It is no secret that Hong Kong Chief Executive Leung Chun-ying (梁振英) has greater power and influence than his counterparts in a democracy, and sometimes much beyond what the Hong Kong Basic Law and other rules permit.
A recent scandal in which Leung pressured aviation workers into breaching airport security regulations for his daughter last month provoked widespread outrage in the territory.
When his daughter, Leung Chung-yan (梁頌昕), left a piece of carry-on luggage outside the airport’s restricted area as she headed for a flight to San Francisco, her mother asked Cathay Pacific to bring the luggage into the restricted area, but staff were reluctant to do so.
Leung Chung-Yan then called her father for help.
During the telphone conversation, the chief executive allegedly instructed the airline staff: “Call me Chief Executive Leung.”
After discussion, the airport authority backed down and assigned a staff member to deliver the baggage to Leung Chung-yan.
When the story was leaked to the local media, much attention was given to the various privileges that Hong Kong’s first family enjoys.
Faced with public outrage, denial was the first reaction of Leung Chun-ying. He mobilized local officials and pro-government politicians to defend his decision as an exception to the conventional airport security rules.
Yet, the more he explained, the less convincing he sounded. Subsequently, more than 2,000 aviation workers staged an unprecedented protest over the special treatment of Leung Chung-yan inside the airport, and more sit-ins are in the offing.
This incident only adds to the long list of scandals that have hardened the territory’s suspicion toward the integrity and competence of Leung Chun-ying’s administration. It has tarnished his self-constructed image as a populist, fighting for the little guy against the mainlandization of Hong Kong and the negative spillover effects of China’s economic slowdown. Contemplating his re-election bid next year, his mishandling of the outrage eroded the little legitimacy that he had in the eyes of Hong Kongers.
Worse still, this fiasco has not only institutionalized the dominant power structure in an autocratic system, but also advanced the interests of the current powerholders at the expense of the disfranchised majority.
Many Hong Kongers have come to realize that the post-colonial framework of “one country, two systems” is degenerating into that of “one Hong Kong, two societies.” The privileged classes like the chief executive’s family and his cronies are inviolable and immune from any legal process, whereas ordinary people are brought under as much scrutiny as criminal suspects.
Unless Hong Kong’s leaders are determined to prevent privilege and entitlement from destroying the principle of fair play, the territory will be vulnerable to the erosive effects of nepotism and cronyism.
Joseph Tse-hei Lee is professor of history at Pace University in New York.
On May 7, 1971, Henry Kissinger planned his first, ultra-secret mission to China and pondered whether it would be better to meet his Chinese interlocutors “in Pakistan where the Pakistanis would tape the meeting — or in China where the Chinese would do the taping.” After a flicker of thought, he decided to have the Chinese do all the tape recording, translating and transcribing. Fortuitously, historians have several thousand pages of verbatim texts of Dr. Kissinger’s negotiations with his Chinese counterparts. Paradoxically, behind the scenes, Chinese stenographers prepared verbatim English language typescripts faster than they could translate and type them
More than 30 years ago when I immigrated to the US, applied for citizenship and took the 100-question civics test, the one part of the naturalization process that left the deepest impression on me was one question on the N-400 form, which asked: “Have you ever been a member of, involved in or in any way associated with any communist or totalitarian party anywhere in the world?” Answering “yes” could lead to the rejection of your application. Some people might try their luck and lie, but if exposed, the consequences could be much worse — a person could be fined,
Xiaomi Corp founder Lei Jun (雷軍) on May 22 made a high-profile announcement, giving online viewers a sneak peek at the company’s first 3-nanometer mobile processor — the Xring O1 chip — and saying it is a breakthrough in China’s chip design history. Although Xiaomi might be capable of designing chips, it lacks the ability to manufacture them. No matter how beautifully planned the blueprints are, if they cannot be mass-produced, they are nothing more than drawings on paper. The truth is that China’s chipmaking efforts are still heavily reliant on the free world — particularly on Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing
Last week, Nvidia chief executive officer Jensen Huang (黃仁勳) unveiled the location of Nvidia’s new Taipei headquarters and announced plans to build the world’s first large-scale artificial intelligence (AI) supercomputer in Taiwan. In Taipei, Huang’s announcement was welcomed as a milestone for Taiwan’s tech industry. However, beneath the excitement lies a significant question: Can Taiwan’s electricity infrastructure, especially its renewable energy supply, keep up with growing demand from AI chipmaking? Despite its leadership in digital hardware, Taiwan lags behind in renewable energy adoption. Moreover, the electricity grid is already experiencing supply shortages. As Taiwan’s role in AI manufacturing expands, it is critical that