Beijing's decision on democracy has dashed hopes
I believe in Hongkongers' ability to endure, thrive and reinvent
ourselves. But I'm not sure I have it in me to stay.
In my family, we like to joke and call my father the "insurance
man". An insurance consultant for more than 40 years, he goes to
extraordinary lengths to minimise risks in any and every situation. As such,
he's tried to ensure the family has a soft landing, should anything untoward
happen.
In 1989, amid uncertainty over the handover of Hong Kong in 1997, my
parents took out the ultimate insurance policy: they moved me and my sister
with them to Canada, where we obtained citizenship first before moving back to
our home city.
Now, 25 years later, I am thinking about putting that insurance
policy into action and leaving Hong Kong permanently for Canada.
I
recently moved to Bonn, Germany, temporarily for research, and like many
millennial transplants abroad, I followed Beijing's decision on elections in
Hong Kong through online news reports, Facebook posts and Skype calls home.
When
I first read the news on my phone during my morning train ride, I couldn't help
but get emotional, my eyes welling up with tears right there in a crowd of
German commuters.
I
wanted to be with my fellow Hongkongers at this vital moment. But, more than
that, I was moved to tears out of frustration, because this is the latest in a
string of disappointments for our city.
Over
the past few years, I have grown steadily less hopeful about Hong Kong. At 30,
I should be contemplating buying a flat and starting a family, but neither of
these prospects entices me. I resent that being a homeowner in Hong Kong means
saving for over a decade to buy a miserable hovel in the boondocks. I cannot
contemplate having a child when the only options in education are
pressure-cooker local schools and overpriced international institutions.
My
friends and I stopped going out - there were too many tourists everywhere. I no
longer know where to shop. With affordable stores disappearing and visitors
crowding the ones that remain, buying clothes, shoes and basic necessities
became a daily battle.
Then,
there are the signs of Beijing closing in: the plans for national education in
2011, and the white paper released in June proclaiming China's comprehensive
jurisdiction over Hong Kong.
The
right to vote for our leaders might not change all the things that are wrong in
Hong Kong, but at least, with a ballot in hand, we could take ownership of our
problems and try to resolve them. With Beijing's announcement, these hopes have
been dashed.
For
those of us who moved all those years ago - to Canada, the US, Britain,
Australia and beyond - we had a very clear idea of what we were running from.
Images of the violence and bloodshed in the Tiananmen crackdown were etched in
our memories. The same thing could befall us, we thought. If ever a tank rolled
over the Lok Ma Chau border, we could take our passports and run.
What
we didn't visualise quite as starkly was a threat of this kind: the gradual
encroachment on our way of life, and the sustained restrictions on our ability
to decide how our home is governed.
I
care a great deal for my city. I believe inherently in Hongkongers' ability to
innovate, endure, thrive and reinvent ourselves. But I'm not sure I have it in
me to stay.
Leaving
is not something that any of us talk about lightly. It feels like desertion and
betrayal. But I suspect that many, like me, are starting to have that
conversation - not because they do not love Hong Kong, but because they can't
bear to see the home they love slip away.
Joyce Man is the author of the blog
Criss Cross Culture, at www.crisscrossculture.net
This
article appeared in the South China Morning Post print edition as Do we leave,
or stay to watch our beloved home fade away?
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