Understanding the Construction of Emotions in Time and Space: the Dynamics of Political Activism in Hong Kong, 2003-2014

Understanding the Construction of Emotions in Time and Space: The Dynamics of Political Activism in Hong Kong, 2003-2014

A thesis submitted to The University of Manchester for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2019

Yun Tong Tang School of Social Sciences

Contents

Abstract 6 Declaration 7 Copyright Statement 8 Acknowledgements 9

Acronyms and Abbreviations 10 Introduction 11

Chapter 1: Emotions and the Study of Political Activism in Hong Kong 19 I. Emotions and Social Movements: Two Repressed Areas of Study 19 II. Evolution of the Field and the Place of Emotions 21 (i) A Stable Society without Activism 22 (ii) Activism as Part of Normal Politics 26 (iii) What’s Missing: Emotions and A Multi-level and Multi-timescale Analysis 31 III. Studying Emotions: Six Problems to be Tackled 35

Chapter 2: Understanding Emotions in Social Movements: A Strategic 41 Temporal-Spatial Approach I. Two Missteps of Social Movement Theories 41 (i) Emotions without Socio-Cultural Processes 41 (ii) Socio-Cultural Processes without Emotions 43 II. Disentangling Emotions and their Socio-cultural Processes and Impacts 45 (i) Two Approaches to Emotions 45 (ii) The Emotional Management Theory 47 (iii) The Application of the Constructivist Lens 49 (iv) Three Central Problems of the Emotional Management Theory 53 (v) Three Deficient Correctives 56 III. A Strategic Temporal-Spatial Approach to Emotions 60 (i) Defining Arena in Spatial Terms 61 (ii) Defining Arena in Temporal Terms 65 (iii) Players: Acting along Time and Space 69 IV. Players and Arenas in Hong Kong 72 V. Recapitulation: The Dynamic Construction of Emotions in Time and Space 74

Chapter 3: Methods for Studying Emotions and Time-space 76 I. Case Studies of Political Activism of Hong Kong 76 (i) “Social Movements” and Case Study 76 (ii) The Selected Period and Cases 78 (iii) Sources of Textual Data 83 II. The Study of Emotions and Time-space through Discourses and Interviews 86 (i) Discourses, Emotions, and Time-space 87 (ii) The Theoretical Underpinnings of Critical Discourse Analysis 89 (iii) The Application of CDA in Deciphering Emotional Experiences, Feeling 91

Rules and Time-space (iv) Understanding Self-reported Emotional Experiences through Interviews 96 III. Ethical Issues 99 IV. Conclusion 101

Chapter 4: Contesting the Global Capitalist Time and Space: The Cases of 102 Two Piers and a Railway I. Regional Mediation of Global Capitalism I: The Campaign to Preserve the Star 103 Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier (i) Local Activism under an East Asian Temporal-Spatial Order 103 (ii) Global City: The Making of a Capitalist Space 107 (iii) Initial Emotional Resistance to Reclaim Space and Time 109 (iv) The Government’s Emotional Strategy 112 (v) Blunders, Agency, and Direct Action 114 (vi) Remaking the Spatial Order 116 (vii) Remaking the Temporal Order 120 (viii) Implications of the Campaign 122 II. Regional Mediation of Global Capitalism II: The Anti-XRL Campaign 124 (i) A New Temporal and Spatial Order in China and the Express Rail Link 124 (ii) Local Emotional Strategies in Promoting the XRL 128 (iii) Emotional Resistance to Reclaim Space and Time 131 (iv) Contingency, Moral Shock, and Mass Anger 134 (v) Redefining Time, Political Identity, and Emotions for Activism 136 (vi) Redefining Space and Emotions for Activism 139 (vii) Conflicts over Time-space and Emotions within Civil Society 142 (viii) Implications of the Campaign 145 III. Conclusion 147

Chapter 5: Challenging the Post-colonial Temporal Order: The Protest 149 against National Education I. The Post-colonial Temporal Order and its Implications for Emotions 150 (i) Winning Hearts and Minds in Post-handover Hong Kong 150 (ii) Ethnic Patriotism: Blood is Thicker than Water 153 (iii) Interest-based Patriotism 155 II. The National Temporal Order and its Conflicts with the Global Temporality 158 (i) Two Discourses of Modernization 158 (ii) Contention over Time and Emotions in the Local Society 163 III. The Anti-MNE Campaign: Contesting the National Temporality and Feeling 169 Rule (i) Blunders, Moral Shock, and Negative Emotions 169 (ii) Emotional Mobilization I: The Moral Force of Biological Time 173 (iii) Emotional Mobilization II: Tactical Innovation through Space and 176 Symbolism IV. After Victory 179 (i) Conflicts over Temporal-spatial Orientations within Civil Society 179 (ii) A Shifting Dominance of Emotions in the Political Sphere 181

V. Conclusion 183

Chapter 6: Challenging the Post-colonial Spatial Order: The Umbrella 186 Movement I. The Prequel of the Umbrella Movement 187 (i) The 2012 Political Reform and the 5-district de facto Referendum 187 (ii) The 2017 Political Reform and Occupy Central: An Emotional and 192 Temporal-Spatial Consequence of Stagnant Democratization II. A Post-colonial Spatial Order and its Implications on Local Activism 196 (i) A New National Spatial Order Constructed in the late 2000s 197 (ii) Intensified Conflict over the National Spatial Order since 2010 199 (iii) Regional Mediation of the National-Global Conflict 204 III. The Umbrella Movement: An Embattled Campaign with Countless Conflicts 209 over Time, Space, and Emotions (i) From OCLP to the Umbrella Movement: The Mutual Production of Space 209 and Emotions (ii) Conflicts over Temporal-spatial Orientations in Civil Society 214 a. How Emotions Mattered 214 b. How Time Mattered 218 c. How Space Mattered 222 IV. Conclusion 229

Chapter 7: Conclusion: Putting Social Movements and Emotions in Time 232 and Space I. The Making of Emotions and Social Movements in Time and Space 232 II. Political Activism in Hong Kong, 2003-2014 240 III. The Present State of Political Activism in Hong Kong 247

Appendix: Profile of the Interviewees 249 References 251

List of Tables: Table 3.1 An overview of the four case studies 83 Table 4.1 Performance of the Hong Kong Economy from 1997 to 2004 105 Table 4.2 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings 124 in the campaign protecting the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier Table 4.3 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings 147 in the Anti-XRL campaign Table 5.1 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings 185 in the Anti-MNE campaign Table 6.1 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings 208 before the Umbrella Movement Table 6.2 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings 228 at the early stage of the Umbrella Movement

Table 6.3 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings 229 at the mid- and final stage of the Umbrella Movement Table 7.1 A comparison of the four case studies 243

Word Count: 87,935

Abstract

Recent studies of social movements in Hong Kong have shown increasing interest in emotions. However, they have yet to move beyond a movement-centric or an organization- based analysis, a problem persistent in the extant literature of Hong Kong political studies where a temporal lens to trace the evolvement of social movements over time and a spatial sensitivity to put local grievances and struggles in political spaces at different scalar levels are lacking.

This thesis investigates the processual factors shaping socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong by examining the construction of emotions in time and space. It studies four major campaigns taking place between 2003 and 2014 with an original data set comprising textual data and interview data. A novel theoretical framework—the strategic temporal- spatial approach—is developed to assemble three core elements of mobilization: the social construction of emotions, the geography of political actions at multiple scales, and the interplay of social processes at different timescales.

As the analysis unfolds, emotions have been constructed and moulded by the intersections, and sometimes conflicts, among socio-economic, political, cultural, and biographical processes in which multiple political players are involved. Located in political spaces at the local, national, regional, and global levels, these players react and respond to one another, both strategically and emotionally. Thus, the emotions of local players in Hong Kong are often manoeuvred by the Beijing national government who has endeavoured to curb popular mobilizations, influenced by the political economy in the Greater China region and East Asia, and shaped by global events such as the Colour Revolution and the Arab Spring. Emotions fashioned in these processes have played both a direct facilitative role in spurring the rise of political conflicts and an assisting role in discursive claim-makings and spatial actions. From 2003 to 2012, an expanded scope of emotions in expressing grievances towards the state was forged to boost activism. Since 2012, the emotional space has shrunk due to a predomination of anger and frustration.

While some of these findings are specific to contemporary Hong Kong, a number of lessons are useful to the study of social movements more generally. The first is that we need an interactive and dynamic view to understand emotions in political contention. The second is that this interactive perspective has to appreciate multiple temporal processes and spaces at different scales so that the time and space of political actions at both macro- and micro-levels could be better delineated.

Declaration

No portion of the work referred to in the thesis has been submitted in support of an application for another degree or qualification of this or any other university or other institute of learning.

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Acknowledgements

I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my supervisors, Dr. Kevin Gillan and Dr. Peter McMylor, for their guidance towards the completion of this thesis. I would like to give extra thanks to Kevin for the freedom he gave me to try things out and for his patience in spotting every single mistake I made. His advice and reminders are always useful and insightful. This thesis cannot be done without him.

I would also like to thank Dr. Wendy Bottero, Dr. Simin Fadaee, and Dr. Luke Yates for their helpful comments in the annual review meetings.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank once again all the interviewees for participating in this research and for giving me lots of inspirations about Hong Kong society.

I would also like to thank all those who had given me a hand at different stages of this journey, including Prof. Ng Mee-kam, Prof. Agnes Ku, Prof. Sing Ming, Nam, Lam, Ka Ling, Ross Cheung, Alan Tse, Alan To, Anderson Ko, Kenneth Ng, Kenny Leung, Yan, Carrie Shum, Priscilla Kam, Chris Cheng, Oi Shuen, and my brother Sam Tang.

Acronyms and Abbreviations

ASPDM Hong Kong Alliance in Support for Patriotic Democratic Movements in China AUS Alliance of Universal Suffrage CCP Chinese Communist Party CE Chief Executive CEPA Closer Economic Partnership Arrangement CDA Critical Discourse Analysis CRIII Central Reclamation Phase III CSSTA Cross-Strait Service Trade Agreement CYV Choi Yuen Village D-Day Deliberation Day DP Democratic Party ECFA Economic Cooperation Framework Agreement FC Functional Constituency HKFS Hong Kong Federation of Students HKSAR Hong Kong Special Administrative Region LegCo Legislative Council LOCPG Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government MNE Moral and National Education MTR Mass Transit Railway NDRC National Development and Reform Commission NPC National People’s Congress NPCSC Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress OCLP Occupy Central with Love and Peace PRD Pearl River Delta SCMP South China Morning Post URA Urban Renewal Authority WTO World Trade Organization XRL Express Rail Link YRD Yangtze River Delta

Introduction

Hong Kong, a semi-autonomous city under China’s sovereignty, has always been a conflict-ridden city. Located at the southern edge of China, Hong Kong was ceded to Britain following China’s military defeat in two Opium Wars. While Britain acquired the Hong Kong Island and the Kowloon Peninsula in 1843 and 1860 respectively, it also secured the New Territories, a rural hinterland, in 1898 to act as the buffer zone between China and Hong Kong through a 99-year lease. During the 150 years of British rule, socio-political conflicts erupted again and again in this small colony. Before the late 1960s, the main types of mobilizations were labour movements and ideological conflicts between the local Communists and rightist Kuomintang supporters. With the locally-born post-war baby boomer gradually grew as a political force, myriad kinds of bottom-up mobilizations flourished from the late 1960s to the 1970s, targeting local issues such as the official status of Chinese language, housing, anti-corruption, social welfare, and gender equality. A nascent social movement industry was thus able to form in the city, which provided energy to, and received further impetus from, the pro-democracy movement in the 1980s. Although social mobilizations had entered a relatively dormant period after the reverting of Hong Kong’s sovereignty to China in 1997, the abeyance of openly erupted conflicts was only temporary. Waves of mobilization exploded fervently again after a large-scale protest in 2003. While the matter of democratization continued to be the main agenda in civil society, the bone of contention has been broadened to include post-materialist concerns such as urban space, heritage protection, local identity, environmental protection, and many others. A remarkable period of state-society conflicts was witnessed between 2003 and 2014, offering a fascinating opportunity for scholars of Hong Kong politics to study not only state-society relation in a city that had gone through decolonization without independence (Lau, 1993) but also a host of interesting social, cultural, and political dynamics revolving around social movements. Understanding the dynamics of social movements is a challenging task. Hitherto, local academics have echoed the evolvement of social movement theories in the West and put heavy emphasis on political structure, political values, social movement organizations and political parties, and so on. Yet a micro-factor has long been understudied: emotions.

While emotion has grown as a hot topic of social scientific research in the West, it had not received a similar level of attention from local academics until the massive Umbrella Movement in 2014. Even when it comes to discussing emotions, the existing literature has only explained socio-political mobilizations with reference to fear. The focus on fear, as I will elaborate in my critique of the current literature in Chapter 1, is far too narrow. There is a desperate need to identify the range of emotions mobilized in the local society and the ways emotions are evoked, constructed, and managed in challenging or defending the socio-political order during periods of contention. Taking emotions as the central problematique, this thesis examines the emotional dynamics occurring in social movements in Hong Kong between 2003 and 2014. Through this, I aim to provide a thorough account of the micro-foundations of social movements and delineate the space of emotions that shapes what, how, and how much one can feel and that influences the rise and fall of social movements. This thesis also strives to respond to several theoretical challenges about emotions. For a long time, emotions have been described as an aspect of individual psychological state locating in a static body which is insensitive to spatial differentiation and temporal change. This view has been corrected in recent years. As Ahmed (2004) reminds us, instead of residing in a private individual body, emotions always circulate between bodies and signs. This means emotions are always a social product being created and re-created in social interactions. This thesis takes the discussion one step further by examining how emotions are evoked and constructed through manifold social processes taking place in various geographical contexts and at different spatial scales. It also analyzes how social movements act as an agent of social change at multiple spatial levels and various historical junctures through producing emotions and/or conducting emotionally-driven actions. By scrutinizing the role of space and time, this thesis unpacks how emotions are constructed and how emotions really matter in socio-political conflicts in a fuller sense. As I will further argue in Chapter 2, this temporal-spatial perspective to emotions would be beneficial to our broader understanding of social movements. Recent social movement theories have been moving towards the concern of micro-level dynamics. Although more nuances of mobilization are unraveled, few analyses have integrated emotions with strategic interaction and paid attention to multiple geographical contexts and

12 overlapping social processes where movement dynamics occur. Starting with possibly the most fine-grained level of movement analysis, this thesis endeavours to show that even emotions are neither personal nor local. Rather, emotions are produced, and exert their impact, through manifold processes in the political, economic, and cultural domains and these processes intertwine at the local, national, regional, and global levels simultaneously. A strategic temporal-spatial approach is developed in this thesis to capture the complicated micro-macro interactions behind social movements. As I will show, this multi-layered understanding of strategy and emotions will lead us to move beyond a movement-centric and territory-bounded analysis of social movements and a static analysis that is indifferent to temporal change. To take up these empirical and theoretical challenges, this thesis examines four key episodes of contention in Hong Kong occurring between 2003 and 2014. It tries to respond to the broader question developed in the local academic literature: “How, and under what conditions, is political mobilization shaped in Hong Kong?” Following an assessment of that literature in Chapter 1 and theoretical development in social movement scholarship in Chapter 2, this thesis addresses the question by analyzing the construction of emotions and the shaping of emotional experiences in social movements and explaining how emotions are fashioned in various geographical contexts and how they are moulded through a wide array of social processes. Four specific research questions are hence set:

1. How do emotions feature in activists and relevant powerholders’ actions and discourses during socio-political mobilizations? 2. How do the production and counter-production of emotions affect the rise and the development of social movements during state-society interactions? 3. What are the key social processes that characterize the period under study and how do they shape the construction of emotions and political mobilizations over time? 4. What and where are the key geographical sites of emotions and how are various attempts of constructing emotions shaped by the political and cultural characteristics of these sites?

A novel theoretical framework—the strategic temporal-spatial approach—is developed to tackle these questions. As a response to the call for a dynamic approach to social movements, this thesis sees both activists and state actors, who are subject to a wider emotional and socio-political context, as agents of emotions. So, not only activists’ efforts to fashion subversive emotions but also state actors’ attempts to maintain an emotional culture favourable to its rule are considered. They respond to each other’s strategic moves and emotionally-driven actions and make decisions as emotional actors. What is more, my approach suggests that time and space are key to understanding emotional dynamics. Actions, reactions, and emotions are not occurring in one single, localized place immune to the outer evolving social processes but in different spatialities and scales as well as multiple processes of social change. As the following chapters will show, this approach better explains the social construction of emotions and identifies the essential spatial and temporal factors and processes that characterize local social movements. This analysis also helps discern the intricate dynamics behind social movements and the current condition of Hong Kong politics. This thesis will proceed as follows. After this introduction, Chapter 1 will offer a brief historical background of Hong Kong politics and reviews relevant literature on social movements in Hong Kong over the last four decades or so. Two characteristic failings have been repeated across the existing accounts. Empirically, in analyzing the characteristics and mobilization of local social movements, emotions are very often omitted and slighted. Even when emotions come into the picture, fear has occupied the center stage, leaving other emotions that are constructed and mobilized alongside fear understudied. Methodologically, the prevalence of survey research has made the socio-cultural mechanisms that produce emotions, the multiple actors involved in the process, and the linkage between these actors who are located across political spaces largely invisible. These empirical and methodological problems have made the existing studies unable to capture the thorough emotional dynamics in state-society interactions. A more nuanced account must be made to take various emotions into consideration and explain how they are shaped in different spatial and temporal contexts. This can avoid making the analysis of local social movements movement-centric, static, and insensitive to politics at other spatial levels.

To reconcile the problems being identified, Chapter 2 offers a theoretical framework to understand emotional dynamics in time and space. I argue that major paradigms which had dominated social movement studies at different periods of time have ignored either emotions in general or the socio-cultural processes behind emotions. To grasp the essence of the socio-cultural and political nature of emotions, I draw on Hochschild’s theory of emotional management to understand how emotions are constantly evoked in social life and political contention. Yet I also point out that a major weakness of Hochschild’s theory and the existing accounts of emotional management in social movement studies has been their negligence of the dynamics between activists and state actors in producing emotions for their own political goals. This problem cannot easily be resolved by resorting to recent theories on movement dynamics because they tend to overlook the fact that social movements are often embedded in multiple sites which span across various scaler levels and manifold social processes that evolve in different timescales. A strategic temporal-spatial approach is therefore developed to put the making of emotional experiences in interactive terms on the one hand and account for the spatial and temporal processes underpinning emotional production on the other. The macro socio- political context—or what I will re-term as “spatial order” and “temporal order”—shapes political actions in material, symbolic, and emotional terms. Microscopically, time and space act as the anchors of actions during socio-political conflicts, orienting how people feel and shaping their strategic decision-making and tactical choice. Thus, emotions are part and parcel of strategic interaction operating at both macro- and micro-levels and they produce different sorts of consequences to social change. Analyzing emotions in strategic interaction requires multiple methods. Chapter 3 describes two major methods deployed in this research. Critical discourse analysis is applied to examine how emotions are evoked, represented, and contested through words and languages. It is also a method for us to construe how the discursive construction of emotions is articulated with various conceptions of time and spatial representations. The interview is another method for understanding emotions. Semi-structured interviews are devised to decipher how a person feels during periods of contention, how and why certain emotional rules and norms are created by movement leaders, and how emotions are linked with one’s ideas of time and space during political actions. Through these methods, we can

15 advance our understanding of how the expressive, discursive, and cognitive dimensions of emotions are constructed and contested. In this chapter, I also describe the four cases under study, the rationales for selecting these cases, and the ethical issues related to this research. The empirical analysis is divided into three parts. While all of them contain discussions about political actors’ emotional experiences during conflictual times and in conflictual spaces, each part contains its main problematique. Chapter 4 focuses on the period between 2003 and 2009 and analyzes two campaigns: the campaign to preserve the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier in 2006-2007 and the Anti-Express Rail Link campaign in 2009-2010. They serve to show how temporal and spatial processes interacted at the regional and global levels and affected the dynamic construction of emotions and socio-political conflicts at the local level. While examining how the destruction of the piers and the construction of the express railway emerged out of a distinctive approach to responding the economic crisis in the local society and to China’s entrance to the global capitalist economy, I will show how the local learning of tactics from the anti-globalization protests, the struggle against hegemonic action repertoires in civil society, the making of new political identity, and the investment of emotions and emotional meanings in place brought about a rewriting of Hong Kong’s social history and a remaking of the symbolic space of the city. By attending to emotional claims and place-based emotional experiences during these processes, I reveal how the diversity of emotions in local politics was broadened. In Chapter 5, I analyze the period between 2009 and 2012 with the case of the Anti-Moral and National Education campaign in 2012. The focus here is more about politics at the national level and the discussion in this chapter is mainly about time (though space will still be discussed). In this chapter, I explain how national temporal and spatial processes interacted with those at the global level and impacted on the construction of emotions and socio-political conflicts at the local level. I contend that local political conflicts were rendered by disjunctive conceptions of time at the national and global levels, as manifested in two conflicting discourses of modernization. To analyze the implications of these discourses to the construction of emotions, I reveal the ways the statist feeling rule and display rule were developed in relation to claims regarding the rapid economic development of China and the historical linkage between the local and mainland

16 populations. I also demonstrate how these emotional rules were resisted in the local civil society, and how an emotional mobilization was forged through a moral force deriving from activists’ biological age and spatial practices. By deciphering the roles of both positive and negative emotions, I unravel how they drove the campaign forward by supporting discursive meaning-makings and spatial actions against the state. Meanwhile, I uncover signs that indicated a shifting relative dominance of emotions in political culture. Chapter 6 interrogates the period between 2012 and 2014. The Umbrella Movement in 2014 is taken as a case study, but I also discuss two earlier campaigns called Occupy Central and the 5-District de-facto Referendum in detail. The emphasis of this chapter is shifted to space (though time will still be discussed) and I also bring regional processes back into the picture. This chapter shows how the production of local social movements and the making of feeling rules are shaped through the contestation over spatiality between actors at the national and global levels, especially with regard to the national territory of China. Other spatialities that influenced contention are also highlighted in this chapter, such as the network that connected activists in the Greater China region and the places that enabled the nurturance of emotional experiences during political contention. By scrutinizing emotions developed in space and discourses, this chapter shows that emotions continued to play an essential role at different stages of contention. Yet with an increasing dominance of negative emotions, the state-society interactions took a different form and the movement solidarity was weakened. The concluding chapter traces the overall emotional dynamics between 2003 and 2014 and their implications on political activism and political culture in Hong Kong. I argue that social movements in Hong Kong have been engendered and moulded by emotions produced through social processes evolving at different timescales and spatial levels. While these processes remade urban space and re-directed the trajectory of the socio-political development of Hong Kong, they reshaped the space of emotions by determining the availability and the relative dominance of emotions in the local political sphere. In re-appropriating time and space, local social movements have been an agent of social change through conducting emotionally-driven actions and leading society to feel differently. Through a prolonged interaction between state and society over emotions, time, and space, socio-political conflicts were facilitated by a broadened diversity of emotions

17 created from 2003 to 2012 but were hamstrung by the preponderance of negative emotions from 2012 onwards. Emotions, as a product of multiple spatial and temporal processes, were not just a core feature of socio-political struggles but a factor deciding the emergence and the development of social movements, the internal solidarity of activists, and the wider political culture of the city.

Chapter 1: Emotions and the Study of Political Activism in Hong Kong

This chapter outlines a brief history of contentious politics in Hong Kong and offers a literature review on Hong Kong’s social movements. The existing literature can be divided into two epochs: the first is a period where both socio-political conflicts and emotions are viewed as sporadic and infrequent phenomena in Hong Kong politics; the second is a period recognizing the pervasiveness of uprisings and upheavals in the city with an emphasis of fear in political life. Both accounts, as I will present in my critique, lack a detailed analysis of the construction process of emotions and the dynamic contestation behind the expression and the management of emotions. They also slight the fact that both emotions and local activism are intertwined with socio-political processes operating at different spatial levels and timescales. These problems motivate the theoretical developments to come in Chapter 2.

I. Emotions and Social Movements: Two Repressed Areas of Study Two deep-rooted biases had existed in the fields of sociology and political science in Hong Kong. In Society and Politics in Hong Kong, probably the most widely discussed work in the local academia, political scientist Lau Siu-kai wrote,

“Conflicts and violence …… did occur in 1956, 1966 and 1967. Except for the last one, they were primarily social conflicts not directed specifically against the government …… [A]ll three instances of conflicts were, relatively speaking, small or moderate in scale. And, what is more significant, their political reverberations were minimal.” (Lau, 1982: 2)

Lau’s view constituted one of the most prevalent ideas in academia: Hong Kong was a stable and conflict-free society. In reviewing the history of social conflicts, sociologist Benjamin Leung echoed,

“Although a rapidly modernizing society under colonial rule, Hong Kong has been exceptional in having been spared the frequent turmoil and instability that have plagued other countries of a similar socio-economic and political status. Since they have not been a particularly salient feature of the society, social conflict and social movements have rarely been the subject of inquiry in studies of Hong Kong.” (Leung, 1996: 159)

The dismissal of the existence of widespread socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong came with an image that emotions, to a large extent, had nothing to do with political life and political mobilization. As Lau described,

“[T]he possibility cannot be ruled out that social discontent can lead to anomic, relatively unorganized forms of political action involving a small number of frustrated persons. Nonetheless, the nature of Hong Kong as a minimally-integrated social-political system would lead us to expect that these conflicts will be confined in scale.” (Lau, 1982: 20)

Under this conception, although people sometimes felt angry and frustrated, emotions were by no means an important factor for popular mobilization and did not warrant scholarly attention. Despite recognizing a rising trend of political conflicts in a later publication, Lau, in collaboration with another eminent political scientist Kuan Hsin-chi, further noted,

“Of great significance is the China factor in the participatory behavior of the Hong Kong Chinese …… [P]rotest against China is an emotionally charged behavior motivated by the participants’ deep anxieties about their own political future and their grievance against the communist regime on the Mainland …… [P]rotest against China as a mode of participation does not require mass mobilization by political groups. It can take a variety of forms,

mostly spontaneous, uncoordinated, and short-lived.” (Lau and Kuan, 1995: 12-14)

In this view, if there was any emotion significant in political life, it was the fear of Communist China that mattered. Its role, however, was simply to bypass rigorous and rational political process and give rise to sporadic social unrests. Although it took place locally and was provoked by such national political events as the Tiananmen massacre, both local and national political actors fade into the background. Emotions were treated as a simple psychological state innocent of any social construction. The above few quotes succinctly capture how the mainstream scholars approached Hong Kong politics, as well as two biases implicated in their works. Not only did these accounts deny the existence of political activism in the local society but they also played down the role of emotions in local politics. Even though political activism gradually received more attention, emotions were still deprived of respectable analysis and scrutiny. Without being acknowledged as an entity that is constructed and reconstructed politically and a factor that structures people’s socio-political life, shapes political actors’ choices, and moulds the rise and fall of activism, emotions were seriously understudied and viewed in a biased manner. In the next section, an account of the evolution of the study of political activism in Hong Kong is provided. The bias against political activism was slowly attenuated, but emotions continued to be studied in an unsatisfactory way. Along with this review is a sketch of the history of local contentious politics, which provides a brief context for readers who are unfamiliar with Hong Kong to understand our later discussion.

II. Evolution of the Field and the Place of Emotions Depending on how the research question is framed and what methodological criteria are set, two pictures about political activism in colonial Hong Kong are usually drawn. One is what I have briefly described above: a stable society without significant socio-political conflicts, with emotions playing a negligible role for mobilization. The other is a conflict-ridden society in which the colonial state had been facing numerous challenges while pacifying them skillfully, during which emotions playing a role to check the extent of

21 activism. Although emotions are not absent in either account, they are assigned to different places in the history of local activism, leading to two flawed ways of approaching emotions.

(i) A Stable Society without Activism Early social scientists were preoccupied with the research puzzle of why Hong Kong, as a colony, could maintain such a high level of social stability despite rapid urbanization and economic growth, two factors that have proven their destabilizing effect in other countries undergoing modernization. The dominant way to explain this pointed to the seclusion of the polity from the society. King (1975) put forward the thesis of administrative absorption of politics. It was asserted that the British colonial government had been undertaking a strategy to co-opt political forces and elites into the administrative decision-making bodies. An ostensible consensual rule was forged so that grievances in society were appeased, the problem regarding the lack of legitimacy of the colonial regime was veiled, and the undemocratic rule was maintained. Another structural explanation was proposed by Lau (1982) who characterized the socio-political system in Hong Kong as “minimally-integrated.” A boundary was consciously maintained by both the bureaucratic polity and the local Chinese society, through which the political sphere was detached from the social sphere. While the colonial government insisted on a non-interventionist approach to grassroots affairs, its daily operation was largely autonomous from society. The local society, on the other side, was wary of the intrusion of the colonial polity. While people’s daily needs could be satisfied through their familial network (Lau, 1982), governmental functions and services were partly compensated by voluntary and charity organizations such as the Tung Wah Hospital set up by the Chinese gentry (Sinn, 2003). These two main structural explanations were buttressed by descriptions about the conservative political culture of the Hong Kong Chinese. As a migrant society, most dwellers in Hong Kong had experienced certain kinds of political turmoil in mainland China, such as the civil war before 1949 and the Great Leap Forward campaign, and they fled to Hong Kong to breathe the air of freedom. A Chinese legislator put it, “Hong Kong is a lifeboat; China is the sea. Those who have climbed into the lifeboat naturally don't want to rock it” (quoted in Hoadley, 1970: 211). Keeping politics out of Hong Kong was seen as a consensus in the migrant society. Even with the introduction of indirect elections

22 after the Second World War, people tended to have a low rate of political participation and low turnout (Hoadley, 1970; 1973). Scholars thus characterized this pattern of political participation as a mixed parochial-subject political culture, in which people upheld a traditional, paternalistic view of the government and did not consider themselves as active participants in politics (King, 1977). The image of a politically apathetic society was described in finer detail by Lau (1982). As Lau explicated, boundary politics in a minimally-integrated socio-political system was made possible by a population which embraced what he called “utilitarianistic familism.” This migrant mentality prompted people to pursue materialistic and familial interests instead of political goals, emphasize social stability, and support for the existing political-economic order. Social demands were mostly accommodated within familial networks so that few requests were placed on the bureaucratic polity. Social mobilization, therefore, was unnecessary. In a later study on political values, Lau and Kuan (1988) pointed out that a great emphasis of social stability, pervasive support for the capitalist economy, a belief in individual effort, and a subjective feeling of upward mobility all contributed to the stability of society and make socio- political conflict hard to materialize. Despite exhibiting a considerable level of political knowledge, the Hong Kong Chinese were at best “attentive spectators” of politics (Lau and Kuan, 1995). What these early accounts of Hong Kong politics commonly shared was a general negligence of activism. They also tended to see a perfect fit between the colonial socio- political structure and the supposedly conservative, inward-looking cultural tendency of the Hong Kong Chinese. The result was a quiescent society with (almost) no socio-political conflict. When political activism was seen as virtually non-existent, emotions were given a one-sided role for a purported constraining effect on activism. In the early accounts, emotions were treated as omnipresent in society and as posing a constant effect of preventing people from engaging in political conflicts. The twin emotions of fear of China and fear of politics were commonly recognized by scholars as the general affective experience of the Hong Kong Chinese. As Hoadley (1973: 614) summarized, “acquiescence, transience, fear of China, satisfaction, conservatism, rationality, and reluctance to share power” were the keywords of the local political culture, with fear of China operating in different social strata. In a survey administrated by King (1977: 129),

23 there was “a significant number” of interviewees “who just [did] not want to talk the very concept of politics at all,” even though the words “politics” was skillfully taken out of the survey. In spite of the finding that “unconditional abhorrence and a fear of politics has abated among the Hong Kong Chinese” in the 1980s, Lau and Kuan commented that the sentiments of anti-politics lingered on and many Hongkongers agreed that politics was dangerous (Lau and Kuan 1988: 70-71). The general fear of politics and political authority not only led people to “[delimit] the role and function of the government and to avoid having anything else with it as far as possible” (Lau, 1982: 103) but also produced “a strong sense of powerlessness among the Hong Kong Chinese” to impede active political involvement (Lau and Kuan, 1988: 95). In summary, these accounts posited that fear of politics was everywhere and posing an undifferentiating effect to discourage political participation. Posed alongside a usual view that the Hong Kong Chinese were deeply influenced by the Confucian political values to embrace social harmony and respect for authority (Lau and Kuan, 1988), emotions were merely seen as a constraining factor for political activism. An implication of this view of emotions is that when political mobilization occurred, it was seen as an abnormal upheaval and a disruption of the normal affective state, a view that echoed the early Western collective behaviour theory. In 1989, for example, close to one million people protested on the street in support of the Beijing student movement and against the massacre undertaken by the Beijing government. Occurring just eight years before the transfer of Hong Kong’s sovereignty from Britain back to China, the protest was deemed to be “an emotionally charged behavior motivated by the participants’ deep anxieties about their own political future and their grievance against the communist regime on the Mainland” (Lau and Kuan, 1995: 12). The logic is: in normal times fear of politics would constrain people’s participation in activism; but when people were forced to face politics and the brutal Communist regime, emotions surfaced as a spontaneous response to stimulate protest behaviour and yet they were void of political meanings. In either case, emotions were occupying a negative and marginal place in Hong Kong politics which attracted little scrutiny. Serious analysis of emotions was hence absent. Since fear of China and fear of politics were so pervasive in the migrant society, they were viewed as a static social fact.

Although there was a grain of truth about the widespread influence of the dual fear—of China and politics—in the domestic society, they were presented as a reified experience devoid of social (re)construction in everyday socio-political life. Fear was assumed to be a uniform emotional reaction to individuals’ past experiences of political turmoil in mainland China that went unchallenged and undeveloped. No thought was given to varying interpretations of emotive and historical experiences in the local political context. Meanwhile, the impact of emotions on different episodes of political activism were underappreciated, creating an impression that different emotions were posing the same extent and same set of influence on people’s political action. Moreover, there was no rigorous attempt to research various kinds of emotions that might have intertwined with the dual fear. Survey was the main data gathering tool in the early studies. Yet, when survey questions were set, they tended to presume the existence of the dual fear and then test the extent of their influence by asking, for example, the extent to which people view politics as dangerous and dirty or the extent to which people trust the political leaders. The argument about fear of China and fear of politics was hence a deductive conclusion. This inevitably neglects many other emotions that might be operating in the political sphere. Even in works claiming to tap into people’s affective experience, the ways to investigate emotions were problematic. In King’s (1977) research, for example, the affective dimension of political participation was defined as “the state of feeling of people about government and politics” (1977: 128). What his survey asked, nevertheless, was limited to the feeling of freedom in talking politics. Though feeling free to engage in politics without fear is important, it is doubtful whether this can be generalized as the larger affective experience that shapes political behaviours. Feeling safe in one aspect is likely to coexist with many other emotions in the political sphere. Relying on just a few questions in a survey setting, King’s study failed to unravel the whole range of emotional experience and unearth different emotions buttressing people’s political participation. It hence produced an over-generalized conclusion about the constraining side of emotions and the conservative tendency of Hong Kong people. At the same time, the level of analysis of emotions and Hong Kong politics remained confined to the local and national levels. In the structural explanations, the

25 colonial government was analyzed as if they only took care of British interests and only responded to a few local political forces. In the cultural explanations, local citizens were described to be embodying their negative experiences in mainland China and carrying their fear of China and fear of politics to Hong Kong in a linear fashion. Without mentioning the impact of national politics in governance and without delineating the mediation of regional and global politics, these early analyses of emotions and local politics were delimited spatially and temporally.

(ii) Activism as Part of Normal Politics The study of political activism in Hong Kong has gradually changed. Two riots served as the watershed of Hong Kong’s political development. The first is the 1966 riot during which local youths revolted against an increase of ferry fare and hence the colonial government. The second is the 1967 riot during which a Communist-led labour dispute was escalated into bloody bomb attacks to echo the mobilization call of the Cultural Revolution in mainland China. Two major causes of these two riots, the colonial government believed, were the deprived socio-economic condition of the grassroots and the gap between the administrative machine and society in policy making. This ultimately forced the government to carry out social reforms and develop more participatory channels for ordinary citizens (Cheung, 2012). With a new state-society configuration, political opportunities were opened up for the popular class, inducing a spate of mobilization in the 1970s which fought for better social protections (Lui, 1984; Lui and Kung, 1985). Entering the 1980s, the Sino-British negotiation over Hong Kong’s future began, which not only put an end to the apparent apolitical environment but gave birth to a nascent political society, meaning that the polity could no longer be secluded from societal demands (Tse, 1995; Kuan, 1998). Meanwhile, as activists have developed an extensive network and know-how, many of them shifted their attention to the political arena and embarked upon a new wave of mobilization to advocate democracy in Hong Kong (So, 1999; Sing, 2004). The proliferation of socio-political activism led scholars to doubt the validity of the early political studies. While the status of political activism was reevaluated in empirical and methodological terms, the mechanisms of state-society interaction that moulded political conflicts were reconsidered.

