83 Hong Kong Progressive Alliance 86–7 House of Commons (UK) 4, 13; Foreign Affairs Committee 13, 24n51 House of Lords (UK) 13 Hu Jin-tao xiii, 84, 88, 120 Hunghom Peninsula housing estate xxiin6 impeachment, powers of 49–50 individual good 30 Jae Ho Chung 106–7 Jiang De-zhang 61 Jiang Ze-min 89, 93 Justices of the Peace (CCHK) 4

176 Index Labour Party of Hong Kong 6, 11, 22n25 Lander, in Germany 107 Lau, S.K. 57 League of Nations 15, 16–20, 25n76; Art. 22 of Covenant of 16; Council of 17 Lee, Martin 36, 38–9 Legislative Council (CCHK) 4, 9, 10, 21n10 Legislative Council: elections 72–5, 87, 96 legislative oversight 50 Leung Kam-chung, Antony xxiin9 Li Ka-shing 80 Liao Cheng-zhi 3–5, 45n42 liberal democrats 45n36 Liberal Party 59–61, 80–2, 85, 94 Lockhart, J. Stewart 5–6 Lu Ping 37

Prince Edward Island 15, 24n57 Principal Officials Accountability System (POAS) 60–1, 65–6, 81–2, 94, 140 prior consent, model for restructuring office of Chief Executive 110–11, 113–17, 123 pro-democracy forces xvi, 65, 71; challenge to central authority 102–5; pressures on 92 pro-democracy party alliance 71, 73, 96; campaign against 2004 electoral reform proposal 76 provinces of PRC, compared to Hong Kong 106–7 public good vs private interest 6

Ma Man Fai 7 mandate xviii, 8, 10, 129 Mandate System 16–20, 25n76 Manin, 127–8 merchant interests 4–6 Mingben tradition 30, 52–4, 142 Monson, Sir Leslie 23n44

Rankin, Lord 23n44 reciprocal accountability’ 29, 31, 32, 94,122, 142 Reform Club 6 Regional Council (CCHK) 9 representation 2, 11; authorization view 130; delegate 2, 10, 13, 18; historic demands for 3–8; symbolic 32; trusteeship 130, 135; virtual 2, 18, 130 Representative Government, The Further Development of (Green Paper) 9 representative legislature 14 Research Institute of Hong Kong and Macao Affairs 83, 86, 103 responsibility, ze ren 120 responsible government 15–18, 26, 138 right-of-abode 70 Robinson, Kenneth 18, 20 Royle, Anthony 11 ruling elite, moral character of 32

Nathan, Andrew 29, 121 National People’s Congress 26, 31; Hong Kong delegates 39; Standing Committee (SCNPC) 41, 86 New Brunswick 15, 24n57 New Zealand 15, 18, 24n57 nomenklatura system 31,105–7, 119, 121 Nova Scotia 15, 24n57 O’Donnell, Guillermo 128–9 Office of Members of the Executive and Legislative Councils (OMELCO) (CCHK) 12–13 ‘One country, two systems’ 27, 28, 35, 39,105, 107 parliamentary democracy 14, 136 party-state 30, 31 ‘patriots’ 29, 32, 83–4, 88, 103 Patten, Chris 3, 10, 13, 14, 28 Permanent Court of International Justice 17, 25n76 petitions: 1894 4–5, 11, 21n15; 1916 4–5, 11, 21n15 Pitkin, Hanna 2, 129 policy-switching 131–2 political resignations xv Pollock, E.H. 5

Qian Qi-chen 29, 80–1

SARS (Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome) xiv, 120 Schedler, Andreas 127–8 Scotland Act (1998) 113–14 Scotland, as model for restructuring office of Chief Executive 110, 113–15 self-government 16, 18 Shepherd, Lord 23n44 Sino-British Joint Declaration 3, 9, 33, 34, 36, 41, 137; Annex I 10, 26, 35–6; Chinese concessions 33–4; negotiations xix–xx, 9, 34 social inequality xiv Stokes, Susan C. 131 Strategic Commission for Development 61

