Better Late Than Never

The 55-page Consultation Report on the Proposed Legislation to Regulate the Sale of First-Hand Residential Properties may have eluded the Hong Kong public when they are knee-deep in the muddy news relating to the present CE candidates’ life-or-death fight. What is striking about the Report is the SAR government’s uncharacteristic firm tone in response to “what else is new” protest from the developers’ quarters.

Here is the link to the full Report:-

http://www.thb.gov.hk/eng/policy/housing/policy/consultation/2011/Consultation_Report.pdf

Proposed salient measures include the requirement for developers to use Saleable Area (i.e. habitable area plus balcony or verandah if any) in their price lists, to provide price lists to potential buyers at least 3 days before actual sale begins, to disclose key and relevant information (including plans) pertaining to the development in the sales brochures, to sell a specified minimum number of flats in any available batch, to keep for public display a constantly updated register of transactions and to disclose sales to the Vendor’s family members, directors or managers.

Other important measures are the criminalization of offences relating to false or misleading information and misrepresentation and the setting up of an enforcement authority with appropriate investigative powers.

As one reads the Report, one cannot but ask why these proposed measures weren’t in place eight or ten years ago? Or at least six years ago, after this article Fleecing Asia’s Homebuyers appeared on this website trying to debunk the malpractices in the industry:-

http://www.asiasentinel.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=293&Itemid=32

But alas, if you think that by today, the attitude of fat rich developers would have changed just a tiny tiny bit after the majority of Hong Kong people have expressed their disgust with them, you cannot be more wrong. Their thinking can be summed up in this sentence in the Report:-

“While REDA (Real Estate Developers’ Association) indicated no in-principle objection to regulate the sales of first-hand residential properties, it qualified its statement of support that the proposed measures had to be reasonable and proportionate, the restrictions imposed should not be more than necessary to accomplish such legitimate purpose, and that it was unconstitutional to regulate the sales of first-hand completed residential properties.”

More than once throughout the Report, the REDA voiced their resistance to the proposed measures because they “contravened the protection of the right of private ownership and disposal of property stipulated in the Basic Law.”

They might as well be saying that anything that would remotely weaken their rights to screw others is unconstitutional and that they are entitled to use the Basic Law as their shield, however indefensible their position is. If you tell them that while legislation is not expected to change their hearts, it is at least expected to restrain their heartlessness, they’ll think you’re talking gibberish.

As for the sudden change of heart the SAR administration has just shown, could it be a desperate attempt by the corruption-scandal ridden Tsang to win a few scores to save his tarnished face before riding out into the lonely sunset, or could it be that the administration is warming itself up for a new work style under the next CE, or something else? Only time will tell. The proposed Bill is way late. But it’s still better than if it never came.

An Estranged Hong Kong

I’ve just learned from the HK Golden Forum that my favorite wonton noodle haunt Sum Kee (森記) on Percival Street has just closed shop. The reason? The shop landlord has asked to increase the monthly rent from HK$100,000 to HK$400,000, the last straw on the camel’s back. For a modest wonton noodle and congee shop like Sum Kee, which has been selling a bowl of wonton noodle for HK$21.00 for the last three years, paying HK$100,000 rent is already quite ridiculous, not to mention four times the amount. Only I didn’t realize that my last visit in December would be the last.

Each year I visit Hong Kong, the place seems a little more distant than the last. In Causeway Bay, streets are packed to the point that it’s easy to feel claustrophobic. Mainland shoppers towing big and small suitcases jostling with locals. Self-important, curtained Guangdong-licensed cars competing for roadways with local cars. Strange faces. Unfamiliar Putonghua. Forever changing shop facades in the vicinity of Time Square.