One of the earliest works that debunked the myth of political aloofness of Hong Kong people came from DeGolyer and Scott (1996). The authors argued that while many participatory channels were established in a top-down manner and were indeed rubber stamps, they were important in encouraging political expression and developing political skills and practices. Average citizens thus had more active political participation since the late 1970s and the image of political apathy has faded. Scholars also rebutted the idea of political stability by applying the lens of class analysis (Lui and Wong, 1998; Wong and Lui, 1992). They claimed that the cultural trait of utilitarianistic familism has to be linked up with people’s structural locations in order to ascertain the propensity to political action. Based on a survey conducted in the late 1980s, Lui and Wong (1998) reported that despite rapid economic growth, the opportunity for upward mobility was still subject to one’s class background and working-class respondents were more inclined to perceive the exploitative and unfair side of the society. All these produced sources of social grievances and provided a structural backdrop for political conflicts. More work has been done since the late 1990s to revisit the local history of contentious politics and establish social movements as a research subject. As historians discover, as early as the 1910s, there were voices from the local European business community to demand greater political representation and more control over the colonial government’s finances (Carroll, 2007). Mobilization to make political demands also came from the grassroots. A significant event was the Strike-Boycott in 1925-1926, during which about 250,000 workers in Hong Kong left their job and went back to Guangzhou to protest against imperialism. While requesting eight-hour workday, the abolition of contract and child labour, and rent reduction, the Chinese workers also made claims about freedom of speech and press and the right to organize (Carroll, 2007; Yeung, 1986). Entering the 1950s and 1960s, activism became a local extension of the Communist-Kuomintang rivalry in mainland China, and of the political movements initiated by the Chinese Communist regime, such as the pro-Kuomintang riot in 1956 and the 1967 riot mentioned above (Lam, 2004). Since the 1970s, political activism has gradually detached from mainland politics through a handful of struggles fighting against housing inequalities, labour deprivation, and corruption (Lui and Chiu, 1999). In pacifying various uprisings, there was no simple strategy of seclusion or co-option. Rather, the colonial government intervened in the local

27 society and consolidated its rule through both liaison and coercion (Chiu and Hung, 1999; Ngo, 1999). The efforts to reconceptualize political activism in Hong Kong are crystallized into the edited volume The Dynamics of Social Movements in Hong Kong which documents a wide range of social movements and collective actions that had been slighted (Chiu and Lui, 2000). As the editors argue, the early accounts of Hong Kong politics tended to set a high threshold of social stability and excluded a great deal of political events that were indeed significant to people’s political life. Importantly, “the impacts of these collective actions are not confined to those issues which originally generated such conflicts. They have wider repercussions to the constitution of Hong Kong politics.” (Lui and Chiu, 2000: 3). As the contributors to this book show, the gradual opening of the political system in the 1970s, the trend of decolonization in the 1980s, and the transition period from the late 1980s to the 1990s all provided a fertile ground for socio-political mobilization, which, in turn, led to different degrees of institutional reconfigurations. In short, it is no longer appropriate to ask “Why no political mobilization in Hong Kong?” As political activism is now seen as part of normal politics, researchers are urged to look into the dynamics of collective actions in order to better understand Hong Kong politics. As the field develops and as political activism has been revitalized after a relatively dormant period in the 1990s and early 2000s, scholars are no longer satisfied with descriptive and historical accounts of activism. They pay more attention to the mechanisms of state-society interactions behind socio-political conflicts. Although it does not make sense anymore to assume that the Hong Kong society as forever stable, it is reasonable to hold that activism is fairly small in scale and mild in its action repertoires, especially when we compare socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong with the pro- democracy mobilizations in South Korea and Taiwan in the 1970s and 1980s. Thus, the alternative questions “How is political mobilization shaped and why has it been unable to grow as a larger force?” are raised and various explanations have been put forward. A socio-cultural explanation is provided by political scientist Lam Wai-man (2004). Using 13 episodes of contention from the 1950s to the 1970s as case studies, Lam concludes that waves of socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong have paradoxically co- existed with a culture of depoliticization. Formulated under the Cold War context where

28 both the local society and the government were keen to calm the Communist-Kuomintang rivalry in Hong Kong, political discourses were fashioned to blame activists as trouble- makers, accuse political activism as harming the prosperity and stability of Hong Kong, downplay the relevance of politics, and emphasize the undesirability of politics. While these discourses were usually constructed by the powerholder to curb support for activism, they were taken as the self-image of activists to check the radicalness of their own action. From time to time, the culture engendered a deep-seated fear of politics and kept people away from political mobilization, thus checking, without fully arresting, political activism and limiting its extent and radicalness. Lee and Chan (2008; 2011) further unfold, the culture of depoliticization has become a cultural and symbolic resource for people to draw on when interpreting their political experiences and deciding their level of political participation. In analyzing the July 1, 2003 Protest where 500,000 people took to the street to protest against the government, a critical event that rejuvenated political activism in post-colonial Hong Kong, and the subsequent annual July 1 Protests, Lee and Chan argue that although fear of political hyper-activism and negative views on politics continue to reign and weaken people’s determination to sustain their protest participation, distrust of politicians may actually encourage some citizens to involve in street activism as demonstration is understood as a form of political participation to voice out their opinions without being manipulated. The impacts of the culture of depoliticization, and its associated emotions, on political activism are therefore mixed, depending on how people make sense of and construct the meanings of their experiences in different settings. While political culture and emotions are given more nuanced examinations in the culturalist studies of activism, other explanations about the factors shaping political activism are proposed. Some macro analyses stress the heightened political intervention of the Beijing government and the reconfiguration of Hong Kong’s hybrid regime in controlling Hong Kong’s political development and in shaping state capacity in fending off bottom-up challenges (Loh, 2010; Cheung, 2018; Tai, 2018; Fong, 2013). At the meso- level, research has recorded the growth of political parties since the 1980s (Kuan, 1998). However, it was also argued that party development has been impeded by the partial nature of democratization, making political parties unable to take up a more central role either in

29 governance or in mass mobilization (Lau and Kuan, 2000). The vibrancy of mobilization has also been hampered by a deep distrust between political parties and civil society organizations (Sing, 2004; Ma, 2007a, Lui, 1997) and factionalism among pro-democracy forces (Ma, 2012). Meanwhile, diverse ideological foundations of different political groups have made local activism divided, incoherent, and truncated (Lam, 2018). Yet the organizational barrier is partly overcome by the recent spontaneous, voluntary, and decentralized form of mobilization (Cheng, 2016). This mode of mobilization has shown its power in the Umbrella Movement in 2014 through the use of digital media (Lee and Chan, 2018). In positivist research, positive signs for political activism are found, such as the rise of post-materialist values, the erosion of respect of authority, and the rejection of authoritarianism (Ma, 2011a; Sing, 2010; Lam and Kuan, 2008). Nevertheless, constrictive factors are still present to limit protest participation, such as a strong sense of political powerlessness, low level of internal efficacy, the emphasis of economic development, and low level of democratic legitimacy (Lam and Kuan, 2003; Kuan and Lau, 2002; Lam, 2013; Lee, 2006). Several points could be summarized regarding the development of Hong Kong political studies. First, recent studies have overturned the pessimistic view about activism and Hong Kong politics. Scholars cease to adopt a high threshold for what counts as a political action. When the definition is loosened, we easily notice that revolution and riot are not the only possible forms of political action and that socio-political mobilization has long been a common feature of Hongkongers’ political life. Second, since the seclusion of the state from the local society can no longer be deemed indisputable, the interaction between state and society becomes an interesting area of research. Just as Cheng (2016) reminds us, while activists are developing new organizational and mobilizational forms, the state is also learning new strategies to cope with bottom-up challenges. The study of political activism is thus moving towards a dynamic approach. Third, emotions have been analyzed more carefully in recent studies. Unlike previous research, scholars no longer treat emotions as reified social facts. Instead, they see emotions as being evoked through political discourses and actions in concrete contexts such as the Cold War and the empowering experience of participating in the July 1 Protest. This also means that the level of analysis has moved beyond the local and national levels. More details have been given

30 regarding not only the diffusion of mainland politics to Hong Kong but also the impact of world politics on local activism. This urges us to interrogate how, when, and where emotions are constructed and how they make their impact in varying time and space.

(iii) What’s Missing: Emotions and A Multi-level and Multi-timescale Analysis Despite a renewed research agenda, emotions continue to be one of the most significant knowledge gaps in the study of Hong Kong politics. Although emotions have occupied a more visible place in recent research, they are still largely underappreciated. Without fully apprehending emotions, we would fall short of providing a satisfactory account on the key features of, and the factors shaping, political activism in Hong Kong. The structural accounts, which delineate the regime features of Hong Kong and the Hong Kong-Beijing relation, simply ignore the micro-dynamics of mobilization. They thus cannot explain what drives Hong Kong people to become more and more active in protests (though without sustained engagement) despite the overriding power of the Beijing state and the apparently shrinking political opportunities in the post-colonial milieu. Recent studies on the structural contradictions of Hong Kong’s hybrid regime may provide some clues to this paradox (Cheng, 2016; Fong, 2017), but they cannot explain the micro-process through which people align with or detach from socio-political mobilization affectively. They also cannot elucidate how state actors suppress mobilization through both brutal forces and cultural-emotive meanings. A better account of mobilization or repression would need to examine how emotions are made use of by both state actors and movement activists. Research focusing on organizational processes and characteristics similarly cannot give a satisfactory solution. When discussing the distinctive features of self- mobilization in local social movements, scholars point out that distrust towards politicians and political groups or parties is a crucial factor (Chan, 2006; Chan and Lee, 2007; Lee and Chan, 2008; 2011). However, they seldom link that distrust with the negative emotions involved in the recruitment process. Likewise, although research has rightly identified spontaneous, voluntary, and decentralized form of organization as a factor facilitating low- cost, widespread, and quick mobilization (Cheng, 2016; Cheng and Chan, 2017), they have treated the process of responding to a call to action as purely cognitive without any

31 emotional element. But as Robnett (2004) and Schrock, Holden and Reid (2004) suggest, what is determining is the micro-process of “emotional resonance” in framing. Without examining how movement organizers produce emotions and to what extent movement participants resonate emotionally, the organizational explanations miss an important link between organizational form and action. At the micro-level, what dominates the field is still survey research. Although the newer studies are more sophisticated in their research design, their methodological drawbacks are still obvious. Since most surveys are done before the actual outbreak of political conflicts, the results they find are decontextualized from the mobilization process which is heavily emotional. During political contention, people’s existing political values or attitudes may guide their choice, but new meanings and emotional upheavals during conflictual time would profoundly shape their tactical choices and actions. As a result, positivist survey research can at best offer a contextual background about political values, attitudes, orientations, ideological stances, and so on. They provide neither an accurate prediction for people’s political behaviour nor an explanation of why people respond to mobilization calls at certain time but not others. An alternative approach is to begin by observing people’s discourses and activities and find out the range of meanings and emotions felt and expressed by political actors both before and during political conflicts. As explained in Chapter 3, this is the approach this thesis takes, and the result is a much more nuanced picture of political action. The survey research reported above also tends to overlook social processes occurring around emotions in socio-political conflicts. Even if surveys are conducted in conflictual settings (see Lee and Chan (2011; 2018) and Cheng and Chan (2017) for two local examples and van Stekelenburg et al. (2011) for a western example), and even if those surveys ask about emotions, they are likely to neglect the social construction process of emotions which is by no means a momentary effort. Likewise, what these surveys hook in are protesters who have already echoed the mobilization call and turned up in the protest site, meaning that they cannot reach those who do not align with the movement emotionally. Put differently, they tend to slight the development process of subversive emotions and the ways state actors construct emotions and a particular emotional culture to keep a certain portion of the population silent. In all, looking at how political actors, be

32 they movement participants, bystanders, or state agents, construct emotions and contest over them, as well as how they articulate their emotional experiences in a qualitative setting, would be more promising than positivist research in deciphering how emotions matter in political action. As laid out in Chapter 3, interpreting emotions through discourses and interviews is a better way to construe the construction and articulation of emotions which are contested over time. At a wider scope, scholars have yet to show the intricate relationship and interaction between local activism and politics taking place at different geographical levels and in different historical processes. If we go back to the Hong Kong history, any explanation ignoring space and time is unsound. Since the colonial era, Hong Kong has been situated in a multifaceted relationship among local, regional, national, and global politics. During the Cold War, for example, Hong Kong was the frontier of the free, capitalist world in resisting Communism. It also served as the only window to attract foreign capital and a key channel to import daily necessities for Communist China. Different national and global actors, therefore, co-existed in Hong Kong, profoundly shaping the propensity to socio-political conflicts in the local society. As a Chinese city, Hong Kong has also been the seedbed of nationalism and other subversive ideas for political activism in mainland China. Cross-fertilization between local- and national-level mobilizations often occurred, producing prominent conflicts like the Strike-Boycott in 1925-26 and the riot in 1967. Regionally, while the vibrant civil society in Hong Kong has remained a source of tactical and ideational resources for activists in southern China, activists in Hong Kong and Taiwan learned from each other to advance their own struggles. These multi-layered interactions also occurred temporally. Fear of politics, for example, was developed in the Cold War context and its impact has lingered on to shape recent political conflicts. Also, the extent to which Hong Kong people embrace or resist mainland China is inescapably tied to political events at different historical junctures, cultural and political experiences over time, and generational differences. In a sense, politics at different spatial levels interlock, and together they affect local social movements at different timepoints, timescales, and speed of change. Therefore, analyses of local actors’ emotions must consider the multi-layered relationships between political actors and events occurring

33 in an uneven terrain of space where movements are grounded in and the turbulent flows of time where movements move. Although some research has put socio-political conflicts in the contexts of mainland politics and global politics, the conceptions of these contexts are quite static and fail to capture how they imply one another and how they inform local conflicts through a non-linear process. Since the early 2000s, China has played a greater role at the international stage, making itself prone to the influence of regional and global political and economic changes. From time to time, key trends like the advent of neoliberalism and critical events like the global financial crisis and the Colour Revolution have modified China’s relative power in the world as well as its policies towards Hong Kong. Thus, there is a need to reconsider emotions in Hong Kong’s activism as embedded in particular geographical and temporal contexts—which I refer to as time-spaces and which I will further unpack in Chapter 2—not only at the local and national levels but also at the regional and the wider global levels. This is especially important in today’s globalizing world where social movements tend to diffuse across borders and different scalar levels (Tarrow, 2005; Della Porta and Tarrow, 2005; Castells, 2015). Examining socio-political conflicts in social, political, and cultural contexts which change over time and at different scaler levels and analyzing how different spatial and temporal processes intersect with one another are therefore crucial to the study of emotions and Hong Kong politics. So, how can an appreciation of the micro-processes of emotions be integrated with a recognition of spaces at different geographical levels and social processes at different temporal scales? Take the pro-democracy claim in recent social movements as an example. The claim of speeding up the democratic progress is often manifested through highlighting the spatiality of, and a love towards, local urban communities, whereas the endeavour to delay democratization is often knitted with a spatial project of regional integration with mainland China and positive emotions towards the party-state. Frequently, these issues stir up debates about the spatial tactics, pace, and rhythm of political action, which then affect protesters’ emotional experiences. From time to time, these debates are mediated by political events at different scales, such as the Colour Revolution. Seen in this way, emotions are located locally at the bodily level, but also in social processes at other spatial scales. By deciphering social processes that are conducive to emotional upheavals

34 and by interrogating the cultural characteristics of space and the role of scale, the following chapters will present a novel account of emotions and political activism in Hong Kong. In sum, emotion is something we need to drill into to disentangle the puzzles of how social movements are shaped and what causes them to arise and sometimes look formidable, and this investigation has to be sensitive to time and space. Below I will identify six specific issues regarding emotions, time, and space that will be addressed in this thesis. As shown in later chapters, tackling these problems would advance the wider social movement literature as well.

III. Studying Emotions: Six Problems to be Tackled Currently, a small niche of works has been produced in Hong Kong studies to headline emotions, but there is room for improvement. Although some qualitative research reported above has started to focus on discourses and the social construction of meanings at the micro-level, their approach is rather cognitively-oriented. In Lam (2004) and Lee and Chan’s (2008; 2011) studies, the emphases are placed on how discursive meanings are cognitively received, processed, and interpreted rather than how political actors feel and then create meanings and how certain discourses cause actors to feel in conflictual settings. Studying emotional expressions in discourses of fear is essential, but political actors are not just meaning encoders and decoders but also emotional beings who are able to feel during contention. While mentioning fear and the feeling of efficacy and empowerment, Lee and Chan have not explained these psychological upheavals in emotional terms. As I will discuss in Chapter 2, this problem indeed reflects a larger pitfall in social movement studies, where a cognitive lens is often deployed to understand framing and meaning- making at the expense of an emotional perspective. While recent studies in the West have slowly attenuated this cognitive bias by scrutinizing the role of emotions, Hong Kong studies have yet to view micro-dynamics from an emotional angle. As I will further outline in the theoretical review, the study of social movements has to recognize more explicitly that political actors are emotional beings so that we can realize that the power of political discourses not only lies in providing symbolic resources but also rests on the articulation of emotional experiences and the provision of emotional guidance for action (Ransan-Cooper et al., 2018). Hence, a task for researchers is to elicit the emotional experiences of

35 movement leaders, participants, bystanders, and state actors and construe how emotions really work on them and shape their actions and discourses. Another problematic conception in the extant literature is that when political actors are said to take up the discursive and emotional elements of the culture of depoliticization to (re)produce the depoliticizing discourses, they are somehow treated as passive agents who are subject to the grand force of culture instead of active constructors of emotions. Take the fear of Communist subversion in the 1950s discussed by Lam (2004) as an example. While discourses put forward by various social groups are merely seen as the outcome of a widely felt fear in the cultural environment, these social groups and agents are not deemed to be the one who produced and reinforced this emotion. In discussing political conflicts of the late 1960s, Lam (2004: 130-131) suggests that the fear of Communist-Kuomintang rivalry was fading by using a quote from a student publication which proposed that the society should counter this mythical fear in the campaign for Chinese as an official language. In Lam’s account, these students are simply considered as acting under a diminishing culture of fear rather than an active agent in resisting and reshaping emotions of the local society through their actions and discourses. In the campaign defending the Diaoyu Island in the 1970s, likewise, Lam (2004: 156) mentions that young activists were now less fearful in opposing the government, but she does not explain how and why fear diminished. It is possible that fear was managed and overcome through repeated experiences and actions of confronting the police, and it is exactly this emotional management process that should be unfolded in detail. As argued in the next chapter, activists often negotiate with the dominant emotion and try to subvert it by proposing and constructing other emotions. They might not be able to do this at their free will as they are still subject to numerous socio-cultural constraints, but emotion work is often a core task of movement leaders and activists to reshape the dominant emotional culture and advance their political goals (Aminzade and McAdam, 2001; Gould, 2009). Political actors are also strategic in nature (Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). While they produce emotions to achieve their goals, both activists and state actors, as emotional beings, feel in response to one another’s strategic making of emotions and emotional actions. Understanding how emotions are actively constructed, manipulated, contested, and displaced in a dynamic process is therefore important in realizing how activists come up

36 with different strategies, how social movements are strengthened or weakened, and ultimately, how political culture is (re)shaped by actions over time. A further pitfall is that, in presenting fear of politics and fear of China, scholars remain focusing on the constraining side of emotions and keep slighting their productive side. Lee and Chan’s (2011) point about the mobilizing effect of people’s distrust of politicians hints that fear of politics can sometimes be facilitative, but more work should be done to appreciate how emotions create activism. As Flam argues, there are cementing emotions that help maintain the existing socio-political order and there are also subversive emotions that enable insurgency. Activists endeavour to fashion subversive emotions to lessen the power of cementing emotions (Flam, 2005). Though we need not agree with this rigid distinction, we must realize that emotions often play a helpful role in mobilization and assist activists to advance their cause. As I will further argue in the coming chapters, the role of emotions is not fixed due to their constructivist nature. An appreciation of the dynamic and fluid quality of emotions, as well as an integration of the analysis of emotions with that of time and space, would allow us to realize not simply the different roles of emotions but their varying effects in different temporal and spatial settings, a knowledge gap existing in the social movement literature. Another shortcoming of the existing research is that we still lack a detailed study of different kinds of emotions emerging in political conflicts. Fear of politics and fear of China are important, but they are not the only emotions shaping activism in Hong Kong. To a certain extent, the negligence of other emotions may have to do with the development of Hong Kong’s political studies. When scholars are busy justifying socio-political contention as part of normal politics, an unintended and unfortunate consequence follows. Heavy emphasis is put on structural features that may be conducive to socio-political struggles, the organizational characteristics of political groups, and actors’ value orientations and ideological foundations. Emotions are largely left out of the picture. It is only after the massive and emotionally charging Umbrella Movement in 2014 that more research has been done on emotions. Recently, Tang and Chung (2018) have started a project to survey the emotions felt by actors with different ideological orientations, but they are focusing only on the post-Umbrella Movement period. Whereas Hui (2018) explores the dearth of hope and the prevalence of despair and frustration in the aftermath of the

Umbrella Movement, Lok (2016) makes an intriguing discussion about the affective dimension of nationalist discourses in Hong Kong. However, their works are not directly related to any specific social movement. More work should be done to document different emotions produced during socio-political contention and how they matter to the political culture. As Swidler (1986) contends, in unsettled times new meaning systems make possible new action strategies and new modes of life, while the conventional pattern of life becomes unfamiliar. We may add, new emotions also arise to compete with the “structure of feeling” of society, a pre-discursive, fluid, and lived social experience that reflects the general feeling of an epoch (Williams, 1977). Political activism is hence a conflictual period which allows us to observe how the dominant emotional culture and prevailing emotions are challenged, and how new emotions are proposed in the contested terrain of culture. As I will detail in the next chapter, a concern of recent social movement studies on emotions has been the socio-cultural context of activism. While unearthing different emotions during episodes of contention is in itself interesting, it is also a key to advance our knowledge about how political culture is changed by the production of new emotions that guide new modes of life. Recently, there are scattered attempts to uncover various emotions in socio- political conflicts. For example, Ng and Chan (2017) study the paradoxical pacifying effect of joyous struggle deployed by a self-claimed radical political group. Ma (2017) discusses the affective framing in the Anti-Express Rail Link campaign in 2009-2010. Lok (2017) examines the production of emotions in the occupied zones of the Umbrella Movement. However, they are either movement-centric or taking a single political organization as their subject of study. Accordingly, they lack a holistic view of the ongoing process of emotional contestation and are unable to make general claims about the role of emotions in the political culture that may persistently shape social movements for a significant period of time. Just as fear of politics is (re)constructed, reinforced, and transformed throughout a few decades, what we need is not just to excavate the functions of emotions during a particular movement but also to discern the emotional processes in a concatenation of political conflicts. Tracing the emergence and the burial of certain emotions in processual terms not only allows us to better apprehend why and how certain emotions are (not) provoked in socio-political struggles and how their impacts evolve over time and space. It

38 also helps to plug a knowledge gap in the wider social movement studies where ongoing political interactions are studied without paying much attention to the continuous process of emotional construction and re-construction (see Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015 for an example). As I will demonstrate in my empirical accounts, it is only through teasing out the ongoing process of emotional contestation that we can come up with a more comprehensive answer about how emotions constitute a core part of political culture to influence the success and failure of political activism. Yet we have to bear in mind that emotions and political culture are not free- floating stuff. Instead, they are always rooted in space and move along time. So far, there is a dearth of literature in both Hong Kong studies and social movement studies documenting the interrelationship between emotions and time-space. It is only in Ma (2017) and Lok’s (2017) pieces that we could see how emotions are developed through spatial practices. However, their depictions are still insensitive to temporal changes and spatial differentiation at various scalar levels. Just as the analysis of political activism in Hong Kong should consider political spaces across different spatial levels, so the investigation about the social construction of emotions must take space, in particular scales, into account. Equally important is a temporal understanding of emotions. If emotional contestation is an ongoing process, it implies that it must unfold over time and this process must be embedded in short-, medium-, and long-term timescales. As I will show, even in the wider social movement literature, scholars have only emphasized divergent speeds of response and different lengths of the persistence of various emotions (Jasper, 2011; 2014a; 2018) and they have yet to put emotions into a more extensive temporal context. Without connecting emotions with the broader spatial and temporal processes, we would gloss over how emotions are constructed in and through a range of historical processes and in spaces beyond our local bodies. To sum up, six areas must be strengthened when researching emotions in Hong Kong politics: (1) given the cognitive-bias in the existing literature, there is a need to recognize political actors as emotional beings; (2) while political actors are often seen as passive receivers of an emotional culture, we have to recognize them as active constructors of emotions; (3) as emotions are often deemed constraining in the literature, we need to acknowledge the productive side of emotions in activism; (4) whereas extant studies have

39 emphasized fear in Hong Kong politics, it is necessary to examine a full range of emotions and their roles during conflictual periods; (5) as current studies are mostly movement- centric, we have study emotions in processual and dynamic terms to decipher how they evolve over time and space; (6) in studying emotions, it is also essential to put emotions in time-spaces and at different scalar levels so that we can understand how emotions are constructed and play a role against a broader context. In the next chapter, I will offer a theoretical framework which I call strategic temporal-spatial approach to address these concerns.

Chapter 2: Understanding Emotions in Social Movements: A Strategic Temporal- Spatial Approach

The study of contentious politics in Hong Kong necessitates a careful scrutiny of emotions in socio-political conflicts. This chapter aims to establish a theoretical framework to examine the social construction of emotions and the production and counter-production of emotions in dynamic terms. After a short review of the dominant paradigms in social movement studies and the existing works on emotions, I will discuss the literature on the micro-dynamics of social movements. As I will show, although the current theorizations of movement dynamics capture the interactions between political players well, they nonetheless slight the importance of time and space in the dynamic making of emotions and emotional experiences. As a corrective, a strategic temporal-spatial approach is developed to highlight the production of emotions in various kinds of spatialities and along manifold patterns of social interaction over time. By appreciating the multi-layered relationship among social processes at different scalar levels and by recognizing the effect of different kinds of space, we can better observe emotional dynamics in social movements and the ways socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong are shaped.

I. Two Missteps of Social Movement Theories The concern about emotions in social movements entails an approach which recognizes emotions as a fluid social construct and realizes the active construction of emotions by different parties during socio-political contention. This approach must first avoid two problems that exemplify theories which had dominated social movement studies in earlier periods. The first is studying emotions without paying attention to their socio- cultural processes, and the second is examining the socio-cultural process of social movements without investigating the emotive side of culture.

(i) Emotions without Socio-Cultural Processes Before social movement studies was established as a rigorous research programme, the dominant approach in studying socio-political conflicts was the collective behaviour theories. In this paradigm, emotions took the center of analysis, but they were

41 seen as an inner psychological condition innocent of socio-cultural construction. One of the earliest works in the collective behaviour tradition was Le Bon’s crowd theory. Examining what he terms as an “organized crowd” or a “psychological crowd,” Le Bon sees individuals in a crowd as inherently emotional and fearful: they lack reasoning power and can only think through the association of images. The mechanism that creates a crowd is contagion. When ideas, beliefs, emotions, and sentiments are posed to a crowd, they spread among individuals through imitation, exerting influence on individuals through the power of opinions and a mode of feeling (Le Bon, 2001 [1896]). In that sense, emotions are like a basic instinct which is unmanageable, infecting across individuals and wiping out their rational mind. Lacking a detailed examination of the cultural process behind emotions, the construction and the social function of emotions are completely overlooked. A similar treatment of emotions is observed in scholarly works in America. A major theory is presented by Smelser who draws on Parsons’s system theory to build a sophisticated model of social action. Collective behaviour is deemed to be a value-added process in response to structural strains (Smelser, 1963). While emphasizing the role of generalized beliefs and a host of precipitating factors in giving rise to negative emotions that produce collective behaviour, Smelser has provided an inadequate conception of social agents (Crossley, 2002a). Moreover, no consideration has been given to how discourses, narratives, symbols, and practices really work in the process of constructing and transmitting beliefs and emotions. Anxiety and fear are described as inner psychological states innocent of socio-cultural construction. Another theory that evades a detailed analysis of the socio-cultural process of emotions is the collective behaviour theory from the Chicago School. A key theorist is Herbert Blumer, who identifies “circular reaction” as the basic mechanism for the emergence of collective behaviour. Based on symbolic interaction, individuals respond to one another’s stimulation, through which feelings and moods are transmitted among excited people, making individuals are psychologically unstable, irritable, and suggestible. Consequently, social unrest is in fact a social contagion—a reciprocal transmission of the state of restlessness (Blumer, 1969). Although the theory brings in symbolic interaction as the analytical lens, there is nothing “cultural” about this emotional process. Like Le Bon and Smelser, Blumer’s theory tells nothing about the actual role of discourses, narratives,

42 symbols, or practices in producing emotional behaviour. His theory is hence largely flawed in conceiving the socio-cultural nature of emotions. Problems remain in the second generation of the Chicago School, though emotions are studied in broader terms. While Turner and Killian expand Blumer’s notion of esprit de corps and see movement solidarity as a source of emotional reward to movement participants (Turner, 1996), Lofland identifies the feeling of joyfulness as a core emotion of collective behaviour (Lofland, 1982). Nevertheless, these newer conceptions see the making of new values, norms, and emotions in an overly immediate and spontaneous face- to-face context, leaving the nuances of culture unattended (Jasper, 1997). Should emotions be tied to cultural processes like spatial practice and discursive meaning-making, the newer strand of collective behaviour theory is potentially useful. Nonetheless, neglecting the cultural processes behind emotions makes the theory untenable.

(ii) Socio-Cultural Processes without Emotions While early theories study emotions without attending to cultural processes, cultural theories developed since the 1980s have almost completely ignored emotions. In a sense, this might be a legacy of the “rational turn” that took place in the 1970s where resources, mobilizing skills, fundraising capacity, social movement organizations, political opportunity structure, and polity stole the spotlight (McCarthy and Zald, 1977; Gamson, 1990; Eisinger, 1973; Tilly, 1978; McAdam, 1982). Partly influenced by the longstanding biased view that emotions are the antithesis of reason, objectivity, and universality (Jagger, 1989; Calhoun, 2001), these theories tend to see social conflicts as a rational phenomenon and an extension of institutionalized political action (Ho, 2005), causing emotions to be sidelined. Socio-cultural theories developed out of this context has corrected the inclination towards the study of “objective” structure without supplying an emotional lens. Since the 1980s, frame analysis has emerged as a dominant model to account for the work of discourses, narratives, and symbols among individuals in a networked setting, explaining the signifying and interpretive processes that transform objective structural conditions into collective actions (Snow, Zurcher and Ekland-Olson, 1980; Snow, Rochford, Worden and Benford, 1986; Snow and Benford, 1988; Snow and Benford, 1992; Gamson and Meyer, 1996; Gamson, 1988). Although some scholars have noticed that these socio-cultural

43 processes are inseparable from emotions and a subjective sense of injustice (Gamson, 1992), frame analysis has “continue[d] to write as though our movement actors …… are Spock-like beings, devoid of passion and other human emotions” (Benford, 1997: 419, cited in Goodwin, Jasper and Polletta, 2001). Despite incorporating socio-cultural processes into social movement analysis, frame analysis proceeds without appreciating the emotive side of culture. The same problem of overlooking emotions also appears in European theories. Since the 1960s, the “new” social movements have emerged as a new research topic. As scholars notice that a new structure of domination has intruded into the “lifeworld” and modified values, needs, and the representations of human nature and the external world, movement analyses have begun to drill into the socio-cultural sphere where cultural codes, identities, practices, and meanings are contested (Touraine, 1971; 1988; Habermas, 1981; Cohen and Arato, 1992; Laraña, Johnston and Gusfield, 1994; Melucci, 1985; 1989; 1994; Kriesi, Koopmans, Duyvendak and Giugni, 1995). This paradigm shift, however, is not accompanied by a concern about emotions. Habermas, for example, considers communicative action as a mere linguistic exchange of symbols and ideas without treating it as embedded in an emotional relationship or as an affective process in which speakers make emotional and cognitive appeals to each other (Crossley, 2002b). Touraine, another pillar of the new social movement theory, maintains that the technocratic nature of society is intervening and quantifying people’s natural needs, arguing that “[i]n programmed society, the central place of protest and claims is happiness” (Touraine, 1988: 111, original emphasis). In a sense, the cultural model, or historicity in Touraine’s terms, that defines social life and social existence has to do with the struggle over emotions or inner psychological needs. Yet, Touraine has not supplemented this line of thought in detail. Emotions take a more visible place in Melucci’s theories. Melucci rightly identifies that in what he calls “complex society,” the reconfiguration of time/space has removed the physical limits of space, regulated the time of everyday life, and modified our inner emotional experiences. Social control has extended to our biological and emotional relationships through the manipulation of codes. Thus, a key aspect of the building of collective identity in social movements revolves around emotions (Melucci, 1985: 804-805; 1989: 45, 104-106; 1995: 45). In spite of these innovative views, Melucci’s discussion does

44 not tease out the cultural mechanisms about the control and resistance around emotions. Even when emotions come into discussion, they are simply treated as part of the process of collective identity making (Melucci, 1989: 35). While Melucci discusses how collective identity is contested both within a group and between groups, little discussion has been devoted to discussing the specific mechanism of the contestation over emotions in these processes. Except for Melucci’s contribution, the European theories have generally left no place for emotions, let alone the cultural processes behind emotions. A better account of social movements must not only bring emotions back to the center of the stage but also unpack the socio-cultural mechanisms that evoke, construct, and manage emotions. Below, I will identify the social constructionist version of the sociology of emotions, in particular Arlie Hochschild’s theory, as the resources that can help to achieve these goals. They not only acknowledge the indispensable role of emotions in social life and political conflicts but provide a perspective that interrogates the socio- cultural processes and impacts of emotions.

II. Disentangling Emotions and their Socio-cultural Processes and Impacts (i) Two Approaches to Emotions The analysis of emotions has got more sophisticated since the emotional turn of social movement studies in the late 1990s. At this stage, emotions are viewed more positively. While political actors come to be seen as rational, moral, and emotional beings simultaneously in collective actions, emotions are recognized as an element permeating different stages of social movements, including mobilization, development, sustenance, and demise (Flam, 1990; Aminzade and McAdam, 2001). Two approaches to theorizing emotions stand out in the emotional turn, both of which are developed in the sociology of emotions, offering us the tools to grasp the roles and impacts of emotions in socio-political struggles more comprehensively. The first is the socio-structural approach which holds that, firstly, there is a basic fixity of emotions that is uninfluenced by, and cannot be constructed through, social interactions and, secondly, there remains a link remains between biology and physiological concomitants of emotions (Kemper, 1987). Thus, while it is accepted that social interactions do matter, the distribution and the relative gain and loss of power and status,

45 two structural factors, are seen as more influential in yielding emotions (Kemper, 1981; 2001). Another theory focuses on the micro-structure of everyday life, arguing that the ups and downs of emotional energy are tied to the interactional patterns shaped by the co- presence of individuals in space and the temporal pattern of repeated behaviours (Collins, 1981). Due to the stratification of power and status, emotional energy generated through interactional rituals is dependent upon the social location of a person, for example, whether s/he is an order-giver or an order-taker (Collins, 1990). Some problems in the socio-structural theories are obvious, making them less popular in social movement studies. Firstly, despite their endeavour to relate emotions with power and the ascription of status, the structural approach is too static and rigid. Conceiving power and status as working through a one-to-one pre-defined relationship, the structuralist theories have overlooked the fact that power can be fluid and can act on different social bodies (Foucault, 1980) and that “structure”—a misleading metaphor in social theory—can be a changing and fluid entity (Jasper, 1997). In the static mapping of power and status with emotional outcomes, the socio-structuralist paradigm has deprived emotions and social structure of their dynamic quality, raising doubts about whether its explanation is adequate to describe the lively empirical world and the lived experience of social actors. Secondly, although Collins (1990) has fused the Durkheimian tradition with the Goffmanian tradition in his theory, his emphasis is still placed on how social order is maintained rather than how social change happens. Also, his theory of interactional ritual chains has put too little emphasis on the nuances of the cultural processes of interaction, such as the use of discourses and symbols, making the theory far too abstract to apprehend the generation of emotions in an interactional setting. The other theoretical approach, in contrast, has embraced a more dynamic view of emotions, rendering it more suitable to understand social conflicts and social changes. Under the broad umbrella of social construction theory, sociologists have unpacked emotions into four intertwining components, namely expressive gestures, situational cues/social situations, physiological changes/bodily sensation, and emotion labels/emotional vocabularies (Thoit, 1990; Gordon, 1981; 1990). A change in any of these elements, for example, a modification of the cognitive information a person receives as a situational cue, would alter the whole emotional experience.

Some variants can be found in the constructionist tradition. From a phenomenological point of view, for example, emotions are understood as lived experiences drawn from the lived bodies of the interacting individuals. Four modes of lived emotions are thus outlined, namely sensible feelings (sensations felt in the lived body, such as pain), feelings of the lived body (feelings expressed by the lived body for communicating an emotional definition of situation, such as happiness), intentional value- feelings (the interpretation of feelings, or the feeling of feeling), and feelings of the self and the moral person (an inner moral self-consciousness or value-awareness) (Denzin, 1985). In the constructionist view, emotions are viewed as transitory social roles and socially constituted products through individuals’ appraisal of the situation and their interpretation, meaning that there can be an indefinite number of emotions, depending on the constructed roles of emotions in the social system (Averill, 1980). These ideas are shared by the social interactionist account, which maintains that emotions are constructed through situational definitions and interpretations and through the socialization of norms (Shott, 1979). In any of these theories, emotions are in principle prone to construction and negotiation in every moment of a dynamic and fluid social life.

(ii) The Emotional Management Theory Among different theories in the constructionist tradition, Hochschild’s emotional management theory stands out as the most popular theory to be applied in social movement studies (Flam and King, 2005). As I will introduce, Hochschild’s theory is an approach that can help understand activists and the powerholders’ effort in controlling emotions, as well as the mutually constitutive relationship between emotion work and the contextual background of social movements. Hochschild’s theory (1979; 2003 [1983]) begins with a query about the social rules of feelings and the ways conventions of feeling end up constitute people’s emotive experiences by compelling them to manage and organize their feelings. Rooted in the social interactionist tradition, Hochschild is less concerned with the biological origin of emotions and more with the labeling, management, and expression of emotions that occur in the interface of a situation and experience. In other words, her theory is about the social influences on emotions. Emotions are not stored “inside” our body but created by us

47 through how we “act back” reflexively on that which is labelled, interpreted, and managed. Drawing on and extending Goffman and Freud’s theories, Hochschild regards the self as the emotion manager. Hochschild first criticizes Goffman for focusing only on our management of outer behavioural expressions and slighting the management of inner self, and for failing to distinguish between surface acting and deep acting. Hochschild argues that we are not simply playing on the stage with our “social skin” and through our outer performance. Rather, we try to feel what is appropriate during social encounters and interactions. And this emotional management, unlike the Freudian thesis of the unconscious ego, is consciously conducted by us to make ourselves feel “naturally,” meet the social yardstick, and avoid being an affective deviant. To change the degree or quality of feeling, “emotion work” is done either to evoke an emotion which is initially absent or suppress an emotion which is initially present. In this process, techniques are applied to control three aspects of feeling (which largely correspond with the aforementioned definition of emotions commonly adopted by social constructionists). The first is the cognitive dimension: an attempt to change images, ideas, or thoughts associated with a feeling. The second is the bodily dimension: an attempt to change the somatic or physical symptoms of emotion (e.g. take a deep breath). The third is the expressive dimension: an attempt to change expressive gestures in order to change inner feelings (e.g. try to smile). Controlling these dimensions is a way to meet the social guidelines that tell us what we are expected to feel and how we should feel. First, there are framing rules that ascribe definitions and meanings to a situation, a relatively cognition- driven process. Second, there are feeling rules which set the normative guidelines about the “right” feeling and the proper emotional display for a situation. The second one can be further unpacked as “expression rule” or “display rule.” Through surface acting, we change our outer display of emotions to meet these rules; through deep acting, we do emotion work and take these rules as if the emotions were true. These rules are often used and manipulated politically. As Hochschild (1979: 566) argues, feeling rules are the “bottom side” of ideology. From time to time, the making of feeling rules and the effort to abide by them are tied to ideology, gender structure, and the capitalist economy (Hochschild, 1990; 2003). In creating a national identity, for instance, feeling rules are deployed to construct a civic emotion and shape a nation’s emotional

48 culture (Brown, 2014). In domination and resistance, Scott (1990) finds that the performance of “hidden transcripts” often entails a careful suppression or control of feelings or a simulation of required emotions. As the next sub-section will also show, the setting up and the application of framing rules, feeling rules, and expression rules can all be applied in the service of mobilization, repression, and in-group solidarity during political conflicts. While the evocation of certain emotions by role-taking may lead to social control through self-control (Shott, 1979), failing to conform to the normative guidelines on feelings would lead to a self-labeling process of being emotional deviant (Thoit, 1985). Understanding how emotions are evoked and managed through these processes is thus vital to our knowledge of social movements. The study of emotional management is also pertinent to our understanding of the wider socio-cultural context of social movements. As a core part of an emotional culture, feeling rules reflect the larger cultural context and indicate how it might be changed. As Gordon (1981; 1990) contends, an emotional culture is made up of three components, namely emotion vocabularies, emotional norms, and beliefs about emotions. Emotional beliefs guide our views on emotions, such as the view that anger should be expelled from the political sphere and the idea that “repressed” emotion is disturbing. Emotional norms are akin to Hochschild’s notions of feeling rules and expression rules, giving social guidelines to direct how we try to feel and how we express emotions. Emotion vocabularies are the cultural labels people use to identify emotions linguistically and describe common emotional experiences among members of society. Taken together, an emotional culture guides people “to identify and discuss emotions, evaluate them as desirable or undesirable, and regulate them in line with values and norms” (Gordon, 1990: 152). The study of feeling rule is hence a crucial starting point to comprehend the cultural environment that a social movement is situated in, as well as the mutual production among feeling rules, emotional beliefs, and emotional words.

