A Gay-Pride Revolution in Hong Kong

Deena Guzder and Ann Binlot / Hong Kong
NEWSWEEK
Sunday, Dec. 14, 2008

There were no drag queens in sexy ensembles with heavy makeup strutting down the streets in platform heels or buff shirtless sailor boys splayed like starfish on moving floats. But Hong Kong's first official gay-pride parade Saturday was still a colorful gathering; in fact, for a country that rarely acknowledges homosexuality, let alone celebrates it, it was downright revolutionary.

For a few hours, a city that usually seems immune to surprises watched in awe as approximately 1,000 paradegoers stopped traffic, filled the streets and spread their message to "celebrate love." A rainbow-colored dragon bobbed over the heads of carefully coiffed men donning dainty dresses and dancing to "Celebrate Pride," which warbled through a loudspeaker in the center of the city. Men with fiery red-feathered tiaras chanted, "Pride parade! Pride parade! Pride parade!" in Cantonese and English while marching through Hong Kong's congested Hennessy Road waving multicolored pride flags. (See TIME's top 10 pictures of 2008.)

Although Hong Kong has held several small demonstrations against homophobia, this was the first parade solely dedicated to celebrating queer identity. "We came out today to show the world that people in the queer community are normal people too," said Ariel Wong, a 21-year-old student at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University who wore a rainbow Afro wig and distributed stickers with pink hearts on them. The parade was co-organized by Rainbow of Hong Kong, Midnight Blue, Social Movement Resource Centre and the Women Coalition, with support from groups working on myriad issues, including civil rights, HIV/AIDS education and transgender awareness. It represented progress for China's gay community, marking the first large-scale event of its kind in any major Chinese city (only Taipei has hosted similar events). Antonio Licon, a Web designer for Hong Kong Magazine who grew up in Hawaii, said, "I think socially there are a lot of pressures in Hong Kong to conform to expectations and not disappoint parents."

People emerged from shops and restaurants to witness the historic event. While some spectators cheered in support, most looked confused and bewildered. "I never thought I would see this in Hong Kong," said Kevin Li, a salesman who nevertheless believes the younger generation is less homophobic than the older one. "Our society has different values than the West regarding sex because we are more traditional and more Chinese."

Yet it was Victorian colonial laws, not conservative Chinese attitudes, which first criminalized homosexuality. In 1901 British colonial laws threatened homosexuals with life imprisonment for anal intercourse and up to two years imprisonment for any so-called indecent acts involving two men, even if the acts occurred in the privacy of their home. In 1980, after an inspector of the Royal Hong Kong Police Force committed suicide as a group of officers were about to arrest him on suspicion of having engaged in homosexual activities, a debate sparked on legalizing homosexuality. Finally in 1991, after more than a decade of discussion, it was decriminalized.

But even if homosexuality is no longer a crime in Hong Kong, a stigma remains, as do discriminatory statutes with double standards. In 2005, Hong Kong–based civil rights attorney Michael Vidler successfully challenged a law that set the legal age of consent 21 for homosexuals (the age of consent for heterosexuals was 16), with a punishment of up to life in prison for violators. The law was ruled unconstitutional, but it has not been formally repealed.

"There are still archaic ideas of homosexuality as a form of gross indecency," said Vidler, who said he has seen cases of discrimination against homosexuals in the work force and housing market. "Hong Kong says it's a world city, but [it] has protocols in place that show it is still a backward country in regard to homosexuals' rights." Hong Kong lacks any non-discriminatory ordinance, and many locals still regard homosexuality with unease. Eric Herrera, a member of a white-collar gay-rights group called Fruits in Suits, which helped organize the parade, said, "I have no problem walking down the streets arm in arm with my partner of 21 years, but it makes many people very uncomfortable."

Many of the parade participants came from mainland China and Hong Kong's large expatriate community. "I've lived in China for a long time, and I've never marched in a gay-pride parade, so I always had my sister march in Chicago on my behalf," said Scott Wilson, who works in Wanzhou province. Amnesty International's LGBT coordinator in Hong Kong, Medeleine Mok, said, "In mainland China, it's impossible to have a gay-pride march, so this is a very important day that has attracted many people to Hong Kong."