Sum Kee, which has been around for twenty years, is the last victim of crazy shop rents. The next is predicted to be another old-timer: snack shop Yiu Fung (么鳳). Replacing Sum Kee will be a luxury watch shop that is the love of mainlanders. Of course, their love takes precedence over mine and that of other Hong Kongers, because in the eyes of big businesses and developer landlords, these outsiders are the much coveted big spenders. They can afford anything that ranges from obscenely expensive luxury apartments, ludicrously overpriced European luxury brand-name clothes and shoes, to private hospital baby-delivery services, university places reserved for mainland students and everyday necessities like baby formula milk powder and sundries. It is probably an understatement that these people are the cause of greedy shop rent hikes that lead to the surmise of many small old-time businesses and of consumer price inflation in Hong Kong.

The D & G protest that has ultimately forced a belated apology out of the shop is only one detonator that ignited Hong Kong people’s long repressed fury over the dire consequences of Hong Kong’s too laxly managed border. Wealthy mainland tourists have spoiled the big businesses so much that they don’t even realize they are stepping over the line by discriminating against locals.

It is certainly no coincidence that a recent survey finds that more Hong Kong people choose to identify themselves first as Hong Kongers. It is becoming clear that the basic divide between Hong Kongers and mainlanders is one of civic values, as this latest incident shows:-

http://blog.martinoei.com/2012/01/%E9%A6%99%E6%B8%AF%E5%B7%B1%E7%B6%93%E5%8E%BB%E5%88%B0%E9%97%9C%E9%8D%B5%E6%99%82%E5%88%BB/

[Some mainlanders were eating cup noodles and made a mess on the seats of an MTR train. A Hong Konger told them it’s against the rules to eat in the train and immediately got angry and vociferous rebuttals. A couple of other Hong Kongers joined the fray. Security was called in. The mainlanders insisted they had done nothing wrong.]

Such kind of rude behavior is already less obnoxious than that of some who unashamedly use public space inside shopping malls as toilets.

On a deeper level, the unbridgeable gap seems to be between (Hong Kongers’) acceptance and (most mainlanders’) rejection of or aversion to universal values like rule of law, democracy, equality and liberty. It is not through the latter’s fault that they find these values alien; it’s just because they have been living under a political system that has infiltrated them with the idea that those are not Chinese values and therefore no good for them. The system has taught people that all they need worry about is the economy and how to make money and practically nothing else. Morals aren’t important. Corruption can be tolerated. There is of course no lack of intellectuals in China who have refused to be brainwashed and who truly embrace universal values, but most of them unfortunately are rewarded with either political exile or incarceration.

It goes without saying that the only Hong Kong people who welcome mainland tourists, immigrants and shoppers are developers and their cronies (real estate agents, contractors etc.), especially those who are large shopping mall landlords. Even for retailers, whether or not they can benefit from the influx depends on whether the products they sell are mainlanders’ favorites. As for the rest of Hong Kongers, all they can feel towards the swamping inflow is resentment.

At the end of the day, Hong Kong society has its own unique cultural characteristics, which are different from those of other mainland cities or regions. It should be every Hong Konger’s duty to try to preserve those characteristics for posterity. And it would be dead wrong to try to supplant or dilute Hong Kong core values which coincide with universal values.

I only visit once a year. Yet I can feel how dispossessed many Hong Kongers must feel. It’s time to act now to protect that border, before the city becomes a totally alien place.

Voltaire's Fight Against Dogma

Link to the Alice Poon Blog at Asia Sentinel:-

http://www.asiasentinel.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogsection&id=21&Itemid=320

(Title of the latest blog post: Voltaire's Fight Against Dogma)

Can the Monster be Caged?

I came across an excellent speech on HaoHao Report by a Chinese writer Murong Xuecun (慕容雪村). Just as I'm beginning to lose all hope in the strong nation, Mr. Murong's speech has swayed me a little bit in the direction that there is perhaps still a silver lining. Or is there?


Here's the link to Mr. Murong's speech (in both Chinese and English):-

http://www.scribd.com/doc/73185074/Murong-Xuecun-Oslo-Speech

Some trenchant passages:-

"In my country, the government claims to have eradicated classes, but in reality, class divisions are glaringly obvious. The highest class enjoys exclusively produced foods while the lower classes are left to consume contaminated and dangerous products. Children of the dominant class study at opulent private schools, while children of the second-class study at ordinary schools. The third class attend shabby schools for migrant workers and the fourth class, well, they don’t get to go to school at all."