(iii) The Application of the Constructivist Lens Despite rarely being stated explicitly, the social constructionist perspective, especially Hochschild’s theory, has been used to understand a variety of phenomena in social movements, and this has proven to be a vital step in deciphering the roles and

49 impacts of emotions. A focal area of analysis is emotion work in mobilization, during which movement organizers try to manage others’ emotions and foster their campaigns. In emotion work, a key dimension is to turn inhibitive emotions into enabling emotions, such as transforming grief into anger. As seen in the AIDS activism, this process enabled the politicization of the issue and broadened tactical choice (Gould, 2009). In emotion work, a broad repertoire of emotions could be drawn on and made use of at different stages of a movement (Tarrow, 2011; Kleres and Wettergren, 2017), which can be fashioned through discourses, narratives or symbolic actions (Kane, 2001; Cadena-Roa, 2002; Yang, 2005). Emotion work not only helps activists to feel differently. It also constructs an alternative, oppositional symbolic reality to manage or even reward certain subversive feeling states and assist mobilization (Flam, 1996). With “proper” emotions, people perceive cognitive information differently, driving them to act or avoid acting on a contentious issue (Nepstad and Smith, 2001; Nogaard 2006). In a sense, managing emotions prompts people to resonate with a movement campaign, thereby assisting framing effort and facilitating mobilization (Bröer and Duyvendak, 2009; Schrock et al., 2004; Robnett, 2004). In Flam’s (2005) words, a successful mobilization requires not only cognitive liberation but also “emotional liberation.” Through the latter, positive emotions attached to the existing socio- political order are lessened and new emotional bonds towards a changing order are forged. By and large, the discussion of emotion work attests the view that emotional experiences and emotional norms are constantly constructed at different stages of socio-political conflicts. Emotions are not simply felt by individuals but created and re-created in a social setting to affect mobilization. The constructivist lens is also important for our understanding of the emotion work rendered by the state or powerful groups to maintain their socio-political position. In 19th century Britain, for example, the secret voting system was designed to respond to the working class movement which was deemed to be too passionate and fearful, which finally led to an emotional culture of apathy and cynicism that displaced working class solidarity (Barbalet, 2002; 2006). This shows how mobilization can be dampened not just through changes in a political system but also through modifying the emotionality associated with that system. Scholars also discover that emotion is not an exclusive feature of grassroots politics, but very often a tool for the elite class to mobilize support through, for example,

50 manipulating anger to legitimize who has the right to be angry and blame others (Ost, 2004; Lyman, 2004). On a larger scale, emotion work can be orchestrated by the state and political parties to fashion a national identity or garner mass support (Heaney, 2013; Berezin, 2002). From Fascist to Communist regimes, we witness how emotions were used to mobilize popular backing for state-sponsored political movements (Berezin, 2001; Perry, 2002). At the micro-level, emotions can also be manipulated by police force and security agencies to create social control (Clough, 2012). These works indicate that a dominant socio-political position must be defended strategically and emotionally. Emotions are often constructed and manipulated by the elites to derail popular contention. Understanding how emotions are constructed fluidly is also crucial to realizing how a broader socio-cultural environment changes and affects a movement. When a socio- cultural context is helpful to emotion work, emotional experiences can be shaped to reinforce a movement. During the anti-slavery movement in America, for example, a changing political-cultural context after the American Revolution helped to engender a brand-new worldview, facilitating not just an emotional adherence of a particular generation of evangelicals to anti-slavery thoughts but the making of the moral emotion of anger (Young, 2001; Lamb-Books, 2016). But as suggested above, the powerholders are often a core actor in emotion work. They also play a role in shaping and maintaining a dominant emotional culture which would affect or even control the display of oppositional emotions (Whittier, 2001). Sometimes, hegemonic socio-cultural thoughts also pose a huge impact on emotion work. Like in the animal rights movement, the dominant configuration between reason and emotion and the patriarchal gender structure have profoundly decided the form and the outlook of the movement (Groves, 2001). Thus, encouraging participants to feel in one way but not others is not only a strategy for mobilization but also an effort to combat a hegemonic emotional culture and/or inject new moral ideals to society (Taylor and Whittier, 1995; Jacobsson and Lindblom, 2013). Thus, how a socio-cultural context changes emotionally is pertinent to the rise and fall of social movements, but from time to time, the construction of emotions helps change a socio-cultural context. The same can be said for the relationship between emotions and socio-political structure given that emotion work is always done within a political regime and an economic system. In repressive regimes, for example, anger is usually controlled and does

51 not burst publicly (Scott, 1990). Instead, joy and pleasure are foregrounded in laughter, ambivalence, and carnivalesque events as a way to protest without agitating the authority (Flam, 2004). Emotions feature differently in democratic and capitalist, consumerist societies. For example, joy and pleasure can be deployed to resist “fake” emotions produced under a consumerist culture (Wettergren, 2009). Although anger might be expressed more freely in democratic societies, the extent anger is exhibited through confrontational action is associated with the structural embeddedness of movement organizations in a political system (Blocq, Klandermans and van Stekelenburg, 2012). This shows that there are both potential and constraints in different political systems. Whereas a democratic society does not always allow a fully liberating emotion work, an undemocratic regime can still offer opportunities for emotion work and hence socio-political resistance. Emotion work and its wider context are in a constant tug-of-war, but sometimes subversive emotions can bring about a revolutionary change of political regime (Saxonberg, 2013; Benski and Langmen, 2013). Thus, there is no fixed role for an emotion. How an emotion is played out is intimately tied to the features of a political-economic system and the task for analysts is to tease out their dynamic relationship. Recognizing the construction of emotions is also essential to understand the internal dynamics and solidarity of a movement. In Jasper’s (1998) pioneering work, it is argued that movement participants are held together through “reciprocal emotions” such as friendship, love, solidarity, and loyalty and they are united through “shared emotions” against the adversary. Accordingly, a more or less coherent feeling working both internally and externally is crucial to solidarity and it is vital to elicit how this affective state can be achieved. Again, emotion work is the key. Through dialogical exchanges or ritualized activities, collective emotions and solidarity can be improvised (Barker, 2001; Summers- Effler, 2002; 2005). Even within a professional and bureaucratic movement organization, the making of emotional norms is central to sustaining engagement among members (Rodgers, 2010). Also, when movement participants perceive a sense of emotional benefit, they can be motivated to the insurgency (Wood, 2001; Jasper, 1997). If an affective state does not match what a movement needs, estrangement from the movement and less devotion would be resulted (Goodwin, 1997); and if negative emotions dominate in a group, the worst outcome would be demobilization (Kleres, 2005). In some cases, emotions can be

52 a double-edged sword due to their “ambivalent” character: an emotion can be liberating when targeted against the adversary, but the same emotion can be detrimental to movement solidarity when juxtaposing a movement ideal (Holmes, 2004). Hence, managing emotions among activists is always a troublesome task. A constructivist lens enables us to unearth the process through which emotions are contested within a movement and advance our knowledge about in-group bonding and movement solidarity. In sum, the social construction approach to emotions allows us to appreciate how emotions are actively constructed and intensely negotiated throughout social struggles. With the social constructionist approach being applied widely in movement analyses, feelings are no longer thought of as merely the contagion of passion. Instead, they are studied through attending to such socio-cultural processes as social interactions and meaning-makings, through which the diverse roles and impacts of emotions in social movements are better apprehended. Emotions are considered less a mechanical psychological state or biological instinct and more a socio-cultural product worked out by political actors on different sides. While social movements entail emotion work to advance the insurgency, this process always involves both powerholders and contenders who endeavour to create emotions favourable to their own political projects. The roles and impacts of emotions in social movements are further excavated by construing how the existing social, cultural, and political contexts pose both opportunities and constraints for the construction of emotions and how they are reshaped by emotion work and emotionally- driven actions. What is also important is the ways emotions help to maintain solidarity and construct a common target. With the social construction approach, we come to realize that emotions are constructed dynamically and that they can be deployed to serve both progressive and repressive ends in socio-political contestation.

(iv) Three Central Problems of the Emotional Management Theory Three areas of Hochschild’s emotional management theory must be strengthened in order to better analyze the construction of, and the contestation over, emotions in social movements. Firstly, in Hochschild’s formulation, the core concern is individuals’ emotional life in social organization. No consideration is given to how individuals might form as a collectivity and no thought is presented to talk about the possible formation of an

53 alternative feeling rule which might counter the one set up by the authority. A dynamic and interactive lens is clearly lacking when discussing feeling rules and their impacts on emotions. For example, in normal times, a flight attendant might be submissive to the feeling rule set up by the flight company. But when a labour struggle is going on, an alternative feeling rule might be offered by a trade union. Instead of wearing a smile, a flight attendant might be prompted to show anger during a strike. Ignoring these dynamics, the application of Hochschild’s in social movement analyses can be problematic. Although in existing movement studies it is recognized that different parties involved in contention may set up their own feeling rules, scholars seldom take various feeling rules into account concurrently and explore how they contest one another over a period of time. Movement scholars have tended to examine emotion work either from the perspective of movement groups or from that of the powerholders. It is rare for them to take both types of emotion work into account and analyze the co-existence of and the interactions between two types (or multiple types) of emotion work (Cadena-Roa, 2002; Barbalet, 2002; Gould, 2009; Bröer and Duyvendak, 2009; Jacobsson and Lindblom, 2013; see Whittier for an exception). Although some leading figures in social movement studies have already pointed out the need to explore movement dynamics and micro-processes (McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly, 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015), this insight is yet to be incorporated into the study of emotion work in social movements. The questions about how emotions are competed and negotiated and how this happens over time and in a concrete context are something awaits confirmation. This brings us to the second and the third problem of the emotional management theory. Theories on the social construction of emotions, including Hochschild’s, are generally more interested in micro-interactions than the macro spatial context where emotion work takes place. In these works, they do suggest that a physical setting is what provides the material props and the audiences and what gives rise to a “right” emotion (Hochschild, 2003: 67; Averill, 1980: 323). Nevertheless, in sociology the emphasis is usually put on social interactions conducted in a particular environment rather than the physical and cultural properties of a place. A further problem is that by focusing on micro- interaction in a local setting, scholars tend to forget that a place is always situated in a wider spatial context which is differentiated by scales. The place where proper or deviant

54 emotions arise is not limited to what Collins (2001) conceives as a place for co-presence and collective effervescence, while the Goffmanian stage where people play on is never confined by the physical limit set by a theatre. To illustrate with Hochschild’s example. A cabin is a localized place for flight attendants’ emotion work, but it is also situated in a wider spatial context such as an airport and space (i.e. the sky) structured by the international aviation law. From time to time, these spaces are subject to socio-economic changes that increase the connectedness between cities and heighten the demand for emotion work. Likewise, the localized space for, as well as the required amount of, emotion work also differ among flight companies, depending on whether one is working for a budget airline targeting short-haul flights or a traditional airline focusing on the long- haul market. Therefore, emotion work takes place in, and is shaped by, spaces at different levels. We not only need to uncover the spatial-cultural characteristics of places at the micro-level but also those of different spatialities at the macro-level. Equally lacking is a broader purview of the temporal dimension of emotion work. Whereas the lived experiences of time and the temporal nature of bodily experiences are pivotal concerns in the interactive and phenomenological accounts of emotions (Mattley, 2002; Denzin, 1985), multiple temporal processes beyond interactive time are seldom mentioned. Take the suppression of anger in the job environment of flight attendants as an example. While the rise and the control of anger have to do with the interactional sequence between a flight attendant and a customer, the response time of anger, and the duration of anger in a micro-setting, the increasing likelihood of anger and job pressure themselves are related to broader temporal processes such as faster human flows in a globalized world, busier air traffic, shorter flight intervals, and less time for rest for flight attendants. Although micro-level interactions are important, they are all embedded in, and shaped by, the macro-transformation of society over time. Hochschild’s (2003) discussion about the commercialization of the aviation industry remains descriptive and cannot help to tease out the broader temporal processes behind emotions. This problem is also exemplified in social movement studies. For example, in Jasper’s (1998; 2006; 2011; 2014a) works, emotions are investigated only in terms of their response time and the duration they last as if they are immune to the influence of broader social processes. Lacking a broader purview and an

55 understanding of the wider temporal context which consists of multiple social processes with different timescales, the investigation of emotion work is deficient. A better appreciation of time and space in moulding the context of emotion work is crucial to the application of the emotional management theory in social movement studies. Take the study of fear as an example. While some scholars report that fear hinders agency and is a barrier to mobilization (Flam, 2004; 2005), other scholars find that fear can sometimes be useful in prompting people to act against injustice or compel elites to carry out socio-political reforms (Kleres and Wettergren, 2017; Azab and Santoro, 2017; Barbalet, 1998; Barbalet and Demertzis, 2013). Another example is anger and its related emotions. While it is commonly conceived that anger, moral outrage, grievances, resentment, and vengeance are constructive to collective actions or the pursuit of justice (Flam, 2005; Gould, 2009; Jasper 2014b; Ransan-Cooper, 2018; Solomon, 1990; Bergstrand, 2014; Auyero, 2004; V. Henderson, 2008), it is also warned that they need to be contained to avoid provoking the authority or used with caution (Flam, 2004; Kleres and Wettergren, 2017). These findings are not necessarily contradictory to one another, but they do suggest the need to unearth the details about the spatial and temporal contexts where emotion work and emotional experiences take place and influence social movements. Until the contextual boundary of emotions is better delineated, the discussion about the construction and management of emotions remains inadequately specified. The constant remaking of emotions in time and space at both micro and macro levels are thus central areas for us to dwell on.

(v) Three Deficient Correctives A theoretical approach to the construction of emotions in social movements requires a dynamic lens and needs to put emotion work in time and space. Incorporating Hochschild’s emotional management theory with recent theories on movement dynamics appears to be a workable way. Yet three persistent failings characterize these theories, making them inadequate to solve the problems listed above. The first is their problematic assumption about emotions. The second is a lack of attention to the interplay between long- term processes and short-term social interactions. The third is their negligence of spatial scales.

All three problems feature in McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly’s (2001) dynamic of contention (DOC) paradigm. As an alternative theory proposed to correct the tendency to focus solely on long-term processes, movement-centric interactions between challengers and polity members, and regular pattern of social movement activities (Tilly, 1978; McAdam, 1982; McAdam and Sewell, 2001; Tarrow; 2011; Koopmans, 2004), the DOC paradigm turns to study “smaller-scale causal mechanisms that recur in different combinations with different aggregate consequences in varying historical settings” (McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly, 2001: 24). In recognizing the moves and counter-moves of actors in a relatively short-term timescale, however, the authors fail to appreciate how short-term timescale interacts with the longer-term and fairly stable processes they had once emphasized. Meanwhile, in stressing multiple spaces of activism in the process of “scale shift” (Tarrow, 2005; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005), they have focused only on the global and the local and disregarded many other spatial scales such as the regional and the body (Leitner, Sheppard, and Sziarto, 2008; Sziarto and Leitner, 2010). A more serious problem is that while putting the theory in relational terms, the authors have not treated political actors as emotional beings and political interactions as emotional occurrences. Much emphasis is still placed on the intentional and rational side of political interactions, leaving emotional experiences and the strategic use of emotions unattended. These problems make it hard to comprehend how emotion work can be done by emotional actors in different ranges of temporal processes and at different spatial levels. Similar problems are also found in Fligstein and McAdam’s theory of field. In their conception, strategic action field is an organized social space where social actors conduct their actions, and where social order and social change take place at the meso-level (Fligstein and McAdam, 2012). Their focus on meso-level order and change bridges an important gap between the macro and the micro, but it nevertheless slights many dynamics occurring between actors who interact at the micro-level, as well as the temporal processes during those interactions. Meanwhile, in emphasizing fields as always embedded in a broader environment and field boundaries as fluid, partially overlapping, and constantly changing, the concrete place of human experiences and the scalar relationship between different spaces of action are ill-defined. The theory is thus unable to advance the theorization of emotion work in contention since we would lose sight of both micro-

57 interaction and the spatial boundary of such exchange. Indeed, the theory itself is not well- crafted for understanding emotive interactions. By postulating social actors as simply possessing “a highly developed cognitive capacity for reading people and environments, framing lines of action, and mobilizing people” and by defining social skills only in cognitive, empathetic, and communicative terms (Fligstein and McAdam, 2012: 17), the theory simply lacks an awareness of emotions in fields. Compared with the above two theories, Jasper and Duyvendak’s strategic interaction perspective (SIP) has more potential in advancing our knowledge about emotional contestation in social movements. “Players” in strategic interaction, which can be defined on individual or team basis, are both rational and emotional in pursuing their political goals. Their goals can be selfish or altruistic, and some of these goals may not be aware of by players and lay at the practical consciousness or pre-conscious levels. Goals are judged rationally, but emotions and meanings also permeate them, making the theory more suitable for analyzing both strategic and emotional actions in social movements. Goals are taken into arenas where players interact with one another and where a range of norms, traditions, and bureaucratic and legal rules impose constraints on or provide resources to players. While acting like traditional institutions, arenas’ boundaries are still porous in the sense that players move around arenas and that conflicts in one arena may spill over and diffuse to other arena(s) (Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015; Duyvendak and Jasper, 2015). The theory thus gives a more well-defined space of activism without embracing a movement-centric view that each social movement is a discrete entity having no connection with one another. Despite these improvements, some shortcomings of the SIP make it an imperfect solution to the problems appearing in the theory of emotional management. Firstly, like the DOC model, temporality discussed in the SIP is still inclined to short-term timescale. In Jabola-Carolus et al. (2018) and Jasper’s (2012) pieces, the focus is placed on how interactions between actors unfold over time and move along time sequences, which involve choice points, trade-offs, and dilemmas in the process of reactions and turn-takings. Yet in foregrounding temporal dynamics in a short-term timescale, we would lose sight of the impact of longer-term processes that might have a bearing on players’ decisions and emotions. A subsequent problem is that the model also lacks adequate discussion about the

(conflictual) interaction between processes at different timescales. In the case of Hong Kong, the Beijing government, a core player in Hong Kong politics, has long feared about the collusion between local activists and the Western governments, but political decisions growing out of this long-term emotion is often strengthened by short-term events like the Colour Revolution and the Arab Spring. Thus, temporal processes at different timescales must be taken into consideration in understanding micro-dynamics. Social changes may erupt in a contingent manner, but they may also evolve gradually, shaping what Jasper (2018) calls affective commitments and moral commitments—long-term emotions that affect social action. As Haydu and Skotnicki (2016) remind us, social transformation at different timescales often overlap and interact with one another to produce social protests. The investigation of micro-dynamics and the production of emotions, therefore, should take into account processes at different timescales simultaneously. What is also lacking in the SIP is an analysis of arenas at different scales. Partly confined by the metaphor of arena, the SIP’s proponents tend to privilege institution-like, rule- and place-bounded spaces over the larger environment and prioritize physical and tangible settings over symbolic space despite mentioning both are important (see Duyvendak and Fillieule, 2015: 306). Yet the larger environments, be they physical or non- physical, material or symbolic, do exert much influence on both players and arenas. In a football match, for example, both players and the field are subject to the weather condition which always changes temporally/seasonally and spatially/regionally. A snow shower may make the field slippery, which could make a skillful team which likes to keep the ball low on the ground to lose its edge over its opponent. In some cases, a snowstorm can even cause a match to be cancelled. In other places, there is no snow in winter and all outdoor sports are unaffected. This implies that the notion of the larger environment remains useful to our analysis. What should be introduced into the SIP is the notion of macro spaces that are analytically defined in terms of different scales, say, global, regional, national, and local. Through this, we can get a better sense of how different arenas overlap and interact to affect players’ actions and emotions. The example of Hong Kong is telling here. Since the 1980s, its democratization progress has been situated in various global waves of democracy. While global political process, which occurred in arenas in Eastern Europe, mainland China, and the Middle East, introduced the rhetoric of democracy to the local

59 society in the 1980s and shaped the tactic of spatial occupation in the 2010s, they also affected how the Beijing national government, the movement opponent, responded to the local pro-democracy struggle. This means that the making of emotions is not simply located at the local and bodily levels but interacted with processes at many other levels. Multiple spaces at different scales should be considered when studying emotional contestation between players, and between players and arenas. Thirdly, although Jasper is a core proponent for the study of emotions, his description of emotions in the SIP has made a one-sided emphasis on players and neglected the emotionality of arenas (Jasper, 2012; 2015a; 2015b). Therefore, it should be added that all arenas have their own associated feeling rules and these feeling rules would make players acting in that arena to have particular emotional experiences and dispositions. They may also shape players’ decisions on the spatiality and temporality of actions. In return, their actions would reproduce or change the feelings of other players or the emotionality and feeling rules associated with that arena. In Hong Kong, for example, street activism has traditionally been associated with anger and hyper-radicalism. Suppressing these emotions and emotional displays has become a feeling rule, making some pro-democracy activists privilege the parliamentary arena for their struggle. Other activists, in contrast, defy the dominant feeling rule and try to reshape it by staging creative forms of street politics, producing a change in the emotionality of the street arena gradually. Accordingly, to fully understand dynamics, we must emotionalize both players and arenas. We should focus not only on the emotions of players but on feeling rules growing out of the cultural characteristics of movement space.

III. A Strategic Temporal-Spatial Approach to Emotions A theoretical framework to study the dynamic construction of emotions in social movements must absorb the essence of the SIP and acknowledge the importance of multiple temporal processes and manifold spaces at different scales. Below I will outline a framework that puts strategic interaction over emotions along the axes of time and space. I devote the first two sub-sections to discuss how time and space serve as the contexts—the temporal and spatial orders—of emotional dynamics and use the final sub-section to

60 discuss how time and space guide emotional experiences and emotional management at the micro, interactive level.

(i) Defining Arena in Spatial Terms Multiple spatial processes must be taken into account in order to grasp the dynamics of emotional production in social movements. Below I put the notion of arena in spatial terms. This could help appreciate how arena may take on different forms of spatially to serve as the sites of action and how larger (less place-specific) and smaller (more place- specific) arenas intertwine to encourage or discourage political actions and emotions. An arena is both a material and symbolic space where political actions and emotions occur. This is akin to what is commonly known as a spatial context that directs our social life and that is often contested in both physical and symbolic terms (Cresswell, 1996; Massey, 1984; Gregory and Urry, 1985; Soja, 1989; Giddens, 1984; Sewell, 2001). In Lefebvrian language, an arena serves as a perceived space that provides the material context for our bodily movements and guides our sensory organs. It also acts as a conceived space that shapes our knowledge about space through representations in signs and codes (Lefebvre, 1991). While perceived and conceived spaces facilitate such processes of domination as capital accumulation and state bureaucratic management (Soja and Hadjimichalis, 1979; Jessop, 2002; Harvey, 2008; Brenner et al., 2003; Brenner and Elden, 2009; Drainville, 2004; Lefebvre, 2009 [1970]; 2009 [1978]), they also deny “the natural, the sensory/sensual, sexuality and pleasure” through “function[ing] ‘objectively,’ as a set of things/signs and their formal relationships” (Lefebvre, 1991: 49-50). Hence, an arena is the material, symbolic, and emotional structures for actors, be they activists, state actors, or bystanders, to think about and carry out their strategic actions of domination and resistance, including their attempts to manage emotions. Manifested in the built environment, spatial discourses and symbols, and associated feeling rules, an arena acts as the material, imaginative, and emotional boundaries for actors to launch their actions, fashion new meanings, and feel in deviant or conformist ways. From time to time, challenging the material, symbolic, and emotional settings of an arena is often a goal of socio-political struggles. Here I term such structure as a “spatial order”—a structure that

61 guides the “right” mode of behaviour, ideas, and feeling in space and which is frequently subject to bottom-up challenges. Under a spatial order, domination and resistance, including the dynamic contestation over emotions, take place through different kinds of spatialities. Applying Jessop, Brenner and Jones’s (2008) “TPSN” framework, I outline four dimensions of socio- spatial relations that are pertinent to the production and counter-production of emotions in arenas, namely territory, place, scale, and network (see also Leitner, Sheppard and Sziarto, 2008; Nicholls, Miller and Beaumont, 2013; Miller 2013). Each of them refers to specific geographies of social relations. Yet they are also relational and mutually constitutive, and they sometimes combine to order and reorder the socio-spatial landscape and relations. Firstly, a territory is the larger context for place-bounded arenas in the SIP, and it is itself an arena for most players within national politics. A territory defines a boundary that is closely associated with state power and authority, which thereby defines social order and citizenship (Sack, 1984). It is the precondition of state power, constituting one of the most essential features of the state: the power to centralize over a delimited territory (Mann, 2003). This makes the state one of the most important players in this arena. Although Duyvendak and Jasper (2015) are right in saying that it is always the smaller state agencies who are responsible to carry out different tasks, it is the territory they are situating in that gives them the ultimate source of power. With this power, the state can call upon a feeling rule to constitute the collective emotion of a nation (Brown, 2014). On the other way round, as research on nationalism shows, it is usually the feeling rule of patriotism that buttresses a territorial claim (Anderson, 2010). Therefore, a territory defines not only an arena and the players within that boundary. It also comes with an emotionality that justifies this spatiality. In the case of Hong Kong, territory carries a dual meaning. While it refers to the city’s territorial boundary, it also connotes that Hong Kong is located within the territory of China. Very often, the arena defined in territorial terms is associated with the emotion of love towards China. As we shall see in Chapter 5 and 6, protecting the territorial unity of China and urging for patriotism are often the twin cruxes of contention in post-handover Hong Kong. The second spatiality an arena may take on is place, which is similar to what Jasper (2015a; 2015b) has mentioned about arena. Yet it should be headlined that arena of

62 this type also comes with an emotionality. According to Agnew’s (2011) three-folded definition, a place is first a location where an activity or an object is located and which relates to other locations; it is then a locale where everyday activities take place and which produces values, attitudes, and behaviours; it is also a sense of place through which a sense of identification and a sense of belonging are developed to serve as the basis of solidarity and collective action (see also Tuan, 1977 and Brown and Pickerill, 2009). Hence, compared with territory, a place is an arena smaller in scale but tied more explicitly to human agency and emotions, and it is often these emotions that become the bones of contention. While physical changes in place or the violation of place meanings can lead to such emotional responses as grief, distress, and anger (Fullilove, 1996; Fried, 1973 [1963]; Tester et al., 2011; Billig, 2005; Benski, 2005), they can also produce emotions that motivate resistances and collective actions (Lewicka, 2005; Halbwach, 1980; Ransan- Cooper et al., 2018; Woods et al., 2012; Manzo, 2003). Besides, since a place is associated with specific meanings, symbols, power, and resources, it provides the circumstances, constraints, and opportunities for action (Tilly, 2000; Miller, 2000; della Porta, Fabbri and Piazza, 2013; della Porta and Fabbri, 2016). Although a place is often the precondition for emotions and actions, this kind of arena and subversive emotions can be constructed through spatial struggles, such as the protest camps in the Occupy Movement where place and emotions grew out of spatial transgression (Feigenbaum, Frenzel and McCudy, 2013; Castells, 2015). Urban community is a typical example of place, but we may treat institution-like arenas such as a courtroom or parliament as places as well because players there also carry a set of values, everyday practices, and feeling rules (including the prevalent feeling rule of suppressing emotional expression to appear “rational”). Putting them in spatial terms helps to define a clear spatial boundary for them, while linking them with other macro-scale arenas. Here a note about terminology should be added. When I refer to “place” in the rest of the thesis, I am implying that some kind of human experiences is involved. When I use the term “space,” I refer it more generally to a more abstract spatial process devoid of human experiences. The third spatiality of arena is scale. The spatiality of domination and resistance is not confined to place and territory but permeates in regional and global settings and agencies. It is scale that links up the larger and smaller, less place-bounded and more place-

63 bounded arenas and that facilitates the vertical shift of the arenas of domination and resistance. Since the advent of neoliberalism, the decentralization of power and downscaling of governance are often deployed by the state to facilitate capital accumulation and these processes involve scale-making and scale-jumping (Brenner, 2004; Jessop et al., 2008). Reversely, activists can resist through multi-scalar strategies, for example, by taking local issues to the national or global level (Miller, 2000; Leitner et al., 2008; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005). Frequently, it is through the process of scale-shift that subversive emotions are generated (Sziarto and Leitner, 2010). In Hong Kong, the principal force of the shift of arenas through scale is the very design of the One Country, Two Systems. A peculiar type of scalar relation is witnessed as the power of the state, the Beijing national government, is often manifested through the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR) government and a range of local pro-Beijing political groups. Domination therefore shifts across arenas at different levels. For example, while the introduction of patriotic education in local schools is a national policy, it is the HKSAR government and the pro-Beijing groups who are responsible to foster this policy and feeling rule. Yet the scalar relation between arenas also creates prospects for resistance. Activists tend to jump over the national level to seek support at the regional and global levels, and by soliciting wide support, hope for victory is often boosted. Thus, arenas can move beyond the local and territorial levels and shift across the local, national, regional, and global levels, allowing the production and counter-production of emotions to occur at different scales. The question for analysts is not only how emotions are made in an arena but how the production of emotions shifts across arenas. If scale is the spatiality where contention moves vertically, network, the final spatiality of arena, is the one that facilitates the horizontal linkage and the movement of contentions between arenas. Since the 2000s, the transversal, rhizomatic form of interspatial interconnectivity has become a new focus of socio-spatial relations (Jessop et al., 2008). Through networks, the flow of information, ideas, and emotions among activists in different locations is facilitated, thereby transcending and stringing territorial-based places, enabling a broad-based social movement or even transnational activism, and establishing a common emotional culture even in the absence of face-to-face interaction (Nicholls, 2009; Taylor and Rupp, 2002; Bosco, 2007; Steinhilper, 2018). However, this

64 kind of linkage is not unconditional. Cities and the urban environment have a greater potential to build up an extensive activist network (Nicholls, 2011). Studies of diffusion also show that information and tactical flows in a network often hinge on the local context of the receiving side (Wood, 2012; Edwards, 2014). As my case studies will show, socio- political struggles in Hong Kong have been empowered tactically and emotionally through activists’ linkage with Taiwanese activists. This linkage, nonetheless, was spurred by the Beijing government’s policy towards the two places and it also mediated the political debates among Hong Kong activists. Hence, emotional dynamics were played out horizontally in a network, but they were also knitted with ground-level and higher-level arenas of activism. By defining arenas in spatial terms, we can better realize how multiple, and sometimes conflicting, spatial contexts and processes—what I have called “spatial order”—operate to shape socio-political contention and emotional dynamics. A spatial order takes the forms of territory, place, scale, and network to condition the domination and resistance over emotions. Admittedly, place is similar to Jasper and Duyvendak’s original formulation of arena, but the introduction of territory helps to construe how an arena is configured in macro terms. Also, network is in fact akin to what Jasper and Duyvendak consider as the spillover of contention among arenas, but bringing scale into the picture, we can conceptualize the shift of contention not just horizontally but vertically.

(ii) Defining Arena in Temporal Terms Equally important is to put emotional dynamics in multiple temporal processes. For the construction of emotions is by no means a momentary instance or a static process insensitive to change. Thus, arena must be temporalized to analyze not simply short-term interactive time but manifold processes at different timescales that shape contention and emotions. Below, the notion of arena is put in temporal terms. This allows us to appreciate that an arena does not simply shift in space but also move along time and that emotions change and continue over time. An arena is a space where social action and emotions occur, but this space is situated in time and it always shifts temporally. This understanding of arena broadly aligns with theorizations in time geography where a call for overcoming the traditional dualism of

65 time and space is made to reconsider time and space as mutually constitutive and take time- space as the dual pivotal point to understand the social (May and Thrift, 2001; Soja, 1985; Giddens, 1984). Just as Foucault (1986a: 22) succinctly says, there is always a “fatal intersection of time with space.” Massey (1992: 77) also adds, “the definitions of both space and time in themselves must be constructed as the result of interrelations.” Time and space should thus be studied alongside each other when examining arenas. Like space, time is the context of socio-political conflicts and this context often has a bearing on emotions and the body. The Newtonian time, for example, as a linear and reversible time expressed by clock time that assumes abstraction, rationality, and universality, has dominated the modern society, sidelining and marginalizing many other temporal regimes such as time of the nature and time of our body (Adam, 1990). This enables the capitalist mode of production to displace not just lived space but also the natural rhythm of the spatio-temporal body through a mechanical and instrumental measurement of social labour (Lefebvre, 1991: 91-92). In a neoliberalized and globalized world, social life has accelerated and wiped out other “slow” forms of life, or what Urry (2009) calls the “glacial time,” constituting a psychological pressure of fear of losing out (Rosa, 2015; Rosa, 2003; Rosa and Scheuerman, 2009). Melucci (1998) also points out, the differentiation, multiplication, and denaturalization of time in today’s information-saturated “complex society” have led to a greater opposition between the inner time of the self and social time, making personal identity fragmented and leading to affective and behavioural disturbances. Thus, multiple modes of time and temporal processes exist side by side and they guide social life, shape our emotional experiences, and render social conflicts. Social movements often attempt to re-appropriate the temporalized place as well as the natural rhythm of the body and everyday life (Lefebvre, 1996)—and I would add, emotions. In this light, time is another structural context—the “temporal order”—for political players to think about and carry out their strategic actions of domination and resistance, including the dynamic construction of emotions. Social movements and emotions are thus embedded in an arena constituted by the conflictual relationships among temporal processes flowing at different timescales and locating in domains like politics, culture, and economy. Activists often aim to compete with the dominant temporal order by, for example, proposing a slow

66 form of life or a “timeless time” of politics (Kaun and Treré, 2018; Castells, 2015), through which alternative emotional experiences might be generated. Yet unlike space, time does not have a tangible and material form and is less visible. To understand how time constitutes and shapes an arena, the notion of “timescape” proposed by Adam (1998), which is later adopted by Gillan (2018; forthcoming), is useful here. While landscapes, cityscapes, and seascapes mark the spatial boundaries and possibilities for social life, a timescape moulds the temporality and rhythmicity of living beings. Contrary to place and territory mentioned earlier, the effects of time are characterized by latency, invisibility, indeterminacy, and multi-causality. When applied to social movement studies, the notion of timescape is akin to the macro socio-political environment where collective actions arise. Yet contrary to the traditional, static conception of political opportunity structure, timescape is a dynamic concept where a movement moves along an uneven temporal terrain that contains both stubborn historical patterns and contingent events. Take the 15-M/Indignados in Spain as an example: what appeared to be new and spontaneous were actually evolving from longtime political practices being developed in latent periods of mobilization (Flesher Fominaya, 2015). Very often, social movements occur as “events” or “critical junctures” to change the course of history and long-established patterns of social interactions (Sewell, 1996; della Porta, 2018). And through repeated re-interpretations, an event becomes part of the broader socio- political environment (Wagner-Pacifici, 2010). A timescape is thus the (fluid and moving) boundary for social movements, both setting constraints and offering possibilities for what an actor can do, think, and feel. The construction of emotional experiences then moves along some patterned social processes and changes during conflictual periods. Being macro in nature, a timescape is difficult to observe directly. One way to approach timescape is to discern “vectors” flowing in society. In different epochs, a range of temporal processes, which can be socio-economic, cultural, or political in character, run at the short, medium, and long-term timescales. In these processes, vectors are ongoing patterns of social interaction at the micro, interactional level, which flow at different directions (i.e. parallel or countervailing), move with different velocities (i.e. some are more salient, visible, and pervasive), and exert their impacts with different magnitudes (Gillan, 2018). They are manifested and can be detected in multiple domains, such as

67 policies and institutional rules, discourses, tactical choices, and practices. While Gillan’s piece focuses on the aspects of ideations and action orientations of vectors, I add that vectors are also emotional and they are manifested in and shaped by collective emotional experiences. Instead of being a distinct category, emotions are often intertwined with, and implied in, ideations and action orientations. Multiple vectors flow alongside or against one another. They may change over time, but they often repeat and become a relatively continuous and stable timescape at the macro-level (Gillan, 2018). To translate them into the SIP language, vectors are sets of rules and resources for players to do their interactions and decisions. While some of them have a certain level of continuity and durability to create some kind of stability of an arena, others can animate the eruption of socio-political conflicts and the reconstruction of an arena and a timescape. Political players are embedded in the nexus of different temporal processes, and they, sometimes involuntarily, draw on various sets of vectors and/or fashion new ones. Here the notion of vector differs from “culture” as it foregrounds the dimension of time and highlights that the making and remaking of these rules and resources is always an ongoing, temporal process. Patterns of social interaction that bound strategic interaction and emotional construction can have a long and persistent influence on social action, but they can be drawn upon by actors to transform the arena of action and produce new patterns of interaction in a rather contingent manner. In the present study, timescape is re-termed as “temporal order” not merely for seeking a parallel terminology to that of space but for two other reasons. Firstly, as Gillan (2018) hints at the end of his article, the concept of timescape is not a totalizing one. Instead, it is always mediated by historical specificity in different political spaces. Timescape, therefore, should be considered in plural rather than singular terms. The idea of neoliberal timescape may well capture the politics of time in the Western context, but it is less applicable in other times and spaces. Neoliberalization may have spread across the globe but it is not received unanimously without resistance or reformulation. Timescape is hence multiple, and they may overlap with or contradict one another. When a timescpae becomes hegemonic, it becomes the dominant “order” of social life that consists of a set of hegemonic vectors in a particular place and at a period of time. Secondly, given that a timescape is spatially differentiated, the difference across spatial scales—the vertical

68 linkage and relation between temporal processes—should be better spelt out. Like different altitudes of a landscape, the terrain at different scales of a timescape would be different. A neoliberal timescape may produce a financial crisis to hit many countries across the globe, its implications to domination and resistance are often mediated through complementary or countervailing temporal processes at the regional, national, and local levels, as well as the spatial features at these scalar levels. We thus need to consider how a timescape facilitates or obstructs the movement of a social movement at different “orders” of scale. Specifying the spatial levels of a timescape would lead to a better understanding of strategic interaction and the production of emotions. Long-term and relatively stable emotions, such as resentment towards exploitation, may be embedded in patterned historical processes cutting across the globe (e.g. economic globalization) and a particular place in a local context (e.g. factory in a developing country). In contesting a temporal order, place-based emotions, such as anger, are generated as a short-term response to exploitation to spur political actions (e.g. anti-globalization movement), which might consolidate or shake the dominant feelings, such as fear of repression. Locally-grounded emotions, however, may be mediated by social changes at other spatial levels (e.g. the coalitions of activists at the global level), and this may either impede or facilitate protestors’ effort to remake a temporal order and re-engineer the historical flow. Without apprehending the temporal shift of arena and without a sensitivity to scales, we cannot fully capture the change and continuity, the production and counter-production of emotions over time.

(iii) Players: Acting along Time and Space Time and space are not merely a container and a contextual backdrop for strategic interaction. They are also the anchors that orient players’ strategic actions and emotional production. While drawing on the material, ideational, and emotional opportunities from the spatial and temporal contexts, players are very often guided by these opportunities to create actions, tactics, meanings, and feeling rules. Briefly put, time and space are the anchoring points which direct, and are used by, players during political contention. Here, I term them as the “temporal anchor/orientation” and “spatial anchor/orientation” for socio- political action.

