by Chan Ho-Kei
I never thought that kangaroo-court justice would show up in Hong Kong today.
On our street in Wan Chai, Spring Garden Lane, I often bump into a couple of beat cops – their badge numbers are 6663 and 4447, and I’ve secretly nicknamed them ‘Cop 3’ and ‘Cop 7’. Cop 3 seems older. Last month, I saw someone handing out anti-government leaflets who had the bad luck to be arrested by those two. Cop 3 gave him no chance to explain – his left hand on the man’s shoulder, he beat him with his police truncheon till the poor guy bled from the head. I saw it clearly; the man wasn’t resisting at all. But no one present would have dared testify against the cop – if you spoke up, you’d be branded a collaborator, and then you’d be in trouble too.
Cop 7 didn’t step in to stop his colleague, but I know he’s more honest than Cop 3. They often stop to buy a soda at Mr Ho’s shop while out on patrol, and Cop 3 never takes out his wallet – Mr Ho says not to bother over such a trifle – but Cop 7 always insists on paying. I once told him the boss said he didn’t have to, and he answered, ‘If I didn’t pay up, the boss would earn less, and if you lost your job because of that and fell into crime, I’d have even more work to do.’
He sounded like Elder Brother.
Everyone in the neighbourhood thinks Cop 7 is a good guy, only he can be a bit too by-the-book, following orders scrupulously. When I see Cop 7, I feel that being a policeman might not be a bad job. Or so I thought, before all this unrest kicked off. The way things are right now, it would be dumb to join the force. The ‘yellow-skinned dogs’ have made themselves into targets. I keep expecting to see Cop 3 and Cop 7 being paraded down the street, with wooden placards around their necks listing their crimes.
After this latest round of violence, I’ve heard that police recruitment has fallen. Some Chinese officers have quit because they were persuaded by the leftists not to stand alongside the ‘fascist’ British. Others are afraid of being killed, or caught up in some incident like the Chung Ying Street gunfight. Mr Ho’s lived in Wan Chai for a long time and knows some of the local officers quite well. They’ve told him that all leave has been cancelled for months, and they have to be on alert twenty-four hours a day – and apart from their main jobs, they also do overtime on the riot squad. The government has given each officer a three per cent raise and increased overtime pay, even providing free meals. Mr Ho said the sergeant in charge of disbursing salaries often has thick stacks of banknotes in his briefcase for these handouts.
The government is enticing policemen to stay with cash. Actually, what the leftists are doing is not much different.
When workers go on strike, they lose their income, and if they can’t feed themselves, what kind of ‘struggle’ can they take part in? So the union leaders support them, giving them one or two hundred Hong Kong dollars per month. I don’t know how they come up with the money. Some people say the Chinese government is supplying them with cash ‘for the revolution’. All I know is, this conflict isn’t simply about ideology. Money is very much involved as well. Perhaps that’s just reality.
I heard from the horse’s mouth about payments to striking workers – our neighbours in the boarding house just happen to be a pair of leftists. Mr Ho lets out three rooms – one is occupied by me and Elder Brother, one by a journalist called Toh Sze-keung, and the third one by Sum Chung, a textile worker. At the end of May, Mr Sum responded to his union’s call to strike, and was swiftly fired. I asked how he was managing to keep up with his rent, and he told me ‘union leaders’ were paying him a wage, and there was also more money on offer if he took on special projects. He advised me to join their ranks, working together to overturn British colonialism – this was a rare opportunity, and if the revolution succeeded, comrades like us with ‘pure thought’ would become tomorrow’s leaders. I didn’t turn him down in so many words, just said I had to talk it over with Elder Brother before making a decision. I suspect if I’d said no right away, he might have labelled me an ‘anti-revolutionary element’ – and I didn’t want to think about what the consequences of that might be.