"In my country, informing on others is encouraged. The government has a secret dossier on every single citizen which records everything about us until the day we die—from innocent remarks about us to unsubstantiated accusations as well as many things we don’t even know about ourselves. Secret agents in factories, schools and residential neighbourhoods covertly record everything people say and do. The atmosphere is oppressive—people do not trust the government, employees do not trust employers, students don’t trust teachers, and wives do not trust husbands."

"In my country, writing is a dangerous occupation. People are sent to prison for writing essays, or saying a few words of truth. Writers are not allowed to talk about history, or to criticise the present, let alone fantasize about the future. Many words cannot be written, many things cannot be spoken, and many issues cannot be mentioned. Every book has to go through a rigid censorship regime before it can be published. Many books are banned in my country, and then become bestsellers overseas."

"My country has one of the largest bureaucracies in the world. Most of these bureaucrats are either bribing or taking bribes. Power is being abused in every way imaginable and turned into a money-generating tool. According to publicly available reports, enormous amounts of public funds are wasted on sumptuous banquets, luxury trips and expensive cars provided to these bureaucrats. We are talking about 900 billion yuan or over US$140 billion a year. Some may ask: Why don’t the taxpayers say no to this practice? I’m sorry, the concept of taxpayers’ rights doesn’t exist in my country. All we have is the term 'the people'."

“This rotten system is the mongrel of Stalinist-Maoism and Imperial Chinese political culture, a cross-breed of the rule of the jungle with traditional Chinese trickery and communism. Decades later, this creature now has become a monster. This monster is vain, tyrannical and arrogant. It never admits to mistakes. It destroys people in the name of justice and rehabilitates them, also in the name of justice. It takes credit for everything positive, and blames others for all failures. It wants to lord over everything and only tolerates one faith, faith in itself. This monster only allows praise to one thing, praise to itself. It owns every newspaper, every school, and every temple. Without its permission, even flowers may not bloom.”

"Despite hardship, more and more Chinese people now are aware of their responsibilities. They break the silence, speak the truth, and calmly make suggestions. Some are suffering for their actions but refuse to be cowered or silenced."

In my opinion, the whole text is worth a thorough read.

Belated Farewell to My Beloved Cousin

On October 24, I was shocked and pained by a piece of heart-rending news: my beloved cousin G had passed away in September, shortly after undergoing a second round of chemotherapy. The regrettable part is that I hadn’t even had a chance to communicate with her while she was fighting for her life, as I had had to feign ignorance in order to respect her wish that the news of her sickness be kept strictly confidential, though I had known by chance for some time. I only learned of her death when I emailed her younger sister GG on that Monday to ask how G was doing. This post is to bid a belated farewell to my beloved cousin.

G had been my trusted friend and ally throughout our early youth. That night after hearing the heartbreaking news, I cried in bed and couldn’t go to sleep. All I could think of was the image of G in a photo taken when she was a teenager: she was smiling sweetly with one of her hands stretched upwards to touch an apple ….. Then scene after scene of the times we spent together in our youth flashed through my mind.

When I was around nineteen, one day I had a big fight with my father, as he had been verbally abusing everybody nonstop at the dinner table in one of his habitual intoxicated bouts. Infuriated that I had the nerve to throw some water in his face, he picked up a wooden stool and hurled it at me. It missed me by an inch and my mother urged me to go into the bedroom while trying to restrain him. I was distraught and called J (our phone was installed in the bedroom), one of my male cousins from another family, and told him what had happened. He advised me to go to G’s home. So I did.