Space provides opportunities for bottom-up challenges and there is a long line of research on this. For example, the built environment shapes the time-distance and co- presence of individuals in a protest site or safe space which may facilitate insurgency (Tilly, 2000; Zhao, 1998). Whereas a place-based environment could mediate the availability of political opportunities and helps movement recruitment in a local setting (Miller, 2000), the distinctive environments of cities could facilitate the building up of activist networks (Nicholls, 2011). Social actors also carry out their struggles and think about their oppositional actions spatially. While place is an ideational basis for people to make decisions about participating in a movement or not (Wolford, 2003), it is also a reference point of feelings and an emotional catalyst through which resistance is mobilized (Ransan- Cooper et al., 2018; Woods et al., 2012; Manzo, 2003). It is also common for social movements to reconstruct the symbolic meanings of space by transforming a material spatial setting on the one hand, and by fashioning subversive words, symbols, narratives, place frames, and alternative political identities on the other (Tilly, 2000; Guidry, 2003; Martin, 2013; Daphi, 2014; Routledge, 1996; Routledge, 1997; della Porta et al., 2013; della Porta and Fabbri, 2016). During contention, insurgents think and act spatially. For example, some tactics involve occupying a physical space which is conducted through bodily actions, turning an abstract space into a meaningful lived space or place (Lefebvre, 1991; Cresswell, 1996; Castells, 2015; Feigenbaum et al., 2013). In short, space is the anchor for players to think about and conduct their actions. Different spatial orientations in action may engender different emotional consequences. For example in the 1989 Beijing student movement, mobilization in a high- density campus environment enabled students to “[create] an atmosphere of excitement and [heighten] the pitch of their anger,” whereas the co-presence of a large number of protesters on the street helped them to overcome fear (Zhao, 1998: 1515-1518). However, dissimilar spatial orientations or divergent ways of using space to anchor an action may come into conflict, creating antagonistic relations between powerholders and insurgent groups or even among different actors within insurgent groups. Thanks to these conflicts, actors’ emotional experience is modified and a spatial order is reshaped through spatial- emotional actions. For example in Hong Kong, the dispute about the extent and the length

70 of occupation in the Umbrella Movement had generated a negative emotional experience among many participants and produced a deep line of cleavage among them. Political actions are also directed by time. During periods of contention, time guides actions by orienting activists’ temporal thoughts. Of particular relevance to this thesis are the timing, expectation, pace and directness, sequence, rhythm, duration, and timescale of an action, as well as ideas about the past, present, and future. “Temporal anchor/orientation” refers to conceptions of time that steers how activists act, think, and feel temporally during political actions and different orientations would produce various emotional consequences. In fact, the notion of “temporal orientation” is borrowed from Wagner-Pacifici and Ruggero’s (2018) formulation. In their piece, “temporal orientation” is deployed to refer to individuals’ dispositions to the past, present, and future in prefigurative politics. These dispositions presented as different ways of experiencing and managing time as well as divergent modes of coordination of temporal action during the Philadelphia Occupy Movement. In the movement, disjunctive dispositions about time made the questions of how fast a movement should go and how militant an action should be highly contestable. This created cleavages among the participants emotionally, especially between those who felt anxious and frustrated and those who felt excited (Wagner-Pacifici and Ruggero, 2018). Logically, the convergent and divergent views of time during actions and their related emotional outcomes can be extended to other forms of contentious politics and to the actions of other political actors including the powerholders. In this thesis, the notion is adopted to understand the temporal anchoring of tactical, symbolic, and emotional actions, and the relationship and contestation between different temporal orientations. For example, firing tear gas to dissipate protesters and the later use of the strategy of attrition by the HKSAR government during the Umbrella Movement could be seen as two different temporal orientations of the state player (Yuen and Cheng, 2017), which generated different socio-political ramifications and emotional consequences on the activists who were then caught on the horns of a dilemma about whether they should stage more confrontational action or retreat. A further note is that the ways these temporal orientations guide social actions are not entirely autonomous. Rather, these orientations are derived from the macro-level temporal order(s). For example, activists may intentionally make their actions and

71 movement practices slow to contest the capitalist temporal order of acceleration (Kaun and Treré, 2018), but their use of digital communication in mobilization and their online, high- speed promotion of movement frames and activities are also stemming from the technological and cultural practices under the same timescape of neoliberalism (Kaun, 2015). Consequently, the macro context does not disappear and it often shapes the temporal orientation of action at the micro-level. Theorizing micro-dynamics through time and space would advance our knowledge about players’ political action. When proponents of the SIP talk about choice points, dilemmas, and trade-offs during strategic interaction, their conceptions are largely insensitive to the role of time and space. Putting these things in spatial and temporal terms, we can be more sensitive to the fact that players often feel and make decisions according to the cognitive and emotional cues, resources, opportunities, and constraints provided by time and space. Very often, choice points, dilemmas, and trade-offs are in essence decisions about how to reshape a temporal or spatial order. Without conceiving them in temporal and spatial terms, we cannot provide a satisfactory answer about the micro- dynamics of political actions and emotions.

IV. Players and Arenas in Hong Kong The strategic temporal-spatial approach will be applied to study the dynamic making of emotions in social movements in Hong Kong. This section will list out some practical details about the application. As mentioned above, the “state” of Hong Kong can be broken down into the Beijing government and the HKSAR government. Due to data availability, the former can only be further subdivided into the Chinese Communist Party (CCP),1 the ruling party of China’s party-state. When I refer to the CCP, I mean a decision is made according to the interest of the party; when I refer to the Beijing government, I imply the decision being made is more about the national interest of China. However, the two kinds of decision and interest overlap in many cases, which I will further specify in later discussion. The CCP also has its liaison office, satellite political parties and groups,

1 It is often reported that there are many factions within the CCP in Beijing, the stances of whom are indeed affecting the policy on Hong Kong. Although there is no available or reliable data on this matter, readers should bear in mind that these factions are not acting under a united interest or having a unanimous view on Hong Kong. 72 and media in the political sphere of Hong Kong. Although these domestic players all act on behalf of the CCP, there are rumors that they have slightly different interests and orientations, very often due to the typical temporal problem of order-giving and order- taking during communication and the spatial problem of having a long distance between local affairs and the central party-state. For example, some pro-Beijing politicians may look more “aggressive” than the real CCP stance in order to show their loyalty.2 Again, due to data availability, I assume the discourses and actions of all these local players are broadly aligned with those upheld by the CCP leaders in Beijing. As for the insurgent groups, political players can be further defined as the pro- democracy legislators, young activists who emerged in the political scene in the early 2000s, and student activists who rose as the new political stars in the early 2010s. These three sets of players were the core players in the insurgent camp, but there were many more. For example, there were “radical” activists who positioned themselves as even more radical than the young activists and student activists. Thus, these players not only interacted with one another but also defined themselves in relation to one another. At a higher spatial level, there are less visible players who have played a role in other arenas and have affected Hong Kong’s activism unintentionally. Players around the world, including governments (mainly the Western ones) and activists in other countries, who had their local arenas in Egypt, Iceland, Tunisia, and many other national territories, are all embedded in a networked or scalar relationship with players in Hong Kong. They affect or create vectors through foreign policies, movement ideas, discourses, tactics, and emotions. These vectors may have a bearing on the responses of the Beijing government who might (mis)judge the impacts of these global players on the regional spatial and temporal orders of East Asia, which in turn shape the tactics, discourses, and emotions of local activists directly or indirectly. In the context of Hong Kong, there are manifold arenas exhibited in terms of the aforesaid spatialities. As suggested above, territory carries a dual meaning, referring to both the boundaries of mainland China and the city of Hong Kong. Arenas in terms of place can refer to diverse sites. The two most common arenas of political activism are

2 There is a Communist slang called “It’s always better to stand on the left rather than on the right,” meaning that when a party member does not know the real party line, the safest way is to act like an orthodox leftist so that no one would question their loyalty. 73 streets and the Legislative Council. In recent years, conflictual places have extended to both urban and rural communities, which will be discussed in Chapter 4. As shown in Chapter 5 and 6, place-based arenas were made during socio-political struggles, where the occupied plaza and roads became the locales for developing meanings and emotions. Arenas can also shift across scales and this will be shown in all three empirical chapters. Meanwhile, Chapter 6 will present a narrative about the networked relationship between Hong Kong and Taiwanese activists and a potential network between activists in Hong Kong and southern China that is relentlessly suppressed by the Beijing government.

V. Recapitulation: The Dynamic Construction of Emotions in Time and Space This thesis aims to understand the emotional experiences of political actors as well as the dynamic construction of emotional experiences in social movements. Following the social constructivist approach, emotion is defined as a four-dimensional product of social interactions and socio-political processes. Yet due to the limitation of ex-post study, this thesis focuses on three dimensions of the construction and management of emotions: the expressive dimension, the cognitive and situational dimension, and the discursive and social dimension. With regard to these three dimensions of emotions, I will decipher the emotion work conducted by various actors during political contention by realizing how feeling rules, framing rules, and the associated display rules are constructed and negotiated. As I have shown, the existing literature on movement dynamics fails to take temporal processes at different timescales and myriad kinds of spaces into account. This is problematic because we would lose sight of the interaction between short- and long-term processes and between micro- and macro-level spatial contexts in the formulation of emotional strategies and the shaping of emotional experiences. For this reason, I propose to put the notions of players and arenas in time and space. Time and space, as two axes of social life and very often two cruxes of struggle, define the arena of action and serve as the contexts, or what I have called the spatial and temporal orders, for contention. Spatial and temporal orders—which I will sometimes refer to as “temporal-spatial order” or “time-space” to emphasize their mutually constitutive relationship in the rest of the thesis—define the boundary of action, thinking, and feeling. They also facilitate the shifting of conflicts across vertical scales and

74 the moving of contention through horizontal networks. Players in these arenas adopt or change the vectors inherited from, and face the constraints set by, spatial and temporal orders, thus producing relevant cognitive cues for emotions, proposing various ways of emotional display, and representing emotions in different linguistic and discursive terms. At the same time, space and time are also the guides for political actors in a more microscopic sense. They are the “anchors” and “orientations” for socio-political actions as actors think about and draw upon time and space when fashioning their (counter- )movement discourses, tactics, and emotional management strategies. Finally, emotionally- driven actions are created to change or reproduce the spatial and temporal contexts and generate different sorts of emotional repercussions and feelings. Time-space and emotions interact both macroscopically and microscopically, informing and changing one another. The contests over emotions and time-space are done in strategic interactive terms and at different spatial scales. This thesis will discuss different sets of civil society players and state players in Hong Kong and China and ascertain how they interact with one another in the construction of feeling rules and time-spaces. Yet their contestation is not detached from the global and regional time-space and players. This thesis identifies governments (mainly the Western ones) and activists in other countries, without further breaking them down due to the scope of this thesis, as the global players who interact with the regional and national players in the Greater China region (including mainland China and Taiwan) and the local players in Hong Kong. In the course of their interactions, feelings and emotions are generated as different players perceive, and respond to, one another’s actions, which shape their tactical choices and emotional management strategies and bring about further emotional and spatial-temporal consequences. Next, I will introduce the methods for studying emotions and time-space in Hong Kong’s social movements.

Chapter 3: Methods for Studying Emotions and Time-space

This thesis aims to tackle four problems related to the strategic and dynamic production of emotions in time and space, namely 1) the ways emotions feature in activists and powerholders’ discourses and actions; 2) the impact of the production and counter- production of emotions on the rise and the development of social movements during state- society interactions; 3) the ways social processes shape the construction of emotions and political mobilizations over time; 4) the ways different geographical sites shape the construction of emotions. In brief, the three key “variables” are emotions, time, and space. In this chapter, I will introduce the methods to discover emotions, dissect the making of the three emotional rules (feeling rule, framing rule, and display rule), and disentangle the effects of time (vectors or patterns of social interaction) and space (physical space under contention, the representations of space, and spatial actions). This chapter begins with a discussion of the rationales for case selection. Then I will outline the application of interviews and critical discourse analysis and conclude with a short section on research ethics.

I. Case Studies of Political Activism of Hong Kong (i) “Social Movements” and Case Study This research studies the wave of political activism in Hong Kong from 2003 to 2014 and takes four social movements as case studies. As the “cases” for this research, these four campaigns are understood as “collectivities acting with some degree of organization and continuity outside of institutional or organizational channels for the purpose of challenging or defending extant authority, whether it is institutionally or culturally based, in the group, organization, society, culture, or world order of which they are a part.” (Snow, Soule, Kriesi and McCammon, 2019). Choosing a definition is always a challenging task due to different areas of emphasis and varying degrees of inclusiveness in various definitions of social movements. The selected definition has the advantage of being more inclusive than other definitions, such as the one proposed by McAdam et al. (2001) which confines contentious politics to “collective political struggles.” In Chapter 2, it is argued that social movements are not

76 just about changing the political order but also about altering time and space. A definition of social movements thus cannot ignore the socio-cultural challenges a movement makes. Meanwhile, the definition also maintains some flexibility in defining the form and degree of organization and the level of temporal continuity. Nevertheless, applying a working definition of social movements is likely to face the Meluccian challenge which maintains that the very notions of collectivity and collective identity are in themselves contentious and that it is inappropriate to assume an empirical unity of collective actors in pursuing pre-defined goal(s) (Melucci, 1989). Jasper (2015a; 2015b) also notes, in the strategic interaction perspective, there is no such thing as pre- existing and coherent “movement.” In this sense, designating a definition of social movements may risk making a contradictory move to the theoretical approach I have proposed. What accompanies the problem of the dynamic quality of collective actors is the fuzzy and porous boundary of social movements. Hence, the definition of a social movement or a case, and the designation of a starting and an ending point of a protest wave, are not a straightforward issue but loaded with definitional controversies and political implications (Gillan, forthcoming). Yet, I contend that having a definition is still useful to the present study. Designating some movements as cases allows us to focus more specifically on the emotional dynamics in contention within a fixed time frame and better realize how these dynamics have shaped Hong Kong’s political development in that particular period. Although we may risk reifying the collective identity of actors and making too much assumption on the coherence of these movements,3 my theoretical attempt to bring social movements and time together should be able to reconcile some of these problems. My discussion of time in Chapter 2 suggests that linear and sequential temporality is not the only route of movement emergence. It also indicates that social processes always flow at different directions and they intersect and overlap to make and re-make movements at

3 For example, some occupiers of the “Umbrella Movement” would argue that it is indeed “Umbrella Revolution” and that they have never agreed with the leadership of the student groups by claiming that they were voluntary and autonomous actors. These disputes exemplify the case that “Umbrella Movement” is never an objective label. As a self-reflexive note, designating the term “Movement” reflects the political position I am taking. Yet by using “Movement” rather “Revolution,” I do not mean that the former is more justifiable than the latter. Rather, I aim to show in my depiction of the dynamics between activists and the government, and among activists, how the Umbrella Movement took the form of social movement instead of revolution and how it came to be recognized as a “Movement” rather than a “Revolution.” 77 different times. A movement may be “born” by inheriting vectors—patterns of social interaction—developed in earlier campaigns which combine and reformulate to create what we could term as “a movement,” and it may “end” by leaving its legacy to other movements. The appearance and the disappearance of movement unity are not taken as empirically given in this thesis. Thus, the selected cases in this thesis are apprehended at two levels. At the first level, this thesis still treats the four movement campaigns as “cases” and tries to understand their wax and wane in a somewhat linear temporal fashion. At the second level, it recognizes that these movements existed in multiple time-spaces. Their collective appearances may be more recognizable in certain periods, but they formed and re-formed at other periods or in other spaces. Through these two paths, I try to understand the political development of Hong Kong via a traditional case study approach without forgetting the fact that the collective appearances of social movements are contingent intersection and combination of ideas, tactics, discourses, and emotions flowing and emerging at different times and in different spaces.

(ii) The Selected Period and Cases This thesis studies political activism in post-colonial Hong Kong with a specific focus on social movements occurring between 2003 and 2014. This period is particularly interesting in the sense that activism was rejuvenated after the dormant period from the 1990s to 2003 and it offers us a range of episodes to observe emotional dynamics in political conflicts. This period started with a “critical event,” the July 1, 2003 Protest, during which 500,000 protesters voiced their discontent towards the poor performance of the government and kicked-start a new socio-political dynamic drastically different from the one before 2003 (Lee and Chan, 2011). Similarly, the Umbrella Movement in 2014, during which 18 to 20.1% of the local population (equivalent to 1.3 to 1.45 million people) had participated (HKUPOP 2014a; CCPOS 2014a), can safely be assumed as another critical event that has engendered a dramatic shift in the perceptions of reality by both political elites and ordinary citizens (Lee and Chan, 2018). Unravelling the emotional dynamics of socio-political contention in this period allows us to examine the peculiar

78 political culture that brought about a rising trend of activism and that led to a stronger counter-mobilization. Some notes of caution must be made here. My focus on the period between 2003 and 2014 does not mean that I treat the political culture of this period as totally distinct from that at earlier times. Lots of cultural elements of this period were actually inherited from previous decades. For example, the culture of depoliticization described in Chapter 1 still played an influential role in constraining protests. Yet the selected period deserves more attention because it is only after 2003 that the Beijing government has turned active in intervening Hong Kong affairs. The new dynamics between state and society makes them a subject worth studying. Since the early 2000s, China’s greatly increased global role has also made the interaction between political actors at different spatial levels an even more fascinating area of inquiry. Secondly, emphasizing emotions in this period does not mean that earlier social movements and state-society interactions were emotion-free. However, the selected period is more intriguing in emotional terms. When political conflicts occurred time after time, it would be insightful to unfold the emotional states of political actors and the emotional aspect of the political culture in this period. Moreover, since the selected period was characterized by a rising use of digital media which intersected with the traditional media (Lee and Chan, 2018), the quick and widespread circulation of discourses and images made emotions more important and an area that we cannot neglect. For the present study, four cases were selected from a larger set of data on socio- political movements that occurred in the selected period. 12 campaigns that involved the HKSAR government as a target, contained at least one pro-democracy claim, drew more than 100 participants, and lasted for more than a month were identified through media sources. The first two criteria make sure that we are dealing with cases that involved state- society conflicts and that was political in nature. The other two criteria ensure that the selected cases are sustained, organized collective actions instead of sporadic protests. These cases were then categorized according to their main stakes of conflict, and these categories included conflicts over urban space, conflicts over rural space, controversies over educational policy, and contentions regarding political reform. For each category,

79 cases with the largest number of participants and the longest campaign duration were selected as case studies. The first two selected cases are the campaign to preserve the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier in 2006-2007 and the Anti-Express Rail Link (Anti-XRL) campaign in 2009-2010. Both cases were resistances against the modification of the spatial environment and the twin forces of the capital and the undemocratic regime. While the former focused on preserving a historic urban space, the latter aimed to protect an everyday, rural community. Both campaigns were mobilized by an activist group called Local Action. Although the peak number of participants in the campaign protecting the two piers was just about 450, the figure recorded a 19-fold increase and surged to 8,500 in the Anti-XRL campaign (Cheng, 2016), proving that activism on preservation had become a salient issue and that Local Action had grown as a major contending force in Hong Kong politics. While the former case was relatively small in scale, it is worth studying since it was the campaign where Local Action was born and where many new tactics, discourses, and feeling rules that brought substantial consequences to other movements in the selected period were founded. The third case is the Anti-Moral and National Education campaign (Anti-MNE campaign). The campaign was an effort to resist the policy of creating a standalone subject for national education in schools. The case made explicit the conflict between state- promoted emotions and those embraced by the local society and dealt with the question of political emotions in the most direct manner among the four cases. Since the handover of Hong Kong’s sovereignty, the issue of Chinese national identity had largely remained unquestioned. The Anti-MNE campaign not only raised the notions of identity and citizenship to the surface but also openly challenged the taken-for-granted feeling rule of patriotism. In the campaign, the peak number of participants had reached 120,000 people (Cheng, 2016), making it a significant event in the protest history of Hong Kong. The fourth case is the Umbrella Movement in 2014. It was a campaign struggling for universal suffrage. The precursor of the movement was a civil disobedience campaign called Occupy Central, which was mobilized by some veteran pro-democracy activists in the city. Therefore, the details about Occupy Central are discussed in length to show how it was refashioned as the Umbrella Movement at the end. The Umbrella Movement was the

80 largest pro-democracy campaign in the selected period. With over one million participants, its sheer scale made it one of the most important pages in Hong Kong’s political history. Deploying spatial occupation as the main repertoire, the campaign allowed us to ascertain the struggle over time-space and emotional production in space. As we shall see in Chapter 4-6, these four cases represent a pertinent wave of protest in post-colonial Hong Kong. First of all, there was some continuity of participation by a group of activists which expanded in the aftermath of the July 1, 2003 Protest through processes of network building and inspiration of new activists. Local Action was the group which mobilized the campaign to protect the two piers and the Anti-XRL campaign. Although they took a less visible role in the other two campaigns, they had been working closely with the political and student groups leading these campaigns and their ideas and strategies remained influential and permeated these campaigns. In a sense, this network of activists has emerged as a major contender to challenge the state and gradually risen as a leading force within the opposition since 2003. Secondly, there was also a connection between their protest claims. In the first two cases, the main claims were to reclaim urban space and fight for democratic management of the city. Although the Anti-MNE campaign and the Umbrella Movement were more about safeguarding the liberties of Hongkongers and struggling for a democratic political system, the earlier protest claims about achieving autonomy through space were put into practice through the tactic of street occupation and protest camps. Choosing these four cases ensures that campaigns with diverse stakes of conflict are included in the analysis on the one hand and allows us to trace the generally coherent emotional strategies and protest claims and apprehend one of the most prominent emotional dynamics in the selected period on the other. By studying these cases, we can identify various sets of vectors that evolved and connected these campaigns and better discern how time shapes these movements as well as emotional contestations. Table 3.1 is an overview of these four cases and more substantial details will be provided in the empirical chapters:

Campaign to Anti-XRL Anti-MNE Occupy Central preserve the campaign campaign and Umbrella Star Ferry Pier Movement and the Queen’s Pier Year 2006 - 2007 2009 - 2010 2011 - 2012 2013 - 2014 No. of 450 8,500 120,000 1.3 to 1.45 participants million Leading Local Action Local Action Scholarism Veteran pro- movement (composed of (composed of democracy group(s) non-political- secondary school politicians (some party affiliated students who were party- young activists) were inspired by affiliated), the Anti-XRL Scholarism, campaign) Hong Kong Federation of Students (a tertiary-level student activist group) Major Decolonization Resisted the Resisted the Fought for protest through construction of introduction of universal claims reclaiming the express rail Chinese-styled suffrage in 2017, democratic and spatial- national resisted the management of economic education and protracted the city integration with cultural- timetable for mainland China psychological democratization and protected the integration with promulgated by Choi Yuen mainland China the Beijing Village from government, and being resisted political demolished integration with mainland China Main Break-in, Petition, orderly Orderly Orderly tactical occupation, demonstration, demonstration, demonstration, repertoires cultural occupation, civil occupation, occupation, civil resistance disobedience, hunger strike, disobedience, cultural cultural cultural resistance resistance resistance Precursor(s) Community Environmental The Annual June Pro-democracy movement at Lee movement 4th movement (since Tung Street against “wall commemoration 1980s) (2003-2007); buildings” in Tai event (since community Wai (2007-early 1990) movement in 2010s) Kwun Tong

(since 2005); preservation movement of the old Central police station compound (2003-2008) Successor(s) Community Community Some continuing The Mongkok movement in movement monitoring Clash (2016), the Sham Shui Po against the groups focusing Anti-Extradition (2009); Northeast New on patriotic Law amendment preservation Territories education protest (2019- movement of the Development 2020) Blue House Plan (late-2012 (2006-2010) to mid-2014); campaign against cross- region development of the Bay Area of the Pearl River Estuary (2010- 2012) Table 3.1 An overview of the four case studies

(iii) Sources of Textual Data This thesis devises interviews and critical discourse analysis as methods to study emotions and time-space. Before detailing why and how these two methods were applied, I first describe the dataset for the discourse analysis and outline the information being used in this research. a. Newspapers Political discourses of different contenders of social movements can be found in major newspapers. They were selected based on their political stance for two reasons. First, there is simply no reliable and trustworthy statistics about the actual amount of circulation of each newspaper. Second, since political debates and discursive contestation do not occur in one or two pieces of newspaper and since different writers are inclined to express their views in newspapers with a similar political stance, selecting newspapers based on political

83 partisanship has the advantage of covering diverge views and various sets of discourses around the same issue. Newspapers in Hong Kong can be divided along the liberal and conservative lines. The former generally agrees on the need for democratization, while the latter is usually pro-HKSAR government and pro-Beijing government and tends to have a negative stance on political activism, especially the pro-democracy movement. Eight newspapers were selected for this study. For the liberal newspapers, I included Appledaily (a top-selling outspoken pro-democracy newspaper targeting the lower to lower-middle class), Mingpao, and Hong Kong Economic Journal (two liberal newspapers targeting the middle class, the intellectuals, and the business sector). In the conservative category, Oriental Daily (a top- selling pro-government newspaper with lower to lower-middle class readers), Hong Kong Economic Times (a business- and middle-class-oriented newspaper), Takungpao and Wenweipo (two extreme conservative papers with a distinctive pro-Beijing perspective) were selected. As a balance, I picked am730, a leading tabloid, into the liberal group because, unlike British tabloids, tabloids in Hong Kong are no less serious than broadsheets. In total, there were four newspapers in each category for the discourse analysis. Additionally, I strategically searched for articles written by key actors in other newspapers, such as Singtao Daily and Metro Daily. Besides, the only English newspaper in town, South China Morning Post, was excluded since its influence is limited to the elite class and the intellectual community. All newspaper data were downloaded from WiseNews, a news searching engine. The newspaper data included reportage, commentaries, and editorials. My data collection covered articles from one year before the eruption of a campaign to one month after the ending of a campaign. In total, there were more than 10,000 pieces of data for the Umbrella Movement and 3,000 to 5,000 pieces for each of the other three campaigns. A large portion of them was reportage, which helped to compile action logs for the campaigns. They provide relatively factual information and help to identify the specific sites and time of emotional occurrences, the physical spaces under contention, activists’ spatial actions, and details about the timing, pace, sequence, rhythm, duration, and timescale of actions. In addition to reportage, editorials and commentaries are sites where discursive contention occurs. They are written by reporters and editors who represent the stance of their media

84 corporations and by activists and other opinion leaders in society. These discourses signify the process of discursive formation and signal the representations of time-space and emotions. b. Official Press Releases As a core contender in political activism, the HKSAR government is an active agent in the production of space, time, and emotions. Governmental discourses can be found in the official information released to the media and the transcripts of government officials’ public speeches, both of which are published by the Information Service Department. The official press releases contain written and spoken discourses from government officials regarding specific policies and political campaigns, which are useful for analyzing the discursive making of feeling rules and the representations of time and space. The data were also retrieved through the search engine of WiseNews. For each case, there were around 10 to 30 pieces of data and most of them were one-page long. c. Official Documents Official documents are another genre of the powerholders’ discursive practice and the site where non-discursive practices and the wider institutional and socio-political context are revealed. They provide a rich description of a single phenomenon or event for us to conduct a systematic analysis (Bowen, 2009). While providing information for triangulation with other data, these documents allow us to interpret and establish meanings from the documents and their contributions to the research problem (Bowen, 2009). Thus, text in documents can be a subject of content analysis and textual analysis, such as semiology and linguistic analysis (Warthon, 2011). This resonates well with my current approach to discourse analysis. In this research, policy documents related to the stakes of conflict were included and they were retrieved from the website of the Legislative Council and respective governmental websites. In total, there were around 10 to 20 documents for each case, and their length varied.

85 d. Activists’ Publications Another important source of data is activists’ publications. They provided data for analyzing the construction of subversive feeling rules, the nuances of certain spatial actions, the temporal dynamics of an action, and vectors like tactics and practices. The sources of activists’ movement publications were quite diverse. Since the early 2000s, activists have set up blogs, websites, and alternative media to deliver their messages. A major activist media platform in Hong Kong is Inmedia. It provides an avenue for activists to present their discourses and for ordinary citizens to share their political views. Since there was a significant overlap between activists of the selected campaigns and members of the Inmedia team, retrieving campaign-related articles published in Inmedia would be an efficient way to collect movement discourses regarding the selected campaigns. Yet, due to the design of the website, it was difficult to retrieve the whole population of articles. Data collection had to be done by clicking into the publication list of key activists, who were identified at the stage of discourse analysis of newspapers as well as through my prior knowledge about the activist network. For each campaign, around 100 to 200 pieces of data were found.

II. The Study of Emotions and Time-space through Discourses and Interviews This thesis deploys discourse analysis and interviews as methods to study emotions and time-space. To reiterate, what this thesis aims to discover are actors’ emotional experiences and ways of emotional management (feeling rule, framing rule, and display rule), time (vectors or patterns of social interaction), and space (physical space under contention, the representations of space, and spatial actions). The examination of the contestation over emotional rules includes analyzing how the right ways to feel, think, and express are constructed discursively and then taken as bodily upheavals in time and space. Critical discourse analysis (CDA) and interviews are useful in this regard. They are also two valuable tools in studying time and space. Vectors or patterns of social interaction, as I mentioned earlier, are manifested and can be detected through policies and institutional rules, discourses, tactical choices, practices, and emotions. They can be identified through analyzing the content of reportage, interview data, official documents, and activists’

86 propagandizing materials. These materials can be used to ascertain the aforementioned dimensions of space as well.

(i) Discourses, Emotions, and Time-space Given the interlocked relationship among inner feeling, bodily expression, cognitive knowledge, verbal representations, and given the inextricable relationship between emotions and political language (Freeden, 2013), discourse is a usual entry point to examine the sociability and the embodied character of emotions. Discourses can be studied in various ways to detect emotions. In discursive psychology, a great deal of work has been written on how emotions are enunciated and evoked in words, highlighting the emotional side of language in everyday life (Edwards, 1999; Bloch, 1996; Katriel, 2015). Besides, we can undertake a textual analysis to decode the latent meanings of discourses to understand activists’ own perceptions and descriptions of their emotions and their explicit attempts to associate certain events and actions with particular feeling rules. As Abu- Lughod and Lutz (1990) note, these are the two types of discourses that are often identified in the production of emotions during social interactions. The former can be referred to as emotional discourses, where emotions are created and shaped by utterances and interchanges in communicative acts. The latter can be regarded as discourses on emotions, where cultural themes, local values, and theories are attached to emotions discursively. A thorough approach should therefore encompass both aspects of discursive practice and situate linguistic speech acts within the broader power and political relations where the cultural understandings of emotions are articulated politically. In this regard, the Foucauldian approach to discourse is insightful. In this approach, discourse is inseparably tied to power and politics and intimately experienced by the social body. Discourses, as a relatively rule-bounded set of statements, limit what can be said and what is accepted as truth in a particular epoch of time (Foucault, 1972). In a discursive formation, power/knowledge engendered by discourses runs through the social body. As power gains access into the body, emotions become one of the many things that technologies of power regulate and rely on to produce its effect (Harding and Pribram, 2002). In short, power works through “the said as much as the unsaid” (Foucault, 1980: 194), governing our pleasures and desires (Foucault, 1978; 1985; 1986b). Through discourse and power, we

87 acquire a set of bodily techniques regarding how, when, where, and by whom emotions ought to be enacted (Abu-Lughod and Lutz, 1990), or in Hochschild’s (2003) words, a set of feeling rules and display rules, making emotions both a social/discursive practice and an embodied experience. A feeling rule is thus not simply the communication of emotions through words, but a rule with enabling and constraining power on how people feel, think, and express. Through studying discourse in Foucauldian terms, we can realize how emotions, power, and politics, and the body are inevitably connected. The Foucauldian discursive approach is linked with the concerns of time and space as well. In arguing for an equal status for both time and space, Foucault contends that “space is fundamental in any form of communcal [sic] life; space is fundamental in any exercise of power” (Foucault, 1999: 140). Prison in the 19th century, for example, took the pyramidal form of panopticon to make the bodies visible and enables an overseer to exercise his power to manage the population economically, a power running through the bodies of those being gazed upon so that they became their own overseer and exercise surveillance over and against themselves (Foucault, 1980). In medical practices, the patients’ body was first localized in private family space and then in clinics (Johnson, 2006). The medical gaze was inscribed in social space, where the bodies were exposed to doctors who exercised their power/knowledge to observe, correct, and improve them (Foucault, 1980). In other words, space enables discourses to create its power effect on social practices and support the setting up of institutions. Without space, technologies of power cannot run effectively and efficiently via progressively finer channels to intrude into individual bodies and ultimately back the state apparatus. Yet, whereas space lends force to discourses in the creation of power/knowledge, discourses also produce space. Doctors, for instance, as the “specialists of space” (Foucault, 1980: 150), not only exercise power/knowledge through medical gaze but possess the power to structure urban spaces in the name of health and cleanliness, make the city an object of medicalization, and recodify family as a domestic space for the development of a healthy body (Johnson, 2006; Foucault, 1980). Simply put, discourses make space. Today, many actors play a similarly powerful role to produce space in both material and discursive terms, such as the HKSAR government and CCP officials as well as the Hong Kong police force that will be discussed in later chapters.

In sum, the study of discourse helps to situate the construction and management of emotions in space and understand how emotional discourses may facilitate spatial production. The application of the Foucauldian approach would fit my dynamic approach to emotions and social movements where an action (e.g. domination) always comes with a reaction (e.g. resistance) and there is hardly any “ultimate” winner of this game. My theorization of time and space also implies that domination and resistance are always a constant and evolving struggle and that there is no single site for this process. All these align well with the Foucauldian approach.

(ii) The Theoretical Underpinnings of Critical Discourse Analysis A practical method that has absorbed many ideas from Foucault is critical discourse analysis (CDA). A concern of CDA is the discursive structuring of the social world and the possibility of social change through discursive challenges. Discourses are not simply understood and analyzed in linguistic terms but explored through their relations to power and politics. Thus, CDA embodies a post-structuralist concern about how discourses subject people to power while giving them agency to act (Chouliaraki, 2008). It tackles the dialectical relationship between discourses and other social domains and explores how social and political inequalities are underpinned by language as well as by social institutions and practices around them, helping to understand how discursive formation is bound up with non-discursive processes like spatial practices. Through applying CDA, we can grasp why certain rules about emotions and why certain sets of temporal and spatial order become hegemonic while other alternatives are difficult to articulate, as well as how resistances are made through discursive and non-discursive contests. In analytical terms, CDA involves three levels of analysis, namely the analyses of language texts (spoken and written), discursive practices (processes of textual production, distribution, and consumption), and socio-cultural practices (which is partly non-discursive) (Fairclough, 1995; 2003). The analysis of text involves a linguistic examination of vocabularies, metaphors, modality, grammar, syntax, sentence coherence, and so on. Then, the analysis of discursive practices refers to the study of how different discourses and genres (a particular social activity associated with language use) are drawn upon and applied in the processes of textual production, distribution, and consumption. However,

89 any thorough analysis of a discursive event (an instance of language use) must also study the relationship between discursive practices and the wider social practices. Discursive practices function to challenge or reproduce the order of discourse—the sum total of all discourses and genres in a specific social domain (e.g. politics). Like Giddens’s conception of the duality of social structure, an order of discourse is a structure that shapes, and is shaped by, discursive practices. The analysis of socio-cultural practice is hence about the relationship between text and the broader social practice and between the internal relation and external relation of text, such as the mapping of the non-discursive institutional conditions of discursive practice and the transformation of various institutions made through discourses. The boundaries between these three levels are porous. Interdiscursivity occurs when different discourses and genres are combined and recombined both within and between orders of discourse. Also, individual text can draw on discourses from other texts or earlier meanings to produce discursive changes, a process called intertextuality (Fairclough, 1995; 2003). Adopting Bakhtin’s notion of heteroglossia, Fairclough (1995) sees the centripetal-centrifugal relation of texts as a source of creativity of language through which new discourses and new meanings are produced through the combination and recombination of texts. The emergence of intertextuality thus indicates social change. For example, the new combination of business promotional discourse and the educational discourse of universities signals a social change under new capitalism (Fairclough, 1995). However, two existing centripetal forces of text, the order of discourse and language, always force language users to draw upon conventions and prevent change. Thus, an order of discourse, as part of Gramsci’s ideological complex, is the target of struggle. An order of discourse is changed through mixing and remixing available discursive conventions, very often in an innovative but constrained way. This exemplifies poststructuralist theorists Laclau and Mouffe’s theory, where a hegemony is articulated and rearticulated discursively (Laclau and Mouffe, 1985; Laclau, 2007; Mouffe, 1979). Here, Fairclough’s idea of intertextuality converges with Laclau and Mouffe’s notion of articulation, both of which recognize that it is in discursive practices that a hegemony is challenged or reproduced and a social order is changed or remain unchanged.

In the present study, applying CDA is a way to ascertain how feeling rules, framing rules, expression rules, and temporal and spatial orders are reproduced or challenged, both discursively and non-discursively. CDA provides a tool to examine the linguistic aspect of text which poststructuralist theorists such as Foucault, Laclau and Mouffe do not have. Although Fairclough’s critical realist approach diverges from the poststructuralist camp by treating CDA as a way to emancipate from ideological domination (whereas poststructuralist theorists consider that there is no way out from power and ideology), it nonetheless shares a number of elements with the poststructuralist tradition (Jorgensen and Phillips, 2002). As we have seen, CDA has an affinity with Laclau and Mouffe’s approach by incorporating the element of discursive articulation. It also shares a common stance with Foucault that discourses and non-discursive social domains are dialectically related, making it well-suited to analyzing a wide array of socio-political phenomena, such as the marketization of university in new capitalism (Fairclough, 1995), policy reform (Fairclough, 2000), the fashioning of nationalist discourses (Zhang, 2012), the discursive making of time and historic moments (Zhang, 2012; Meinhof, 2017), the role of discourses in creating emotional experiences and the politics of emotions (Abu-Lughod and Lutz, 1990; Lutz, 1990), and the dialectic relation between discursive meanings and material spatial production (Richardson and Jensen, 2003). Informed by these works, this thesis devises CDA to understand how emotions and time-space are articulated and improvised discursively as well as how discourses on emotions take effect through time and space.

