The Hong Kong elections without opposition and in silence – Ilaria Maria Sala

The elections to be held on December 19 in Hong Kong will be the first of the legislative council (the local parliament) since the national security law was passed which changed everything.

They were supposed to take place last year, but have been postponed due to the pandemic. The break also gave time to make a clean sweep: most of the opposition parties had to dissolve, many of their supporters are in prison, including the most charismatic politicians arrested on charges of attempted subversion for participating, in 2020, in the primaries with which citizens were given the opportunity to choose the order of preference of candidates, and therefore aim for a maximum of winning candidates. The existence of a strategy devised to win the elections has been defined by the government as a subversive act, since trying to win the elections, if you are part of the opposition, is comparable to a plan to overthrow the government.

The last elections in Hong Kong took place in November 2019, before the pandemic, while it was still taking place on the streets. They were district elections, and, with about 75 percent turnout, 17 of the 18 districts had gone to pro-democracy candidates who said they supported the protesters and their demands. Only the rural district where I live remained in pro-government hands.

But almost all the candidates elected in 2019 by universal suffrage have been “disqualified” (Dq, the acronym indicates those who have been expelled by the authorities for political reasons). Those elected had to take a somewhat odd oath, since it was the authorities themselves who decided whether the solemn declaration of wanting to respect Hong Kong’s constitution and being patriotic was uttered sincerely and credibly or not. As a result, there are now not many councilors in the districts, as the disqualified ones have not been replaced.

And now a small number of candidates appear in the elections: walking around the city I saw five or six, although I know there are more. But they are all and only candidates who propose themselves with the same platform: to support the government. Of course there are new faces, young people from the main pro-government parties who have been asked to stand as candidates. Electoral posters are seen on the street, there are debates on TV, but between people who all want the same thing (support the government) and who try to present themselves as those who, despite everything (even if they do not express themselves like this), will fight for the rights of ordinary people. Even if they have no idea what the real needs are.

Edward Leung, one of the candidates of the largest pro-government party, the Dab (full name is Democratic alliance for the betterment and progress of Hong Kong, so everyone says Dab to do first), talking about Hong Kong’s transportation needs that they can no longer be shelved said he had “always” fought for the Sai Wan Ho neighborhood to have a subway station. This has been around since 1985, but Leung had to be too busy fighting to get it to realize it. Such a gaffe might have cost him more in another context, but in the current climate (government supporters are running without opponents) fighting for a subway station that has already existed for nearly forty years seems almost appropriate.

Blank ballots and illegal abstentions
However, the government is very keen to show that the elections are as legitimate as those of 2019, and while the pre-election polls show that few want to go and vote to elect half of a parliament with candidates all of the same political orientation (l the other half is elected by the votes of the economic sectors, so there is even less competition) it has been declared illegal to urge people to vote blank or abstain.

The government therefore wrote letters to foreign newspapers that published editorials saying that the approaching elections make no sense – specifying that inciting not to vote is a crime even outside Hong Kong, and that the necessary measures would be taken (without specify which ones).

On the street you can see blue and orange posters saying we are going to vote to do our duty for Hong Kong, “our home”. But in a television interview, Carrie Lam, chief executive of Hong Kong, said she was not worried at all by the polls that they give for very low turnout, given that “in many democracies the turnout is not an easily interpretable signal, many do not vote when they are satisfied with the government” .

Despite this willingness to prepare to justify a low turnout, many more voters have been found: for the first time in fact, around 110,000 Hongkongers living in mainland China will be able to vote at the border. But journalists and observers will not be allowed to witness this very special moment. Doesn’t it seem to me that a reason has been given for this, perhaps some pandemic measure?

The silence that accompanies these elections is total. On the streets, someone distributes leaflets, but between the exclusion and imprisonment of candidates who support democracy, and also considering the bans imposed by health measures, no slogans are heard. In fact, most of the slogans could be outlawed, so no one wants to take risks.

Twitter is also semi-silent about it, which is surprising, but since everyone is afraid of getting in trouble even for a joke, a few days before the elections it is as if the users of the social network completely ignored the appointment. The other day I passed by the University of Hong Kong, which was finally reopened to the public, and passed the “wall of democracy” – a large bulletin board where students hung up everything: political slogans, appeals and voting advice. during election periods, satirical texts, photographs, stickers, etc. The bulletin board was run by the Student Union, but even that was dissolved under the National Security Act when student representatives expressed condolences for a man who committed suicide soon after assaulting a policeman with a knife. The man was classified as an “internal terrorist, lone wolf”, and the fact that the student union offered condolences to the family was deemed unacceptable.

Now, therefore, the board is empty, with just the glue shadows of the old stickers. No slogans, no electoral campaigns on campus. Nothing. The silence of a Hong Kong that has been profoundly changed since, in the midst of the pandemic, a law was imposed that makes everything a matter of “national security” and since the electoral system has been “improved” (according to the official formula) to ensure that “only patriots rule Hong Kong”.