In contrast to the ideological certainty of Mr Sum, Toh Sze-keung was driven by desperation. He used to work at a newspaper as chief financial correspondent, but the government decreed that the paper was leftist and shut it down, leaving him out of a job. The only choice left to him was to join the struggle, partly because the stipend from the union would solve his pressing money problems, partly because if the movement were successful and the newspaper reopened, he’d be employed again. He told me all this with a frown on his face, and I don’t think even he believed the government would relent and allow the newspaper to publish again.
That’s the paradox of my life. Every day, I worry that Elder Brother and I will be blown up by bombs, that public order is deteriorating, that the government will fall, that society is paralysed, that the city will collapse into war – and yet, day after day, I pretend nothing’s wrong. I take care of my landlord’s store, wish my neighbours good morning even though they represent the ‘opposition’, and sell soft drinks to the ‘fascist’ police officers. Radio broadcasters scold the leftists for bringing misfortune to our city and destroying the peace, while the newspapers sympathetic to China criticize the British and Hong Kong uniformed forces for their ‘insane persecution’ of patriotic organizations. Both sides proclaim they’re standing up for justice, while we citizens are helpless, crushed between power and violence.
Before 17 August, I thought I would continue with this helpless life until the fighting stopped or the British left.
I didn’t expect to overhear one sentence that would pull me out of the middle ground and into the turmoil, right in the crosshairs of danger.
2
‘THE PINEAPPLE WON’T blow up while we’re delivering it, will it?’
I heard this sentence while still half asleep. At first, I thought it might have been a dream, but as my brain cleared, I knew it was real.
The voice had come from the other side of the wall.
That morning, Mr Ho’s new refrigerator had arrived at the store. We scrambled to fill it with soda and beer from the old unit, then hoisted that one onto a cart and pushed it five blocks to the second-hand shop. When I came back with the money, Mr Ho said he could take care of the shop on his own that afternoon. I’d been running about all morning in the hot sun and must be tired, so why didn’t I go and have a rest? It’s rare for him to be so considerate, so I decided to take him up on it, and after lunch I went up to my room for a nap.
Then I was woken by those words.
I glanced at my alarm clock. It was ten minutes past two – I’d been asleep for an hour. It must have been Sum Chung who had spoken – his high-pitched voice was easily recognized. But the cubicle next to ours was the unemployed journalist’s. Why was Sum Chung in Mr Toh’s room?
‘Mr Sum, please don’t speak so loudly. What if someone hears you?’ This had to be Toh Sze-keung.
‘Old Ho’s wife went out earlier, Old Ho and the two guys next door are at work. No one will hear,’ said Sum.
‘Anyway, so what if someone overhears? We’re the proud sons of China, and we carry ourselves with a lofty revolutionary spirit. We’re not afraid of spilling our hot blood. Even if we fail, the imperialist oppressor will one day bow before the noble socialism of our motherland.’ All of this was in a very loud voice, and it was easy to imagine the speaker’s expression of righteous zeal. This must be Sum Chung’s ‘comrade’, a youth named Chang Tin-san. Mr Sum had once introduced him to me as one of the laid-off workers from the textile factory.
‘Ah Chang, don’t talk like that. The colonials are crafty, and we have to be cautious around them. Don’t give the enemy an opening.’ A voice I’d never heard before.
‘Master Chow’s right, we can’t afford to fail,’ said Sum Chung. I didn’t know who this Master Chow was, though from the way Sum addressed him, I guessed he was the leader of the group.
‘So anyway, Ah Toh and Ah Sum will set off from North Point, and
I’ll wait here,’ said Master Chow. ‘When we’re assembled, we’ll start as planned, and afterwards disperse immediately from Jordan Road Ferry Pier.’
‘But what exactly is the plan for the operation?’ Sum Chung’s voice.
‘You and Ah Toh create a diversion, and I’ll strike.’
‘Master Chow, it’s easy for you to say “create a diversion”, but we have no idea what that means.’
‘Play it by ear when the time comes. I don’t know what the situation will be. But I only need thirty seconds – that shouldn’t be too difficult.’
‘But can it really be so simple? Number One won’t be easy to deal with...’
