On Coastal Defense

As residents of a plucky little colony/administrative region, Hong Kongers do not have much to show for "military prowess," needing to latch onto the martial patriotism of the larger, more powerful nation-states of which their city has always been a part. Recent sentiments of independence aside, the SAR has always been either geo-politically British or Chinese. For instance, the South China Sea dispute has been covered objectively by the Hong Kong press, but if push came to shove, Hong Kongers would probably side with China's claim, just as Taiwanese government did. This highlights the peculiar position the PRC and its wayward "provinces" are in: Each seem proud to be Chinese, just not according to the same historical and political point-of-view. In Hong Kong's case, its colonial legacy further complicates its modern political and ethnic identity, as there will always be something distinctly "British" about the place.

The Museum of Coastal Defense is a wonderful example of this. Tucked away in the eastern corner of the Island, this lonely museum rests atop an old British fort that once defended the entrance to Victoria Harbor. It's a wonderfully-designed museum in a hilly campus which includes a number of vehicles, recovered artillery pieces and the excavated magazines of the original batteries. The main building itself is built upon the original fort, letting you walk around the original fortifications.

Perhaps most pertinent to Hong Kong's complicated national history are the exhibits of the sovereign empires and nations that have been responsible for its protection. The Ming and Qing displays were closed, but I expected these would have discussed Chinese naval power in southern Guangdong prior to Hong Kong's founding. Much of the museum is obviously dedicated to the colonial period, highlighting the difficult conditions endured by the British troops stationed there. Discomfort, disease, and mortality were startlingly high for a garrison that didn't do all that much until they had the stuffing kicked out of them by the Japanese in 1941, shortly after Pearl Harbor. The fort's guns were already obsolete by the time they were needed, though this is an irony common to warfare (Maginot Line, anyone?).

The final little exhibit is the obligatory shout-out to the People's Liberation Army garrison stationed in the city, focusing on the peaceful transition of power in 1997. Surprising, this display is tucked away in a little corner of the museum. While this is probably because the PLA and PLA Navy haven't had the chance to prove their gallantry, unlike the British in their malarial conditions, it's still a testament to just how much Hong Kong owes the British for its historical legacy and territorial contours, an inconvenient truth for those trying to make the former colony more Chinese. Had the museum been more centrally-located and more frequently-visited, I would expect the Chinese angle to more played up. However the museum's Ming and Qing exhibits are already a bit of a stretch in an attempt to reclaim HK for the China, given that these dynasties were sovereign over the area at time when Hong Kong did not actually exist. Instead Kowloon peninsula was governed by a few rural clans.  Despite any embarrassment it may cause (perhaps valid given the "unequal treaties"), the museum is a repository of the SAR's colonial history, leading to the question of how Hong Kongers can embrace their Chinese future without forgetting their non-Chinese past.

A Day At the Races

Hong Kong likes to race things, which contrasts it a bit with "Greater China," which seems more inclined toward team athletics (though every millennial Han male, wherever he is, seems predisposed toward basketball). Of particular note are the horse races, whose importance may have to do with the former colony's propensity toward British things as will as the popularity of gambling in the Pearl River Delta region (see also "Macau"). Whenever I ride the MTR on Wednesdays or Sundays I see many middle-aged males reading the horse profiles or whatever you call them on their way to the Shatin or Happy Valley racecourses, or alternately, one of the off-track betting branches of the Hong Kong Jockey Club. The HKJC is one the biggest and oldest institutions in the SAR, having taken a great deal of other peoples' money over the past century to fund important public services, such as my  cheap dormitory.

However, one thing that HK shares with the rest of the Chinese world is Dragon Boat racing, the sporting-cum-cultural event that takes place on whatever day of the Chinese calendar the Dragon Boat (duan wu) festival happens to take place, usually around the summer solstice. According to legend, the festival begin when the famous minister Qu Yuan was so depressed by the political situation in ancient China that he committed suicide (as classical bureaucrats and philosophers are wont to do, along with writing poetry). The local townsfolk were so distraught by this that they raced boats out to retrieve his drowned body.

This somber origin seems largely ignored in favor of the competitive races that pit political bodies and businesses against each other for bragging rights. It's not very different than rowing, except each person has only one paddle and the luckiest team member (in my view) gets to pace the whole effort by pounding on a giant drum. Each boat is also decorated with a dragon head and tail. There are three classes of boat (small, medium, and large), but the biggest boats are the most fun, the combined intensity of the rowers, drummers, and helmsmen evoking a Viking war party, or its hypothetical Asian equivalent.

Though Shatin district has its own races, a friend invited me to out to Tuen Mun, way out in the western corner of the SAR, to see theirs. Lining the town's harbor were freighters and junks displaying vibrant red and yellow flags and, presumably, the names of the various corporate entities and public utilities sponsoring each boating team. I was lucky enough to get into the staging area where most of the teams prepared, hydrated and rested. Each group had a tent as well as access to a cohort of young men that risked tetanus infections while swimming out to secure and retrieve their boats. The more well-funded teams and their posses had their own ships in the harbor from which to shove off. I was told to dislike them.

Unfortunately the team my friend and I cheered for did not make the finals, outclassed by EVIL SEAFOOD CONGLOMERATE and their crew of highly-paid and possibly steroidal jocks. It was comforting to find out even those sports with ancient cultural significance are dominated by money and shady tactics.