(iii) The Application of CDA in Deciphering Emotional Experiences, Feeling Rules and Time-space This thesis examines the discursive production of feeling rules and emotions in time and space and the ways feeling rules and emotional experiences are articulated with and buttressed by conceptions of time and representations of space in political struggles. Below I will discuss how the analysis of texts, discursive practices, and social practices has made sense of my multiple sources of data. The first level of analysis is to focus on texts. As I read through the textual data listed above, I identified segments of texts that were related to descriptions of emotional

91 experiences and the construction of feeling rules. The analytical focus then became extracted texts, which were in one to two paragraphs. At this level, emotional experiences can be constructed through an explicit discursive outline of feeling rule and display rule or by modifying the cognitive information presented in a piece of text. In either way, discourses can be tied to spatial representations and conceptions of time. Thus analytically, key emotional words are first identified in a text. This is not meant to start with a list of “objectively existing” emotions but to recognize what emotional terms are used. When emotions words such as “love” and “anger” are deployed, it is likely that a feeling rule or a display rule is in the making. This lays the groundwork for my later exploration of what meanings are invested into these terms in the analysis of intertextuality. To investigate how the making of emotions is backed by, and related to, time and space, words or phrases associated with place, territory, scale, network, timing, expectation, pace and directness, sequence, rhythm, duration, and timescale are identified to uncover conceptions of time and spatial representations that may contribute to shape the context of emotions or constitute a cognitive cue for emotions. Since the mere existence of emotional words and phrases related to time and space does not guarantee that the construction of emotional experiences is temporally and spatially grounded, a linguistic analysis of the internal relations of a text regarding the semantic relations, grammatical relations, phonological relations and vocabulary/lexical relations of these emotional, temporal, and spatial words has to be conducted (Fairclough, 2003). This process serves to ascertain how the three emotional rules and representations of time and space are articulated and put into a relationship discursively. Considering the vast difference between English and Chinese, several ideas from Fairclough were adopted and the following steps were taken in analyzing the textual data. In examining newspaper articles and activists’ publications, the most direct way to identify a relationship between emotions and time-space is to look for collocations, that is, patterns of co-occurrence of words in texts. When certain words on emotions, time, and space are used together in a sentence or a paragraph, it is likely that they are put into a relationship. For example in Chapter 4, we will see how the word “love” was used alongside descriptions of one’s farmland and homeland. Another way is to look for metaphors and explore how certain places, temporalities, and emotions are identified with

92 other things through a metaphorical relation. As we will see in Chapter 4, a feeling rule of love was promoted through the metaphor of roots to depict a long-term engagement with a place and call for protecting that place. It opposed the state-sponsored feeling rule that denied the value of long-term place attachment and that advertised quick human and capital flows. Analysis of texts therefore allows us to identify feeling rules produced by activists or the state, which contested around notions of people-place relationship and speed of everyday life. The identification of words and metaphors, however, does not tell much about what kind of relationship between emotions and time-space is. I thus identified the semantic relations between clauses to ascertain whether they are causal, conditional, temporal, additive, elaboration or rewording, or contrastive in texts where emotional, temporal, or spatial words are identified. I also deciphered the explanatory logic and logic of appearances in these texts. In particular, I applied Laclau and Mouffe’s idea to examine how clauses and sentences are made equivalent to or different from one another through the logic of equivalence or logic of difference. In practical terms, when emotional words are deployed in a sentence, a feeling rule or display rule may be in the making. In this case, I looked for sentences in the same passage which may contain the temporal or spatial underpinnings of that emotional rule and judge what type of underpinning it is. For example in Chapter 5, we will notice the use of the term “love” by pro-Beijing figures in promoting the feeling rule of patriotism. In the same text, we can find some descriptions of how to understand a situation cognitively, and very often these descriptions are related to time and space. In this sense, we can interpret that a framing rule about time and space is being made as a condition for the emotion of love. These procedures may face difficulty when we analyze policy documents and official press releases where emotional words are usually not directly deployed. In this case, emotions and time-space are deciphered in a hermeneutical way, that is, by examining the relations between parts and the whole of a text. In seeing hermeneutics as the “science of man,” Taylor (1971) argues that the understanding of human desires, feelings, and emotions is inevitably bound up with a cultural context which gives people a language to speak about these embodied experiences. Moving back and forth in the part/whole relationship would be a way to decode the ways people feel and the wider historical and

93 social structural contexts and power relations (Scheff, 1997; Oliver, 1983). Therefore, when emotional words are invisible in texts, emotions and the making of feeling rules are understood through examining the relationship between non-emotional words in a text and their temporal and spatial contexts. That is possible because, even if a discourse does not contain any emotional word, it is always buttressed by other discourses circulating in the same temporal and spatial contexts—the same order of discourse and language system—in conveying the same emotional meanings. For example, in promoting the express rail, the emotional term of “hope” was virtually invisible in policy documents. Yet in various occasions, government officials and pro-government media would similarly emphasize that “implementing the express rail project as soon as possible can bring enormous benefits to Hong Kong in economic terms, preventing Hong Kong from being marginalized …… Passengers can travel from West Kowloon, our city center, to more than 10 major Chinese cities, achieving a nation-wide accessible network …… We need the express rail to catch the nation’s overall rail network development” (Information Service Department, 2009). Since hope is a future-oriented emotion and points to a different and preferable future, we can interpret the emphases on the problem of “marginalization” and the express rail’s benefits in the context of post-financial crisis Hong Kong in the above example as an indication of the mobilization of hope through an alternative picture of the future. In short, we can discern emotions through the connections between various discourses and between discourses and their context. CDA is not limited to analyzing the internal relations or the linguistic elements of a text. It is also about studying the external relations of text—the ways a text is related to another text. This is the second level of CDA, which is about the production and consumption of text. It is also the mediation between a text and the wider societal forces. As said, discursive practice is about how a particular social activity is associated with language use. The important point here is that discursive practice always takes place in a social context—a specific site and time. To trace these contexts, dominant patterns of social interaction in relevant periods and the socio-cultural characteristics of the space where a discursive practice occurred were ascertained from newspaper reportage, interview data, official documents, and activists’ publications. Yet, as argued in Chapter 2, time and space are not just a backdrop but very often the elements underpinning political action and

94 the making of emotions. In discursive practice, authors often draw on already existing discourses and genres to produce text. This process deals with the dialogicality of texts and is underpinned by the notions of hegemony, difference, and equivalence. When inquiring about the relationship between emotions and time-space, I looked specifically at the process of interdiscursivity and intertextuality—how the three emotional rules and time- space were combined and recombined innovatively in driving social change (in both progressive and conservative directions). As shown in the empirical chapters, a discourse of love was drawn upon by both activists and the state in different genres to articulate it with the spatialities of local communities and national territory respectively. Thus when new combinations of discourses and genres were witnessed, a change in the emotional culture of society was implicated. The other puzzle of discursive practice, the consumption of text, is the thing that Fairclough talks relatively little about. To deal with this, I used the interview as a substitute for audience studies to analyze how the interviewees embody, resonate, or resist a discourse on emotion, which I will return in other section. The last level of analysis, socio-cultural practice, entails an investigation about the interplay between discourses and non-discursive elements. Non-discursive elements may include institutional processes and other material and social processes. Of particular relevance here is spatial production. They can be carried out through institutional urban planning processes or activists’ spatial actions. Regarding the former, analyzing official documents is useful in identifying the wider socio-political and physical spatial structure a social movement and emotions are situated in. Concerning the latter, a detailed activity log about every action of the selected campaigns was compiled through examining reportage, activists’ publications, and interview data. This helped to understand how discourses interacted with non-discursive social processes and interactions, such as tactical choices and spatial practices. A note should be made about data analysis and coding. For both textual data and interview data in this research, both concept-driven and data-driven coding were deployed. The initial step followed the open coding approach, allowing different themes to emerge based on the content of various stakeholders’ discourses. As an example, initial themes emerging in the Anti-MNE campaign included the promotion of loving the nation, the emphasis of a love with a critical view on the political problems in China, a call for greater

Hong Kong-China spatial-political integration, and so on. This step largely confirmed emotions and space as two main concepts, which I had expected, allowing more focused coding to be done around them. The dimension of time in this thesis was driven by data. From the textual and interview data, I discovered temporal concepts like memory, pace, sequence, images of the future, and the like. Accordingly, I unraveled how they were related to the construction of emotions and political mobilization, and how they were articulated with various contentious ideas and issues, such as urban development, national security, and democratic progress. Since my analysis followed the data’s chronological order, I can identify the evolvement of the articulation and disarticulation between concepts to understand the process of intertextuality, especially how concepts are combined and recombined discursively to produce new meanings as well as how various patterns of interaction in terms of tactics, policies, and others changed or continued.

(iv) Understanding Self-reported Emotional Experiences through Interviews Whereas the examination of the construction of emotions and time-space forms the backbone of this study, political actors’ emotional experiences during conflictual times and in contentious spaces are also central to my research. In sociological studies of emotions, the question of “how do we know what they feel?” is inherently challenging (Wettergren, 2015). Adhering to the social constructivist approach, this thesis does not suggest that there is any objectively existing emotion residing in one’s body and mind waiting for me to discover. I propose that an emotion does not exist as an objective experience but can only be represented as an emotion. My task here is to uncover the process of social construction that makes an emotion to be felt as an embodied upheaval. CDA outlined above would help to understand actors’ emotional experiences through decoding the linguistic use of emotional words, but an additional method is needed to fulfill this analytical goal. One way to unravel emotional experiences is emotional participation (Wettergren, 2015), through which a researcher gets engaged in the field and reflects on his/her own emotions so that he/she could better understand emotions and strategies of emotional management in the field. As I had engaged as a participant in three of the four selected cases in this research, this has equipped me with not only emotional experiences as a

96 participant but also knowledge about how emotional experiences were managed in these conflictual settings. Another way to study emotional experiences is through interviews (Burkart and Weggen, 2015). In a dialogical context, interviewees were prompted to narrate their own emotional experiences. In addition to the traditional sit-down interview, five walking interviews were conducted to situate the movement participants back into the conflictual space and discern how emotions were experienced and managed in space and through spatial practices (Kusenbach, 2003; Jones et al., 2008). Nevertheless, apprehending the whole process of the construction of emotions in social movements requires information from multiple sets of participants. While interviewing social movement participants is important, it is also valuable to interview “experts.” As Kleres (2015) suggests, experts such as movement organizers and leaders are the ones who not only feel in the field but have a privileged position and power to shape the emotionality for a social movement. They can therefore provide information about their own emotional experiences as well as their strategies of constructing feeling rules, display rules, and framing rules. Though they are not the only agents who put forward proposals about these rules, their prerogative in accessing the media and promoting movement discourses often puts them in an advantaged position in emotional construction. As we will see in the case of the Umbrella Movement, filling social struggles with a joyous atmosphere was an endeavour of the veteran activists and the student groups who were leading the campaign, but it was contested by a more radical flank of activists who tried hard to promote an alternative set of feeling rules for activism. Through purposive sampling and snowball sampling, I conducted 38 semi- structured interviews with 6 leading activists, 23 movement participants, and 9 ordinary citizens who had no prior protest experience. The profile of these participants is listed in the appendix. Among the movement leaders and participants, all of them participated in the Umbrella Movement, more than half of them engaged in the Anti-MNE campaign, more than a quarter of them involved in the Anti-XRL campaign, and three of them took part in the campaign protecting the two piers. While this reflects the overall growing trend of movement participation, the fewer number of interviewees participating in earlier cases can be explained. The campaign protecting the piers and the Anti-XRL campaign occurred

97 before 2010. Young activists became “veteran” now and they often became more low- profile, so some interview invitations were declined even though these activists are still in the movement circle. To mitigate the imbalance of data collection, data analysis for these two early campaigns relies more on activists’ publications and media discourses. Given the potential problems with interviewees’ memory for events further in the past, the use of textual data may be seen as advantageous. For example, Ip Iam-chong, an interviewee and an activist-scholar engaging in the campaign protecting the two piers, could hardly recall the nuances of why he was so unsatisfied with the government at that time. With the help of the newspaper articles he published during the campaign, I can trace and decipher his emotions through these discourses. As we come to the more recent campaigns, the different lengths of activist career of the interviewees enable us to identify the role of vectors—the legacies of past movements and the existing patterns of interaction—both within and beyond activists’ participation. One example is the use of carnivalesque-style struggle in the past decade. Even those who joined activism in more recent times would consider this as a preferable emotional culture for activism. This indicates that this tactical-emotional vector had unfolding effects over both bystanders and participants in the selected period. In the current research, there is another category of interviewees. Since a social movement is always interacting with bystanders who are not engaged in the movement but are nonetheless recipients of the political culture, some non-movement participants were interviewed and were selected based on the assumption that they are people who are more influenced by the dominant culture of depoliticization in Hong Kong and are relatively uninterested in politics. While they by no means represent the “whole society,” the purpose of interviewing them was to gain some purchase on the apparent relevance of emotional discourses proffered by activists and the authorities for those not directly involved. This also served as an additional piece of information about the consumption of text in CDA outlined above. Different questions were set for these three categories of interviewees. For the leading activists, questions were set to elicit how and why they mounted the campaigns, what they observed about emotions during the campaigns, details of their action plans, and their effort in emotional management. For the movement participants, questions were related to why they got involved in a campaign (in particular the emotional reasons), what

98 they did and how they felt during the campaign, and the actions they had engaged in. For the non-participants, questions included how they felt about a particular movement campaign and political activism in general, how they felt about and how far they trusted the HKSAR government and the Beijing government, and what they thought about the specific policies or issues that had become the cruxes of contention. Like analyzing discourses, specific attention was paid to the emotional words and metaphors deployed by the interviewees, which was the first step of the coding process. Emotions were then coded by discerning the ways the interviewees narrated their emotional experiences in relation to the strategies of emotional management during the campaigns. Through these narratives, I was able to decipher the causal linkage between an emotional experiences and the interviewees’ temporal-spatial encountering, as well as the extent to which the interviewees took up certain emotional discourses from the wider order of discourse. Beyond these textual interpretations, the interviewees’ tones, facial expressions, and body language were also marked down in the transcripts. This exemplifies the advantage of the interview in that it can show the intensity of feeling through a combination of linguistic and bodily presentations. Most interviews took around 1 to 1.5 hours, but some took more than 2 hours. All interviews were conducted in Cantonese and all quotes used in this thesis were translated by me.

III. Ethical Issues Data collection for this research was conducted under rigorous research ethical guidelines. The purpose of this research, the usage of data, and the confidentiality of the data were explained to interviewees before gaining their consent of participation. Informed consent was obtained to disclose interviewees’ identities in the quotes used in this thesis; pseudonyms are used where interviewees wish to remain anonymous. Additional consent was sought from movement leaders and participants for using the data not only for producing this thesis but also for future publications regarding socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong published in mainstream media or citizen journalist platforms. In conducting this research, my position is that this thesis and my broader project are born out of the social movements under study. In this sense, these activists are the real creators and “authors” of this study and thus they should be represented through their real

99 identities in this thesis. As Chesters (2012) notes, social movements are knowledge- producing subjects rather than an object of study. In new social movement theories, it is also argued that social movements and knowledge production are two sides of the same coin in challenging the dominant codes of a society (Touraine, 1981; Melucci, 1989). Inspired by the campaigns under study, I consider the knowledge produced in this research as part of, rather than a contribution to, these movements. Therefore, the notion of reciprocity between social movements and academic research (Gillan and Pickerill, 2012) may be too rigid in characterizing this research as it still assumes some kind of boundary between the social movements and knowledge production that makes the relationship more like an exchange than a symbiotic growth. I see knowledge production and social movement research themselves as part of activism, which in theory draws me closer to what Gillan and Pickerill (2012) calls “immediate reciprocity” commonly found in activist- research, and believe that academic knowledge is “helpful” to social change in broader terms, which aligns me with “general reciprocity” in practice. Would the latter be too “academic” and limit the usefulness of my ideas in activism? Probably yes. Thus apart from producing this thesis to fulfill the requirements of my institution, selected content will be published in other channels—in Chinese—so that academic knowledge growing out of activism could become popularized bit-by-bit and pay dividends to social struggles. One technical question must be tackled before we move onto the empirical analysis. As scholars have warned, the intention to present good data, or in my case, to uphold my own ethical position to represent the movement protagonists may pose some risk to activists in undemocratic regimes (Smeltzer, 2012). This also applies to Hong Kong due to the rapid decline of liberty and human rights when this thesis was being written. I am aware that exposing activists’ identities in this thesis may be risky to interviewees who had undertaken unlawful actions. But an unintended advantage of writing for a Western institution in English is that this thesis would be rather remote from the epicenter of political conflicts. Should the content of this thesis be presented in local publications, a few quotes would be anonymized. Also, given that the court cases of relevant interviewees had been completed, the timing of the publication of this thesis would minimize the risk of reporting those data.

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IV. Conclusion Thus far I have outlined the research problems and the theoretical framework for this thesis. This chapter has explained the suitability of CDA and interviews for solving the stated research puzzles. While the interview is a central method to understand various actors’ emotional experiences in political contention, discourse analysis can deconstruct the making of feeling rules and the ways emotions are related to place, territory, scale, network, timing, expectation, pace and directness, sequence, rhythm, duration, and timescale. Through CDA, we can analyze not only the discursive articulation between emotions and time-space but also the ways discourses and genres are (re)combined, emotional meanings are (re)articulated, and a hegemony is (re)constructed. The dialogicality of texts emphasized by CDA is pertinent to our understanding of strategic interaction. For it is through the process of articulation and rearticulation that social change and continuity are forged. These theories and methods will be deployed in the following three chapters. Next, I will begin the empirical analysis with two campaigns, one for protecting two historic piers and the other for protesting against an express railway.

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Chapter 4: Contesting the Global Capitalist Time and Space: The Cases of Two Piers and a Railway

The coming three chapters will analyze four episodes of socio-political conflict in Hong Kong. Focusing on the construction of emotions during contention, these cases will show the interactions between players in political spaces at different scalar levels. Yet, these players also acted along time. They inherited and refashioned vectors—ongoing trends or patterns of social interaction—developed before and during the period between 2003 and 2014. Influenced by time and space, emotions played both facilitative and constraining roles in contention. The first two cases being studied are the campaign to preserve the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier in 2006-2007 and the Anti-Express Rail Link (Anti-XRL) campaign in 2009-2010. While their emergence can be construed as a result of expanding political opportunities (Chan and Lee, 2007), the problem of public participation, and the loopholes in specific policy (J. Henderson, 2008; Yung and Chan, 2011; Cheung, 2011), this chapter reconsiders local activism between 2003 and 2009 by examining the construction of emotions in temporal-spatial processes flowing at the regional and global levels and the role of emotions in social movements. This chapter begins with an account of Hong Kong’s position in the global capitalist economy, which is necessary to understand the genesis of two major infrastructural projects as well as the origin of some important patterns of social interaction in terms of tactics, discourses, practices, policies, and emotions in the domains of economy, polity, and culture. Section I analyzes the campaign protecting the two piers and shows how activism and subversive emotions were grounded on capitalist-driven temporal processes operating in the East Asian region. Section II moves onto the case of Anti-XRL and explores how a similar capitalist-driven process functioned in the southern region of the Chinese national territory to shape grievances and local resistance. In both cases, it is possible to discern competing versions of feeling rules, conceptions of urban space, and ideas of the pace of everyday lives. We can also find how the use of spatial occupation and the grounding of movement discourses on place-based emotions and everyday space functioned as essential markers of post-colonial socio-political struggles in Hong Kong.

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These features travelled over time to affect the cases that follow in Chapter 5 and 6. Overall, this chapter demonstrates that social movements and emotions are often embedded in a long-run temporal process and a more macro scale of space—a timescale and spatial level that scholars tend to overlook (see Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015; McAdam et al., 2001; Hochschild, 2003; Collins, 2001).

I. Regional Mediation of Global Capitalism I: The Campaign to Preserve the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier (i) Local Activism under an East Asian Temporal-Spatial Order Much literature has documented that capitalism and economic globalization often breed local and place-based resistances (Drainville, 2004; Flesher Fominaya, 2014). Yet, capitalism is not a static totality but contains different and sometimes contradictory practices. These practices, as vectors, carry a degree of repetition and a continuing influence across time and space. Their effects on local society and activism thus vary and are mediated by local players’ responses. As one of the “Asian Four Tigers,” Hong Kong has been deeply affected by the East Asian political economy. Before neoliberalism took a dominant role with its economic vectors—the practices of deregulation, privatization, and minimal state (Harvey, 2005)— the leading growth model in East Asia had been the state-led development model. It contained a peculiar set of economic vectors which advocated state-subsidized industries, tariff protection of key industries, and export-oriented growth. With a prolonged and cross- national influence throughout the 1980s, this set of vectors produced the Asian Economic Miracle. Despite flowing in the same direction towards capital accumulation, regional economic vectors were gradually overtaken by neoliberal vectors that carried a stronger magnitude under the “neoliberal timescape” (Gillan, 2018) when the East Asian economies started to integrate with the world economy in the 1990s. In many Asian countries, their banking and financial systems only underwent a partial market reform and were weakly regulated, making them vulnerable to external financial volatility (Corsetti, Pesenti and Roubini, 1999). These problems were laid bare by some surging domestic and global economic processes in the mid-1990s, including the depreciation of Japanese yen and Chinese Renminbi, the dramatic surge of Mexico as a new competitor in export, the rise of

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U.S. interest rate, declining export growth and a rising share of foreign borrowing in the form of short-term debt in the Southeast Asian economies (Radelet and Sachs, 1998a). Pressure mounted in some Asian countries in 1996 and a fierce contention between players at different scalar levels—international speculators, investors, and local economic policymakers—broke out in the arena of the financial market. Led by George Soros, international speculators launched merciless attacks on financial markets across East Asia. This immediately triggered panic among the international investment community and prompted them to withdraw capital from the crisis countries, producing a credit crunch and a full-fledged financial crisis in the region (Radelet and Sachs, 1998b). Speculators then took advantage of Hong Kong’s unique U.S. dollar-based Linked Exchange Rate to attack the Hong Kong dollar in October 1997. Local economic policymakers in Hong Kong responded by adjusting the interest rate and spending billions of dollars to buy a large number of shares of various companies, which finally stabilized the local stock market in late-1998 (Lui, 2002). As a long-time capitalist city, the Hong Kong economy was seriously damaged by the Asian Financial Crisis. During and after the crisis, the local economy had suffered one of the gravest recessions in history. From 1997 to 2003, the economy had been fluctuating and had even experienced negative growth (see Table 4.1). The unemployment rate surged from 2.5% in the last quarter of 1997 to 8.5% in mid-2003. 4 Property prices also plummeted. In July 1997, the property price index stood at the level of 166.7, but it dropped to 108.0 a year after, and then to the level of 83.7 in November 2000.5 This punctured the urban myth of making quick and big money through real estate investment. A serious problem of negative equity was also caused, which wrought a swelling suicide rate from 12.1% in 1997 to a record high of 18.8% in 2003.6 The economic downturn produced through regional and global processes created potential for social conflicts in local society. Despite successfully defeating the international speculators, the HKSAR government failed to rejuvenate the economy. Worse still, they performed badly in handling two deadly epidemic diseases, the H5N1 bird flu and the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome. Fear, anxiety, and despair over economic

4 Data from Census and Statistics Department (2019). 5 Data from Lee and Chan (2011). 6 Data from the Centre for Suicide Research and Prevention, the University of Hong Kong (2019). 104 downturn were therefore accompanied by anger over administrative inefficiency. A nascent ideational vector—a discourse of democracy highlighting openness, inclusion, and public accountability—was on the rise (Ku, 2001) which became a key foundation for social conflicts to be shown in later sections. Prompted by the government’s proposal to legislate Article 23, a bill perceived as a threat to freedom of speech, a massive protest with 500,000 participants erupted on July 1, 2003. A discursive opportunity thus arose for civil society to make democratic claims, through which the discourse of people’s power was developed as another key ideational vector for later political conflicts (Ku, 2009; Lee and Chan, 2008). In the meantime, the newly established HKSAR government became an obvious target to blame. Social movement literature has tended to focus on a localized space when discussing political interactions (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). Even with the notion of “scale shift,” scholars seldom consider the cross-fertilization of multiple contentious issues across scales (Tarrow, 2005; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005). But as we can see in the case of Hong Kong, battles among players in the relatively borderless financial markets at the regional level eventually affected local politics as conflicts in the economic arena spilled over to the political arena.

Rate of Growth of GDP per Year GDP per capita (HKD $) capita in real terms (%) 1997 207,194 4.2 1998 195,585 - 6.7 1999 188,622 1.5 2000 197,268 6.7 2001 193,440 - 0.2 2002 189,397 1.2 2003 183,449 3.3 2004 190,451 7.9 Table 4.1 Performance of the Hong Kong Economy from 1997 to 2004 Source: Hong Kong Yearbook 2002-2009, Data for 1997-2004; World Bank, Data for Rate of Growth of GDP per capita 1997-2004.

The spillover of contention from economic to political arena was made possible temporally as well as spatially. Economic vectors under neoliberalism have spread across East Asia since the late 1990s. Unlike many Asian countries which were forced to

105 undertake an economic restructuring by the International Monetary Fund after the financial crisis, Hong Kong chose a different route of neoliberalization—urban restructuring. Alongside the privatization of public housing assets and the underground railway (Chen and Pun, 2007), a new urban governance strategy was taken by the government to revitalize the devastated real estate market. Similar to how Western states assist large financial corporations, an “institutional fix” was undertaken by the HKSAR government by setting up a statutory body called the Urban Renewal Authority (URA) in 2001 (Ip, 2010). Enjoying the prerogative to resume the legal right of old buildings under the Land Resumption Ordinance, the URA initiated a trend of hyper-active redevelopment of inner cities and exacerbated the “property-led” mode of urban renewal which has privileged profit-seeking through rebuilding and selling properties rather than preserving existing community networks (Ng, 2002). A spatiality of abstract space for placeless capital accumulation was prioritized over local communities, setting a new spatial order for the city. The spatial order generated grievances and spawned community movements in many old districts. Of particular significance was the campaign to preserve Lee Tung Street from 2003 to 2007, during which community movement, which had focused mainly on compensation matters, was transformed through a set of new political-cultural vectors— discourses championing emotional bonding with neigbourhoods, local culture, social network, and most importantly, the democratization of urban governance (Ku and Tsui, 2009; Xia, 2011; Tang, 2013). This discursive shift amounted to a new spatial orientation—spatial guidance for social action—which grounded movement discourses on the alternative spatiality of everyday living space and practices. Meanwhile, a group of new political players were born, who played a key role in later socio-political conflicts. In sum, vectors with the same direction of capital accumulation but varying magnitude within global capitalism induced a regional event where economic players at the local, regional, and global levels battled against one another. In the process, the socio- economic trajectory of Hong Kong was re-directed and urban space was restructured, facilitating the formation of new political-cultural vectors, new players, and new spatial orientations of action under a capitalist temporal-spatial order. While everyday living space has become a new arena of contention, it also came to be the main referent for the production of subversive emotions in later periods. All these showed the longer-run

106 temporal and macro spatial processes—aspects neglected by scholars in social movement studies and the sociology of emotions (Jasper, 1998; 2006; 2011; 2018; Collins, 2001; Hochschild, 2003)—behind the subversive emotions and social movements that I will discuss.

(ii) Global City: The Making of a Capitalist Space Rule-bounded and place-specific local arenas emphasized by movement scholars (Duyvendak and Jasper, 2015) are still important. The above regional and global temporal- spatial processes alone could not produce social conflicts in the mid-2000s without interacting with spatial-economic processes that shaped the urban planning institution and urban space of Hong Kong. As a long-time capitalist city, commodification of land has been a prevailing spatial-economic practice, which acted as a vector flowing at the local level and exerted its influence for several decades. Since the 1980s, the colonial government has repositioned Hong Kong as a regional financial center by adopting the Territorial Development Strategy (Ku, 2012). In 1991, the Metroplan: Selected Strategy: an overview was published, which aimed to “enhance Hong Kong’s role as an international business, finance and tourist center” (Hong Kong Government, 1991). Massive reclamation, along with urban renewal, was identified as a key spatial-economic practice to render such space for capital accumulation. In 1993, a large-scale reclamation project in the Victoria Harbour was kicked off to create new land in Wanchai and Central, two financial hubs, for political, business, and infrastructural purposes. In 1998, the Central Reclamation Phase III (CRIII) project was announced. 22 hectares 7 of the harbour would be reclaimed to build the Central-Wanchai bypass to connect the east and west of the Hong Kong Island and alleviate traffic congestion in Central (Planning, Environment and Lands Bureau, 1999). A waterfront promenade would also be built to boost tourism and maintain Hong Kong as an international hub port (Ibid.). These spatial-economic practices were reframed under the vision of “global city” in the late 1990s. To rekindle the ruined economy and prepare for increased competition, the first Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa envisioned that Hong Kong should “play a

7 The original proposal was to reclaim 38 hectares. Due to the opposition of environmental groups, the total area was reduced to 22 hectares. 107 pivotal role in the global economy,” making it the major economic hub in the Asian region comparable to London and New York (Information Service Department, 1999), two strategic sites for capital mobility and nodes for business activities (Sassen, 2005). In a document entitled Bringing the Vision to Life: Hong Kong's Long-Term Development Needs and Goals, it said:

“Hong Kong must be aggressive in its efforts to retain and attract more of the Asia-Pacific headquarters functions of [multi-national corporations] as they expand their regional business activities……[and] should also seek to attract the international operations of Mainland companies who are expanding their global activities” (Commission on Strategic Development, 2000: 19).

To achieve the goal, “Hong Kong should maximize the use of its limited land, through …… the application of innovative urban design concepts” (Ibid.: 28). CRIII was clearly part of the global city project, as shown by the increasing use of the terms “world- class waterfront district” and “world-class waterfront promenade” in planning discourses starting from 2002 (Planning and Lands Bureau, 2002; Housing, Planning and Lands Bureau, 2005; Planning Department, 2011). These visions would be materialized through a gentrified 1.4-kilometer long waterfront promenade, including a 9-storey high, 400-meter long commercial “groundscraper” shopping mall. Together with the new government headquarters located in the Tamar site created by previous rounds of reclamation and a 150-meter long military berth for the People’s Liberation Army, the new waterfront area would constitute the financial-cum-political-cum-military center of Hong Kong (Territory Development Department 2002; Housing, Planning and Lands Bureau 2005; Planning Department 2006; Mingpao, 2006a). To make way for this capitalist-political space, two historic piers, the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier, would be demolished and rebuilt in a new site. This became a stake of contention.

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(iii) Initial Emotional Resistance to Reclaim Space and Time The aforesaid local spatial-economic processes spurred strategic interaction between government and civil society players concerning the making of an abstract capitalist-political space. Their interaction began as early as the mid-1990s and introduced a set of pro-environment ideas which acted as vectors to continue through the 2000s. Spearheaded by progressive-minded professionals, environmentalists, and conservation advocates, and business elites, the Society for Protection of the Harbour was formed and the “Save Our Harbour” campaign was launched in 1996. They successfully got The Protection of the Harbour Ordinance passed as a new law in 1997. They advanced their action and took the case to the court to challenge the Wanchai Reclamation Phase II project, which came with a success in 2004. The Society made the same legal challenge to CRIII which had started in August 2003, but they lost the court case this time. This drew an end to the Society’s legal action, but impetus and discursive resources had been cultivated for later struggles over the piers. When the initial land-use zoning plan of CRIII was released in 2005, a new round of strategic interaction arose and emotions played a more prominent role. In 2003, the government had promised that only 1 hectare of land would be used for commercial purposes (Mingpao, 2003). Yet the government put many “commercial constructions” under the category of “Comprehensive Development Zone,” a 5.23-hectare area, in the 2005 zoning plan. This tricky expansion of commercial land-use and the idea of “groundscraper” provoked disgruntlement within the planning and architectural sector, which became a key moment for the earlier pro-environment vector to be rearticulated as a discourse of anti-developmentalism to reject over-commercializing the waterfront area. For example, Anthony Ng Wing-shun, the vice-chairperson of the Hong Kong Institute of Architects, criticized that the density of buildings and the floor area of commercial land-use would be detrimental to the waterfront environment, which falsified the government’s own words, “Returning the Harbour to the People” (Ng, 2005). Since the 2005 zoning plan involved the destruction of two historic piers, a new frame that rejected the replacement of historical heritage by capitalist development was also put forward. Besides the discursive opportunity given by the government’s over- commercialized planning, one plausible factor for the rise of the new frame was the actors’

109 own emotions. In mid-2006, the risk of losing the two historic piers was imminent, Anthony Ng wrote in a newspaper:

“Consciously or unconsciously, some members in the meeting misspoke groundscraper (modi dasha) as ‘ground monster’ (dimo). I suddenly recalled the cartoon about the invasion of the city by monsters I watched when I was a kid …… In other words, the piers will be engulfed by the ‘ground monster.’ The Star Ferry Pier will be moved northward 300-meter away, while the Queen’s Pier, a pier full of colonial history, will become a nameless ‘Pier No. 10’.” (Ng, 2006, author’s translation)

In semantic terms, although no emotional words were deployed in the quote, capitalist spatial restructuring was metaphorically depicted as a monster and a cause for the loss of the two piers. Sadness was induced through lamenting the sudden disappearance of two historic icons, which later became a folk spirit that drove a public disavowal of the government’s plan. As we will see in other examples of movement players’ discourses, the framing of capitalist development as a cause for the demolition of the two piers also became one of the bases to facilitate the discursive construction of subversive emotions later on. While the architectural and planning professionals endeavoured to work out an alternative plan to preserve the piers in-situ, further actions were taken by other civil society players to reclaim time and space. In social movement studies, the emotionality of an arena of contention is seldom a focus of attention (Duyvendak and Jasper, 2015), but as players in Hong Kong showed, the spatiality of place and its associated emotionality were both brought to the fore to contest not only the technical planning details but the spatial meanings and historical significance of the piers. This was done by foregrounding a historically embedded, place-based living experience when framing what the piers meant. The Conservancy Association, an environmental group, stressed:

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“The two piers are not only places for people to launch forth and go onshore but also a crystallization of Hong Kong people’s collective memory, representing a crucial cultural heritage in Hong Kong history …… The piers allow a range of activities: fishing, sailing in the Victoria Harbour, dating and enjoying the night view, and taking wedding photos. These are part of people’s lives” (Lee, 2006, author’s translation)

In community studies, it is often reported that a positive emotional bond can be found when people engage with a place for a significant length of time (Altman and Low, 1992; Lewicka, 2010; Kasarda and Janowitz, 1974). By semantically making the pier as a basis for daily experiences, the Conservancy Association was evoking memories that helped provoke emotions among ordinary people to facilitate the mobilization against the waterfront planning. At the same time, the distinctive cultural and historical values of the architectural cluster in the Central waterfront, including the Star Ferry Pier, the Queen’s Pier, the nearby City Hall, and the Edinburgh Square were emphasized to argue for a holistic preservation. SEE Network, another civil society group, revealed the historical and aesthetic values of the clock-tower of the Star Ferry Pier (Apple Daily, 2006a). Produced by E Dent of London, the manufacturer of the Big Ben of Westminster, the clock was the last mechanical turret clock in Hong Kong and represented the state-of-the-art of mechanical clock design unknown to many people. This forcefully challenged the government’s hasty decision to remove and replace it with an ahistorical commercial space. Verbal claims were accompanied by spatial actions to reclaim time and space. In 2006, a group called “Save the Star” was formed by some artists and cultural workers. Starting from August 20, 2006, art and musical performances were held at the Star Ferry Pier every Sunday. This not only turned a space for daily transportation into a public space of creativity and participation but also made the pier—a place—to become an arena of political action. A core member, Ger Choi, recounted the motives for this action:

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“I think [that architectural cluster] is a very important historical construction. Can history be preserved when you remove a part and only keep a part of it? I think we can’t. If we talk about Hong Kong history with other people, we need a basis, so that we know who we are. At that time, I strongly felt that I need to have my own history, and this history is not something you can take away easily …… Throughout the incident, the thing that angered me most was that the pier was going to be removed in November but nobody really knew such a big decision even in August! It was totally unacceptable …… That’s why we spent several months to launch some actions and performances there. An interesting thing was, through this intervention, [my students and I] actually developed more sentiment towards that place.”8

Here we see another example of how emotions pushed players to take action to protect the piers. Emphasizing the government’s flawed policy consultation, Ger Choi pointed to a cognitive cue that provoked anger. And through place-based practices, a sentiment was developed to push her for further involvement. What was more important in her quote was the intention to reclaim local history—a claim that was later refashioned as a discourse of decolonization to reclaim space and time in broader terms. In sum, while emotions played a direct role to spur preservation action, they were implied in, and served to assist, spatial discourses and spatial actions.

(iv) The Government’s Emotional Strategy As argued in Chapter 2, the existing literature on social movements and emotions tend to focus either on the emotion work of the authority or that of activists. It seldom considers how both sides are making use of emotions to achieve their political goals during strategic interactions. In the case of Hong Kong, just as emotions contributed to bottom-up challenges, so they helped the authority to maintain the dominant temporal-spatial order. As the removal of the pier was now framed as erasing the traces of ordinary lives to evoke sadness, the government capitalized on this emotion and deployed the notion of collective

8 Interview with Ger Choi on April 12, 2018. 112 memory to construct a feeling rule that inhibited agency and facilitated the production of a de-historicized space. Usually attached upon space and physical objects, collective memory generally refers to the social dimension of memory, that is, the interlocked relationship between individual acts of remembering and social history (Halbwach, 1980 [1950]; Olick, Vinitzky-Seroussi and Levy, 2011). Yet the ambiguity between individual and collective within the notion allowed the government to downplay subversive emotions against the waterfront project. As put by the Secretary for Home Affairs, Patrick Ho:

“What is meant by collective memory? How to prove it is collective? What kind of past is memory referring to? ...... Is the memory about the night with your lover? Or about a passionate social movement? ...... Different people in different places have their own distinctive experiences and memory. The question is, whether this memory is private or public? ...... Is this memory useful to the development of society? ...... If there is an unlimited amount of land and money, allowing us to extend this logic forever, it would be great ...... The fact is that land in Hong Kong is limited and valuable. The result of high land price is that we need a strong justification for preserving something.” (Ho, 2006, author’s translation)

Memory, as an individual act, was depicted as subjective, filled with sentiments and equivalent to a range of individual experiences, which was also semantically put into contrast with “the development of society” and public interest through the logic of difference. This discursive framing put the saga over the pier into a binary opposition, urging that individual sentiment should make way for the spatial project that aligned with the seemingly objective, natural condition of the city. Hitherto, economic matter has long been a top concern of Hongkongers (HKUPOP, 2018a), so this framing was trying to appeal to this long and deep disposition to maintain its dominant position as a “rule” for understanding a particular situation. In terms of Hochschild’s emotional management theory, this framing rule implied a feeling rule, which asked people to feel in a particular

113 way—to control their nostalgic sadness to the extent that public interest—economic development—would not be harmed. As a political gesture, the government purported that it would accommodate the public sentimental quest for collective memory by blending the features of the original Star Ferry Pier into the new waterfront design (Hong Kong Hansard, 2006). Mimicking the old Pier of 1921,9 a new Star Ferry Pier would be built by “[adopting] a historical heritage approach …… for the general layout and design of the external appearance” and making it “one of the landmarks and major tourist attractions in Hong Kong” (Planning and Land Bureau, 2002: 12). This epitomized the commercialization of memory and the crafting of place for consumption purposes (Olick et al., 2011; Urry, 1995). However, such a place remained ahistorical and was devoid of everyday experiences. The notion of collective memory was widely received in society in the second half of 2006 and the government’s attempt to draw on the dominant framing rule and feeling rule seemed to work. Newspaper discourses, from liberal to conservative, were flooded with similar emotional representations about individuals’ memory about the pier. Apple Daily (2006b) described, “the Star Ferry Pier is like the collective memory of Hong Kong people. Some chose to engage with their partners in a romantic pier, some chose to recall the father-son emotional bond of the past.” Wenweipo (2006a) reported the story of a veteran staff working at the pier, “when he realized that the clock-tower which reverberates every 15 minutes and which has accompanied him for over 50 years is going to disappear, his eyes turned red and shed tears.” The ‘Star’ Ferry Company Limited even featured its farewell ride with a special event called “Forever Sentiment.” On the pier’s last day of operation, thousands of people swamped the pier, rushing to take photos and get the last bit of memory. Instead of taking action to stop the demolition, nostalgia made people see the destruction as inevitable and unstoppable.

(v) Blunders, Agency, and Direct Action Theories on the social construction of emotions have long recognized that emotions can be reconstructed through the multivocality of language (Kane, 2001; Abu-

9 The pier had experienced two rounds of relocation due to reclamation in the past century. The Star Ferry Pier being removed in 2006 was the third generation built in 1957 (Ng, Tang, Lee and Leung, 2010). 114

Lughod and Lutz, 1990). In Hong Kong, one way for dissenting groups to reconstruct emotions and propose alternative feeling rules was to rearticulate spatial and emotional representations discursively—a process of intertextuality—so that people’s emotions and spatial production could be changed during strategic interaction. In early-December 2006, this rearticulation was enabled by a direct action. At that time, the Star Ferry Pier was already enclosed with scaffolding. The aforesaid artistic action slowly turned into an art- cum-protest action to demand in-situ preservation of the pier. As the site became a more vibrant arena of conflict, some artists used a projector to show words like “Save Me” and “I am not your problem” on the clock-tower; some used rock music to express their anger; a group of protesters staged a marathon sit-in; a few protesters even launched a spatial encroachment by climbing to the clock-tower and rang the bell, symbolizing that it was still a living heritage; and an artist tied his feet with a rope and hung himself upside-down on the clock-tower, trying to put his life at risk and calling for caring about a living man as well as a living historic space (Wenweipo, 2006b; Hong Kong Economic Times, 2006; Mingpao, 2006b). A critical moment changed the course of interaction between state and society in mid-December, allowing the dominant emotions to be subverted and the spatial actions to be radicalized. With the help of SEE Network, Chu Hoi-dick, a citizen journalist, revealed a report published by the Antiquities and Monument Office, which wrote: “[t]he pier especially its clocktower is a visually important landmark in Hong Kong …… [and the] removal of the Star Ferry Pier to Piers 4-7 leading to its destruction would likely raise public objection and dismay” (2001: 9-10). The report had been hidden from the public and the government had played a language game to claim that the pier has no significant historical value and therefore the method of “destroy and rebuild” was unproblematic. An opportunity arose for activists to discredit the government’s framing rule about the pier and its steadfast decision to take down the clock-tower and demolish the pier. Angered by the scandal, more activists came to join the protest outside the construction site. At one moment, the main gate of the construction site was opened and an activist, Chan King-fai, proposed to burst into the site, shocking everybody’s mind and their “deep-rooted mindset of abiding by the rule” (Chu, 2006, author’s translation). The direct action, staged with the

115 banner “Stop Immediately!” stopped the bulldozer from operating, enunciating that the action was “not nostalgic …… [but] to change the reality” (Lai 2006, author’s translation). Again, we need to pay attention to the macro-transformation of society and a more macro spatial scale which scholars neglect (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). While activists’ spatial agency came from a short-term outburst of anger, it was grounded on a longer temporal trajectory under the capitalist order at the global and regional scales. Just a year before the action, an anti-globalization protest was mobilized by Korean farmers, who were suffering from unfair global trade, during the World Trade Organization (WTO) Ministerial Meeting held in Hong Kong. Both fierce direct action and non-confrontational tactics were performed in front of the local activists. As a local activist reflected, when they witnessed the actions launched by, as well as the willpower shown by, the Korean farmers, the experience helped them to overcome the dearth of political efficacy overwhelming the civil society for many years (Leung, 2006). Tactical diffusion from the global to the local therefore occurred through a place-based event (Della Porta, 2008; Wood et al., 2017). While the notion of diffusion captures how tactics travelled across time and space, direct action was also a tactical “vector,” which, as I will show, once learned by local activists, posed a continuing relevance for activism through repeated experiments in the local context. These longer-term vectors were also reinforced by complementary discursive shifts at the local level such as the alternative proposals worked out by the aforesaid architectural and planning professionals (Chu, 2006). All these generated confidence among activists and shaped their spatial orientation to stage a break-in to disrupt political routines.