G, GG and their two other sisters all studied at Maryknoll Sisters’ School. Coming from a well-to-do family, G never came across as snobbish or conceited. On the contrary, she was one of the most endearing, kind-hearted and considerate persons I had ever known. When their father and J’s mother and mine (they were first cousins; J’s mother and mine were sisters) had reunited after a long period of separation and the children had begun getting acquainted with each other, the adults used to say that G and I looked very much alike and had similar temperament. She, J and I were all born in the same month and same year.

At that point in my life, G, J, GG, JJ (J’s younger brother) and I were very close to one another. One of our favorite pass-times in autumn was to go hiking in the wooded area surrounding Wongneichong Reservoir, sometimes together with one or two of J’s schoolmates from Wah Yan College. J would bring along his guitar and we would sing folk songs when we stopped to rest. We all loved the crisp fresh air and the soul-calming green scenery. When we got tired from the walking and singing, we would walk slowly back to G’s and GG’s home on Blue Pool Road, where their mother (my aunt) would treat us to delicious snacks and tea and we would play with G’s cuddly youngest brother. Those were the days …. Sadly, we soon lost JJ to leukemia. He was only seventeen when he died. That was my first taste of the meaning of death and it was unnerving.

That dreadful day (I think it was a Saturday or Sunday, as I didn’t have to work and my cousins didn’t have to go to school), I went to G’s home to seek temporary refuge from my father’s wrath. My aunt tactfully left the two of us in private in the bedroom that G and her elder sister shared. In her quiet ways, she showed her sympathy and asked if I would like to lie down for a while. When I said I’d rather talk a little, she pulled up a chair and listened intently to my story. Then she tried to distract and comfort me by offering to play some piano pieces and encouraged me to learn playing a simple piece.

It was while studying at the U. of Wisconsin that G fell in love with a guy F.

Not long after that, I heard that she had fallen into a lovelorn state and was very depressed. Knowing that she was prone to keeping a stoic front, I felt it was best to just be in her company whenever an occasion allowed. At one of the gatherings, I was reposing on a bed beside her and tried to encourage her to talk. She only lay there with her big eyes wide open, speechless and expressionless. I could feel that underneath her armor of indifference, her pain was seeping out of every pore. From the corner of my eyes, I could detect her desperate struggle to fight back tears. It broke my heart to see her like this. But I was sure that she could also feel that I cared deeply. Shortly thereafter, she went on a date with one of her cousins and the two became steady. He would later become her husband.

In the early 1970s, G emigrated to the United States with her parents and siblings. In 1975, I emigrated to Toronto and in that summer took a greyhound down to New York to visit G and GG. They came to meet me at the greyhound station and we were thrilled to see each other. Everyday during my 3-day stay there, G and GG showed me around the wonderful city and on two evenings, G prepared delicious home-cooked meals for us. When the day came for me to depart, G got up early to bake some marshmallow rice cake squares and wrapped them up neatly in foil. Without me noticing, she slipped the wrapped squares into my overnight shoulder bag. On the boring journey home, I thanked G in my heart for her thoughtfulness.

The last time I had a chance to see G was in 1997 when she came back to Hong Kong with her family (her husband, a son and a daughter) for a vacation. We had a great time doing catching up on a yacht outing arranged by JS (J’s elder brother) and at cousins’ reunion dinners.

A couple of years ago, I had already lost JS, also to lung cancer. He was 65 when he passed away. Both JS and G underwent chemotherapy. In both cases, when the cancer was detected, it was already in stage 4. From what I gathered, they both suffered hugely the side effects of chemotherapy. I’ve recently read a blog post by a Chinese pathologist with special interest in oncology, which says that cancer in a late stage can neither be treated nor eliminated and that it would be much preferable to focus efforts on the patients’ quality of life rather than on treatment. I don’t know how authentic he is but I’m inclined to believe him. Above all, I think the patients’ own wish to do one thing or the other should be respected and the doctors should be forthcoming in explaining in depth the side effects of the intended treatment.

