By Emily Lau

One of Hong Kong’s most outspoken and popular politicians, Emily Lau leads The Frontier party.

In the summer of 2003, Hong Kong experienced turmoil as the chief executive, then Tung Chee-hwa, tried to bulldoze a National Security Bill through the Legislative Council (Legco). Not surprisingly, such efforts met strong resistance from many people, including journalists who feared that such a law would undermine the freedom of expression by making “a crime out of free speech”.

The failed bill tried to implement Article 23 of the Basic Law, Hong Kong’s mini-constitution. Article 23 says that Hong Kong shall enact laws on its own to prohibit acts of treason, secession, sedition, subversion against the Central People’s Government or theft of state secrets, to prevent political activities by overseas groups in Hong Kong and to prohibit local political groups from forging ties with foreign ones.

Before Hong Kong switched to Chinese mainland sovereignty in 1997, there were concerns that its freedoms would diminish and the rule of law could be undermined. Article 23, like the sword of Damocles, has hung over Hong Kong people’s heads, threatening to sever their freedoms.

Now, 10 years after the sovereignty change, some worries prove justified. Under the long shadow of China, a regime with little tolerance for free speech, increasing numbers of Hong Kong people choose to practise self-censorship to avoid Beijing’s wrath. Many dare not publicly criticise the Hong Kong and Central governments for fear of jeopardizing their commercial or professional interests. Some fear they might be victimized because Beijing has a habit of settling accounts with its critics.

In April 2003, I travelled to Sweden to receive the Monismanien Prize for freedom of speech from the Goteborgs Nation of Uppsala University. The prize was founded in 1975 by filmmaker Kenne Fant, whose movie Monismanien 1995 depicted the suppression of free speech by a ruthless, one-party state. The Swedes poignantly reminded me that when liberties of expression and the press are threatened, so are other freedoms.

Opposition to the National Security Bill peaked on July 1, 2003, when more than 500,000 Hong Kong people marched in sweltering heat to denounce it. Such a large demonstration on a local issue had no precedent in Hong Kong. It rocked the establishment and showed that people cherish their freedoms. But it also rang alarm bells on the Chinese mainland. Leaders in Beijing worried that things could get out of hand in Hong Kong.

Previously, Beijing let Mr Tung run the show. After the demonstration, President Hu Jintao lost confidence in Mr Tung, who resigned in March 2005. By then, President Hu had decided to take control of the situation. Political reform became the first casualty. The Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress (NPC), China’s rubber stamp parliament, decreed there would be no direct elections in Hong Kong in 2007 and 2008.

For decades, Hong Kong people have fought for universal and equal suffrage. They want the right to elect the chief executive and all 60 members of Legco by one-person, one-vote. In theory, Hong Kong’s undemocratic electoral system can be changed, and the Basic Law lays down a mechanism requiring approval from two-thirds of Legco, from the chief executive and from the Central Government. To reasonable people, these seem like impossible hurdles.

Without consulting Hong Kong’s people, the leaders in Beijing decided that constitutional development should halt. They also concluded that Hong Kong’s news media should be held responsible for whipping up anti-government sentiment before the huge protest. The news media became a second casualty.

In early 2004, popular radio-talk-show hosts Albert Cheng and Wong Yuk-man unexpectedly stopped broadcasting on Commercial Radio. Taken off the air, they both feared for their personal safety, but Hong Kong’s government couldn’t offer protection. These events gave the strongest indication of an invisible hand at work.

A third radio-talk-show host also quit. NPC delegate Allen Lee, a former Legco member, revealed that he opted to stop broadcasting after references to his wife and daughter by a retired mainland official in a late-night phone call.

Shock waves rippled across Hong Kong. Sensing pressure by Beijing-related sources, the public felt sad, disappointed and powerless. Freedom of expression suffered a devastating blow from this display of who was in charge.

Apart from banishing radio hosts, the invisible hand gripped the public-service broadcaster Radio Television Hong Kong (RTHK). Pro-Beijing politicians pressure RTHK to act as a government mouthpiece, or at least to avoid airing criticism of the government. Yet RTHK consistently has been regarded as a highly credible news organisation.