(vi) Remaking the Spatial Order The break-in action staged at the Star Ferry Pier raised eyebrows across the city. Although the activists were finally evicted from the construction site and the clock-tower was smashed into pieces, they quickly formed as a new protest group called Local Action and a new arena of conflict was immediately identified—the nearby Queen’s Pier. In this place, the new players, political-cultural vectors, and spatial orientations of action founded in the early 2000s flourished. Through spatial discourses and place-based practices, activists attempted to subvert the dominant capitalist spatial order, with emotions being

116 part and parcel of these discourses and practices to assist the struggle. This process tells us what Hochschild (2003) misses in her theory—how multiple feeling rules and display rules may co-exist and contest with one another—and what Duyvendak and Jasper (2015) slights—how an arena is associated with an emotionality which is often challenged. Organizationally, Local Action, composed of university students and scholars, social activists, artists, and many others, was a horizontal group emphasizing democratic participation and consensus in decision-making. Discursively, three policy demands were made to challenge the current spatial order: 1) to stop prioritizing the interests of capitalist groups to construct the Central-Wanchai bypass and commercial buildings; 2) to respect local culture and local history, especially those in the old districts; and 3) to implement democratic and participatory urban planning (A Group of Citizens Participating in Preserving the Star Ferry Pier, 2006). Spatially, Local Action occupied the Queen’s Pier starting from late-December 2006. Due to the negative public opinion aroused during the demolition of the Star Ferry Pier and the coming Chief Executive election in late 2007,10 the government did not halt the occupation. In strategic interactive terms, the inaction of the government made possible a free space for activists’ experiments (Ip, 2010). During the occupation, Local Action organized a range of place-based activities under the banner of “democratic planning,” such as participatory planning workshops and arts and cultural events, to truly engage Hong Kong citizens into the urban planning process, allowing activists to prefigure and experiment a “people’s space” (Ku, 2012). So, why activists challenged the dominant spatial order with the notion of people? In the beginning, the action to preserve the Queen’s Pier contained some dilemmas and ambiguities. Unlike the Star Ferry Pier which was a public pier, the Queen’s Pier was built for holding the landing ceremony of the British colonial governors and the royal family. Activists thus needed to reposition themselves to justify their action. An activist from Local Action, Ip Iam-chong, explicated:

“Although the pier was called ‘the Queen’s Pier,’ the Queen did not visit a lot in the past decades …… Most of the time, it was the ordinary

10 Although it was widely believed that Donald Tsang Yam-kuen, the incumbent Chief Executive would be handpicked by the Beijing government, he would need to maintain a high support rate in order to avoid repeating the disastrous step down of the first Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa and save the face of Beijing. 117

citizens who used this space …… Along with the nearby Star Ferry Pier and the City Hall, it has become a post-war public space since the 1950- 60s, signifying an important change in Hong Kong’s colonial history.”11

This reading of history reframed the pier as an everyday space used by ordinary citizens and made it a spatial anchor for action, an action orientation aligning with activists’ previous and ongoing engagement in community movements. Activist Lau Yuen-keung suggested, to actualize this spatial-historical meaning, their method was to use the pier constantly through day-to-day place-based practices.12 Through engaging with the place at the Queen’s Pier, activists observed and interacted with ordinary citizens who slept, gathered, wandered, or played chess with friends, and the Filipino maids who enjoyed their holiday every Sunday there. An event called the “Jan 21 People Landing on the Queen’s Pier” was then held. In the People Landing ritual, new immigrants, maids, residents in old districts, workers, and many other marginal groups—all those being excluded under a colonial-inherited, undemocratic and capitalist socio-political order—landed at the Queen’s Pier like the colonial governors had done, proclaiming the pier belonged to all those who used it. Spatial discourses and practices joined to give birth to a “people’s public space” (Ku, 2012). Place-framing and place-making not only redefined space. They also created a place where diverse emotions were manifested, helping to engage the public, assist discursive claim-making, change the emotionality of the arena of conflict, and refashion local activism. Experimented in previous community movements, art intervention has grown as a significant tactical-cultural vector that boosted local mobilization since the mid- 2000s, which, in Ger Choi’s view, was partly assisted by visualization through social media.13 As Tang Siu-wa, an essayist and an activist from Local Action, said, “through interactions, the performers and the audiences defined the Queen’s Pier and other public spaces together” (Hong Kong Economic Times, 2007). This not only helped turn space into a place and involve more participants but also redefined the ways popular mobilization should be organized. In protests mobilized by pro-democracy political parties and elites,

11 Interview on May 8, 2018. 12 Interview on October 14, 2017. 13 Interview with Ger Choi, an artist involving in the campaign, on April 12, 2018. 118 event programmes were set out in a top-down manner, the emotionality of the events was carefully controlled to maintain an orderly protest space, and participants had few chances to voice out their own ideas. While disagreeing with the capitalist ideological orientation of the mainstream pro-democracy political parties, Local Action also intended to experiment a different organizational style and a different emotionality associated with popular mobilization. Activist Ip Iam-chong explained:

“[The issue of the Queen’s Pier] was not something the mainstream pro- democracy political parties would care about. Those who participated were not coming from political parties or traditional movement organizations …… We had several concerns regarding how to run the campaign. The first was to express creativity. The second was to allow participants to express their emotions. This means a social movement, its action style, emotions, and even slogans should not be managed from top-down. Our campaign aimed to allow participants to express their genuine emotions. Indeed, the Queen’s Pier, as a public space—and we made it even more open—was a suitable place for achieving these goals.”14

Thus, as Tang Siu-wa described, arts and cultural events organized by Local Action allowed diverse emotional expressions to co-exist in the same place. At the Queen’s Pier, participants were encouraged to express themselves through music, painting, and their own dressing as they wished (Tang, 2007a). One could be hyper-excited when enjoying music but shed tears when reading poetry, and all these could co-exist at the pier in the same evening (Tang, 2007b). In the last day of operation of the Queen’s Pier, the “No Farewell to the Queen’s Pier Night Gathering” was held. As activist Lau Yuen-keung recalled, food, alcohol, and music all took place at the pier, rendering a nascent form of carnivalesque- style social struggle.15 Through the making of a public space, the dominant feeling rule and display rule that called for suppressing emotions and that prohibited emotional autonomy

14 Interview on May 8, 2018. 15 Interview on October 14, 2017. 119 were challenged through a nascent “rule” that resisted top-down emotional control. Meanwhile, an alternative emotionality of the arena of contention was prefigured and practiced in place. While these broadly aligned with the idea of democracy and assisted the twin claims about democratic urban governance and individual autonomy, they also reshaped the emotionality of local activism which had lacked emotional diversity.

(vii) Remaking the Temporal Order In addition to the attempt to change the dominant feeling rule of social struggles within civil society, activists also endeavoured to challenge the feeling rule and framing rule of the wider society, which activists considered as a legacy of colonization. Thus, the claim to democratize urban governance was intimately tied to another political-cultural claim: the quest for decolonization. Conflicts in the arena of the Queen’s Pier was hence an attempt not only to change space but to reclaim time and the history of the city. This further demonstrated how multiple sets of feeling rules could be proposed and set in conflict, but this time the contention was made through an alternative framing of social time during strategic interaction. As two activist-scholars reflected, the campaign indeed coincided with the global cultural trend of root-searching and the questioning of inheritance by the post-Second World War third and fourth generations (Chen and Szeto, 2015). The ideational vector regarding cultural identity had a relevancy across time and space and became particularly salient among activists in Hong Kong when it was brought into the local, post-colonial context. Shortly after the break-in at the Star Ferry Pier, Law Wing-sang, a cultural critic and a movement-sympathizer, associated the struggle with the anti-colonial struggles of the 1960s and 1970s, which were sparked by a young man, So Sau-chung, who staged a hunger strike against the colonial government for a 5 cent fare increase of the Star Ferry Pier in 1966 (Law, 2006). The current action was interpreted as part of the genealogy of local activism. This discourse further pointed to reclaiming the “150-years colonial experience of being repressed, resistance, and self-empowerment” and re-emphasizing “the ways Hong Kong people understand and realize their civic rights in the city” (Chow, 2007). This reading of the history of local contentious politics was intertwined with a reframing of local history that differed significantly from the government’s framing which

120 deemed commodification of land as “natural” in an economic city like Hong Kong. Whereas the government deployed the notion of collective memory to disparate the activism to preserve the Queen’s Pier for reminiscing the colonial past and obstructing economic development, activists re-read the local history and envisioned a decolonized future. For the activists, the government’s problematic handling of the two piers was just a symptom of the bigger problem. From their participation in previous community movements, activists witnessed how ordinary citizens suffered from the domination of the state-capital alliance and undemocratic urban planning, two prevailing economic- institutional vectors inherited from the colonial era. Chan King-fai, an activist involving in the movement at Lee Tung Street and the two campaigns discussed in this chapter wrote:

“Facing the local pro-democracy movement is a spatial war jointly declared by the state and the business class. The economic space dominated by the real estate business groups is now destroying and exploiting the cultural and historical landscape, the living space of community, and the natural environment of the harbor. In this context, we advocate reclaiming people’s rights to participate in planning their living space in the city, and to protect and unearth the cultural, historical, and communal meanings embedded in these spaces.” (Chan, 2007a, author’s translation)

As a discursive articulation, activists tied the fate of the two piers with that of the old districts and linked them through the logic of equivalence. While the spatial orientation to ground local struggles on everyday space was naturally adopted in the struggle over the two piers, it was further nourished in temporal-historical terms. A sense of time different from the official nationalist discourse, in which the decolonization project is said to complete at the point when Hong Kong’s sovereignty is returned to China, was coined. For activists, decolonization was about cleansing the undemocratic urban governance that has continued to privilege the political and economic elites at the expense of the grassroots. It was only through spatial struggles that local history and place-based subjectivity could be

121 reclaimed. Reclaiming local history through preserving the two piers—an everyday space for local people—thus became a temporal anchor to strive for historical subjectivity. The dual quest for decolonization and democratic urban governance was empowered by, and made possible, an alternative feeling rule towards urban development and urban space. In particular, a love towards local communities and place was highlighted—a strategic response to the government’s depoliticized emotional discourses. Chan King-fai wrote, “place is where people develop emotional attachment and linkage with space. It is where meanings and experiences are founded, and where people develop their sense of belonging. In the local context, these things cannot be evoked by a fake monument under the notion of ‘collective memory’.” (Chan 2007b, author’s translation). Alongside place-based emotions was a local consciousness—“a historical consciousness and a sense of place based on a deep local living experiences” (Ibid.). This newly proposed feeling rule thus tried to evoke another set of long-term, historically embedded experiences that co-existed in tension with the dominant pro-economy value orientation and that called for a love built upon everyday space. As outlined by another activist, the struggles over these places were “a war of love, for this place and for its history” (Lam, 2007, author’s translation). The love towards local communities and an awareness of local history and everyday space were all articulated as equivalent, redefining the appropriate way to engage with the urban environment—a contrast to the government’s attempt to construct a content- less and emotion-free space. This nascent feeling rule, which was fashioned through reframing social time, posed an initial challenge to the dominant one that denied passion and love for everyday urban space, but, as we will see in other case studies, it became a vector travalled through time to supply the discursive, tactical, and emotional foundations for later conflicts.

(viii) Implications of the Campaign Although the activists were finally evicted from the Queen’s Pier in August 2007, the campaign had significant implications for Hong Kong politics and for our understanding of time-space and emotions. As we have seen, social movements and the construction of emotions are not just made through short-term timescale and localized space as movement scholars suggest (Jasper, 2018; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). There is

122 a need to look at a broader spatial scope and a longer-temporal trajectory. From the case of Hong Kong, we witness how economic conflicts at the global and regional levels since the late 1990s produced grievances and potential for social conflicts at the local level. In producing protests, activists inherited and transformed tactical and discursive vectors— such as the discourse highlighting community and local culture—from previous community movements and learned tactics from Korean protesters when a global event—the Anti- WTO protest—was hosted in Hong Kong. Activists advanced their causes when the authority’s deceptive move backfired which brought about an immediate discursive shift. Through spatial discourses and place-based practices and through reframing time, activists proposed subversive feeling rules for organizing popular contention and for the broader society. Whereas the existing literature seldom talks about the spatial and temporal underpinnings of emotions, this case study shows that space and time were the anchors for social action and emotional production through providing a material context and symbolic resources. The different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings presented in the preceding analysis are summarized in Table 4.2 Created temporally and spatially, emotions had both direct and indirect roles to play. They could spur action directly, and they could assist discursive meaning-making and spatial action when challenging the temporal and spatial orders. In the context of Hong Kong, the campaign’s corollary was far-reaching. After the campaign, these new political players were active in leading other socio-political struggles. The campaign also gave birth to the tactic of spatial occupation, which was further tested and developed in other conflicts. The spatial turn being engendered has benefited the pro-democracy movement by broadening the bone of contention. Moreover, the campaign showed that the range of emotions in Hong Kong politics can be very broad. Sadness, nostalgia, anger, love, and joy all played a role in political action. As we will see in other case studies, the broadening of emotional expression in this campaign has prepared a solid groundwork for tactical diversification.

HKSAR government Local Action Mainstream democrats Emotions of Data not available Anger at flawed Data not available players consultation and the

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hasty decision to demolish the piers Feeling rules Sadness and nostalgia Love towards Control emotional and/or to the extent that everyday space; expression in protests display rules developmental project express and display being would not be emotions freely in proposed obstructed protests Spatial Abstract capitalist Public space and local An orderly protest underpinning space community; a free space of feeling space for emotional rules autonomy Temporal Quicker capital Retrieve the Data not available underpinning accumulation through suppressed local of feeling the global city project history built upon rules everyday space Table 4.2 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings in the campaign protecting the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier

II. Regional Mediation of Global Capitalism II: The Anti-XRL Campaign (i) A New Temporal and Spatial Order in China and the Express Rail Link As we have seen, social movements and the construction of emotions occur in a longer-term trajectory and a more macro spatial scale. While an arena of contention can take on a regional form at the continental level, it is also located within a national territory to create emotional consequences for local activism. The following case about the contention over an express rail shows a spatial level—a region within a territory—that movement scholars tend to overlook. It also reveals how economic, political, and cultural and biographical processes travel across long and medium timescales to generate what is commonly perceived as short-term emotional responses. The macro capitalist transformation at the global level not only produced the Asian Financial Crisis in the East Asian region. It also gave rise to a new regional temporal-spatial order engineered within the Chinese national territory. Since the 1980s, China’s market reform has coincided with the prevailing vectors—economic practices such as free market, free trade, and the quickening of capital flows—in Western neoliberal economies, producing a kind of market economy featuring authoritarian centralized control (Harvey, 2005). Entering the new millennium, China’s socio-economic development reached a new stage when it became an official member of the WTO in 2001. It signaled

124 the integration of the Chinese economy with global capitalist production and trading processes and a new page of “socialism with Chinese characteristics.” In building a capitalist-oriented temporal order where neoliberal economic vectors took a salient role, the urban space of China was drastically transformed. When China’s market reform began in 1978, it was featured with a downscaling of urban governance, through which coastal cities became the key arenas of economic growth (Xu and Yeh, 2009). The Beijing government decentralized its decision-making power and allowed market forces to play a greater role in these cities (Lin, 2002). Autonomy was granted to four Special Economic Zones and more than a dozen coastal open cities and provinces, including Guangdong, one of the most important experimental sites for market reform due to its proximity to Hong Kong’s capitalist economy. The increasing number and autonomy of cities however led to a pro-growth land-use model and urban and environmental problems. In the mid-1990s, the Beijing government started to reassume the power of urban governance, first through a tighter fiscal control and then through revising the law. Remarkably, recentralization was rendered by a reintroduction of regional planning in the early 2000s, so that state governance in the administratively fragmented mega-city regions could be improved and regional competitiveness could be enhanced through inter-city cooperation. Regional planning was also a means to address the ever-intense global competition following China’s entrance to the WTO (Ye, 2014; Yang and Li, 2013). In 2003, the National Development and Reform Commission (NDRC) was established to coordinate inter-city strategic development and establish central control in regional development. Regional integration has gradually become a dominant spatial-institutional practice, while the spatiality of region came to be an arena of economic growth. Both served to construct a spatial order for capital accumulation and territorial integration. To harness the economic vectors of global capitalism, greater national integration was needed so that the development of two core arenas of economic growth—the Pearl River Delta (PRD) in the south and the Yangtze River Delta (YRD) in the east—could be stimulated. Despite being a small city at the southern edge of China, Hong Kong played a crucial role here. As a pro-Beijing commentator conceded, Hong Kong, as an international financial center, has the strengths Guangzhou, Shenzhen and even Shanghai cannot acquire rapidly, making it the best site of the offshore Renminbi business center, a vital step

125 towards the internationalization of the Chinese currency (Ni, 2009). Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao also admitted, “the central government has always seen Hong Kong as an international financial center for its strong infrastructure, that’s why we have chosen Hong Kong as the experimental site for our financial reform and the opening of our financial system” (Takungpao, 2009a, author’s translation). Creating a closer economic integration with Hong Kong was hence a paramount spatial arrangement for China to further develop its market economy. Yet for a long time, cross-border governance between Hong Kong and other cities in the PRD was lacking due to the absence of a coordinating authority or official communication channel and the Beijing government’s early determination to keep its promise of the “One Country, Two Systems” (Yang, 2005). This situation changed after China had entered the WTO. In 2002, a cross-border coordinating institution called the “Mainland and Hong Kong Large-Scale Infrastructure Coordination Meeting” was established by the NDRC. With the participation of the State Ministry of Construction in 2004, the PRD Urban Conglomerations Plan was announced, defining the region’s urban system as a pattern comprising of “dual-cores and multi-centers” and confirming Guangzhou and Shenzhen as two principal regional centers (Yang, 2006). In 2008, upon the request of the Guangdong provincial government, the first regional plan, Outline of the Plan of the Reform and Development of the PRD (2008-2020), prepared by the NDRC was endorsed by the State Council to empower Guangdong in initiating new market opening and reform policies and in enhancing economic cooperation with Hong Kong and Macao. With the presence of the central government, this grand plan only took five months to accomplish the entire process of research, preparation, consultation, drafting, and formulation (Yang and Li, 2013). The Express Rail Link (XRL) project was another step to integrate Hong Kong with China in economic-spatial terms. In 2004, the Beijing government started a national project to link up different parts of China through a high-speed rail network consisting of four horizontal and four vertical corridors. By 2020, it is expected that a total length of 16,000 kilometers of express railway would be built across the country, connecting over 200 middle- and large-size cities while carrying the symbolic implication of national unity

126 and the material implication of national defense. In southern China, the Guangzhou- Shenzhen-Hong Kong section would be constructed. National interest coincided with regional players’ interest to get Hong Kong into the national railway network. For the Guangdong provincial government and local governments in the PRD, their relationships with Hong Kong have been full of mutual benefits and competitions. Although Hong Kong has been the main contributor to the GDP of the whole region, it has never been willingly accepted as the leader in the region by these governments (Yang, 2006). Yet facing the competition from cities in the YRD, which has increasingly challenged the PRD’s leading position in attracting multinational corporations and foreign direct investments since the early 2000s, the further development of the PRD desperately needed Hong Kong’s service, finance, accounting, and legal industries to play a bigger role (Takungpao, 2004a). As Huang Huahua, the Guangdong governor, claimed, the construction of the XRL would make “Hong Kong as the suburb of Guangdong” (Takungpao, 2004b), which vividly reflected Guangdong’s real intention to make use of Hong Kong to promote the regional interest. Thus, both the national endeavour to harness the economic vectors of global capitalism and the strategic competition between regional players made the XRL project and regional integration indispensable. The Regional Express Line, which was proposed by the HKSAR government in 2000 simply to alleviate cross-border traffic flow (Transport Bureau, 2000), was repackaged as the XRL, which was officially announced in 2007. Through this capitalist transformation of Chinese urban space, the time-space of Hong Kong would be greatly modified. A faster speed of life was expected through the “One- hour living circle” forged by the XRL, through which people can reach Guangzhou within one hour and 11 major cities in the pan-Pearl River Delta within three hours; and Hong Kong would acquire the strategic position of the “Southern Door” of China (Wenweipo, 2008). However, without sufficient participation of relevant stakeholders, particularly those in Hong Kong, top-down regional planning gradually bred local resistance, first exemplified by controversies over the construction of the Hong Kong-Zhuhai-Macao Bridge and the plan to develop the Bay Area of the Pearl River Estuary (Yang, 2006; Yang and Li, 2013). Under a spatial order where the integration of national territory was

127 accentuated and where Hong Kong citizens lost their voices, a fierce challenge to this spatial-economic policy erupted in the case of the XRL, a case I will discuss below. To sum up, the understanding of social conflict regarding the XRL has to be situated in the long-run transformation of the Chinese economy as well as the medium-run making of the policy of regional integration—two timescales that scholars working on movement dynamics often neglect (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). In these processes, whereas the neoliberal economic vectors started to reign in China with an ever stronger magnitude to create quicker capital accumulation, regional integration became a policy vector that inflicted on various Chinese cities including Hong Kong throughout the 2000s. All these occurred at the regional level, a scale that movement scholars talk relatively little when discussing “scale shift” of contention (Tarrow, 2005; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005).

(ii) Local Emotional Strategies in Promoting the XRL The existing literature has documented how physical space and emotions produce each other (Zhao, 1998; Feigenbaum et al., 2013). Yet this mutual production can also be done discursively. The XRL project was a developmental project justified through cognitive information about its economic benefits. Yet we can also see a degree of emotional evocation with respect to the spatial-economic relationship between Hong Kong and China. Given the huge impact of the Asian financial crisis on the local society described earlier, the confidence of Hongkongers fell to a historic low. On the other side of the border, the Chinese state-controlled economy was only minimally affected and was growing at a galloping pace. In this period, the sense of superiority of Hongkongers over the once inferior mainlanders began to shift in cultural and economic terms (Szeto, 2006). Fear of lagging behind and anxiety over the slowing down of economic development haunted Hongkongers. After a short economic recovery, the global financial crisis hit Hong Kong in 2008. Although the new crisis posed a smaller impact on the local economy than the previous one, fear and anxiety were evoked once again to pave the way for the XRL project. As discussed below, these emotions were vectors traveling through global and regional socio-economic processes and then embedded at the local level. From time to time, political players evoked them to accomplish certain political goals.

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Economic and emotional strategies informed and assisted each other to make the XRL possible. In economic terms, accelerating regional integration with China seemed to be a sensible choice to revitalize the stagnant economy. It further became a framing rule— the hegemonic way of understanding the current economic situation—for the production of hope to manage negative emotions. As early as 2001, Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa proposed in the Policy Address:

“China’s imminent accession to the World Trade Organisation, and Beijing’s successful bid for the 2008 Olympics, signify a rise in the status of our country as a stable society that will continue to develop economically. The ‘One Country, Two Systems’ principle ensures us of our country’s support while also giving full play to our unique characteristics.” (Information Service Department, 2001)

The rise of China was depicted as a source of economic support for Hong Kong, while Hong Kong’s special position in the One Country, Two Systems allowed it to become “a window on the world for the Mainland, a major city in China and Asia's world city excelling in high value-added services” (Ibid.). Unfortunately in the Chinese version of this discourse, the grand vision to make Hong Kong a global city in China and utilize its global connections to provide service to China was translated into the term “backed by the motherland,” reducing the vision to a strategy of relying upon the backing of China and China’s openness to the world (Lui, 2015). This has put Hong Kong into the passive role of benefit-receiver. While the bilateral trade agreement, the Closer Economic Partnership Arrangement (CEPA),16 signed in June 2003 was often celebrated by the media as a “big gift” given by the Beijing government, regional integration was hailed as a panacea to spur economic growth and consolidate Hong Kong as an international financial center (Information Service Department, 2007). All these framed China as a lifeboat and a referent of hope to save the Hong Kong economy. Ten major infrastructures, including the XRL, were then proposed by Chief Executive Donald Tsang in 2007 to speed up regional

16 CEPA is an agreement aiming to facilitate the trading of goods, services, and investment. It covers a number of sectors, including finance, tourism, film, and cultural industries. 129 integration. In 2009, the item about Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macao cooperation was included for the first time in the Chinese Premier’s working report, stating that the construction of the XRL should be sped up to respond to the financial crisis (Takungpao, 2009b). In a sense, the spatial project of the XRL was produced through economic discourses. On the other hand, regional integration was facilitated by emotions, especially through stirring up fear in spatial discourses. This evocation of emotion was again done through framing—(over-)emphasizing Hong Kong’s vulnerable geographical position. The Wenweipo (2006c) editorial, Beijing’s mouthpiece, warned, “the later the construction of the XRL, the greater the loss of Hong Kong …… Hong Kong has left behind Guangdong, especially the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone, in terms of infrastructure. If we don’t speed up, the problem of marginalization will get more serious” (author’s translation). Another pro-Beijing newspaper, Oriental Daily (2009), echoed in its editorial, “having a big mainland market at the back is Hong Kong’s natural asset. The Central Government has repeatedly shown support to Hong Kong, it is a good opportunity for the Hong Kong economy to escape from the status of being an isolated island” (author’s translation). Devising the worrisome spatial imaginaries of “marginalization” and “isolated island,” fear was provoked. Economic integration with the regional temporal-spatial order in the state- led framework was proclaimed as the only way out. Fear and anxiety may not persist today, but the cognitive meanings conveyed by these framing rules continue unabated. Karina, a Hongkonger in her 50s who has a reputable job, agreed that “mainland China indeed has a lot of job opportunities for young people …… If transportation is getting more convenient, young people would have more abundant opportunities and choices.”17 Sammy, a middle-class in his 30s, contended that “the Pearl River Delta has been developing very well, while Hong Kong seems lagging behind,” hoping that “Hong Kong can receive the support of these local governments so that the economy can be further developed.”18 As pointed out in Chapter 3, the selection of interviewees was not based on representative sampling. But as part of the discursive formation, these quotes show how people take up and reproduce the dominant meanings in

17 Interview on November 23, 2017. 18 Interview on November 24, 2017. 130 the existing order of discourse (Fairclough, 1995; 2003). These discursive representations, which were fashioned in the mid-2000s, could still be found in at least part of the population even in the late 2010s.

(iii) Emotional Resistance to Reclaim Space and Time When the XRL was implemented in Hong Kong, grievances were provoked locally and strategic interaction between state and society got intensified. For one thing, it is always the local state agents who are responsible for carrying out a national project (Jasper, 2015b). For another, in a vast country like China, local governmental practices vary and they often induce social grievances. In many Chinese cities, the XRL project was carried out through a bull-dozing mode of land resumption. Although the rule of law was a lot more well-established in Hong Kong, the land resumption process was more authoritarian than usual since the project was national in nature. The HKSAR government was once again the target of blame, while emotions came to be the main driver of the struggle. In social movement studies, social conflicts are often considered taking place in an arena at the local scale, where movement players have the ability to define an arena as well as the stake of conflicts (Jasper, 2015a; Jasper, 2015b). Yet viewed in spatial and temporal terms, while protests occur in a local arena, they frequently attempt to redefine the spatial and temporal orders—the twin structural contexts of social life and very often two bones of contention—in a broader sense, as shown in the struggle against the XRL below. Resistance first took place in an arena called the Choi Yuen Village (CYV), a rural village in Hong Kong. In November 2008, just two and a half weeks before the XRL project was published in the Hong Kong Government Gazette, the CYV received an order of removal to make way for an emergency rescue station and stabling sidings. Although there was a two-month consultation period, the villagers were never informed and they thereby missed the chance to voice their objection (Chu, 2009a). The government officials also showed a technical-managerial attitude, escalating anger among villagers (Hui and Au, 2015). While the officials were reluctant to release adequate information about the project, they were disrespectful to the villagers (Wong, 2009; Chu, 2009a). Some government workers used paint to mark the squatters brutally and entered villager’s homes to do

131 surveying work without getting consent, triggering anger in the village (Chu, 2009b). As a villager blamed, “the government is really looking down on us. If they never respect us, why should I accept their policy?” (Mingpao, 2009a, author’s translation, emphasis added). What accompanied anger was the emergence of the rhetoric of procedural justice—a long- held administrative principle of the government which was hailed to be the bedrock of Hong Kong’s success since the colonial era—a discursive vector travelling through time. The violation of that principle induced disillusionment among sympathetic Hongkongers. For Sze, a movement participant, what prompted her to support the villagers was “not the idea of localism …… but procedural justice.” 19 Another participant Kiu also said, “throughout the whole process we saw that not enough effort was spent to achieve procedural justice …… For example, the government was incapable of, or even unwilling to, respond to voices from society regarding the routing of the rail, the location of the terminal, and the like.”20 Assisted by activists from Local Action, the CVY villagers formed a concern group—which modelled on a horizontal structure while having a minimal hierarchical structure for handling the media—to act collectively. Since Local Action has already built up a network of residents who stood at the frontline to resist forced eviction in previous community movements, these residents shared their movement experience to their counterparts in the CYV. The vector regarding procedural justice was therefore joined by the emotional vector regarding place-based emotions inherited from earlier community movements and the campaign protecting the two piers. Place-based emotions became an important node for rearticulating the relationship among emotions, space, and time in villagers’ discursive formation, as exemplified by their discourse of community-based love. Villager Josephine expressed, “I was born here. Since my grandfather bought a piece of land in the CYV several decades ago, our family has started to take root here …… We have a strong emotional bond with this place …… The relationship among villagers is very good. We know one another well.” (CYV support group, 2009a, author’s translation, emphasis added). Another villager Jane added, “we have our farmland in the New Territories and we can be self-sufficient through agricultural and poultry works. If I was

19 Interview on October 14, 2017. 20 Interview on October 23, 2017. 132 forced to move to a public housing estate, are you expecting me to eat cement? …… I don’t have much demand for my life, I simply want to preserve my root and end my life in the Choi Yuen Village” (CYV support group, 2009b, author’s translation, emphasis added). In linguistic terms, the metaphor of root was deployed. An emotional attachment to homeland and farmland was emphasized to rebut the making of an abstract capitalist space. A love emphasizing spatial embeddedness was highlighted as an alternative feeling rule, trying to redefine the right people-place relationship to resist the capitalist-oriented XRL that would uproot the villagers from their place. And once again, the spatial orientation of place was stressed to guide the resistance to the state-sponsored spatial order. The emotional vector was also articulated with a temporal claim. The notion of rootedness suggested above denotes a place attachment through a lengthy period of time. This can be seen as an alternative speed of life that resisted the state-promoted rootless human and capital flows. As a campaign slogan read: “Home persists generation after generation, money is transient and ephemeral like a fleeting cloud.” The name of a supporting group was also telling: Slow Development Hong Kong. Villager Ah Chuk explained, “for urban inhabitants, they value land only in monetary terms …… For us, it is different. The value is infinitely large because land always has an output and we can always earn our living here.” (Chu, 2009c, author’s translation). If the colonial history of the arena of the two piers gave activists symbolic resources to craft their temporal discourse of decolonization, the rural setting of the CYV did a similar job. Farming is a self-subsistent and sustainable way of living and often takes time to earn the fruits. This differs hugely from the exploitative capital accumulation through the annihilation of space by time—via the speedy XRL. By foregrounding a slow and sustainable form of life as the basis of place attachment and love towards homeland, a critique was presented to challenge the temporal order underpinning the XRL. In a demonstration, a wide range of symbols was deployed to express emotions and assist the claim of an alternative temporal-spatial order. Some protesters carried a lucky bamboo in hand, signifying being rich in heart and a rejection of the business- oriented XRL (Mingpao, 2009b). Some created a bloody handmade railway to indicate the destruction of villagers’ homes by the XRL. Others brought along bicycles, mechanics trucks, skateboards, and trollies, suggesting what Hong Kong needed was slow

133 development rather than a speedy railway (Apple Daily, 2009). All these made emotions and discursive meanings sparkling and lively, making the challenge to the capitalist temporal-spatial order much more powerful.

(iv) Contingency, Moral Shock, and Mass Anger Like the campaign over the two piers, long-term processes cannot animate a successful campaign without interacting with contingent incidents in the short-term, a timescale privileged by movement scholars (McAdam et al., 2001; Japser and Duyvendak, 2015; Jabola-Carolus et al., 2018). As explained below, when contingent, unexpected news favourable to the mobilization appeared, activists strategically capitalized on these opportunities to produce a moral shock and a mass anger against the government. Through this, the course of interaction between state and society was shifted and a formidable Anti- XRL campaign was mobilized. In July 2009, the South China Morning Post (SCMP) revealed that the Hong Kong section of the XRL will only connect to the Shibi District located in southwest Guangzhou. If passengers want to reach the center of Guangzhou, they need to change to an underground railway running at normal speed. Overall, the time needed is about 1 hour and 40 minutes which is more or less the same as the Intercity Through Train, the current means to reach the Guangzhou center. The so-called “One-hour living circle” and “reaching Guangzhou within 48 minutes” were nothing more than a language game (quoted in Chu 2009d). Two months later, the government announced that the construction cost would surge sharply from 39.5 billion to 66.9 billion HKD21 due to the rise of material cost. The news falsified the government’s own claim about the XRL’s economic benefits. This shifted the whole framing about the XRL, allowing activists to construct anger as an alternative feeling regarding the XRL, pitting it against the dominant framing and the production of hope towards economic integration. Activist Ip Iam-chong explained, “[the money matter] had been discussed by us at the very early stage in 2009 …... It was

21 As of 2016, the cost has risen to over $85 billion HKD. 134 taxpayers’ money. No one would object that we should turn a blind eye to public spending.”22 An artist-activist from Local Action, Ger Choi, further elaborated:

“We cannot simply talk about emotions towards a rural village. No Hongkonger would treasure it (laugh) …… but if we talk about money, everybody would think it is important. That’s why we published many propaganda materials to explain what 66.9 billion meant …… Some activists really wanted to raise the point about rural village, the CYV, and people-place emotions, but we would also use the perspective of an urban dweller to garner public support.”23

Ger Choi’s laugh indicated that the activists knew very well that their alternative feeling rule of place-based emotions could not immediately overtake the dominant one to “rule” the emotional climate of society. However, given the top priority Hongkongers give to economic matters (HKUPOP, 2018a), activists took advantage of this value orientation to discredit the government’s framing rule and mobilize anger because they realized that the apparent mismanagement of public finance was contradictory to people’s expectation towards the government. In October, another reportage from the SCMP revealed that the Hong Kong section of the XRL would be the most expensive railway on average (per kilometer) in the world (SCMP, 2009a), the information of which, as the SCMP editorial questioned, had not been disclosed to the public (SCMP, 2009b). Many Hong Kong people were further disenchanted. What added fuels to public discontent and dismay was the life-threatening impact the XRL might pose to urban districts. Activists discovered from the Environmental Impact Assessment report that the XRL might shake the soil foundation and cause a loss of underground water in Tai Kok Tsui, an old district, which, in the worst scenario, might cause some old buildings to collapse.24 This piece of information was released to the media and widely propagandized. Like the CYV villagers, residents there were never informed or consulted (Chu, 2009e). They not only faced a life-threatening risk but lost the opportunity

22 Interview on May 8, 2018. 23 Interview on April 12, 2018. 24 Interview with activist Lau Yuen-keung on October 14, 2017. 135 to sell their buildings at a good price when the area is redeveloped. The discourse of procedural justice, the capitalist cultural values, and emotions all articulated together to produce a full-blown mobilization. Following this immediate discursive shift, the government’s developmental discourse no longer worked to contain mass anger. Traditional framing theories tend to focus only on the cognitive meanings of activists’ collective action frames (Snow and Benford, 1988; 1992). Here we see a case that alternative framing of a contentious issue created what Gamson (1992: 32) calls “a righteous anger that puts fire in the belly and iron in the soul” to make people resonate to a mobilization call (Schrock et al., 2004; Robnett, 2004). At this stage, the construction of anger, mainly through activists’ strategic exploitation of some contingent news, also changed the dynamics in civil society by facilitating the formation of a broad alliance. At the very beginning, the stance of the mainstream pro-democracy parties was ambivalent as most of them also upheld a capitalist ideology and did not dispute the government’s spatial-temporal discourses. The successful mobilization of anger drove a sea change in public opinion and forced these parties to align with the activists. As activist Ip Iam-chong observed, “the intended or unintended consequence of our action was to push the pan-democrats to take a more progressive stance …… To a certain extent, you can say the democrats were ‘kidnapped and hijacked’ by us, which forced them to stand by us.”25 Being a forced alliance, the unity of civil society was maintained by bridging various temporal orientations of action. Although there were varying degrees of objection against the XRL, a general claim of rejecting the existing plan, instead of the whole idea of building XRL, was made to keep a broad consensus on the pace and directness of the campaign and sustain a city-wide mobilization. While Wagner-Pacifici and Ruggero’s (2018) findings show how disjunctive temporal orientations hampered the unity among different players, here we see how solidarity was at least temporality forged through bridging temporal orientations of action.