I think I can understand why G had not wanted too many people to know about her sickness. For one thing, there would be little that friends and relatives, close or not close, could do to help her. Being the always-considerate person that she was, she would naturally not want people to worry about her, especially her aging mother. My heart goes out to her close family members who had to watch her suffer great pains in her last days. Picturing this lovable person going through agonizing moments in the final stage of her life is just unbearable for me. It brings back the torturous feeling of helplessness and despair when I watched my own mother withering and suffering noxious side effects from radiotherapy and eventually losing the fight.

My dear cousin, goodbye for now. Rest assured that you will always be in my heart.

Cote d'Azur, Land of Reveries (2)

While in Marseille and Antibes, I had a chance to communicate with some locals, which gave me a refreshing perspective on how the French folks are influenced by Asians.

[For the full text, please click here.]

Cote d'Azur, Land of Reveries (1)

If Paris could be likened to a mature lady of understated glamour in elegant poise, with a certain savoir-faire that comes from a polished culture and living with the best, then an apt symbol for the Cote d’Azur (French Riviera) would be an unworldly youthful dame of great verve and beauty with an infinite power of imagination. By the end of the 19^th century, the Cote d’Azur was already a magnet for inspiration-seeking artistic painters and writers, who were drawn there by the balmy weather, paradise-like scenery, bright colors and clear lights. Since then, it has become a mecca for world-wide tourists in search of reveries.

The five-and-a-half-hour TGV (high-speed train) trip from Paris to Nice (on September 20) didn’t feel that long, probably because of one’s excitement and yearning for the destination. My plan was to make Nice our home base and to take daily excursion trips to nearby Riviera towns. Thus I had chosen a hotel very near to the Nice-Ville train station.

As the train sped past unending expanses of vineyards and farmland, which were punctuated by an occasional industrial hub, one couldn’t but sense that the wine and agricultural industries must be a vital part of the French economy. Official data say that over 60 percent of the land in France is used for agricultural purposes, the country is self-sufficient in food supplies and that it is a leading agricultural exporter in the European Union and the world’s second largest agricultural producer after the United States.

My own wild guess is that wine and agricultural exports may well have been the country’s key economic stabilizer in recent times of global financial turmoil. Only myopic nations and cities would give short shrift to agricultural farming. This reminds me of the Hong Kong youngsters who formed the Land Justice League and who mooted the point of returning village and country land to farming mode. Something tells me that they are the visionary lot. But the question is, how many Hong Kongers are sensible enough to heed their voice?

As the train journey drew towards its end, meandering stretches of sky-blue coastal waters adorned with a lone sail or two and charming seaside resorts were in sight through the train’s windows.

It was mid-afternoon when we set foot in the magical city of Nice. The Provencal sun was smiling warmly on us. What better thing to do than to take to the legendary Promenade des Anglais right away? From our hotel, it would take us less than fifteen minutes to walk down to the seaside. We took Rue Berlioz and then continued on Rue de Rivoli, at the end of which stood the palatial Hotel Negresco which dates back to 1912 and which graces a lot of Nice’s postcards.

There, the sweeping vista of the scintillating, sapphire blue Mediterranean washed over us! From afar, the deep purple blue sea melded with the cloudless cerulean sky and rushed towards us in an astounding azure, changing into a lighter shade of azure as it neared, then into a crystal light blue nearest the shore. The subtle blend of different nuances of blue was so magical that it simply left one in wordless awe at the wonders of nature. Against the changing hues of blue, the off-white pebble beaches were dotted with jovial, colorfully clad bathers and sun bathers, young and old, many with an enviable healthy tan.

Our first meal in Nice was taken at a family-run eatery on a street parallel to the Promenade des Anglais (I forgot the name of the street) and consisted of hearty omelettes aux champignons and salade Nicoise (romaine greens, tomatoes, tuna, anchovies and hard-boiled eggs, dressed in vinaigrette). The portions served were huge and we enjoyed both the meal and the friendly service.

The next morning was spent browsing the Marche aux Fleurs (flower market) and the food market in Cours Selaya, which runs parallel to the Quai des Etats-Unis, followed by a late lunch at one of the seafood restaurants in the market and an exploring visit to the Vieille Ville (Old Town).

