Page 57 of Don't Point at the Moon

“I don’t understand, then. Why the protests? That’s what your friends were arguing about in the restaurant, wasn’t it? I mean,sure, protest if soldiers are threatening to march through the city, but not if it’s something they’ve known about for years. I remember seeing pictures in the media of people running through streets fogged with tear gas. Mum wanted Mitchell to get on the first flight out.”

“I like your nephew, Mitchell. We think alike,” said William, his hand on Harold’s shoulder. “The problem, Zane, is that like any other major city in the world, ours too has its faction of idealistic troublemakers.”

“That’s not the whole story,” said Harold, gently clasping William’s wrist. “The answer to your question is one of political ideology, I believe, and down to a divide between those who desire a self-governing Hong Kong with a democratically elected government, and those who are content to have Hong Kong fully integrated into China as another mainland city.”

“Which is what the Chinese and British governments agreed to and what the people of Hong Kong knew was going to happen,” said William.

“Back in the eighties. Without consulting the people. And China’s agreement to allow Hong Kong reasonable autonomy didn’t last long, did it? Introducing a national security law that essentially restricts freedom of speech. In history, it’s all too often that sense of futility that gives rise to protest,” said Harold before releasing a heavy sigh. “But I do think there’s something more fundamental. I believe Hongkongers consider themselves different from their mainland compatriots, see themselves as more independent and cosmopolitan. And I don’t mean that to be insulting to their hard-working brothers and sisters. But they’ve experienced over a hundred years of trading freely and successfully on the international stage, building Hong Kong into a financial powerhouse and a world-class city. And I fear the generations who will inherit this metropolis believe that’s likelyto change for the worse. That means all of you sitting here. Let’s hear what you think?”

Nobody volunteered to speak. Tommy wasn’t surprised. He had seen the same thing repeatedly. Youngsters who were worried about voicing their opinions, fearing they might be ridiculed or, worse still, reported to the authorities.

“How about you, Zane?” asked Harold. “It’s often difficult to get your head around something happening across the other side of the planet.”

“I understand people falling out over politics. I couldn’t vote, but I wasn’t asleep when the Brexit referendum happened.”

“But at least people got to vote,” said Harold.

“Yes, and look at the mess that created,” said William.

“My parents and their friends fell out big-time,” said Zane. “Some still don’t talk. But I guess what you’re saying about Hong Kong is something only someone who lives here can truly understand.”

Tommy watched as Harold, somewhat affectedly, clasped his hands in his lap on the red-and-black-tartan blanket and studied the horizon.

“You, of all people, might enjoy this, Tommy,” he said, staring into the distance. “A retired teacher friend of mine back in England, who openly admits to oversimplifying things to get her point across, gave her class an analogy to try to help them understand why many Hong Kong people might be feeling the way they do. Imagine that, while imperial China was signing away the lease to Hong Kong back in 1842, a legal inclusion in the agreement—let’s call it a legal cock-up or a loophole overlooked by the British—offered a reciprocal leasing to China of the Isle of Wight off the south coast of England.”

Zane joined in the laughter. “Have you been there? The Chinese are welcome to it. Talk about snoresville. Except for the music festival, of course.”

“You clearly haven’t been there recently,” said an Asian lad in Zane’s group. “I visited with my parents last year. The place is way cool. Even without the attractions of Carisbrooke Castle and Blackgang Chine, there are some amazing restaurants and beaches.”

“And before being colonised,” continued Harold, “Hong Kong was little more than a fishing village. As I said, you need to be imaginative and consider what kind of a trading post the Isle of Wight might have become for the Chinese, and how the world might have changed, had they taken up the leasing agreement and put their stamp on the island.”

This time, everyone fell silent.

“Let’s pretend that what happened in Hong Kong in terms of administration, growth and expansion also happened on the Isle of Wight, an island overseen by a China-appointed administrator. Children taught both English and Chinese in schools. Streets filled with Chinese merchant houses, hawker stalls with regional Chinese shops and restaurants. The island also known as San Kong, or New Harbour in Cantonese, named after the town of Newport. Shang Lin adopted as a loanword for Shanklin, and the same principle for other island towns. Shrewd and affluent businessmen from Canton and Shanghai seeing the opportunity for profit and pumping money into the island, building impressive structures and seaports to facilitate trading routes between Asian and European nations. Road signs erected in Traditional Chinese as well as English. Colourful Buddhist and Taoist temples springing up in towns and along sandy beachfronts. Streets hung at various times of the year with vibrant scarlet-and-glittering-golden lanterns. Let’s also assume there would have been significant land reclamation on the sea-facing south side of the island and even a new international airport constructed. All the things we’ve seen developed in Hong Kong over the years happening on your doorstep back home.Culturally, I wonder if the people of the Isle of Wight might have ended up becoming something quite new and—to borrow a modern word—a hybrid Briton proud of both their Western and their Eastern heritages. Now fast-forward to current times, when new generations who have known no different, who have accepted life on the Isle of Wight as their norm, are hearing rumours about the UK government’s plans to integrate them back into the English mainland and erase elements of their history. How do you think they might be feeling?”

“Pissed off,” said Zane.

“Wait a moment,” interjected William. “Apart from being total fantasy, Harold does tend to sugarcoat. Let’s look at the other side of the coin. First of all, in all of history, China has never shown any appetite for colonising overseas territories, so the likelihood they would have acted upon this overlooked option would have been less than remote. Secondly, imagine the embarrassment to multiple British governments across the years, having this independent colony on their doorstep, ruled over by a nation often perceived as hostile. Which, admittedly might have done the British some good. Maybe they would have finally begun to understand how Spain and Argentina feel about Gibraltar and the Falklands. And how might the British government react if, as the lease draws to a close, these islanders begin protesting and demanding self-rule as an independent one-party communist state? Do you want me to go on?”

“As you can see,” said Harold, “William loves to play devil’s advocate.”

“Somebody has to, dear.”

“Maybe the answer lies in the uncertainty of change,” said Mitchell. “Not knowing what the future holds.”

Something in Mitchell’s sullen tone struck a sad chord. Once again, Tommy peered quizzically across at him but Mitchell would not meet his gaze.

“Hear, hear,” said Harold, clapping his hands together. “Now that we’ve put the world to rights, let’s lighten the mood. Can somebody get me a top-up of that wonderful bright pink cocktail that I believe they call Seabreeze?”

With Harold no longer the focal point, individual conversations started up. Tommy noticed Zane’s small group moving off past him. But not before Mitchell caught up.

“Okay, Zane,” said Mitchell, holding him back. “Who’s that local girl who has not left your side since you got on the boat?”

Zane’s expression softened, blood rushing to his cheeks. Tommy said nothing, even though he had seen them seeking each other out at rehearsals.

“Her name’s Emily. Mitchell, she is totally peng.”

“Peng?” asked Mitchell, visibly surprised.

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