The parade emphasized celebrating diversity and equality but also aired grievances with the Chinese government. Gun Lu of Beijing held a sign protesting censorship of movies and television shows that deal openly with homosexuality. In January 2007, the Broadcasting Authority issued a warning to producers of a show called Gay Lovers for presenting a "pro-gay" view. In March, Hong Kong's legislative council panel unanimously passed a motion demanding that the Broadcasting Authority withdraw its earlier ruling. "Non-heterosexuals rarely appear in the media, and when they do, they are portrayed as effeminate, flamboyant, sissies, perverts or AIDS carriers," said Dr. Ching Yau, an associate professor who teaches courses on media and gender studies at Lingnan University.

Such attitudes were reflected in the fact that, though Pride Parade 2008 turned out to be a success in many ways, planning the event was no easy matter. "While organizing the parade, we encountered many obstacles from the government, the police and a bus company," said Wai-Wai Yeo, a member of the Hong Kong Pride 2008 Organizing Committee. The local company Citybus refused to rent a double-decker to organizers of the city's parade because of concerns about its image. "This was a blatant act of discrimination, especially seeing the fact that this is a legal parade and the Hong Kong police have granted a permit," says Betty Grisoni, co-founder of a lesbian-rights organization called Les Peches, which helped organize the parade. A Citybus spokeswoman said on Dec. 11 that it would not discriminate against any party and that it was a commercial decision.

While significantly smaller in comparison to its counterparts in Berlin, New York City and San Francisco, Pride Parade 2008 set a precedent for what may become an annual event. "You have to start small," said Bill Boyle, a retiree who lives in Hong Kong and Toronto, as he watched the parade. "You want to educate the general population, not only to your presence, but also to the fact that you are just like them. You have the same right to fall in love like everyone else has and you need to have the same legal rights, and those legal rights are not here yet for people who are gay."

Why China Is Too Scared to Spend

Boosting consumption is key to economic recovery. But that will take fixing a disastrous health system.
Mary Hennock
NEWSWEEK
Dec 22, 2008
http://www.newsweek.com/id/174524

This month marks the 30th anniversary of Deng Xiaoping's economic reforms in China. But rather than celebrating, officials are in a panic. The global economic crisis has rammed home the message that China's old export-driven development model won't work forever; last month exports were down for the first time since February 2002, and overall GDP growth has dropped from nearly 12 percent last year to a projected 8 percent in 2009. Economists and party leaders now agree: the only way to keep China humming is to boost domestic consumption. That means getting Chinese people spending. But there's a problem. China's social-security network is broken, badly, and nowhere are the problems worse than in health care. A serious illness can still wipe out a family's savings. As long as that's the case, ordinary citizens will keep sticking large chunks of their income under their mattresses. And while that lasts, consumer demand will lag.

It's not that China doesn't have the money. Just the opposite: Chinese householders currently sit on savings worth $3 trillion, thanks to a savings rate of more than 25 percent, or about 16 percent of GDP—which is higher than all OECD countries, according to the World Bank. In theory, that cash could help China out of its conundrum. "We have a large domestic market. Savings are high, economic reserves are high," Vice Commerce Minister Yi Xiaozhun told a nervous gathering of elite Chinese entrepreneurs on a recent weekend. The government has already tried to allay fears with a stimulus package worth $586 billion, which Beijing will use to counter the effects of factory closures. But it plans to do this largely through infrastructure spending. According to the cabinet-level National Development and Reform Commission (NDRC), some 45 percent of the package will go to projects such as new railways, ports and power stations. Meanwhile, only one percent of the total stimulus spending is pegged for health care, culture and education.

A growing pool of experts argue that that represents a missed opportunity and is unlikely to help China long-term. Huang Ming, a Cornell professor who teaches at Beijing's Cheung Kong Graduate School of Business, sums up a widely held view when he says, "It's in the interest of the government to develop the social safety net fast. It will stimulate consumption. [Chinese] save because they are frightened of getting sick." The costs of illness can be ruinous. A better health-care system would unleash domestic spending and thereby boost employment, especially in retail and services. It could even offset the social unrest Chinese leaders fear will come with slower growth. "If you have nationwide health care, people are less likely to go on the street," says Huang.

Yet tackling China's vast medical crisis is daunting. Even President Hu Jintao acknowledged in 2006 that "medical-service fairness is declining and medical fees are too high for most people to afford." He called for faster development of rural services, a network of city clinics, timely treatment and safe drugs at affordable prices.

But progress has been glacial, centered on pilot studies and exercises more visible to experts than the public. In October 2008, the NDRC issued a road map for reforms. But the document was vague and said little beyond confirming that health-care reform is "an urgent expectation of the majority of Chinese people."