The markets en plein air simply oozed with colors and activities. Freshly cut flowers and robustly growing plants of every imaginable species and shade of color were vying for shoppers’ pick. Souvenirs of lavender pouches and lavender soap were in abundance and reasonably priced, as were colorful fruits and vegetables, honey, fruit preserves, aromatic dried mushrooms, bon bons, nougats, pastries, raw fish fillets and other kinds of seafood. I was so drawn to the aroma from the stall that sold dried mushrooms that I had to buy some cepes and some mousserons, both types of which burst with fragrance.

For our late lunch/dinner, we had spaghetti with seafood and a big pot of mussels cooked in garlic sauce at a restaurant called “Paradice”. The restaurant owner was engaged and friendly and gave us a big jar of water for free. He smiled profusely when I offered courteous compliments for the exquisite cuisine.

The Old Town consists of a maze of narrow cobblestone streets in which hide a host of quaint small shops that sell all sorts of merchandises. Some of the shop owners even make their own products. I bought a pastel-color shoulder bag made from irregular pieces of quilts of matching color sewn together. All the bags and sacs are hand-made by the lady shop owner. At another shop, my friend bought a pair of psychedelic colored culottes made in Tunisia. As we wandered around, we were attracted by the deeply resonant singing voice of an amiable old lady who had her hair wrapped in an Arcadian blue-and-white scarf, dressed in a pinafore over a demure frock and carrying a woven basket, and who likely performs regularly in the square for free. Patrons of nearby plein air cafes rewarded her with hearty rounds of applause. It was easy to be lost in the heart-warming ambiance of the place.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sitting on one of the sea side benches and gazing out into the sprawling stretch of twinkling sapphire blue and conjuring up wild daydreams.

The next day (September 22) we took a mid-morning SNCF train to Monaco. Unfortunately, direction signs in the Gare Monte Carlo were sorely lacking and not user-friendly. It felt like the Municipality was trying to give train travelers a snub. I found it difficult to navigate out of the train station and we ended up using the most inconvenient exit.

Once outside the station, we followed Rue Grimaldi and walked down Rue Princess Caroline to reach the seaside promenade. It happened that the 2011 Monaco Yacht Show had just kicked off the day before (September 21) and it was the second day of the big event. The Route de la Piscine was packed with people and vehicle traffic. By vehicle I mean Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Maseratis, Porsches, Jaguars, Bentleys, Mercedes and the like. Port Hercule was bristling with new shiny yachts and the show would include 100 megayachts of up to 90 meters, as I would later find out.

We ordinary folks of course didn’t come for the show. So on we ambled in the embrace of glorious sunshine and light sea breeze, which everyone could enjoy, thank God. We were so mesmerized by the postcard-perfect view of the Mediterranean that we walked right past the Monte Carlo Casino without knowing. It was only when we reached Plage du Larvotto that we realized this. So back we turned on Avenue Princess Grace until we came to the Grimaldi Forum, where a display of luxuriant carpets and rugs of the finest craftsmanship was being hosted. From here we moved to the neighboring Jardin Japonais (Japanese Garden) and savored the tranquil oasis in the midst of the opulent resort hub. The bamboo fences, the Tea House, the stone lanterns, the little red wooden bridge, the waterfall and the pond were all imbued with a “Zen” air of soothing calm.

The day’s tour ended with a brief visit to the casino complex perched high and mighty on the hillside, where we fed our eyes on an amazing view of the port while enjoying a delicious scoop of ice cream at the tourist-packed, fountains-furnished Jardin du Casino. As the majestic main casino was not yet open, I just satisfied myself with a quick tour of the American one, which was no different from any Macau or Las Vegas counterpart. My friend didn’t bother to join me.

Compared to earthy yet not-of-this-earth Nice, Monte Carlo is without doubt of the “regal” category. The comparison is like one between Catherine Deneuve and Grace Kelly in their prime. My preference should be quite obvious.