Index 177 Taiwan 112 Thatcher, Margaret 28 Tiananmen Square (4 July 1989 demonstrations) 13, 39, 96, 119, 138 traditional values xx trusteeship 2, 7–8, 11–13, 16, 130 Tsang Yam-kuen, Donald xvi, 46, 60–2, 64, 70; attitude to politics 60; constitutional reform package (2004), failure of 76–7; popularity 89; and SARS 89 Tung Chee-hwa xv, 29, 46, 55–60, 63–4, 76, 80, 139–40; attitude to politics 57; constitutional review (2004) 84–6; policy initiatives 55–6, 64, 80–1; regime-conservator 56–7 UN Committee on Colonialism 7, 23n43 UN Petitions Sub-Committee 11 unemployment xiii–xiv United Nations Association of Hong Kong 6, 7, 11, 22n25, 23n43

universal suffrage xvii, xxi, 42, 85, 95 Urban Council (CCHK) 7, 9, 22n26 Wen Jia-bao 120 wen ze 120–3, 141 Wilson, Woodrow 26 Wong Kin Chow, Michael xxiin9 Wong Yick-Ming, Rosanne xxiin9 Xinhua News Agency 39 Xu Jia-tun 28, 35 Yep, Regina 58 Youde, Edward 1, 3 ze ren 120 Zen Ze-kiun, Joseph 74 Zeng Qing-hong 76, 83 Zhao Zi-yang 105 Zhou Nan 37

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This book examines the foreign direct investment activities of China’s multinationals, focusing in particular on the resource sector - that is by firms involved in oil, gas, mining, metal and other resource-based industries - which accounts for a large proportion of China’s overall foreign direct investment activities.

January 2009: 234x156: 320pp Hb: 978-0-415-30372-9: £75.00 / $125.00 The Chinese Steel Industry Government Policy and Competitiveness Build-Up Pei Sun, University of Nottingham, UK With China being the world’s largest producer and consumer of the steel industry, this book provides a systematic examination of its development in the industry since the late 1980s. July 2008: 234x156: 256pp Hb: 978-0-415-41877-5: £75.00 / $135.00 Economic Convergence in Greater China Chun Kwok Lei, University of Macau, Macau and Shujie Yao, University of Nottingham, UK Although China's economy has grown rapidly in recent decades, there are still very large differences between the economies of mainland China and those of Hong Kong and Macau. This book considers how far economic convergence between these three territories has occurred, and the prospects for increased convergence in the future. July 2008: 234x156: 288pp Hb: 978-0-415-43581-9: £85.00 / $150.00 The Government of Urban Planning in Pre-Reform China Wing-Shing Tang, Hong Kong Baptist University, Hong Kong

June 2008: 234x156: 256pp Hb: 978-0-415-45508-4: £75.00 / $135.00 Eliminating Poverty Through Development in China Li Shi, Beijing Normal University, China, Wang Xiaolu, China Reform Foundation, China and Wang Sangui, Renmin University of China, China This book, written by three renowned poverty-reduction experts under the aegis of the China Development Research Foundation - one of China’s leading think-tanks - examines China’s efforts to eliminate poverty to achieve sustainable economic development. It considers all the important issues, assesses government policy, and makes suggestions for policymakers. April 2008: 234x156: 336pp Hb: 978-0-415-46277-8: £90.00 / $160.00 Multinationals, Globalisation and Indigenous Firms in China Chunhang Liu, China Banking Regulatory Commission, Beijing, China This book considers the impact of multinational companies in China on the Chinese economy and on indigenous Chinese firms. It includes detailed case studies of Boeing, Wal-Mart and Coca-Cola, considering their activities at the global level and within China, and case studies of the sectors in which these firms operate.