‘Ah Toh, relax, I’ve confirmed this several times – the target is more vulnerable than we imagined. The white-skinned pig won’t be expecting this move, so when the pineapple goes off, he’ll be left open-mouthed, staggered by the intelligence of the Chinese. That’ll send a shockwave through the British Empire.’
In this moment, I suddenly realized I was listening to something horrific. The four men in the next room were planning a bomb attack. I broke into a cold sweat, shivering despite the heat of the day, and didn’t dare move a muscle, lest the old bed creak. I even made my breathing more shallow. If they knew I’d overheard their plans, I thought they might kill me to keep me quiet, in the name of the People.
‘As for the other side of it, we’ll have to look to Ah Chang,’ said Sum Chung, sounding quieter now – probably he’d been standing by the wall, and had moved away.
‘Chairman Mao says, “Be determined, don’t fear sacrifice, overcome ten thousand difficulties, and achieve victory.” I hold these words in my heart at all times. I’ll carry out the mission and strike a painful blow against the enemy. I’ll defend the Mao Zedong Thought and continue the struggle.’
‘Ah Chang, you can relax. After the incident, the Leader won’t forget you.’
‘Rewards are just like drifting clouds to me. Even if the fascists try to take my life, I’ll fight to the end.’
‘Well said. Ah Chang is an example to us all of true patriotism.’
‘But...’ This was Toh Sze-keung’s voice. ‘Is it really right, what we’re doing? A bomb? We could hurt an innocent civilian...’
‘Ah Toh, you’re wrong,’ said Sum Chung. ‘Imperialism has bullied and humiliated us. It’s left us with no choice but to fight back.’
‘Yes, it’s improper not to “reciprocate”,’ said Master Chow. ‘The white-skinned pigs shoot our comrades dead, frame innocent people for violent assault, and stop at nothing to destroy us. A pineapple isn’t one-tenth as barbaric as what these fascists are doing. Our aim is not to injure people, but to paralyse the Hong Kong and British uniformed forces with intelligent guerrilla warfare. If we wanted to hurt civilians, why would we write “Comrades keep clear” beside each bomb?’
‘“Revolution is not a dinner party”, “Death is a common occurrence” – Ah Toh, have you forgotten the primary directives of our leaders?’ This was the loud-voiced Chang Tin-san. ‘If we have to sacrifice a few common people to secure the fall of the British Empire, then how justified their deaths will be! Their blood and sweat will bring victory to our motherland. They’ll be martyrs for their comrades and country.’
‘Yeah. Think about Choi Nam, killed by the white-skinned pigs, or Tsui Tin-por, beaten to death in a police station. If we don’t rise up, the next dead body could be yours or mine,’ said Sum Chung.
‘But...’
‘No more buts. Ah Toh, you’ve seen for yourself how they shut your newspaper down. Those unscrupulous yellow-skinned dogs burst in, beat up your colleagues and labelled you as dissidents. Don’t you have even a spark of rage about that? Don’t you want to teach them a lesson?’
‘You have a point.’
The three of them kept going back and forth until the weight of their words crushed Toh Sze-keung’s objections.
‘Remember, the first wave is the day after tomorrow,’ said Master Chow. ‘When the first blast sounds, it’ll shake the hearts of the colonials. Then the second wave the day after that, and the third wave the next, and we’ll be able to demand the British surrender. The Portuguese have already given up. Can the end of British Hong Kong be far behind?’
In December last year, there was a clash between the police and citizens in Macau. The Portuguese government had imposed martial law, and the police shot dead many Chinese residents. The Guangdong provincial government objected, and after many rounds of negotiation, Portugal had to apologize and pay compensation. This strengthened the resolve of the leftists. If the Macau Chinese could successfully oppose the Portuguese, surely the days of the British in Hong Kong must be numbered?
‘Ah Sum, Ah Toh, after we leave here today, don’t try to get in touch with me. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, when the operation commences,’ Master Chow said. ‘If there’s a need, we’ll use this room as our base. My apartment is already being watched by the yellow-skinned dogs – it’s not safe.’