(v) Redefining Time, Political Identity, and Emotions for Activism As the campaign grew, new tactics emerged, helping to advance the campaign through endowing it with diverse emotional content. Again, the ideational source for this

25 Interview on May 8, 2018. 136 artfulness was embedded in a broader temporal process which intertwined with short-term improvisation. During the Anti-XRL campaign, lots of youngsters participated. Notably, a new identity—the “Post-80s youth”—was born. This new cultural-biographical label carried a set of vectors that were nurtured through time and that continued its relevancy over time, moulding the political values of a generation and changing the political practices of mobilization since the late 2000s. Born in an advanced, post-scarcity environment, young people tended to emphasize less on the instrumental benefits the XRL would bring, and more on post- materialistic demands such as democracy and free lifestyle (Ma, 2011a). This partly explains why the Post-80s youth was the age group showing the most dissatisfaction towards the HKSAR government (Hong Kong Transition Project, 2010), and why they became the core participants in the mobilization. In 2009, this new identity label emerged in a context where the current pro- democracy movement seemed stagnant. As a new cultural-biographical label, it raised a new set of political practices—as vectors—that redefined the pattern of state-society interaction and posed a continuing relevance beyond this particular period of contention. As Lam-Knott (2018) finds, the Post-80s youth has an orientation of anti-hierarchy towards both the government and the traditional pro-democracy political parties. Recall the differences between the mainstream pro-democracy parties and Local Action mentioned in the previous case study. They reflected a disagreement not only over the top-down management by political elites but over the tactics and practices upheld by elder activists and veteran democrats. As two young cultural critics commented:

“The so-called ‘Post-80s’ is a new political identity (like ‘middle class’) and ‘radical’ is a new repertoire …… The terms ‘youth’ and ‘Post-80s’ are pointing to the future, a time that is unknown and that awaits experiment ……. We used to think that ‘democracy’ and ‘July 1 protest’ are big stuff, while the movement to protect the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier is a niche. We seldom consider, these two sets of social movements are originated from two different political-economic structures and political ideas and are responding to two epochs ……

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The ‘radical actions’ of the ‘Post-80s’ remind us that the political ideas and repertoire based on ‘rationality’ are no longer progressive in today’s context.” (Li and Wong, 2010, author’s translation)

This comment pointed to a disagreement with a political-cultural vector—the political practice of having orderly protests—that has dominated the civil society for decades. Hitherto, the radicalness of activism has been contained by an “order imagery” (Ku, 2007) and the culture of depoliticization (Lam, 2004). Political discourses developed since the July 1, 2003 rally pushed this concern further, in which a narrow interpretation of the phrase “peaceful, rational, and non-violent” was made hegemonic. Middle-class virtues of being self-disciplined, self-motivated, and mild/non-radical were taken up by the mainstream pro-democracy politicians as the self-image of political activism (Ku, 2009). The tactical implications were that protests often took the form of marching orderly in a designated place and time and controlling excessive display of emotions—a hegemonic display rule in civil society. While the mainstream democrats believed it important to tap into people’s concern over public order, protests have become business-as-usual. For the Post-80s youths, these temporal, spatial, and emotional dynamics were questionable. They doubted the repeated use of orderly actions and the top-down suppression of emotional expressions and demanded a change here and now. Although this did not mean they must embrace violent and confrontational action, the demand for tactical-cum-emotional diversification was in place. The new identity label was also associated with the making of alternative feeling rules for activism and the broadening of emotional diversity. 2009 was the 20th anniversary of the Beijing Tiananmen massacre. Every year, the mainstream democrats in Hong Kong organized a commemorative June 4th vigil. Gradually, this became problematic, especially in the Post-80s youths’ eyes. Artist-activist Ger Choi elucidated:

“We are not trying to stop people from going to the vigil gathering …… [but] it is meaningless to look at the saddest moment of this historical event all the time. Rather we should focus on what the youths are now demanding and how they want to shape the country …… For us, our

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position is ambiguous. During the June 4th incident, we were born, but we were immature and our memory was vague. However, we still care about it. This differs from the level of grief experienced by [the mainstream democrats].”26

Generational differences and biographical experiences were said to be the bases for divergent emotional experiences. The young artists thus held the June-Fourth Festival for Post-80s Generation, dubbed “P-at-riot,” to question their historical and cultural linkages with China and how they should feel towards the Tiananmen event. While not aiming to reject the annual commemoration events organized by the veteran democrats that take on the form of mourning event to highlight sorrow and grief, the Festival used a range of art and cultural activities to re-present the historical event so as to dig out diverse sentiments. The Festival thus kicked-start a (partial) departure of the feeling rule embraced by the veteran democrats, such as patriotism, a point I will elaborate in Chapter 5, and a search for other modes of emotional mobilization. Due to an overlapping network of activists, the label “Post-80s” was directly adopted in the Anti-XRL campaign. The political practices and values associated with this new political identity helped to overturn the mono-mode of emotional mobilization and invent a broader range of tactics to assist claim-making and achieve emotional autonomy, as shown below.

(vi) Redefining Space and Emotions for Activism As suggested at the end of the previous case study, the broadening of emotional expression provided a foundation for tactical diversification. This is evident in the Anti- XRL campaign. Moreover, contrary to Jasper (2015a; 2015b; 2018) sole focus on the emotions of movement players, the Anti-XRL campaign demonstrated how an arena is associated with certain emotionalities which, from time to time, could be challenged and changed. In the process, young activists not only changed the emotionality of the arena of conflict but put forward an alternative set of feeling rules and display rules for local activism.

26 Interview on April 12, 2018. 139

Entering late-2009, the key arena of conflict shifted to the Legislative Council (LegCo) where the XRL budget would be debated and approved. Creative tactics, especially the spatial ones, mushroomed to drive the dynamics between activists and the government/pro-government legislators, and between activists and democratic legislators. In the process, cultural resistance took an indispensable role to assist claim-making regarding time and space, in both strategic and symbolic terms. As described below, both negative and positive emotions were evoked to shape state-society interaction. Activists first capitalized on the power of popular culture to make their claims more comprehensible to the public. “This is our land!”, a script from Hollywood movie Avatar being screened at that time was borrowed as a campaign slogan, presenting the antagonistic relationship between rural and civilization, dwellers and invaders in a vivid and lively way. Discursive and symbolic meanings were also articulated through space. Young activists launched an action called the prostrating walk (kuxing)—a tactical vector performed by the Korean farmers during the 2005 Anti-WTO protest which was witnessed and adopted by local activists in the 2009 context—to garner public sympathy. Dressed in plain T-shirts, holding seeds in their hands, walking barefoot, participants knelt and bowed every 26 steps, participants articulated a desire for rootedness, a love for homeland, and a grief to the coming loss of a village, moving both the participants and the bystanders by inducing a spiritual rethinking of people-land relationship and a bodily (re)connection with the land. Taking place across five districts and then around the LegCo building, the action was an affective framing and a moral call to bystanders (Ma, 2017). Kiu explained his reasons for participating in this action, “honestly, I didn’t really believe that the method of prostrating walk could cause a policy change, but I hoped to let the public know what’s happening through this action. I wanted to let them know the issue was not just about eviction and economic development, but about a lot more.”27 The action received some positive feedback. For example, a movement participant Emilia said, “actually I did not know the meaning behind kneeling down every 26 steps, but when I saw this image …… it was full of power and made me sympathetic to them.”28 Through this spatial-emotional manoeuvre, emotions were openly displayed in a performative manner, which refashioned

27 Interview on October 23, 2017. 28 Interview on November 6, 2017. 140 a peaceful, rational, and non-violent struggle in a potent way. This also helped to maintain support from the mainstream democrats. Place, discursive and symbolic meanings, and emotions came to reinforce one another when “carnivals” were held outside the LegCo building in the days of funding approval meeting. In essence, it was a spatial action to besiege the building to pile more pressure on the officials and legislators, but this anger-filled protest gathering became full of festive moods under the banner of “joyous struggle”—a feeling rule that differed significantly from the old form of political activism which aimed for an orderly protest at the expense of emotional expression by defining joy as the proper emotion for this campaign. While activists explicitly advertised the campaign in joyous terms to avoid the campaign being labelled as violent and destructive, they also managed the emotionality of the arena of conflict. Projectors were set up for protesters to watch the council debate together like watching football matches in pubs. Protesters could also buy communal products and food sold by the CYV villagers and other grassroots groups. Products and food were named in a mockery and humorous way to further highlight villagers’ spatial- temporal claims, such as “Democratic fish-ball,” “Sweet potato soup: warm energy from the land,” “No eviction, no removal dumplings,” and many others. During meeting breaks, indie musicians and art groups performed to heat up the atmosphere and fill it with joy and energy. As Ben, a participant, concurred, “why should we be so serious all the time? …… We could eat the sweet soup made by the CYV villagers which was full of sentiment …… It was not as boring as previous mobilizations. It was no longer about yelling slogans only” (emphasis added).29 In the discussion of cultural resistance in social movement literature, humor is often reckoned as a powerful tactic for non-violent resistance, which poses challenges to the authority in an ambivalent way and which creates pleasure for movement participants (Hart, 2007; Teune, 2007; Kutz-Flamenbaum, 2014; Sørensen, 2017). In Hong Kong, the use of humor in these innovative spatial actions was important in the sense that it helped to attract participants on the one hand and aligned with the aforementioned culture of depoliticization on the other. Performed bodily and represented discursively and symbolically, joy and humor helped to make politics look interesting and less

29 Interview on October 20, 2017. 141 confrontational and render political claims easier to understand. This effectively broadened the base of supporters and sustained their participation. For instance, participant Emilia recalled,

“I really liked this idea at that time. I even wrote a passage in my Facebook page to talk about this. I wrote, social struggles occur frequently, so what we need is to make more people enjoy the process and continue their participation through some kinds of entertainment. Violence is not the only means for conducting social struggles.”30

Even when the XRL budget was finally approved, spatial-emotional actions helped to mitigate the tense atmosphere. During an escalated action to block the LegCo building and demand a dialogue with Eva Cheng, the Secretary for Transport and Housing, anger was allayed through songs and mockery actions such as the “Election of the most handsome policeman.” While emotions deriving from these actions and emotional management prevented a ferocious confrontation with the police, they served to uphold an uncompromising stance. Without overly disrupting the public order, these actions redefined a “rational, peaceful, and non-violent” protest creatively and minimized the extent of condemnation by the pro-government forces.

(vii) Conflicts over Time-space and Emotions within Civil Society Conflicts over time-space and emotions created political contention between state and society, but they also induced heated exchanges among civil society players and impaired their unity. As Wagner-Pacifici and Ruggero’s (2018) piece finds, disjunctive temporal orientations of action often bring negative consequences for emotions and solidarity. While this was also true in the Anti-XRL campaign, the campaign revealed another possibility—managing negative emotions and maintaining solidarity through bridging different sets of temporal orientations, as explained below. In the Anti-XRL campaign, despite the leading activists’ effort to lessen the extent of anger and replace it with joy, the constructed nature of emotions bespeaks that

30 Interview on November 6, 2017. 142 emotions can never be fully managed during strategic interaction as no single set of feeling rule is absolutely dominating. Jason, a participant, for example, did not believe in the so- called joyous struggle at all, though he did not participate in confrontational action. “If you want to be joyful, then why do you participate in social struggles?” he questioned. “I never believe that social struggles can stop at the point of being joyful …… For me, you have a price to pay in social struggles,”31 Jason explained his self-acknowledged deviant feeling during a walking interview around the LegCo building. The dispute over feeling rules was inexorably related to two temporal orientations of action—pace and directness. Two weeks before the LegCo meeting, another demonstration was held to call for faster democratization. A slogan caught the media attention, which wrote, “This is a warning: The youth has no patience towards the dogs in the government, we are prepared to riot and shed our blood” (Mingpao, 2010a). Soon after, a Facebook group was set up which attracted a thousand netizens to join, indicating a sense of urgency to change the status quo. It was in this context that more confrontational actions were proposed as they seemed to be a more direct and powerful way to reach the goals. When the XRL funding was finally approved, a similar sense of urgency emerged when the protesters were besieging the LegCo. It also exposed the contention over cultural resistance, not due to differences in ideological position as shown in other case studies (Teune, 2007; Flesher Fominaya, 2007), but due to differences in temporal orientations of action. Although the leading activists’ emotion work successfully assuaged anger for most participants, dissenting voices arose repeatedly with claims such as “talking without action, joyous struggle is useless” (Mingpao, 2010b). For activists upholding this view, they proposed to stage a direct action to storm the meeting hall of the LegCo building. But for young activists who became the campaign leaders, though maintaining a view of emotional autonomy, they faced a strategic choice point: should they put the participants’ safety at risk by putting them in a confrontational situation, or should they maintain an “orderly” protest? In the end, they chose the latter but refashioned it with the aforesaid actions. This could be explained by both long- and short-term practices of local activism. As activist Ger Choi maintained, it was the first time in history that movement organizers needed to face a situation that they were besieging a group of officials who were participating in a LegCo

31 Interview on September 16, 2017. 143 meeting. The lack of tactical savvy and experience pushed them to align with a safer option which has been practiced in the historical course. Ger Choi also witnessed that some protesters were already throwing glass bottles and preparing for more violent action. An immediate sense of fear pushed the movement organizers to stay away from radical options in that contingent situation.32 Finally, internal conflicts were largely pacified through managing the temporal orientations of action, in particular expectation. Throughout the campaign, activists and villagers had insisted on the demand “no eviction, no removal of the Choi Yuen Village.” Yet redefinition of success occurred again and again during the besieging action, which effectively allowed the struggle to go on without escalating into a violent confrontation. “What I experienced in those few hours was a re-education. We were told, ‘the things we did were not wasteful’ …… We failed to oppose the XRL or stop the budget. The budget has already been approved. Then we were told to lay a siege and demand a dialogue with the officials,” participant Jason said.33 However under the police’s protection, the officials and the pro-government legislators fled successfully, the new goal failed again. The management of expectation again became a way to contain anger and frustration. As time had passed 12:00 a.m., the area outside the LegCo building became a pedestrian zone, meaning that any kind of gathering was a legal one. It hence became a “success” of the protester’s civil disobedience. “All of us thought that the campaign was successful. We made Eva Cheng fleeing embarrassingly via the Mass Transit Railway. It could be said that it was a successful siege. The second is that we all thought we would be arrested, but in the end the police could not do anything,”34 Jason explicated. Another participant Emilia also described,

“It was my first time to be in such a situation. Although [Eva Cheng] successfully ran away, the way she escaped was rather ugly. That’s why I felt we had a small victory. A small one. We could not bring a policy

32 Interview on April 12, 2018. 33 Interview on September 16, 2017. 34 Ibid. 144

change, but when you saw her so afraid of people’s power, I felt hopeful at that moment.”35

Thus, combined with the effect of joyous struggle, the management of temporal orientations—changing expectation by shifting the goal from an unachievable or a failed one to a relatively more realistic goal—successfully kept the morale of the participants up and even turned frustration into hope. Although Ger Choi conceded that these decisions were not democratic enough and although the fallout was relatively little in this campaign, conflicts over time-space and emotions gradually cumulated as a serious cleavage within civil society in later years, as described in other chapters.

(viii) Implications of the Campaign The Anti-XRL campaign presents another case that emotions and social movements are both produced and shaped through the intersection between social processes at different timescales. This case also draws our attention to the spatial level of region within a national territory. In sum, the long-term transformation of the Chinese economy gave rise to the spatial-economic policy of regional integration. It became a medium-term vector that travelled across space and time to shape the urban landscape of many Chinese cities including Hong Kong. Although dominant frames and emotions produced through spatial and economic discourses in the 2000s had helped justify the XRL, the brutal land resumption at the CYV—a place at the local level—provoked anger and spurred resistance. Yet, activists and villagers’ short-term responses were intertwining with some longer-term processes when they drew on the tactical vectors developed in earlier community movements and built their spatial and temporal discourses upon villagers’ historically embedded, place-based emotional attachment. Again, emotions played both a direct role to spur political action and an assisting role in discursive meaning-making regarding time and space. Meanwhile, the making of alternative sets of feeling rules was part and parcel of changing political practices, which was in turn driven by a broader shift of identity and political value. While time-space and emotions constituted two major cleavages between activists and the authority, they—in

35 Interview on November 6, 2017. 145 particular pace and expectation—also became lines of contestation among activists. Such kind of cleavages indicates that choice points, dilemmas, and trade-offs during strategic interaction discussed by Jasper (2012) are underpinned by time and space. Also, as I have shown, managing temporal orientations was key to managing emotions and maintaining solidarity. In all, emotions, time, and space intermingled, prefigured, and produced one another—a tripartite that would cast light on the existing theories of emotions which have lacked an awareness of time and space and which have focused on emotions at the local level (Hochschild, 2003; Collins, 2001). The different sorts of feeling rules and their spatial and temporal underpinnings are listed in Table 4.3. Empirically, the campaign showed a rich array of emotions in Hong Kong’s political activism. Anger, love, and joy still played a prominent role in the late 2000s, while fear, anxiety, hope, and grief also exerted their influence at different stages. Emotional diversification and tactical innovation wrought by activists continued to boost activism. They informed and supported each other: as movement participants were encouraged to be more expressive, creative tactics could be improvised more freely. This also began to redefine the traditional hierarchical relationship between movement organizers and participants and encourage bottom-up involvement we could observe in later campaigns. After the Anti-XRL campaign, the influence of activists from Local Action did not wane. This campaign also inspired an even younger generation of activists for socio-political conflicts, including the teenagers who led the Anti-national education campaign discussed in the next chapter, as indicated in their media interviews (Hong Kong Economic Journal, 2011; Apple Daily, 2012a).

Beijing Mainstream Local Action / Radical government / democrats CYV villagers activists HKSAR government Emotions of Data not Data not Anger at brutal Anger at brutal players available available land land resumption and resumption and XRL’s high XRL’s high cost cost Feeling rules Hope towards Hope towards Love towards Direct and/or regional regional everyday expression of display rules integration integration; space; anger anger

146 being control towards the proposed emotional government; expression in joy in the protests protest space Spatial Integration of Integration of Rural space Storming the underpinning cities in the cities in the and local LegCo of feeling PRD PRD; an community; building rules orderly protest besieging the space LegCo building Temporal Quicker capital Quicker capital Rootedness in Relatively underpinning and human and human place; slow more violent of feeling flows within flows within development; direct action rules the PRD the PRD non-violent direct action (e.g. besieging the LegCo, cultural resistance) Table 4.3 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings in the Anti-XRL campaign

III. Conclusion In this chapter, I have shown two cases of local activism, both of which revealed the interactions among players at the local, regional, and global levels. Tactics, discourses, practices, policies, and emotions that a local campaign built upon could be traced back to a temporal trajectory which consisted of processes flowing at different timescales, with different directions and magnitudes, and at different spatial scales. They constituted vectors that traveled across time and space to produce and shape social movements in Hong Kong. The economic vector of free trade under the neoliberal timescape, for example, created contention at the global arena of the Anti-WTO protest held in Hong Kong. When local activists witnessed and participated in this event, tactics were not only diffused to the local context but experimented repeatedly to affect a range of movement campaigns, such as the two discussed here. These spatial and temporal processes shed light on the construction of emotions, a point that scholars in social movement studies and the sociology of emotions have failed to address. For instance, the two campaigns discussed here were obviously mobilized through short-term anger. But if we focus on this only, we would miss the trajectory of how the

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Asian Financial Crisis created an enduring negative emotional experience that gave rise to a range of policy initiatives, such as the global city project and the XRL project, which have propelled bottom-up contentions since the early 2000s. New players emerging from this process—young activists from Local Action, for example—did not create their tactics and improvise their feeling rules and display rules from a vacuum. Instead, they learned from the Korean farmers and their prior experiences in various community movements, while their values and practices were also shaped by a broader transformation of political identity. All these demonstrate the usefulness of the strategic temporal-spatial approach I set out in Chapter 2. The analysis in this chapter establishes the need for an analysis of emotions that takes multiple timescales and spatial levels into account when understanding social movement dynamics. Empirically, this chapter has revealed the trend of diversification of emotions in local politics between 2003 and 2009. A range of positive and negative emotions interacted to generate what Jasper (2011) calls a “moral battery,” an interaction effect of emotions that fueled a formidable movement. They strengthened the mobilization capacity and widened the base of supporters for local activism. As Hong Kong’s economy and politics got more embedded in the Chinese national context, local activism started to interact increasingly with processes at the national scale. The target of struggle also began to expand from blaming the HKSAR government to opposing the Beijing government. In the following two chapters, I will show how time-space and emotions of local activism were formed through and shaped by the contentious relationship between global and national processes.

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Chapter 5: Challenging the Post-colonial Temporal Order: The Protest against National Education

The Anti-XRL campaign and the subsequent 5-District de facto Referendum (discussed in Chapter 6) not only unveiled a governance crisis of the HKSAR government but reminded the local and national authorities of the “youth problem” in Hong Kong (Cheung, 2014). This rising trend of activism converged with the prominent rise of the Chinese economy in the global arena in the late 2000s, as well as the Beijing government’s changing response to global politics, leading to the introduction of national education in Hong Kong schools (Morris and Vickers, 2015). While Chapter 4 has shown how local movements and emotions were shaped by socio-political processes at the relatively borderless regional level, this chapter analyzes the Anti-Moral and National Education (Anti-MNE) campaign by studying the temporal- spatial processes at the national and global levels, and the focus here is time. The first section reveals some long-term trends in the political, cultural, and economic domains— some of which converged with those mentioned in Chapter 4—that resulted in an increasing emphasis on loving the nation in the national education agenda. Section II considers these statist concerns at the global level and disentangles how political conflicts between China and the West were orchestrated in temporal terms. I excavate contending ways of interpreting and remembering the past and imagining the future, as well as rival thoughts on modernization, and ascertain how these contentions were pertinent to the changing educational practices in the local context. The third section extends the discussion on local-level dynamics by examining how time featured in local resistance. I interrogate how the biological age of activists was associated with the ways they harnessed various vectors in terms of tactics, emotions, and practices. The final section further unpacks the temporal dynamics in local civil society by showing a gradual shift in emotional culture and tactical choices that led to certain features of the Umbrella Movement discussed in Chapter 6. This chapter further establishes the claim that we should look beyond short-term processes and localized space (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015) when examining strategic interactions and pay more attention to social processes that take place

149 at a wider territorial level to influence local politics through decades of time. Although this chapter highlights the importance of national politics, it differs from the traditional focus in social movement studies (Tilly, 1978; McAdam, 1982) as I argue that what shapes local- national interaction is not national politics per se but the interaction between political players at multiple scalar levels.

I. The Post-colonial Temporal Order and its Implications for Emotions (i) Winning Hearts and Minds in Post-handover Hong Kong Political identity is as much an emotional construct as a cognitive and moralistic issue (Jasper, 1998; Berezin, 2001; Melucci, 1989). Despite the sovereignty return to China in 1997, the political identity of Hongkongers has long been a tricky issue for the Beijing government due to their prior experience in mainland China. For many elder Hongkongers, as Mathews and his colleagues observe, they fled from the mainland due to war and chaos in the 1950s-60s, most of which were caused by political movements instigated by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). When they settled in Hong Kong, psychological resistance to Chinese politics was not unusual, and yet most of them still upheld a Chinese identity. For the older generation, loving the nation means embracing the cultural China, such as Chinese ethnicity, history, cultural traditions, rather than Chinese politics (Mathews, 1997; Mathews, Ma and Lui, 2008). This collective political-emotional experience, as will be shown, became a vector that travelled through time to serve as the basis for various versions of feeling rules to be made by players of different ideological positions. Influenced by national politics, the making of Chinese identity and the building of nationalism in Hong Kong are difficult and complex. For the colonial government, the key principle was to avoid these issues through depoliticization, especially in the arena of school education. It was not until 1984 that civic education was introduced along with moral, environment and sex education to respond to the coming sovereignty transfer (Morris and Morris, 1999). Since the handover, re-sinicization has been done in a softly- softly manner to celebrate Chinese values, culture, and national achievements, for example through broadcasting the national anthem before television news in the media arena, but still no compulsory national education was practiced (Morris and Vickers, 2015; Mathews et al., 2008). The soft promotion of national identity and positive emotions towards China

150 succeeded in the early post-handover years. Although political identification remained weak, a rising cultural Chinese identification and a stronger feeling of proud towards emotive icons of China, such as the national flag and the Great Wall, were recorded between 1997 and 2010 (Fung, 2004; Ma and Fung, 2007; Fung and Chan, 2017). All these seemed to fulfill the original intention of the “One Country, Two Systems,” which was designated in the 1980s to allay Hongkongers’ fear and anxiety about returning to Communist China by demarcating the two places in terms of social, political, and economic systems with a clear spatial boundary, that the two places will gradually integrate, both in terms of political-economic development and cultural distance, within 50 years (Lui, 2015). Yet from time to time, the national-local interactions were influenced by politics at an even wider scale. Political events occurring at both the local and global levels affected national players’ decisions, which ultimately accelerated the statist timetable of the psychological return of Hong Kong to China and created potential for social conflicts in the local education arena in the post-handover period. The July 1, 2003 Protest mentioned in Chapter 4 was an event that shocked the Beijing government. Notably, one focal point of contention in the protest was the rejection of the legislation of Article 23, a bill regarding national security which was deemed to be a threat to Hongkongers’ freedom of speech. While this signified to Beijing about Hongkongers’ lack of patriotism and lack of concern over national security (Ma, 2015), the July 1 Protest even became an annual event to demand quicker democratization in Hong Kong (Lee and Chan, 2011). The 2004 protest, featured with the theme “Returning the Power to the People,” further touched Beijing’s nerve by alerting them of the risk of subverting Beijing’s sovereign power over Hong Kong. This concern was then articulated with a global event. In the early 2000s, the Colour Revolution broke out in former Soviet states and the Balkan states. Assisted by Western semi-official players, especially those from the U.S., these pro-democracy movements subverted the communist regimes in these countries. Preventing the Colour Revolution from occurring in China has thus become the first and foremost task of the CCP leaders. Local international relations scholar Simon Shen believes that these views have influenced the CCP’s attitude and policy towards Hong Kong (Shen, 2012). A political vector manifested in the discourse of national sovereignty, which I will further unpack in Chapter

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6, gradually emerged in the arena of national territory where a battle against foreign democratic influence was under way. For Hong Kong, the implication was that a faster political-cum-psychological integration with China would be undertaken starting from the mid-2000s. Consequently, during the 10th anniversary of the sovereignty return in 2007, Chinese President Hu Jintao made an earnest demand on the HKSAR government regarding the local youth, advising that “[the government] should put more emphasis on national education for the youth in Hong Kong and promote exchanges between them and the young people of the Mainland so that they will carry forward the Hong Kong people's great tradition of loving the motherland and loving Hong Kong” (Information Service Department, 2007). Hu’s reminder reflected the CCP leaders’ worry about the slow progress of the “return of the heart” (renxin huigui) (Kan, 2012) and this concern was often conveyed in pro-Beijing newspapers. A columnist in Wenweipo wrote, “the return of the heart is about obtaining the new identities of being ‘a Hongkonger in China’ and ‘a Chinese in Hong Kong.’ This is the foundation of the identification with the state and its culture …… The coming implementation of national education has multiple implications, the core of which is the idea of the state” (Zhou, 2011, author’s translation). Psychological integration was semantically constructed as the condition of other aspects of identification with mainland China, which was further argued to be a condition for democratization in Hong Kong. As a mainland legal scholar opined in Takungpao, “what determines the actual implementation of universal suffrage in Hong Kong? …… The first is national identification, which is about the sense of belonging and sense of obligation of a citizen towards his/her country” (Song, 2009, author’s translation). Thus, integration with mainland China required not simply economic projects like the CEPA and the XRL discussed in Chapter 4 but a love towards China—an appropriation of the emotional vector existing in Hong Kong to construct a feeling rule of patriotism—especially among the Hong Kong youths. All these accelerated the engineering of a post-colonial temporal order for Hong Kong, an order speeding up integration with mainland China.

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(ii) Ethnic Patriotism: Blood is Thicker than Water As suggested in Chapter 2, players in an arena not only act in time but are guided by time. Various conceptions of time, which I termed as temporal orientations, guide how players act. In the current case, the construction of a closer future Hong Kong-China relation rested on emotions and these emotions were constructed through a peculiar interpretation of the past—a sequential cultural lineage that rooted the history of Hong Kong and its population within the broader Chinese history. As proclaimed in the first sentence of the Basic Law, the mini-constitution of Hong Kong, “Hong Kong has been part of the territory of China since ancient times.” A seemingly unquestionable spatial and historical lineage was declared as the bedrock of national unity and territorial integrity. This constructed lineage was easily articulated with the existing cultural identification with China to become a basis of the discourse of patriotism. Thus, the statist feeling rule was first characterized by an ethnic relationship between Hongkongers and mainland Chinese. In the late-2000s, the feeling rule of patriotism that built upon the vector of loving the nation was reinforced by an event—a so-called “natural disaster”36—in mainland China, allowing the ethnic content of the statist feeling rule to flourish. On May 12, 2008, an earthquake with a 7.9 magnitude erupted in Wenchuan of Sichuan province. Over 69,000 lives were lost, close to 375,000 people were injured, hundreds of thousands of constructions and buildings collapsed, making it one of the worst earthquakes in human history in terms of socio-economic losses and the deadliest earthquake hitting China since the 1976 Tangshan earthquake. While this tragic event came to be an immediate cognitive cue to evoke grief and sadness among Hongkongers, it was an occasion where Hongkongers’ cultural Chinese identity was expressed. Historically, whenever serious disasters occurred in China, funds were raised in Hong Kong through non-governmental organizations and other channels in civil society to provide material and financial relief to the victims and support the rescuing and rebuilding works (Sinn, 2003). Yet in 2008, a series of top-down efforts to raise funds and promote the Chinese identity was also witnessed. The Sichuan earthquake turned out to be a discursive opportunity for pro-

36 The quotation marks indicate that the “natural” characteristics of the disaster were called into question, as explained in section II(ii). 153

Beijing players to propagandize a sense of solidarity among compatriots through a temporal discourse of ethnic nationalism. A pro-Beijing newspaper’s editorial prompted:

“Today, our country is facing a huge difficulty. It is a challenging task to rebuild Sichuan. How can Hong Kong people stand aside and evade \ their obligation? Most importantly, the participation of the HKSAR in the rescuing and rebuilding works of Sichuan is not a utilitarian interest- based exchange, but a crucial aspect in advancing the knowledge of the country’s condition (guoqing) for Hongkongers and in promoting national education to the youth. The relief campaign held in Hong Kong not just helps the people in the disaster area but helps Hongkongers themselves. From this earthquake, Hongkongers further experience the familial love based on the common flesh and blood among compatriots as well as the people-oriented policy of the Central government.” (Takungpao, 2008, author’s translation, emphasis added)

Time and emotions were articulated through the metaphor of family here. Political-cultural relationship became a matter of ethnic linkage, accentuating a historically inherited love and calling for a closer tie between Hongkongers and mainlanders. Thus, around 7 billion HKD was approved by the LegCo and the Hong Kong Jockey Club, a premier charity and community benefactor in the city, to support Sichuan in financial terms (Takungpao, 2009c). The temporal orientation highlighting ethnic sequential linkage shaped how the political-emotional project was carried out in the local education arena. Through informal curriculum, various voluntary activities and exchange programmes were organized for Hong Kong youths to take part in the supporting work for Sichuan. These activities were framed in affective and ethnic terms to foreground the feeling rule of love and familial bond. The terms “blood is thicker than water” (xuenong wushui) and “sentiments towards the motherland” (jiaguo qinghuai) were widely adopted as the rhetoric of these activities. A large-scale event called “Affection for Sichuan” was organized by an official platform called Passing on the Torch, a name signifying the lineage connecting Chinese history and

154 today’s Hong Kong. Together with some high-ranking local officials, 1,000 Hong Kong teachers and students, visited Chengdu, the capital city of Sichuan. The programme included a visit to the Beichuan Earthquake Memorial and the Sichuan-Hong Kong Rehabilitation Centre. Students also had a chance to visit local secondary schools so as to “strengthen ties between the two sides through talks, arts performances and interactive learning activities” (Information Services Department, 2010a). Interestingly, students would also “visit the Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding, Du Jiang Yan irrigation works, Changhong Factory I Mianyang and Sichuan Museum to learn more about the nation’s latest developments in science and technology, cultural conservation and sustainable development” (Ibid.), so that “they can reflect on the opportunities and challenges faced by the country and think about the role and the contribution of Hong Kong in the grand plan of national development” (Information Services Department, 2010b). In short, what was meant to be affection-based patriotic education was at once a project of “sunshine patriotism” (Mathews et al., 2008) undertaken in the early handover period. This linkage implied that what was ethnic and emotional was simultaneously instrumental and economical, which will be further explored below. The construction of Chinese identity based on ethnic and historical lineage was working quite well. In a half- year-based opinion poll, the rate of identifying oneself as a Chinese reached a peak of 38.6% in June 2008, the highest point since the handover (HKUPOP, 2018b).

(iii) Interest-based Patriotism In the late 2000s, the local making of the feeling rule of patriotism through the emotional vector of loving the nation was running in parallel with, and reinforced by, economic vectors in mainland China. It also intertwined with the political economy at a wider spatial scale. As mentioned in Chapter 4, the ascendency of the Chinese economy has erased the sense of superiority of Hongkongers over mainlanders. While building upon an ethnic-based love, the statist feeling rule was also filled with an interest-based content forged under the aforesaid economic vector of regional integration. The period between 2008 and 2010 was an eventful one for both China and the world and it was a period when China managed to harness the economic vectors—for example, the practices of free market and financialization—of global capitalism to facilitate

155 its capital accumulation. In 2008, when the global financial crisis swept across the Western economies, China was minimally affected. China even played a role to stabilize the world economy in the midst of economic flux, a critical moment for China to rise as a global power vis-à-vis the decline of the West in terms of economic influence. The year 2008 was also the 30th anniversary of China’s market reform, a milestone that proves the success of the developmental path of “socialism with Chinese characteristics.” What cannot be missed out is certainly the 2008 Beijing Olympics, which is often interpreted as the mark of China’s repositioning as a global power. In the statist discourses, the event was represented as a historical moment of the revitalization of the Chinese nation after a hundred years of poverty and humiliation by the West and a point to envisage to become a great nation again (Zhang, 2012). In the following year, it was the grand 60th anniversary of the birth of the “New China” under the CCP’s leadership. What followed was the World Expo held in Shanghai in 2010, a showcase of China’s achievements and another sign of China’s integration with the world. In 2010, the Chinese economy even surpassed Japan to become the second largest economy in the world. These global and national events marked the end of China’s inferior status in history and the beginning of a bright future. A discourse of the rise of China was therefore emerging to buttress China’s political-economic vectors, such as the policy of regional integration illustrated below, setting a basis for propagandizing interest-based patriotism in Hong Kong. Whereas China needed Hong Kong’s help to harness the economic vectors of capitalism before 2008, now it was Hong Kong’s turn to scramble to connect with the Chinese economy to revitalize the local economy. In the first and second case studies, we have seen how the vision of global city was set and how a discourse of “backed by the motherland” was developed. In the late-2000s, national education became a way to make the youths to become more competitive through gaining more knowledge about the economically thriving China, and a way to position Hong Kong in the dual spatial coordinate of the nation and the globe. Chief Executive Donald Tsang elaborated in his 2007 policy address:

“To prepare ourselves for the next decade, we must have a better understanding of our country’s development and a stronger sense of our

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national and cultural identity. If Hong Kong people make their life and career plans from the perspective of national development, both individual citizens and the community at large will surely have a brighter future …… In the coming decade …… [w]e embrace modern values while upholding the core values of the traditional Chinese family …… We cherish the personal freedom of individuals and pluralism, and we have a shared sense of national identity. Ours is a Chinese city, as well as a global city …… Our successors have to look at Hong Kong from the perspective of our nation's development. Only from this vantage point will they be able to see Hong Kong's promising future.” (Information Service Department, 2007)

Like former Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa’s quote in Chapter 4, the rise of China was again portrayed as the foundation of Hong Kong’s future prosperity. The Chinese identity and the familial lineage were hence interpreted materialistically: when China becomes a global power, the best path Hong Kong should go is to merge with the national development, a vision of the future that hinges on the future of China. The political-emotional project was then officially carried out in the local arena of education, through which interest-based patriotism and instrumental benefits deriving from loving the nation were heavily promoted. The government started to review the primary and secondary curricula and the new senior secondary curriculum framework and proposed a standalone, independent subject called Moral and National Education in the 2010 policy address (Information Services Department, 2010c). The Moral and National Education Curriculum Guide (Primary 1 to Secondary 6) Consultation Draft was soon released in May 2011, in which the greatness and the achievements of China and the benefits Hong Kong could get from a closer relationship with China were heavily emphasized in each of the four key learning stages. Just to name a few, students are encouraged to “understand the contemporary scientific and technological developments and its significance in improving people’s livelihood, including the establishment of transportation systems (e.g. express rail link and construction of large bridges); achievements in space technology (e.g. the manned space flight projects and the lunar exploration programmes)” (Curriculum Development

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Council, 2011: 37), “learn about the cooperation between our country and Hong Kong in joint constructions and improvements, and understand the close relationship that we are of the same family and the joint efforts for prosperity” (p.48), “understand the important contemporary national plans such as reform and opening up, the Twelfth Five-Year Plan as well as the impacts on the livelihood of the community so as to understand the opportunities and challenges facing the country nowadays” (p.63), and “understand the major contemporary achievements in the country in areas such as economy, diplomatic relations and technology” (p.75). In informal education, various arenas were created for this political-emotional project. The aforementioned platform, Passing on the Torch, was established following the 2008 policy address to coordinate activities held by the Education Bureau and relevant organizations. The Youth National Education Funding Scheme was also developed to subsidize large-scale national education activities such as exchange programmes in the mainland, voluntary services, training courses, and seminars. These activities were all meant to let students learn “to empathize with the glories as well as sufferings of the nation” (Task Group on National Education, 2008). In everyday life, patriotism was promoted across official arenas and media arena. Important national events were broadcasted and promoted locally. The Equestrian Event of the Beijing Olympics was staged in Hong Kong and volunteering opportunities were offered to the youth. While the Chinese Olympic gold medalists were then invited to visit Hong Kong in a glorious mood, the astronauts who just completed the mission of China's first spacewalk also came to Hong Kong later in that year. Through these arenas, a huge sense of heroism was presented to support the feeling rule of patriotism and the project of nationalism.