In January 2006, the government of Donald Tsang, who replaced Mr Tung, appointed a panel to review public-service broadcasting. RTHK employees believed they were the real targets. The panel has yet to publish its report. RTHK journalists still worry that their jobs may be lost and editorial independence undermined more.

The invisible hand acted against the print media too. Across the board, the Hong Kong media became much more self-censoring and tame, avoiding reports that might reflect negatively on Beijing. Coverage of pro-democracy politicians diminished too.

Media self-censorship has a debilitating effect. University academics and professional people hesitate to express their views. Only some pro-democracy politicians and non-government activists dare to criticise the Hong Kong government. Their views are rarely reported.

The news media also seldom criticize the Central Government. This disturbing trend resembles an infectious disease. As more people self-censor, Hong Kong’s freedom of expression may vanish, risking all other freedoms.

In 2005, another incident alarmed journalists. Ching Cheong, a respected China correspondent for Singapore’s Straits Times newspaper, was detained in Guangzhou and charged with spying for Taiwan. Mr Ching maintained his innocence. People in business and political circles, including pro-Beijing politicians, unsuccessfully pleaded his case in Beijing. In 2006, a Beijing court jailed him for five years. The Beijing Higher People’s Court rejected his appeal. The episode chills not only journalists, but also people doing research on mainland matters. Beijing’s iron-fist handling of the case signals that if anyone dares to pry into sensitive areas, they do it at their peril.

Last October, Hong Kong’s international ranking for press freedoms dipped to its lowest point. An annual report by the Paris-based Reporters Without Borders dropped Hong Kong from 39th to 58th in the world, on par with Fiji, Poland and Romania. When such a list first appeared in 2002, Hong Kong led Asia, standing 18th in the world.

Previously, few journalists confessed to self-censorship because it implied a lack of courage. Recently, this began to change. A survey by the Chinese University’s journalism department asked Hong Kong journalists to rate the credibility of local news organisations. The results showed a decline from such a study five years ago. Ratings fell for 23 news organisations. Only one, the Chinese-language Apple Daily newspaper, had an increase. Academics who conducted the survey called the ratings the lowest ever.

Last month, the Hong Kong Journalists Association commissioned Lingnan University to conduct a survey about press freedoms now, after a decade under Chinese sovereignty. The results, published on February 10, showed 58.4% of journalists saying that press freedoms have deteriorated. A nearly identical portion indicated that self-censorship has worsened, thanks to tendencies to downplay negative or “sensitive” news about the Central Government. Almost 40% said their supervisors or colleagues had practised self-censorship in the previous year. Thirty per cent confessed to doing so themselves.

Prior to the chief-executive “election” on March 25 when only 800 privileged people hold voting rights, the problem of self-censorship has turned acute. There are two candidates, but the shoo-in is Mr Tsang because he’s anointed by Beijing. His challenger, Alan Leong of the Civic Party, has no prospect of winning. From start to finish, the “contest” is lop-sided.

Acting almost like part of Mr Tsang’s election machine, journalists give extensive coverage to his campaign. The views of people boycotting the small-circle election as neither free, nor fair, are almost ignored. The media gives the impression of “an almost-real election”.

Some media allow themselves to be used as political tools. They boost Mr Tsang’s campaign by acting in concert to present an image of a prosperous and stable society. Some bend over backwards to build a feel-good factor and give credit to Mr Tsang. Fortunately, the news media fools only some people sometimes, not all people always.

As Hong Kong marks its 10th anniversary under Chinese sovereignty, signs proliferate that the news media have come under political and commercial pressure due to Beijing’s influence. Journalists’ morale appears low. More of them practise self-censorship as a means of survival. If editors and reporters remain silent, the people’s voices can’t be heard.

For now, Hong Kong still ranks as China’s freest city, but to safeguard its remaining freedoms, the people must stay eternally vigilant. We hope that friends in the international community will cast a watchful eye along with us.

ARCHIVES

Despite lacking a public mandate,
Donald Tsang has many nominations.
Are journalists in his pocket too?


Daily newspapers go on sale in Hong Kong.


Self-censorship? Higher than the tallest building?


One newspaper, Apple Daily, gains credibility.