Patrick Liu, 36, was sleeping on Wednesday, November 26, when a neighbor knocked on the door of his house: the building next door was on fire. It was around 3:15 p.m. (local time). He and his parents, with whom he has lived since he was born in one of the Wang Fuk Court buildings that burned in the Hong Kong megafire, quickly left their apartment on the fifth floor. Eleven days later, with a toll of 159 dead and 79 injured, the three find themselves at the gates of the Heng Kwei secondary school, a quarter of an hour from the burned towers. They have come from rehousing housing provided by the Government. And they have just voted in this Sunday’s elections to the Legislative Council of Hong Kong, the second under the controversial one approved by Beijing to guarantee seamless control over the autonomous territory.
The elections have already ended in 2021. These seconds were intended to legitimize the new status quo The tragedy, however, has overshadowed the process, shattered the official narrative, and put the authorities on alert.
Police have arrested at least two people for demanding greater responsibility from the Government for the fire; Another 11 have been arrested for using social media to urge residents not to vote or to cast blank ballots, according to South China Morning Post; Beijing has called for continued vigilance against any attempt to jeopardize the elections, warning that local law enforcement will not stand by “idly.” And Beijing’s National Security office in Hong Kong has launched messages against “anti-Chinese elements” who seek to “cause trouble”, and against “hostile external forces” who seek to generate chaos similar to that of the 2019 pro-democracy demonstrations.
Liu, the resident of Wang Fuk Court, believes that the fire has affected the elections “a little bit.” Some residents, he says, want to punish the Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong (DAB), the largest pro-Beijing party, at the polls. One of its representatives from the Tai Po district, where the fire took place, has been linked to contracts with the construction company in charge of the renovation works on the urbanization. The company is in the eye of the storm for the alleged use of mesh to cover buildings that did not meet standards and synthetic foams that possibly accelerated the flames. Numerous neighbors had complained about possible fire risks, and raised questions about the networks.
“I want the government to be inspected and regulations to be improved,” says neighbor Liu. He also believes that the authorities should take responsibility for the fire. “When the investigation is over, someone should resign and be punished.” He has preferred to go to vote, although he does not believe that the system is good since the change in 2021.
At the foot of the charred towers you see many more people than at the doors of the polling stations. Hundreds continue to come with flowers to pay tribute to the victims in a kind of improvised temple in a small park. They pray. They bow. Some cry. They write messages. The area is wallpapered with posters of pets lost in the fire. Sometimes the air carries a faint burning smell.
“We haven’t voted. Of course not,” say Mr. Chu and Mrs. Chan, 31-year-old Hong Kongers who don’t want to give any more details for fear of the authorities. “The candidates to choose were all more or less the same. Pro-China and pro-government.” They have preferred to use their Sunday to remember the dead and reflect on “how citizens feel this tragedy,” and “how governments try to cover up the truth.”
Given the current list of candidates aligned with Beijing, turnout has become almost the only figure that can serve as a barometer of the mood of the 4.13 million Hong Kongers called to the polls. In 2021 it was around 30%, the lowest since the return of the colony in 1997. The Executive had dedicated itself to promoting the elections in order to raise it and legitimize the system. At 2:30 p.m. local time (seven hours less in mainland Spain) the data is 17.4%, almost one point above that of 2021.
Emily Lau, 73, is one of the last voices in the pro-democracy movement to speak out. It’s Friday, a couple of days before the elections. He sits at a cafe in the center of the financial city, far from the Tai Po district, among skyscrapers that sparkle in the sun. The first thing she says is that her political party, the Democratic Party, of which she was president and which became one of the main opposition forces, has called a general assembly next week to decide its extinction. “We cannot stand for election, but we can vote for our dissolution,” the irony points out.
In 1991, Lau was the first woman directly elected to the Legislative Council, the autonomous Parliament, of which she was a member until 2016. It is the same body for which the elections are held this Sunday, and whose system was modified in 2021. The measure and expanded the discretion and bias in favor of Beijing of the Electoral Committee, the body in charge of appointing the head of the autonomous Government: today that leader is John Lee, a career police officer and responsible for the security apparatus during the elections. protests of 2019. The idea, in the words of Beijing, was that only “true patriots” could hold positions of responsibility.
Today, Lau has, among them five party colleagues, whom he visits when he can in prison. The last one, he says, was to Albert Ho, last week, in Stanley Prison, just two days before the jurist turned 74. He has been locked up for more than 1,300 days, and is awaiting trial under the National Security Law enacted in 2020 with which Beijing quelled the demonstrations. He is accused of inciting subversion.
