Hong Kong Bureaucrat May Be Vital to Smooth Chinese Takeover

Anson Chan is a woman of firsts.

As Hong Kong’s chief secretary, she is the first Chinese and the first woman to hold the territory’s top civil service job. Polls show that, if the people of Hong Kong had their way, she would add to her record by becoming the territory’s first chief executive after it reverts from British to Chinese rule next year.

But Hong Kong’s next leader will be selected, not elected, and the chances that a China-appointed panel would choose a British-trained bureaucrat to lead the territory into the Chinese era are slim.

Chan, however, has proved to be as much a political acrobat as a savvy bureaucrat, able to walk the line that divides Britain and China while balancing the interests of both.

At a time when relations between China and Britain are so frosty that Chinese leaders refuse even to shake the hand of Hong Kong’s current governor, Chris Patten, Chan is a vital bridge between the two sides. On her home turf, she speaks about protecting Hong Kong’s freedoms in the poshest of British accents, but on visits to Beijing she banters with top officials in their hometown dialects.

In her 34-year government career, Chan has gleaned an inside-out knowledge of how Hong Kong operates, won the support of those who work with her and established her credibility with the territory’s people. Those strengths could make her an attractive choice for China.

Although Beijing has given no indication yet of whom it is looking for--in fact, it hasn’t even formed the committee to select a chief executive--handicappers are already narrowing the field.

So far, most of the names being bandied about are those of business leaders. But pundits discount other contenders as “yes men” and “self-interested tycoons.” Chan’s selection, many agree, would boost Hong Kong’s sagging confidence in the hand-over.

And in a land where family background matters, her illustrious relatives--grandfather Fang Zhenwu is famed for fighting the Japanese and her physician uncle once tended China’s top leader, Deng Xiaoping--could help her bid to lead Hong Kong’s next government.

The problem, in China’s eyes, is that a lifetime spent serving the British crown may have tainted her too deeply to become an agent for China, which demands absolute loyalty. After her crucial stint bridging the gap between Hong Kong and China, come 1997, Chan is in danger of falling through the cracks.

The irony is not lost on her supporters. “By so openly risking their own personal interests, Mrs. Chan and her colleagues have demonstrated that they would be the best people” to run post-1997 Hong Kong, said an editorial in the territory’s largest English-language newspaper, the South China Morning Post. “Yet by being so outspoken, they have probably ensured that they will never get the chance to do so.”

Anson Chan Fang On-sang, though, is used to waging discreet battles--and winning. Her family fled from Shanghai to Hong Kong in 1948, during China’s civil war. Her father died two years later, leaving her mother to raise eight children--including Anson and her twin, Ninson.

Chan joined the Hong Kong government in 1962 at a time when local women were rare in the old-boy colonial bureaucracy and were paid a comparative pittance. She led a small union of women in a campaign to win equal pay, not through confrontation or media attention but with a charm offensive, delivering a subtle message to bosses with each cup of tea and every freshly typed report.

“We set ourselves a target of five years,” says colleague Shelley Lau. “And we did it in three.”

Years later, Chan may find that the same tactics--discreet negotiation rather than overt confrontation--may work as well with Beijing as with the old-boy bureaucrats.

Although Chan’s frequent and pointed warnings against China’s premature interference in the territory lessen her chances of winning Beijing’s favor, her broad backing gives her leverage in dealing with the powers that be. Chan has made clear that, if the post-1997 regime turns out to be a “puppet government,” she will resign and take “her” civil servants with her.

In short, China needs her to bolster Hong Kong’s confidence during a rocky hand-over--if not to reign as chief executive then at least to remain as chief secretary. And Chan, 56, whose iron will and political ambition are not immediately apparent, knows it.

During a recent trip to Beijing, she presented the top official for Hong Kong, Lu Ping, with a painting by her mother, a famous artist. The canvas showed a tiny fleet of boats under a red sunset, overshadowed by dark, looming cliffs. The title reminded leaders of what she has to offer: “A Smooth Transition.”

In the meantime, Chan is quietly showing she can be trusted to bring that smooth transition about, downplaying her colonial past and emphasizing her Chinese side. At her peak-top villa, Victoria House, she talks of her interest in Chinese calligraphy in an airy room filled with Ming Dynasty antiques, art and sculpture by mainland artists. There is no portrait of the queen.

(After years of working beneath Queen Elizabeth II’s royal visage, Chan may be gratified to know that, in a Times of London poll, she has been deemed the sixth-most-powerful woman in the world, falling three places after Her Majesty and one before Oprah Winfrey.)

Although Queen Elizabeth granted her a title in 1992--the commander of the most excellent order of the British Empire--Chan has yet to accept the even more prestigious title--in her case, Dame--that routinely comes with the chief secretary post. These days, such royal recognition may be more a liability than an honor.

Chan finesses the loyalty question by saying that, first and foremost, her allegiance is to Hong Kong. But, as she told the South China Morning Post: “I am Chinese through and through. I never regarded myself as British.”

China’s leaders have left the door open to Chan to prove it. Officials from her ancestral village in Anhui province invited her back for a tour and a ceremony honoring her grandfather--a Nationalist general who reputedly fired the first shots against invading Japanese forces. He switched to the Communists’ side just before their victory in 1949 and is revered as a patriot.

During Chan’s visit, China Central Television aired a six-part television series about the general’s exploits. The elaborate celebration had a distinct subtext: Cross over, Anson. Come back to the motherland.

Before Hong Kong itself returns to the motherland on June 30, 1997, a Beijing-appointed committee will name the chief executive--likely before the end of this year. Until then, Chan is watching her step, and her handlers are so wary of her outspoken ways that they deflect nearly all interview requests.

In off-the-record chats, Chan is frank and pointed about Hong Kong’s future and her potential role in it. On the record, the chief secretary reverts to the blandly correct responses of a bureaucrat when asked if she truly wants the dubious prize of seeing the territory through the potentially turbulent 1997 transition.

“It’s very difficult. Many things must be balanced,” she begins, though her smile makes it clear she wants to be the one to do it.

During a North American public relations sweep this month, Chan will face American curiosity about how Hong Kong will protect the democratic institutions that Beijing declares it will dismantle. Her comments may displease business leaders, or China, or the people of Hong Kong, or all of them.

It’s a balancing act that may be impossible to maintain, and in a recent speech, she used Abraham Lincoln’s words to acknowledge as much: “I am not bound to win,” she said, “but I am bound to be true.”