Examining the nature of the planning system in pre-reform China, Tang relates China's planning system to planning systems in other parts of the world, and to theories of planning April 2008: 234x156: 256pp and governmentality. Hb: 978-0-415-45190-1: £75.00 / $135.00 July 2008: 234x156: 224pp Hb: 978-0-415-36820-9: £75.00 / $135.00

Reorienting Chinese Development in the Twenty-First Century Is Xiaokang Socialism Possible? Chun Lin, London School of Economics and Political Science, University of London, UK This book is a critical reflection on China's official policy of "building a moderately well-off society" and an analysis of a viable vision of xiaokang socialism based on China's past paths and current trends of development. April 2008: 234x156: 192pp Hb: 978-0-415-38069-0: £75.00 / $120.00

Global Big Business and the Chinese Brewing Industry Yuantao Guo, Goldman Sachs Gao Hua Securities, Beijing, China Contributing to modern day discussions on globalization, this is the first book in English that applies the theories of big business, catch up and state intervention to the Chinese brewing industry. December 2006: 234x156: 240pp Hb: 978-0-415-39918-0: £75.00 / $135.00 Economic and Social Transformation in China Challenges and Opportunities Angang Hu, Center for China Study, Beijing, China

China's Post-Reform Economy - Achieving Harmony, Sustaining Growth Now, for the first time, a set of influential research papers from Edited by Richard Sanders, University of Northampton, UK and the Center for China Studies have been put together in book Chen Yang, University of Northampton, UK form and in English, giving fascinating insights into Chinese economics and society. This book discusses the very latest issues relating to China's remarkable economic growth. It provides comprehensive September 2006: 234x156: 304pp coverage of them, including economic, political-economic, Hb: 978-0-415-38067-6: £80.00 / $160.00 environmental and philosophical questions. December 2007: 234x156: 288pp Hb: 978-0-415-43432-4: £85.00 / $170.00 The Political Future of Hong Kong Democracy within Communist China Kit Poon, Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong Focusing on the period since the handover of power to China, this book examines the origins and evolution of Hong Kong’s political system. Considering the prospects and problems of achieving liberal democracy within the communist Chinese state system, it provides useful insights into the meaning of central concepts in democratic political theory. November 2007: 234x156: 208pp Hb: 978-0-415-43438-6: £75.00 / $150.00

Unemployment, Inequality and Poverty in Urban China Edited by Hiroshi Sato, Hitotsubashi University, Japan and Shi Li, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, China Based on extensive original research, this book explores many aspects of unemployment, inequality and poverty in urban China. April 2006: 234x156: 352pp Hb: 978-0-415-33872-1: £80.00 / $160.00 Poverty and Inequality among Chinese Minorities Ajit S. Bhalla and Shufang Qiu Providing new findings and insights, this book investigates the problem of poverty and inequality in China with special reference to the ethnic minorities.

March 2006: 234x156: 224pp Informal Institutions and Rural Development in China Biliang Hu, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing, China Hb: 978-0-415-30840-3: £80.00 / $160.00 Providing an account of the role of informal institutions in Chinese rural development, this book puts forth a distinctive argument on a very important topic in Chinese economic and social affairs. July 2007: 234x156: 384pp Hb: 978-0-415-42177-5: £80.00 / $145.00 The Chinese Banking Industry Lessons from History for Today's Challenges Yuanyuan Peng, University of Cambridge, UK Bringing a vast amount of material to a Western audience for the first time, this book provides a detailed systematic microlevel analysis of the historical development of the Chinese banking industry, analyzing the key issues in the development of the Bank of China in the period 1905 to 1949. May 2007: 234x156: 216pp Hb: 978-0-415-42347-2: £75.00 / $135.00 Peasants and Revolution in Rural China Rural Political Change in the North China Plain and the Yangzi Delta, 1850-1949 Chang Liu, Fudan University, China This book explores rural political change in China from 1850 to 1949 to help us understand China’s transformation from a weak, decaying agrarian empire to a unified, strong nationstate during this period. May 2007: 243x156: 272pp Hb: 978-0-415-42176-8: £80.00 / £145.00