“Civil society in Hong Kong has practically collapsed,” Lau notes. Politicians, journalists, activists and members of NGOs are behind bars, have closed their doors or have gone abroad. And those who remain are very careful not to cross the red lines that are not very clear either. Self-censorship has become an everyday element.
Lau regrets that in elections some citizens may feel that they do not have a real choice of candidates: some have not been able to gather enough nominations to run. “Perhaps they are considered unpatriotic or worse,” he notes. “Hong Kong has come a long way since the chaos of 2019,” he adds. “Many people, including businessmen and members of the ruling class, would like a more relaxed environment, where there was more freedom of the press and expression, people could demonstrate peacefully and people of different political persuasions could stand for election.” Lau says he is not asking for anything strange: only that Beijing fulfill the promises of the , which paved the return of Hong Kong in 1997 and laid the foundations of the “one country, two systems” principle.
Over another coffee, Wang Xiangwei, former director of South China Morning Posta leading Hong Kong newspaper, states that the fire has arrived just when many were beginning to think that the worst days of Hong Kong had passed. “It has become a new test of resilience,” he says.
Now a university professor and analyst, Wang considers that the response of the emergency teams has been exemplary, as well as that of the authorities, providing aid and launching investigation mechanisms to find out what happened. But he has also exposed cracks in public housing projects and safety regulations, and believes it may be inevitable that the fire will become a political issue, and that questions about the Hong Kong model will resurface: the narrative of the shift from chaos to stability and prosperity has been clouded by public anger over apparent failures to oversee building codes.
So far, 15 people linked to the work have been arrested for their alleged negligence in using substandard nets and highly flammable foams that would have contributed to the spread of the fire. There are six other detainees related to the fire prevention systems.
This in turn has led citizens to demand greater public scrutiny, sparking an angry reaction from the authorities. Miles Kwan, a 24-year-old university student, was arrested last week after launching a petition online demanding responsibilities that in a few hours gathered more than 10,000 signatures. The forcefulness is an indication of nervousness in Beijing, which seeks to prevent attention from being directed against the regional government.
Wang understands that security officials may have their own reasons for acting: the 2019 protests began with legitimate complaints about then turned into mass demonstrations against the government. He believes, however, that these tactics risk being “counterproductive.”
“The chief executive [John Lee] has already said that we have a system of political accountability,” responds Regina Ip, a veteran Hong Kong legislator and president of the New People’s Party (the fourth largest political party by number of seats), when asked if she believes that the Government should assume greater responsibility for the fire. “At the end of the investigation, those involved, whether contractors, engineers who signed documents or officials, will be held accountable.”
Ip, 75 years old and a popular deputy in Hong Kong, announced on the brink of the elections that she would not repeat as a candidate for the Legislative Council. It is time to give way to the young generations, he outlines. In these elections, around a third of the candidates are new and younger faces. Various analysts interpret it as an attempt by the authorities to increase the attractiveness of the system. Ip points out, however, that the fire will lower participation, exactly what the authorities sought to avoid.
This petite woman strongly defends the Legislative Council under the “patriots only” system. “Efficiency has improved a lot. We have said goodbye to the chaos and dysfunction of the previous one.” He believes that the reform was necessary because the work of Parliament had been seriously interrupted by the “extreme filibustering” of the opposition. “They became anti-Chinese,” he adds. “Some wanted regime change. That’s really dangerous. It’s a crime against national security.” He sees no harm in dissolving organizations like the Democratic Party: “It’s a wise decision. The Civic Party already did it.” [otra formación prodemocracia, en 2023]”.
He points out that Western-style elections have a “short history” in Hong Kong, and assures that universal suffrage gave an advantage to the “anti-government bloc”: “Because it is easier to complain than to actually do things.” He uses the British populist politician Nigel Farage as an example to highlight the “instability” of Western parliamentary democracy. “It doesn’t work universally. And in Hong Kong it became very destructive.”
On the shelf in her office rests a souvenir of the 100 years of the Chinese Communist Party and, on the desk, a copy of the regional National Security Law, which she helped draft and voted on in 2024: there was unanimity among the “patriots” of the autonomous Parliament. It regulates, among others, the crimes of treason, secession, sedition and subversion, and is considered the culmination of the initiatives promoted by Beijing to extend its control over the special administrative region.
Ip led the attempt to move it forward in 2003 when she was Secretary of Security. Then thousands of people took to the streets, and the Government had to back down and put it in a drawer. Two decades later, with the opposition decimated, there were hardly any critical voices: “This version is much harsher,” he says, leafing through its 300 pages.