‘You live nearby anyway, Master Chow, so we can look after each other easily,’ laughed Sum Chung. ‘As long as those yellow-skinned dogs didn’t follow you here.’
‘Ha! How careless do you think I am?’ chuckled Chow. ‘Worry about yourself – make sure you don’t catch their eye before the operation.’
‘Some day I’ll send them running with their tails between their legs, and then turn them into dog-meat hotpot,’ growled Chang Tin-san.
‘So everyone knows what they’re doing? Here’s some cash – a bonus for your special duties. Eat well these next couple of days, drink some beer to build up your courage. Ah Chang, we’re counting on you.’
‘Aren’t you coming for dinner with us, Master Chow?’
‘No, I might get you into trouble if we’re seen together. I’ll go now. You should wait a while before leaving.’
‘All right. See you in two days.’ Sum Chung’s voice again, then a door closing. I slipped out of bed and pressed an ear to my own door, listening to the other three saying goodbye to Master Chow. Our cubicles had ventilation panels in the walls separating them from the communal area, and there were frosted glass panels in the doors, so I had to squat low – otherwise they might have seen a figure moving about inside. They didn’t return to Mr Toh’s room, but stayed outside, idly chatting about which nearby tea house had the cheapest yet tastiest food. It was half an hour before they finally left, and I sighed in relief.
Cautiously I opened my door and stuck my head out, and after making sure I was the only one there, rushed to the bathroom. I’d been on the brink of relieving myself into a bottle.
Back in my room, I thought back over the conversation I’d overheard. If Mr Toh or Mr Sum were to come back now, I could easily pretend I’d only just arrived home, and they probably wouldn’t be suspicious. But how should I deal with this secret?
Master Chow sounded like he was in his forties or fifties – perhaps a cadre from one of the unions. Toh, Sum and Chang were all in their twenties, passionate and hot-blooded. Their rage at the present situation had no other outlet, and it just happened that the leftists desperately needed manpower. Maybe their thinking was correct, and their starting point was purely to fight against injustice in society, but bringing bombs into it was crazy. Master Chow’s words resonated, but the way I saw it, Sum Chung and the rest were exactly the same as the ‘yellow-skinned dogs’ they talked about, just cannon fodder.
This is how power works. The ones at the top make use of ideals, beliefs and money to entice those below them to give up their lives. People want to find some lofty reason for existence, or else to lead a quiet life. You’d need to give them a big incentive for them to willingly enslave themselves. If I’d said anything like this to Mr Sum, he’d scold me for having been contaminated by fascism , because the noble Party and motherland wouldn’t treat their patriotic comrades unfairly – though I can guarantee these little people will be forgotten. This is an eternal truth – when all the rabbits are caught, the
hunting dog will be eaten; when all the birds are shot, the bow is put away. If the British stay put, then all those jailed by them will be lauded as ‘unyielding warriors’ for a while, but in the long term, will they be looked after? I doubt it. The more of these bit-part players there are, the less important they seem. Do you think setting off one bomb means you’ve accomplished some great task? There are hundreds or thousands of sacrificial victims just like you, not to mention the collateral damage of innocent victims.
In reality, power and money will always be concentrated in a very few hands.
That night, when I saw Toh Sze-keung and Sum Chung, Mr Sum seemed exactly the same as always – as soon as he saw me, he started encouraging me to join his union. Mr Toh seemed much more guarded than normal, though. Mr and Mrs Ho didn’t notice anything, and I didn’t say anything to Elder Brother, for fear he’d let something slip to Toh or Sum. I slept badly that night – whenever I remembered their ‘operation’, worry flooded my mind.
The following day, I pretended everything was normal as I went to work at the store. Business was slow as the streets were still pretty empty. Mr Ho sat behind the counter reading a newspaper, while I stayed by the door, fanning myself and listening to the radio. The broadcaster was once again cursing ‘leftist kids’ for disrupting the order of society – he called them ‘shameless, low-down bastards’, adopting a sardonic tone and mocking them and their abilities. I laughed this off, but it would have been biting for the leftists.
