Hong Kong is a powder keg ready to explode – but it’s events happening off the island that make it so volatile

Offering passports to Hong Kongers is no different to Putin offering them to Ukrainians. The UK would be wise to tread carefully with this strategy, says Mary Dejevsky

A pro-democracy demonstrator raises his British national overseas passports during a protest against new national security legislation in Hong Kong (Reuters)

So far, the crisis that has Hong Kong at its centre is not as bad as it could be, just almost as bad. But it could be about to get worse. This danger stems from the passage of a new Hong Kong security law by China, the UK government’s offer of resettlement to as many as 3 million Hong Kongers, and the decision of the United States, in pre-election mode, to use Hong Kong as a weapon in its much bigger argument with China. Each of these elements would carry a risk; together they become incendiary.

Here in the UK, there are two distinct ways of looking at developments in and around Hong Kong, which are sometimes allowed to overlap, but shouldn’t be. On the one hand, there is what might be called the values-based view. It is often articulated by the ever-available last governor of Hong Kong, Lord Patten, who now predicts the “end” of the island’s distinct way of life, lambasts Beijing for violating the handover treaty and demands mostly unspecified tough action from the UK government. He has a supporting chorus in a growing band of China-sceptics in parliament.

Then there is what you might term the realist view – which begins by looking at the map. Were Beijing to decide that, on balance and for whatever reasons, its interests were best served by forcing its brand of order on Hong Kong, there is very little that anyone – in Hong Kong, the UK, or the rest of the world – could, or probably would, do. By all means use what leverage you have, but recognise that it is very small.

For what it is worth, the signs so far are that Beijing has perhaps understood from the aftermath of Tiananmen Square, first, that it is a big mistake to let popular resistance escalate to the point where a military crackdown is the only way to restore order. And, second, that the crude use of force by a rising power perhaps seeking international acceptance has a reputational, as well as a financial and social, cost. When protests forced the closure of Hong Kong’s international airport last year, I feared that Beijing’s patience would snap. In the event, it found remedies that were marginally more subtle, that included the deployment of masked thugs and criminal elements none too fussy about who they beat up.

If you were to be generous, it is just about possible to argue that Beijing’s new law could make the use of crude force, military or otherwise, less likely, as there are now mechanisms for anything seen as a threat to China’s national security to be dealt with at an earlier stage through the courts. This will be of little consolation to Hong Kongers, nor should it be. Among the disturbing aspects of the law are the wide range and loose definition of offences, the long prison terms stipulated, and the involvement of mainland China in the shape of a Chinese government Office for Safeguarding National Security, even as lip service is paid to Hong Kong’s judicial autonomy.

Again, to be generous, it could also be argued that, to an extent, Hong Kong’s postcolonial leaders have brought the current situation on themselves. If, as required in the Basic Law – the de facto constitution that replaced UK colonial law – they had passed their own security law, they might then have benefited from greater economic leverage and a less prickly leader in their dealings with Beijing. Hong Kong might then have had its own means of addressing the 2019 protests through the courts, and been able to keep security within its own jurisdiction.

All that, though, is water under the bridge. History may well judge that Hong Kong made a fatal error in 2003, when it ditched its own security law in the face of protests. But the time for that is now past and there can be no return.

What makes the current situation additionally volatile and dangerous, however, is the way so much else is happening elsewhere that has, or could have, a bearing on Hong Kong.

The United States has taken a lead in objecting to Beijing’s security law, less as a protest against the law as such than as part of its trade war against China. President Trump has declared that Hong Kong will no longer be treated as exempt from trade measures against China and penalties for banks that do business with Chinese officials are making their way through Congress. Relations with China will be an election issue, so no softening can be expected before November, if then.

The Chinese leadership has had its own feelings of insecurity sharpened by the coronavirus pandemic and the international consensus that it originated in China. Beijing’s determination to pass the national security law for Hong Kong can be seen in part as a diversionary tactic and reflecting a desire to appear strong. Again, no softening will be on the cards.

The UK’s approach shows much less clarity, with conflicting priorities only sharpened by the effects of the pandemic, and the difficulties of enforcing contracts for vital medical supplies. UK universities’ dependence on fees from thousands of Chinese students and the still pending decision over how much, if at all, the UK should pursue its cooperation with the telecoms giant Huawei severely limit any bargaining power the UK might have had.

And how far the government can take its undertaking on residence and citizenship rights for Hong Kongers cannot be certain. It has annoyed Beijing, which could be seen as a diplomatic plus, and YouGov polling suggests that public opinion in the UK is relaxed about as many as three million people having the right to move to the UK. How long this equanimity might last, if more than a few thousand Hong Kongers decided to test that promise, could well be another matter, especially as the preoccupation with the pandemic fades. And how much solidarity could post-Brexit Britain expect, if it decided to seek help with resettlement from other countries?

Some might also see a certain hypocrisy in the UK’s offer. “Passportisation”, of which this is a postcolonial variant, is something the UK has deplored when, say, Russia has applied it to Russian-speakers in eastern Ukraine or those living in pro-Russian enclaves in Georgia. Their arguments about personal danger and protecting a way of life are precisely those being advanced by the UK in relation to Hong Kong, while China might see the UK’s action – just as we see Russia’s – as building up a fifth column designed to undermine the sovereign power.

In the meantime, it should be stressed: Hong Kong was not “lost” with the passage of Beijing’s national security law, nor was it “lost” (or only symbolically) when the flag came down and Prince Charles and Lord Patten sailed away. It was lost when the Thatcher government – as probably any UK government would have done – accepted that the lease on Hong Kong would expire and the territory would revert to China.

The safeguards for Hong Kong’s autonomy, hammered out over the best part of a decade, were always going to depend on two things: respect for the terms by Beijing, and the continued wealth and political quiescence of Hong Kong. With a different leadership in Beijing, juggling greater influence abroad with potential tensions at home, and a new generation in Hong Kong, more aware of the wider world and less accepting of limits, the dangers ahead are obvious.

Given this perilous mix, it is hard to see what more the UK can do than it is doing, other than reflect, perhaps, on how wise it was for this country to place itself at quite such a disadvantage vis a vis Beijing. Maybe the best that can be hoped for is that the threats implicit in the new Chinese law are never acted upon, and that those three million passports are never needed.