The changing of the flags seemed to mesmerize the witnesses of a historic moment, of a change of era. At the official handover ceremony from Hong Kong on June 30, 1997, the Chinese standard flew up the mast to occupy the place seconds earlier reserved for the British insignia, imposed after the wars of the 19th century.
Prince Charles and then Chinese leader Jiang Zemin spoke at the event. The first, in a melancholy tone, shaped by the decline of an empire. The second, to boast of the rise of a power and to bid farewell to colonialism.
I followed the transition of power in Hong Kong, in the last news coverage of my three years in Beijing as a correspondent for the Sheet. This ended a period of seven years between the Chinese capital and, before that, Moscow, where he had followed the disintegration of the USSR in 1991.
The Soviet debacle and the return of Hong Kong became symbols of transitions in the 1990s, bridges between the world of the Cold War and Eurocentrism and the era of globalization and Asian takeoffs.
Emblematic, the waving of flags took place after Charles and Jiang’s speeches, in a crowded Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Center. It sealed the ceremonial moment, anticipating the arrival of more than 4,000 troops sent by Beijing.
Before the troop deployment, the Communist Party’s first show of force in the former British colony, I set sail for central Hong Kong in search of the pioneering demonstration of the Hong Kong Democratic Party under the shadow of Beijing’s heavy hand. I’ve heard concerns about the future of the “one country, two systems” formula.
A tuxedo-clad British economist remarked sardonically, “I leave a banquet and I come to a rally; this doesn’t look like China.” One student predicted, “I’m worried that one day we won’t be able to hold demonstrations like this again.”
Jiang Zemin also anticipated trends in his official speech. He promised to keep the scheme negotiated with London, but warned against the impossibility of Hong Kong becoming, in the government’s view, a “base of subversion”.
The melancholy and apprehension displayed by opponents of the communist regime contrasted with the euphoria and nationalism fueled by Beijing. As I boarded the subway, at the end of the protest led by Martin Lee, a pro-democracy leader, I saw several passengers waving paper flags from China. “It’s a moment of glory for us, the end of an era of injustice,” I heard from one of them.
From the glass walls of one of Hong Kong’s hotels, I watched another Beijing propaganda effort. An impressive pyrotechnic show, an ancient Chinese tradition, lit up the sky over Victoria harbor, a region that had previously received an audience of around 10,000 people for dance shows and musical performances.
Prince Charles and Farewell Governor Chris Patten attended the multicultural festival in heavy rain. The apparition underscored real efforts to try to minimize the feeling of languor in the face of the Communist Party’s advance.
In those days of historic effervescence, I followed Patten on a tour with then-Prime Minister Tony Blair through Pacific Place, at the time the most sophisticated shopping center in Hong Kong. British leaders distributed smiles and handshakes to Chinese and foreigners, crowds vying for spaces in the shopping center aisles.
The scenario of affluence and consumerism helped to dispel doubts about the economic future of the former colony. But concerns about the direction of their autonomy and democracy were already simmering.