Globalization, Competition and Growth in China Edited by Jian Chen, University of Greenwich, UK and Shujie Yao, University of Nottingham, UK Presenting original work and new thinking, this book explores the current state of globalization, competition and growth in China. February 2006: 234x156: 400pp Hb: 978-0-415-35197-3: £90.00 / $160.00 The Chinese Communist Party in Reform Edited by Kjeld Erik Brodsgaard, Copenhagen Business School Denmark and Zheng Yongnian, University of Nottingham, UK This book examines the current state of the Chinese Communist Party and the many problems which it faces, exploring the dynamics of development in China, the Party organization, recruitment and management, and the Party's role in the wider society. February 2006: 234x156: 280pp Hb: 978-0-415-37477-4: £75.00 / $150.00 China's Industrial Policies and the Global Business Revolution The Case of the Domestic Appliance Industry Ling Liu 2005: 234x156: 208pp Hb: 978-0-415-35560-5: £80.00 / $145.00

The Chinese Model of Modern Development Edited by Tian Yu Cao 2005: 234x156: 336pp Hb: 978-0-415-34518-7: £85.00 / $150.00 Managers and Mandarins in Contemporary China The Building of an International Business Jie Tang 2005: 234x156: 184pp Hb: 978-0-415-36363-1: £75.00 / $135.00 Chinese Citizenship Views from the Margins Edited by Vanessa L. Fong and Rachel Murphy 2005: 234x156: 208pp Hb: 978-0-415-37145-2: £70.00 / $125.00 Economic Growth, Income Distribution and Poverty Reduction in Contemporary China Shujie Yao 2005: 234x156: 304pp Hb: 978-0-415-33196-8: £85.00 / $150.00

China Along the Yellow River Reflections on Rural Society Cao Jinqing Translated by Nicky Harman and Huang Ruhua 2004: 234x156: 272pp Hb: 978-0-415-34113-4: £80.00 / $145.00 China's Economic Growth A Miracle with Chinese Characteristics Yanrui Wu 2003: 234x156: 160pp Hb: 978-0-7007-1728-6: £80.00 / $145.00 China's Large Enterprises and the Challenge of Late Industrialisation Dylan Sutherland 2003: 234x156: 200pp Hb: 978-0-415-30581-5: £80.00 / $145.00 China's Poor Regions Rural-Urban Migration, Poverty, Economic Reform and Urbanisation Mei Zhang

China's Economic Relations with the West and Japan, 1949- 2003: 234x156: 224pp Hb: 978-0-415-32145-7: £80.00 / $145.00 1979 Grain, Trade and Diplomacy The Growth of Market Relations in Post-Reform Rural China Chad Mitcham A Micro-Analysis of Peasants, Migrants and Peasant 2005: 234x156: 304pp Entrepreneurs Hb: 978-0-415-31481-7: £80.00 / $145.00 Hiroshi Sato Globalisation, Transition and Development in China The Case of the Coal Industry Rui Huaichuan 2004: 234x156: 200pp Hb: 978-0-415-33319-1: £80.00 / $145.00 Catch-Up and Competitiveness in China The Case of Large Firms in the Oil Industry Jin Zhang 2004: 234x156: 256pp Hb: 978-0-415-33321-4: £80.00 / $145.00 Corporate Governance in China Jian Chen 2004: 234x156: 192pp Hb: 978-0-415-34513-2: £80.00 / $145.00 The Theory of the Firm and Chinese Enterprise Reform The Case of China International Trust and Investment Corporation Xiao Qin

2003: 234x156: 256pp Hb: 978-0-7007-1726-2: £80.00 / $145.00 Sustaining China's Economic Growth in the Twenty-first Century Edited by Xiaming Liu and Shujie Yao 2003: 234x156: 320pp Hb: 978-0-415-29726-4: £85.00 / $150.00 The Employment Impact of China's WTO Accession A. S. Bhalla and Shufang Qiu 2003: 234x156: 224pp Hb: 978-0-415-30839-7: £80.00 / $145.00 The Chinese Coal Industry An Economic History Elspeth Thomson 2002: 234x156: 432pp Hb: 978-0-7007-1727-9: £90.00 / $155.00

2004: 234x156: 224pp Hb: 978-0-415-33655-0: £80.00 / $145.00

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