That's putting it mildly. While the 30 years since Deng's reforms have brought scorching growth, in terms of health care China has moved backward. Hu Shanlian, a health economist who has been advising the Chinese government for 17 years, says there's been "great change since the 1960s," when there was "quite a good network for farmers to seek health care," including a broad system of "barefoot doctors" in village clinics as well as decent and affordable hospitals in towns. In the 1980s, this system collapsed when market reforms did away with the communes that funded such facilities. Something similar happened in cities, as state enterprises were privatized or laid off workers, cutting them off from the work-unit-based welfare net. In 1980 only one fifth of health-care costs were paid out of patients' own pockets, but by 2005 that had risen to more than half.

When the Mao-era system was dismantled, barefoot doctors disappeared and Chinese medicine became city- and hospital-based. Hospitals were permitted to charge for tests and drug prescriptions, and the more costly the procedure, the higher the revenue for both hospitals and doctors. The result has been "overprescription and overutilization of services," says Dr. Sarah Barber, who heads the World Health Organization's Health Policy and Systems team in Beijing.

With only a patchy network of primary-care clinics left, patients these days struggle to find the right doctor or diagnosis since they can rarely afford to visit many hospitals.

Hospitals charge fees way beyond the reach of ordinary Chinese. The problem is illustrated by the case of Liu Jiangtao, a 25-year-old party member who fell sick with leukemia in mid-2007. Liu currently lies in Beijing's No. 307 military hospital, where he's been trying to persuade TV and radio stations to help him raise the $58,000 he needs for a bone-marrow transplant. That sum is the equivalent of 40,000 times the annual income of his parents, who grow wheat and flax on the salty margins of the Yellow River. Liu was originally hospitalized in Shandong's Dongying City, but after eight months of ineffectual chemotherapy, his parents in May asked relatives for money to move him to Beijing. "Now most of my relatives don't want to communicate with us," says Liu. Meanwhile, delay in treatment has eroded his chances of survival.

Liu's plight points to another basic problem: the lack of adequate health insurance in China, a supreme irony for a country that's still officially communist (indeed, many capitalist countries in the West provide more comprehensive care for free). Liu has insurance, but it's China's most basic program, the Rural Cooperative Medical Scheme (RCMS). The RCMS was rolled out in the last four years. It costs participants as little as $3 a year and has been extended to 90 percent of China's farmers in record time. But the system is badly flawed. For one thing, it's a pay-first, claim-later setup, which doesn't do much good to patients like Liu who can't come up with huge fees in the first place. For another, most claimants get back only 20 to 30 percent of their costs. Many of China's poorest, sickest or least-educated citizens find the RCMS baffling and can't manage to jump through its procedural hoops.

Employer-based schemes have similar problems. Benefits aren't portable geographically so they don't help China's massive migrant population, and workers who lose their jobs can't take their contributions with them. Among city dwellers, health insurance coverage levels dropped from 45 percent of the long-term, settled population in 1998 to 39 percent in 2003. To tackle this, the government consolidated numerous employment-based deals into a single package better suited to job mobility. It then plugged a key gap for migrants with a new safety-net scheme that covers both urban and rural poor. Yet the overall health-insurance system remains so badly designed that simply adding money, as the government is doing, will solve little. Extra insurance funds simply tend to be soaked up by profit-hungry hospitals.

Still, the government is trying. Total government health spending increased from $143 billion in 2006 to an estimated $219 billion in 2007, according to Hu, the economist. And Hu and Barber say that the government is rolling out multiple new pilot schemes, experimenting with fixing drug prices, drawing up a national recommended drug-purchase list and passing price-label laws to prevent rip-offs. Village medics (of whom China has far too few) are to get guaranteed basic salaries in five poor provinces to stop them from relying on prescribing. Perhaps the most promising experiment is taking place in Chongqing, where rural and urban insurance pools are being combined to create portable, individual insurance, something China's lacked until now.

So far the government has avoided fanfare; it seems to want to avoid any big announcements and to build on the results if they turn out to be positive. That's good research practice, says Barber. "In health systems it's not one fix, so you look at your system and adjust; the key is to monitor what's happening," she says.

Yet this approach may not be politically decisive enough for these troubled times. "What China really needs is structural transformation," says Michael Shen Minggao, a former investment banker who is now chief economist with the highly regarded Caijing magazine. Without it, he argues, the Chinese economy may still manage to grow at 8 percent or more next year, but consumption won't budge. And that spells trouble long-term. Until Chinese start buying, their country's economic prospects over the next 30 years may fall far short of the world-beating growth they've enjoyed for the last 30.