II. The National Temporal Order and its Conflicts with the Global Temporality (i) Two Discourses of Modernization Despite having parallel economic vectors which equally run towards capital accumulation, political systems and practices in China and the West still contradicted significantly. The contradiction was stoked up again in the late 2000s when two temporal orientations—two visions of the future—ran into conflict, which were manifested in two discourses on the sequence and rhythm of modernization. These conflicts in the end shaped

158 how the emotional vector of loving the nation was drawn upon and how different versions of feeling rules were constructed by players of different ideological positions in the local political sphere of Hong Kong. Again, we will see how local-national interaction and emotional work were shaped by and intertwining with politics at a wider spatial scale. This broadens our analysis of strategic interaction and emotional management from a localized focus (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015; Hochschild, 2003; Collins, 2001) to a focus that takes multiple spatial levels into account. The prominent rise of China caught the attention of Western observers. Witnessing the disastrous consequence of neoliberalism, some Western commentators started to hold a more positive view of the state-led growth model. The term “Beijing Consensus” was hence coined by a China-based American journalist Joshua Cooper Ramo to contrast the Chinese growth experience with the Western one under “Washington Consensus,” though some critics held that “Beijing Consensus” was indeed a distortion of China’s actual developmental experience (Kennedy, 2010). Other observers began to worry about the rise of the authoritarian China and the political and economic consequences of China’s illiberal capitalism (Ferchen, 2013). In the classical Western modernization theory, it is hypothesized that economic growth and the emergence of a middle class would eventually bring about democratization (Lipset, 1959; Huntington, 1991). Even in the neo- modernization theory, the sequential linkage between economic development and political liberalization is still upheld, seeing that the former would generate a rise of post-materialist and emancipative values that would facilitate democratization (Inglehart and Welzel, 2005; Welzel, 2006). From time to time, these views were celebrated in Western media, academia, and governments in scrutinizing China. However, with democracy still being kept at bay by the Beijing government, Western observers started to worry about China’s developmental path, its growing influence on other developing countries, and a possible diffusion of authoritarianism (Ambrosio, 2012; Cooley, 2015). A conflict gradually broke out in the global arena, in which clashes and interactions between players in China and the West were shaped less by cultural and religious differences (Huntington, 1996) than by contending ideas about progression to the future. As scholars note, the initial response of the Beijing government to the suspicion of the West was made in a mild tone through constructing the discourse of “peaceful rise” and

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“harmonious world.” Having focused on internal economic growth for almost 30 years, the Chinese foreign policy started to shift more outward and signal to the world that China was “going out” in the mid-2000s. While China began to take a foothold in the international stage, it was emphasized through appropriating the Confucius culture that its rise would not pose any diplomatic threat to other countries (Cho and Jeong, 2008; Zheng and Tok, 2007). The discourse could be seen as a message about mutual respect sent to the Western world: while China only assists and is not going to interfere in other countries’ development, the West should pay respect to, and should not intervene, China’s distinctive developmental path. However, the West received this rhetoric in varied ways. In the late 2000s, the debate about the strategies of engagement or containment over China got more pronounced in America, especially when China has become more assertive towards its East Asian neighbours since 2009 in some Western observers’ eyes (Layne, 2008). The skeptical view from the West stimulated a sense of threat among the Beijing leaders and Chinese commentators, given that China was surrounded by 14 countries, with some of them having ongoing territorial disputes with China and given that the U.S. Navy has been omnipresent in the Asian Pacific region (Nathan and Scobel, 2012). In the late 2000s, the gravity of the discursive field in China came to tilt to the hawkish side and propelled the Beijing government to harden its attitude to maintain its own developmental path (Shambaugh, 2011). As a strategic response to the West, Beijing has enhanced its military power to pursue a new East Asian geopolitical order, as evident in its increasing military expenses (Lim, 2015). Conflicting ideas about progression to modernization at the national and global levels had a bearing on the controversial question of how national education should be positioned in Hong Kong, orienting how the feeling rule of patriotism was brought into and being promoted in the local arena of education and defining the crux of contention during state-society interaction. A few days after the MNE consultation draft was released, Hao Tiechuan, the Head of the Department of Publicity, Cultural and Sports Affairs of the Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government in Hong Kong wrote in a local newspaper:

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“Since the market reform, the Chinese economy has been growing at an average speed of over 9%. This speed means that every step Western developed countries move, China moves four steps faster; every step the world moves, China moves three steps faster …… The 30-year market reform is a condensation of the Western development that took a hundred years …… In the past, Hong Kong spent more than ten years to solve its serious social problems, while the U.S. took around 100 years. China is such a vast country with so many people, it won’t take as much time as the U.S. needed to solve serious social problems, but it still takes time” (Hao, 2011, author’s translation)

A Chinese-style sequence and rhythm of modernization were proffered here: since the speed of the socio-economic development of China—or what was commonly called the “China speed”37—was so distinctive, the longstanding socio-political problems in China could not be evaluated through the Western lens of modernization. Meanwhile, the question regarding whether or not (Western) democracy is the final destination of China’s modernization was circumvented. Since feeling in a particular way is inexorably tied to the appraisal and value judgment ascribed to things (Nussbaum, 2001), the cognitive meanings attached to the Chinese modernization discourse became a framing rule that shaped the production of feeling rule. Proponents of MNE urged Hong Kong people to appreciate China’s distinctive national situation (guoqing) in developing as a world power. They argued that it is only when students recognize China’s unique and exceptional developmental path of modernization that they can have the “correct” information and feelings about China. Wong Kwan-yu, the principal of a secondary school run by a pro-Beijing group, articulated the relationship between the Chinese rhythm of modernization and the feeling rule of patriotism:

“Loving the country is about hoping the country to keep improving and feeling happy about every achievement of the country. China is a

37 Often, the notion of the “China speed” is accompanied by the example of the XRL. 161

rapidly developing big country. It is natural that it has accumulated so many problems in the course of historical progress. We can understand its problems and inadequacies while acknowledging how we can contribute. My understanding of national education is to nurture such positive thinking to the country.” (Wong, 2008, author’s translation)

Phrases of emotions and phrases of temporality were put together in the quote, showing an attempt to articulate the two. Harping on the distinctive speed of Chinese modernization, socio-political problems in the mainland were said to be natural and simply temporary. This piece of “correct” information about China entailed a right feeling, love, which turned the existing love towards the nation into a demand for tolerating the inadequacies and fallacies in China instead of criticizing and feeling angry towards the lack of democracy, freedom, and justice. It was because time will solve these problems. Knowing the bright side of China also carried an implication of diluting or even refuting the “negative” messages flooded in the media arena. Since most frontline reporters in Hong Kong have inherited the political-cultural vector that favours liberal-style reporting despite Beijing’s co-optation of media bosses (Ma, 2007b), Beijing often sees this persistent media practice as a colonial legacy and a signal of Western influence. In another article, Wong Kwan-yu put it frankly:

“The system and ways of life in China are different from the Western model that Hong Kong people are familiar with. Letting students know more about the China model is, of course, reasonable and justifiable. The surge of the Chinese economy over the past 30 years has raised the eyebrows across the world. The Chinese experience and the China model have become the emerging focuses of study across the world. While the world is seeing this rising force positively, it is demonized, downplayed, neglected, and even marginalized in the local society. How weird it is? …… Some people say national education does not talk about the dark side of China. Indeed, there are negative messages about

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the country in the media every day. There is no need for us to spend any more effort in this area.” (Wong, 2010, author’s translation)

This explains why the proposed MNE curriculum was flooded with positive information about China. In a temporal order where frictions between the Chinese and Western discourses of modernization got increasingly intense, conflicts began to shift from global to local arena. National education in Hong Kong was all about a proper framing of China’s developmental trajectory to control the positive and negative information received by students, so that the feeling rule of patriotism could work effectively to manage students’ emotions.

(ii) Contention over Time and Emotions in the Local Society The state-promoted temporalities—both the one speeding up Hong Kong-China integration and the one championing the Chinese-style modernization—and their associated feeling rules were fervently resisted during the interaction between local pro- Beijing players and the pro-democracy politicians. For the veteran, mainstream democrats, what they embraced, like many Hongkongers at that time, were a cultural Chinese identity. While they have committed to the struggle for democracy and rejected the idea of one- party rule, they advocated the return of Hong Kong’s sovereignty to China on a democratic basis. Besides promoting democratization in Hong Kong, they also fought hard to advance democracy in China. During the 1989 Tiananmen student movement, some of them even traveled to Beijing to offer support and a few of them got arrested. After the June 4th massacre, they set up the Hong Kong Alliance in Support for Patriotic Democratic Movements in China (ASPDM) whose members cover a broad spectrum of the pro- democracy camp in Hong Kong, ranging from politicians from the mild Democratic Party to activist-politicians from the radical League of Social Democrats. The emotional vector of loving the nation was hence adopted by these democrats in a way drastically different from the Beijing and HKSAR governments. While for pro-Beijing players loving the nation means embracing the developmental path led by the CCP and ignoring the problems under one-party rule, for the democrats loving the nation means improving the country through tackling the root of the problem, one-party rule. Despite embodying the same

163 collective emotional experience, differences in ideological position gave rise to a divergent construction of feeling rule through the same emotional vector, both of which were equally dominating in the Hong Kong society and have co-existed for many years. The feeling rule proposed by the democrats was expressed through a discourse of “critical patriotism” (Chan and Chan, 2014). While similarly calling for a love towards the nation, the people, and the cultural aspects of China, this version of patriotism is qualified by liberal- democratic values and critical reflections of the dark side of China (Ibid.). As Lee Cheuk- yan, a founding member of the ASPDM, explained what “real” patriotism means when he moved a motion to vindicate the June 4th Incident in a LegCo meeting:

“President, I would like to talk about national education. The officials are, as usual, nowhere to be found today. If it is their objective to promote national education, why do they not attend this meeting and discuss this motion on the 4 June incident with us? That would be the best national education …… [T]o this political regime and this Government, their idea of national education only seeks to eulogize over achievements. It is the kind of national education which promotes patriotism blindly. It can even be seen as a cheap kind of national education …… The fans of [Manchester United] will be happy if [Manchester United] wins the championship. Could it be that every one of us is degenerated to be a fan of the Red Devils? Could it be that our feelings towards our country can only be likened to those of soccer fans? However, the patriotism advocated by this regime is precisely such a cheap kind of patriotism. On the contrary, the patriotism advocated by the [ASPDM] is genuine patriotism …… The patriotism that we refer to embraces love for the people, love for democracy, love for freedom and love for human rights. It is patriotism underpinned by independent and critical thinking. We oppose the kind of national education whereby the country is replaced by the party under one-party dictatorship. That kind of patriotism that they refer to means love for dictatorship and love for autocracy. We hold that such patriotism will cause grave harm to the

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country and to the people and therefore, we certainly hold such patriotism in contempt.” (Hong Kong Hansard, 2011)

Two notions of love were contrasted discursively in the quote. One was based on knowing the positive side of China which would aid the dictatorship to prolong its rule, and the other on realizing negative news like the knowledge about the June 4th incident which would help build a country with freedom, democracy, and human rights. This demonstrated a different set of cognitive cues that would engender a different kind of patriotism. Therefore, when the MNE consultation draft was released, the democrats deployed the term “brainwashing” heavily to criticize the proposed curriculum for imbuing students with overly positive information about China. The feeling rule proffered by the veteran democrats therefore entailed a different framing rule for interpreting the past and envisioning the future, as shown by their alternative discourse of modernization—a discursive formation that recombined elements of time and emotions to create new meanings through interdiscursivity. The Hong Kong Professional Teachers' Union, a professional group with a pro-democracy stance, questioned in its positional letter on MNE:

“The Hong Kong Professional Teachers’ Union maintains, what Hong Kong students need are education on Chinese history, national education and civic education based on humanitarianism and empathy, historical truths, and world vision. Students must have a full understanding of national development, as well as the quality of a global citizen. A real patriot is not driven by the strengths of the country, economic prosperity or real benefits. Rather, they must be able to criticize the wrongdoings of the country and have the intention to push for the progress of the country …… What kind of future generation should national education nurture? A generation who forgets all moral principles at the sight of profits, who is false and cunning, and who worships power? Or a generation who has a historical horizon, embraces universal values, has independent thinking, knows how to

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judge right or wrong and loves the country genuinely?” (The Hong Kong Professional Teachers' Union, 2011)

Knowing a country’s faults in history, instead of being lured by economic benefits, was said to be a condition prior to patriotism, which indicated a different articulation between time and emotions in the democrats’ discourse. In contrast to pro-Beijing players’ political discourses, the local democrats’ discourse of modernization rejected the idea that gaffes and errors made in the past could be glossed over by simply looking at positive achievements and by projecting a vague future. To a certain extent, this discourse presented an alternative version of democratization differing from the Western hegemonic one by unsettling the linear and sequential causal linkage between economic development and democracy and by arguing that the progression of a nation is based as much on going back and forth between past and present and learning from history as on economic growth. However, as I will elucidate in Chapter 6, the idea of democracy has been provocative to the CCP since the democrats have treated it as a “universal value”38 just like the quote above. It hence became a contentious claim of temporality and a bottom-up challenge in the Beijing leaders’ eyes. Championing a feeling rule underpinned by an alternative temporality of modernization, the veteran democrats proposed to replace national education (guomin jiaoyu) with civic education (gongmin jiaoyu). In Chinese, the formal translation of “citizen” is gongmin. In daily usage, it can also be translated as shimin. But when the government was advertising MNE, the translation guomin was adopted. A little difference makes a huge variation in meaning. Min in Chinese refers to the people. Gong embodies the meaning of the public and the social. The translation of gongmin thus carries the meaning of T.H. Marshall’s classic notion of citizenship. Yet, guo refers to the country, so the term guomin only denotes people with a nationality of a country. This easily leads to the tendency of emphasizing more on the obligations of people than on civil rights, reducing people in a country to national subjects. The democrats tried to subvert this and promote civic

38 In 2004, over 300 academics and professionals published a declaration to call for protecting Hong Kong’s eight “core values” including democracy, liberties, human rights and rule of law. Since then, the rhetoric of core values—values being attributed with a universal status— has been adopted by the mainstream democrats to support their claim to resist China’s political intervention. 166 education which teaches values like freedom, human rights, tolerance, and democracy that were said to be applicable universally across national borders. By adhering to these values, it was said, a blind love towards the country and the nation can be avoided so that the faults committed by the ruler can be reflected on. The two sets of feeling rule have been in a contentious relationship for many years. Yet in the late 2000s, the contentious interaction between national and local players regarding feeling rules was mediated by events in the national political arena—political incidents that manifested the internal contradiction between political-institutional and economic vectors during quick economic growth but stagnant democratic progress in China. Since the Beijing Olympics, the human rights policy in mainland China was once again stiffened, partly as a response to the Western threat. Soon after the Olympics, Liu Xiaobo, one of the authors of the Charta 08, a manifesto to improve human rights in China, was detained in 2008 and officially arrested in 2009. A year later, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, another sign to Beijing that the Western world was trying to incite subversion of its rule. Thus, the Beijing government showed no intention to release Liu. This incident aroused public outcry in Hong Kong, but another shocking incident happening in roughly the same period of time intensified the dismay. In 2009, Tan Zuoren, another activist in China, mobilized a campaign to investigate the quality of school buildings during the 2008 Sichuan earthquake and ask people who lost their children in the quake to set up a victim database. Tan uncovered that many collapsed school buildings were poorly constructed and hence the high death toll during the “natural disaster” was indeed caused by the problem of corruption in China. Not long after his astonishing finding, Tan was also arrested. Another social-turn-political episode was the milk powder scandal in 2008, during which a food manufacturing company was revealed to have used a problematic infant formula for its milk products, which was again due to political corruption and the lack of proper monitoring. These milk products caused hundreds of thousands of babies hospitalized or died from kidney damage. Zhao Lianhai, whose son was sickened by the poisonous milk, mobilized parents across the country to pursue legal action against the company, but then he was arrested in 2009 and sentenced to jail. In 2012, shortly before the anniversary of the June 4th massacre, Li Wangyang, who participated as a labour activist in the 1989 Tiananmen student movement and was jailed afterwards, was interviewed by a Hong Kong

167 reporter. A few days later, he was found dead in his residence. Although the official report claimed that he committed suicide by hanging himself, a picture showed that his feet were on the ground, leading to an allegation that he was actually killed by the Chinese officials. All these incidents discredited the bright picture painted in Beijing’s framing rule on modernization and allowed the democrats’ feeling rule of critical patriotism to gain the upper hand. Time and again, these national political incidents triggered a moral outrage among Hongkongers and reminded them cognitively about the brutal political reality of China despite its prominent rise. Jack, a movement participant in his 30s, recounted,

“My first negative impression towards the CCP came from the June 4th incident …… Then it was Zhao Lianhai’s case. He is a father and he was simply exercising his rights as a citizen, but he was arrested. I watched his kid cried and kept asking ‘where’s my daddy?’ in the television news. It was really heartbreaking.”39

Even the young generation subject to the extensive national education campaigns since 1997 started to overturn their attitude and initial alignment with the official feeling rule. Tommy Cheung, a then-student activist of Scholarism, described:

“For the cohort who was born between 1992 and 1996, it was difficult not to have experienced a period of having an extreme sense of patriotism. The year 2008 was the peak of national identification. For us, it was the same, but you can’t say we were not patriotic enough at that time …… If we care about the issue of Liu Xiaobo, it is also a patriotic act. The point is that we started to question the so-called Chinese identity.”40

39 Interview on October 2, 2017. 40 Interview on May 7, 2018. 168

The initial success of Beijing in harnessing the emotional vector of loving the nation among Hongkongers to promote its ethnic- and interest-based feeling rule of patriotism was shaken, an unintended result of Beijing’s strategic responses to the perceived threat from the West, and a consequence of the political events embedded and then erupted in the trajectory of China’s socio-political development. This set the political and emotional contexts for the rise of a group of young political players revolting against MNE in 2011- 2012.

III. The Anti-MNE Campaign: Contesting the National Temporality and Feeling Rule (i) Blunders, Moral Shock, and Negative Emotions Like the campaigns discussed in Chapter 4, long-term processes operating at the wider spatial scales have to interact with certain short-term trajectories at the local level in order to produce subversive emotions and a full-fledged mobilization. As the controversy of MNE got more publicized after the release of the consultation draft for its curriculum in mid-2011, a new civil society group called Scholarism formed by secondary school students was born. Led by 14-year-old Joshua Wong and 16-year-old Ivan Lam, the student group staged its first social action in July 2011. While their action and mature performance caught public attention through the mainstream media and videos circulated on YouTube and Facebook, blunders committed by the HKSAR government and pro-Beijing groups shaped the state-society interaction and indirectly boosted the struggle against MNE. The first issue stirring up public debate in the local society was the problematic curriculum of MNE. In the MNE consultation paper, it was proposed that the learning of national situations would be wrapped under a so-called “passion-based learning” (yiqing yinfa). Qing in Chinese carries multiple meanings. On the one hand, it is a direct translation of the words “feeling,” “sentiment” or “emotion.” On the other, it can also refer to the word “situation.” The phrase yiqing yinfa thus connotes both cognitive and emotional instructions to students. As the draft paper stated, the four dimensions of “national situations,” “affection,” “feeling,” and “emotion” were targeted (Curriculum Development Council, 2011: 117). In the learning of national situations, students were encouraged to gain cognitive knowledge regarding Chinese politics, economy, and culture. In addition to the emphasis

169 on the achievements of China cited in Section I(iii), the ethnic aspect of the statist feeling rule was made explicit. It was said, “[m]emorizing information alone cannot animate the learning of our country’s situations. Human emotion should be emphasized to enliven learning. Teachers should enable students to understand that they share the same root with our country and we are closely linked to our country in history, race and culture” (p.118). Ethnic identity was stressed, so that emotion towards a country was made analogous to emotion towards one’s home and family. Regarding the interpretation of national situations, it added, “[t]he learning of the national situations focuses on ‘feeling’. Teachers should help students appreciate their affection for the country through access to information related to the national situations, so that they will be moved by the strong feelings behind the information” (Ibid.). Overall, “the learning of the national situations should originate from ‘emotion’, [which requires] teachers and students [to] show equal devotion and engage in mutual encouragement” (Ibid.). To assess students’ affective change and outcome, diverse strategies were proposed, including questioning, observation, self/peer assessment, and project learning, all of which set a strict display rule for students. In particular, a form called Assessment Program for Affective and Social Outcomes was developed to evaluate students’ values and attitudes (pp.146-149). In some teaching materials developed by the Education Bureau in earlier years, it was advised that when students hear the Chinese national anthem, he/she should stand and sing with respect and was advised to cry, “I feel happy of being a Chinese” (Mingpao, 2009d). Some also suggested that students should have the impulse to shed tears like athletes who are touched by their Chinese identity (Hong Kong Human Rights Monitor, 2011). From cognition to emotion and the body, and from classroom to family, students’ attitudinal, behavioural, and affective performances are monitored and disciplined. Nevertheless, these absurd display rules simply contradicted the collective emotional experience among Hongkongers in the culture of depoliticization (Lam, 2004) where hyper-politicization is always feared. A strong mobilization against MNE was hence in the making. The emotional upheaval of fear was heightened in 2012. Facing a host of criticisms concerning MNE, the government actually made a number of revisions to the curriculum released in April 2012. For instance, despite the learning of contemporary

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China was still the main concern and occupied the heaviest proportion, more guidelines were given to encourage students to think about “problems regarding the upholding of universal values such as democracy, rule of law and human rights in [China] and how [China] handles such problems” (Curriculum Development Council, 2012: 58). Meanwhile, teachers were advised to prevent students from making superficial emotional expression to win a good grade (p.104). An appendix was also attached to provide guidelines on the teaching and learning of controversial issues, underscoring the importance of reasons and facts (pp.142-143). However, the revised curriculum failed to pacify the bottom-up mobilization against MNE. Thanks to the side-effects of Beijing’s decision and the blunders of local pro-Beijing players during strategic interaction, the campaign against MNE was massively strengthened. On March 25, 2012, Leung Chun-ying, a hardliner, was handpicked by Beijing as the new Chief Executive of Hong Kong. This political appointment provoked a widespread fear that Leung would push forward pro-Beijing policies at all costs. During the election campaign, it was revealed that he had suggested using tear gas and sending riot police to repress protesters. A newspaper sided with Leung’s main competitor, Henry Tang, even excavated clues that there were “four grand missions” that Leung was preparing to carry out once he came to power, namely the legislation of Article 2341, the implementation of national education, good handling of political reform, and reforming the RTHK42 (Hong Kong Economic Journal, 2012a). Not long after Leung assumed office, a government- funded teaching handbook titled Special Guideline on the China Model and the Country’s Situation was circulated online. It described the CCP as “a united, progressive, and selfless ruling bloc” and characterized one-party rule in China as a “centralized system of democracy,” while blaming the multi-party system in the U.S. for causing chaos and disasters to their people (Hong Kong Economic Times, 2012). For many Hongkongers, the glorification of China was at best an exaggeration, but what the guideline depicted was no doubt a lie and a “moral shock” (Jasper, 1997). Adding fuels to the public outrage was the awkward performance of pro-Beijing figures in front of the media. It began with two

41 For details, see section I(i). 42 RTHK is a public service broadcaster in Hong Kong, serving a function like the BBC. However, the RTHK’s role is ambiguous since it is a department under the Commerce and Economic Development Bureau and relies a lot on governmental fund. While its operation is largely independent of political interference, the liberal and pro-democracy stance of some of its programmes sometimes touches Beijing’s nerve. 171 questions, “what’s wrong with praising the CCP? Is critical thinking only about making criticisms?”, raised by the aforementioned pro-Beijing principal Wong Kwan-yu in a media interview (Apple Daily, 2012b, author’s translation). A few days later, Yu Yee-wah, the leader of a pro-Beijing teachers’ union, and Joshua Wong, the convener of Scholarism, were invited to a current affair television programme City Forum to debate MNE. In the live programme, when Joshua Wong challenged Yu’s intention to run for the Education functional constituency in the coming 2012 LegCo election, Yu lost her temper and responded ferociously by slapping the table, accusing Wong of making the wrong guess. Yu’s foolish behaviour was televised and then circulated in social media. Her background was further interrogated by the mainstream media which reported that she was the vice- chairperson of a youth group called The Little National Vanguard. Furthermore, it was discovered that the daily activities of The Little National Vanguard included practicing with swords and guns that gave innocent children the appearance of professional soldiers (Hong Kong Economic Journal, 2012b). This group was quickly associated with the Young Pioneers of China in the mainland, as well as the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution. Another fearful image of the CCP and the pro-Beijing camp was publicized. Once again, negative emotions towards MNE and the CCP as a whole was realized and “materialized,” which greatly facilitated the mobilization of the Anti-MNE campaign. The emotion of fear was very real to many campaign supporters and participants, which was exemplified by the deployment of strong emotional words and metaphors in interview narratives. Ben, who organized a concern group to protest against his alma mater’s decision to initiate MNE in September 2012, explained the emotional drive for him to organize the action:

“[My alma mater’s decision] was a shame, so shameful …… When I read the news about MNE, I felt it’s over the top. It shouldn’t be like that. Otherwise our next generation would be at risk. Hong Kong is going to collapse …… The feeling was like my alma mater was part of the axis of evil …… That’s why I thought I need to do something.”43 (emphasis added)

43 Interview on October 20, 2017. 172

Ben was not the only one who was moved by the fear of the “evil” CCP. Carmen, a campaign participant, said, “from the issues about MNE, Li Wangyang to Liu Xiaobo …… there were so many things that made [me] feel that the Chinese government was the axis of evil” (emphasis added).44 Social movement scholars Azab and Santoro (2017) point out that people with a medium level of fear are the most likely group to take collective action. Under the hybrid regime of Hong Kong, people could feel a sense of threat from the CCP but did not need to worry about violent repression. Fear therefore became advantageous and even powerful for the Anti-MNE mobilization. As a participant Ivan recalled, “at that time I was rather confused. The Chinese identity was an issue …… but when we say we don’t like China, are we saying we dislike its totalitarian regime or dislike everything about China? …… In that circumstance …… my participation was rather emotion-driven.”45

(ii) Emotional Mobilization I: The Moral Force of Biological Time As the campaign gained a strong momentum, contention in the educational arena started to diffuse to the arena of street. Student-activists, parents, teachers, and civil society organizations formed a group called the Civic Anti-MNE Alliance. Among these players, Scholarism, especially Joshua Wong, emerged as a bright political star. To a certain extent, the positive reception of Scholarism was due to their biological age, which allowed them to tap into the existing fear of politics and presented themselves as a positive moral force to engender movement-facilitative emotions. As suggested in the concept of temporal orientation discussed in the theoretical chapter, actors not only act in time but also act with certain conceptions about time. Bringing emotions together with time, we can correct the emotional management theory which has been insensitive to time (and space) (Hochschild, 2003). We can also better understand how strategic interaction is not only guided by timing and sequence of interaction (Jabola-Carolus et al., 2018) but also temporally bounded by players’ biological age. In many societies, secondary school-level teenagers are by no means a usual player in street politics. This is especially the case in Hong Kong as the traditional view of

44 Interview on October 14, 2017. 45 Interview on October 26, 2017. 173 the society as political stable outlined in Chapter 1 has been accompanied by a view that local adolescents are politically passive and inactive (Lau, 1984). The rise of Scholarism as the leading activist group subverted the taken-for-granted mode of political interaction in this arena, mostly due to their biological age. Contrary to the deceitful CCP, the disobedient teenagers of Scholarism appeared as innocent, truly selfless, and youthful opponents of injustice. Scholarism also made use of this spotlight well. “Hello everyone, we are a group of secondary school students. We don’t stay at home to play video games on holiday; we don’t go singing karaoke; we don’t stay idle or enjoy air-conditioning at home. We hope you can support us,” the opening speech of Scholarism in their street promotion said (Wong, 2012). The emphasis of these things presented them as a group of good students pitted against the wrongdoings of the authority, mobilizing people through their identity attached to their biological age. The emergence of Scholarism surprised many people, especially under Hong Kong’s depoliticized political culture. While MNE was inherently a political issue and while it was the fear of the politicization of education that led to a fierce uproar against MNE, students of Scholarism managed this fear of politics efficiently through their depoliticized image as a non-politician. In mid-2012, the pro-democracy parties were running their LegCo election campaign. Although both civil society and political society shared the same goal of resisting MNE, Scholarism kept the pro-democracy parties at arm’s length to avoid looking too political or provoking Hongkongers’ fear of politics. Tommy Cheung from Scholarism explained, “any linkage to the matter of election would be harmful to our campaign because of the ‘politics-phobia’ at that time …… The only relationship we would like to have with political parties was no relationship at all.” 46 Skillfully circumventing ordinary citizens’ common perceptions of politics as “dirty” (Lam, 2004) and of politicians as manipulating the public for their private interests (Lee and Chan, 2011), students of Scholarism, who were in no way professional politicians at their age, presented a pure and depoliticized image that aligned themselves with the public. Through managing fear and through the image deriving from their age, Scholarism became an icon which people were not afraid of and were willing to give support.

46 Interview on May 7, 2018. 174

The management of fear was also conducted through harnessing both old and new tactical vectors in civil society, which was as much a decision confined by members of Scholarism’s biological age as a strategic calculation. “Our members were mostly secondary school students and some were younger than 18 years old, so we didn’t want to have a very intensive style of action,” Johnny Chung, another member of Scholarism, elaborated:

“No bodily clash. No foul language. We just wanted to give a simple image of a student to the public. Social struggles led by university students may be able to adopt tougher tactics in physical terms, but struggles led by secondary school students need to be presented through a very mild form of action so that people do not need to bear a burden and participate.”47

What burden was Johnny referring to? It was the fear of radicalism and over-passionate action deriving from the culture of depoliticization. As Tommy Cheung added, “there was a very tight limit confining what a student should and should not do. We could not be too radical. How could we talk about any violent action?”48 While this cultural constraint on tactics has urged the veteran democrats to insist on the political practice of using moderate action repertoires, the adoption of this tactical vector proved useful to Scholarism in managing fear by helping them to maintain a depoliticized and de-radicalized image. In brief, biological age directed the young activists to design their actions in particular ways, during which the tactical choice and emotionality of the campaign were oriented in a way that met the cultural expectation of a teenager’s political behaviour. In late-August 2012, Scholarism decided to escalate their action by occupying the East Wing forecourt of the government headquarters and make it a new arena of conflict— a tactical vector inherited from the two campaigns discussed in Chapter 4. Yet the de- radicalization of politics turned the direct action into a very orderly, peaceful, non-violent, and entirely non-confrontational action. As participant Ivan described, “the atmosphere was

47 Interview on October 11, 2017. 48 Interview on May 7, 2018. 175 very mild, nothing spectacular …… I remembered I was sitting in the front one day, and then somebody distributed some flowers to us and every participant held one (laugh).”49 At the same time, three students of Scholarism staged a hunger strike. This action pushed the moral force of mobilization to an extreme and made a strong moral call to evoke the emotions of shame and guilt among adult bystanders, as indicated by the interviewees’ depiction of the unwarranted burden borne by the youngsters. “When you saw them staging a hunger strike, it was a call that you have to take action …… When you saw these youngsters have made such sacrifice, you have to support,”50 Clara recalled her first social movement participation. Emilia, another participant, mentioned that her engagement was driven by a sense of moral responsibility, “why it was the students taking the lead [in mobilization]? These things should not be borne by the kids. Seeing them doing these things under strong sunshine or rain is heartbreaking. What have we done? We should help them.” 51 Another participant Ben talked about his impression of Scholarism, “[my motivation] was to support the students …… At that time, I felt they were very virtuous …… They led the campaign and sacrificed their time and even their body to push for social change. And the key thing was that they were really young.”52 Biological time, and its associated cultural expectation, was hence a crucial factor that made a difference. While some adult supporters and activists joined the hunger strike, hundreds of thousands of people turned up to occupy the “Civic Square”—a nickname given to the occupied area to highlight the notion of civic education—and cry to protect the “natural conscience” and protect children from political manipulation.

(iii) Emotional Mobilization II: Tactical Innovation through Space and Symbolism In social movement studies, it is often documented that emotions are generated through performances and practices in space (Yang, 2005; Eyerman; 2005; Benski, 2005). Attending to emotional production in an arena, as argued in the theoretical chapter, would help emotionalize the strategic interaction perspective which has paid little attention to the emotionality of space (Duyvendak and Jasper, 2015). In the Anti-MNE campaign, its

49 Interview on October 26, 2017 50 Interview on November 11, 2017. 51 Interview on November 6, 2017. 52 Interview on October 20, 2017. 176 moralistic and apolitical character was reinforced through an array of emotions improvised by Scholarism’s tactical innovations and strengthened through spatial practices. In a sense, both emotions and place assisted discursive claim-making and allowed activists to gain an edge over the government. During the 10-day occupation of the Civic Square, student activists and campaign participants put the discourse of civic education into spatial practice. Originally, the Civic Square was dubbed “Door Always Open” by the designer of the government headquarters to signify Hong Kong as an open and receptive city (Legislative Council Development Panel, 2008). Yet blunders committed by the HKSAR government officials defied its intended dominant meaning. On the second day of the hunger strike, Chief Executive Leung Chun-ying, along with Eddie Ng Hak-kim, the Secretary of Education, visited the students. While repeatedly urging Scholarism to join the newly founded Committee on Implementation of Moral and National Education53 to provide opinions, no consolation was offered to the three students staging the hunger strike. In contrast to the students’ determination and virtuousness, Leung and Ng’s gestures in that particular space not only presented as another moral shock and painted themselves as a cold-blooded “cadre” but also defied the spatial meaning regarding an open and people-based government. In contrast, activists and campaign participants’ practices during the occupation filled the space with real civic meanings. Every evening, a “lecture” of civic education was given. Speakers included not only social activists but also academics, cultural critics, netizens, indie and popular musicians and artists, and many others. The stage, hung with a big black banner “Withdraw the MNE Curriculum, Voices from an Iron House54,” was partially opened to the public so that everyone can freely express their view. Popular songs that dovetailed with the campaign theme were sung, such as the one from television drama When Heaven Burns,55 to relieve the tense atmosphere and boost the crowd’s morale. Many students attended after school and some of them did their homework there, fulfilling the duty of a good student. Some citizens brought some food to the Civic Square to treat the

53 The setting up of this committee was indeed a tricky move in the sense that activists had never agreed to “implement” MNE in the very first place. This explains why activists were unwilling to join. 54 “Voices from the Iron House” is a famous quote written by Lu Xun, one of the greatest Chinese writers in modern history. The quote carries the meaning of making a desperate cry in order to make more people stand up against the seemingly hopeless condition. 55 When Heaven Burn is a very popular TV drama at that time. It is usually decoded as a drama talking about youth and ideals, as well as the June 4th Incident. 177 activists and the participants. Some cleaned the public toilets there and cleared the rubbish on a voluntary basis. When somebody was in need of medical treatment, the crowd dispersed in a few seconds like Moses dividing the Red Sea, leaving a path wide enough for the ambulance to pass through. Civic virtues were demonstrated in a place-based fashion and the emotional mobilization was framed in an extremely rational and orderly manner, helping to bring unity to the civil society in terms of tactical choice. Affective bond and mutual help were treasured, but these emotions were depoliticized as intrinsic human conscience which was uncontaminated by politics. What made mild and non-radical actions more appealing and enchanting to the public were positive emotions wrought by the funny and mockery framing of the actions staged by Scholarism—a continuation and reinforcement of the tactical vectors of “peaceful, rational, and non-violent” struggle and joyous struggle. Again, this exemplified how cultural resistance and humor were deployed as a powerful tool of non-violent resistance (Hart, 2007; Teune, 2007; Kutz-Flamenbaum, 2014; Sørensen, 2017). Earlier in July 2012, members of Scholarism staged a series of protests to Eddie Ng. Again, partly due to their age, popular culture like Japanese comic Doraemon and Stephen Chow’s comedy movies were easily adopted and the names of daily necessities in Hong Kong were creatively appropriated. A “Cake of Lying” and a “Red Bean Bun of Honesty” were presented to Eddie Ng, mocking the government for deliberately slighting the negative issue of the June 4th incident in the MNE curriculum (Apple Daily, 2012c). The next day, a piece of “Bread of Memory” was handed over to Eddie Ng, urging him to remember vindicating the June 4th incident (Mingpao, 2012). What followed were a bottle of “Water of Political Energy” and a “Shameful Lollipop,” condemning the negligence of the dark side of China in the MNE curriculum as a violation of human conscience (Apple Daily, 2012d). All these highlighted the “evil” face of the CCP and its political delegates in Hong Kong in a humorous way while eschewing evoking the negative emotions about political actions prevailing in the city. Simultaneously, they lively reflected how creative these students were, further negating MNE for its intention to wipe out students’ independent mind and critical thinking through “brainwashing.” The range of emotions created through these actions again generated a moral battery (Jasper, 2011) like what had happened in the Anti-XRL campaign. While shame

178 and guilt produced a strong moral force to arouse public sympathy, joy and humor fuelled the campaign with positive energy and elevated participants’ morale. Compounded with the meanings fashioned discursively and spatially, the campaign drew over 100,000 people to say no to MNE. After a 10-day standoff, the government announced that the 3-year initiation period of MNE would be abolished (Information Service Department, 2012a). A month later, the curriculum guide of MNE was formally shelved (Information Service Department, 2012b).

IV. After Victory (i) Conflicts over Temporal-spatial Orientations within Civil Society Although the Anti-MNE campaign was a successful one, it did not mean that the civil society has become a united opposition force. At the onset of the campaign, the unity of the Civic Anti-MNE Alliance was maintained through bridging various temporal orientations of action—the temporal thoughts of players that guide them how they think and act. Since the Alliance covered activists across different generations, they had varying levels of cultural attachment to China and thereby divergent degrees of rejection to the policy of national education. As a strategic concern, abolishing MNE and the curriculum guide became a shared interim goal to eschew internal strife for most of the time. This had helped to maintain a unity regarding the rhythm and directness of, and expectation about, the campaign. Yet a cleavage in terms of the temporal and spatial orientations occurred, as had happened at the final stage of the Anti-XRL campaign, leading to disjunctive ways of action and hampering the unity of civil society. On the last day of occupation, when the government announced its decision in the late afternoon, Scholarism and other groups in the alliance had decided that the occupation would continue. However, after midnight, the Alliance suddenly announced that they would accept the government’s concession and called an end to their occupation, a decision that surprised the crowd. Several smaller groups outside the Alliance voiced their dissatisfaction and vowed to continue the occupation. Apparently, the issue was about miscommunication, to which Scholarism and Parents’ Concern Group apologized afterward. But in temporal-spatial terms, it was in fact

179 a cleavage regarding the right spatial tactics and the proper rhythm of action. Joshua Wong explained their decision in a media interview:

“What the government feared was unconventional action, so we acted in a way that could shock and press them. But when the occupation had continued for a few days and become a routine, the government got used to it and it became toothless. If they didn’t afraid of us and respond to us, it was useless to prolong the struggle” (Tam, 2012, author’s translation)

While it was about the rhythm of action, it was also about spatial tactics. By ending the occupy action in the Civic Square, the Alliance turned to call for “letting the Civic Square appear in every school” by setting up monitoring groups on national education. In other words, the Alliance wanted to shift the arena of activism to let the movement flourish. Nevertheless, for some participants, they exhibited a different temporal and spatial orientation of action and insisted that the fight must go on. These views were indeed prompted by emotions. The sudden announcement of the Alliance at 1:30 a.m. to those who were watching the movie, The Wall, a musical drama film talking about the oppressive nature of education, was simply unexpected. Having occupied the Civic Square for more than a week, many of them had developed a place-based emotional attachment. A sudden departure sounded unacceptable. In terms of strategy, some opposed Joshua Wong’s assessment, arguing that since the campaign has already built up a strong momentum, continuing the occupation might push the government to scrap national education completely. For groups like “The Hong Kong Class Boycott Alliance,” they expected to escalate the campaign to a city-wide-level class boycott, which was an overly radical action in Scholarism and Parents’ Concern Group’s mind (AM730, 2012). Viewed in temporal and spatial terms, these debates epitomized the divergent views over the directness, expectation, and rhythm of political action and the discrepant opinions about how to expand the arena of contention enabled by the occupation and turn it into a greater assault to the government. Although dissenting voices were largely pacified in the end, these nascent conflicts and grievances within civil society could not be concealed any longer. Failing to bridge

180 divergent temporal and spatial orientations, these disputes finally exploded and caused a huge split among activists and negative emotions within civil society two years later.

(ii) A Shifting Dominance of Emotions in the Political Sphere As we have seen, the Anti-MNE campaign was not only a movement contesting over emotions but a political action rich in emotions. Ironically, the campaign also indirectly led to an over-dominance of certain emotions in civil society. Before the Anti- MNE campaign was set in motion through a fear of political China, a number of controversies had arisen as a result of some unanticipated consequences of the economic vector of regional integration. These incidents contributed to a rising hostility towards China and mainland Chinese and the rise of a right-wing notion of localism in the early 2010s.56 From 2011 to 2012, campaigns were launched to denounce the idea to include new immigrants from China in the $6000 cash handout scheme proposed in the government’s budget, and to oppose pregnant women from the mainland to give birth in Hong Kong and urge the government to prioritize local pregnant women in using hospital services. An Anti-Locust campaign was also mobilized by netizens who vowed to resist the appropriation of local resources by mainlanders and condemn mainland Chinese tourists’ uncivilized behaviours which disrupted the everyday lives of local citizens. In early 2012, a security guard of Dolce & Gabbana, an international luxury store located in a tourist hotspot, allegedly stopped a Hongkonger from taking photographs by claiming that only mainland and foreign tourists are allowed to do so inside the store. This incident aroused heated exchange on the Internet and became a protest against the “discrimination” against local people and the mainlanders’ prerogatives. “Hongkonger First” hence emerged as a new slogan for local activism. Just a month before the occupation of the Civic Square in the Anti-MNE campaign, the Hong Kong-Mainland distinction was highlighted again. About a hundred tons of plastic particles were spilled into the sea of Hong Kong after a typhoon. It was reported that the owner of the plastic particles was SINO X Power, a Chinese oil company. Witnessing an imminent ecological crisis, thousands of citizens

56 It is important to differentiate the idea of localism used here and the one mentioned in the case of preserving the two piers. For the latter way of usage, the idea of localism is more about civic nationalism that calls for identifying with a set of values, such as equality and diversity, which are more leftist-oriented. For localism emerging after 2010, it is more about an ethno-cultural local identity aiming at differentiating local Hongkongers from the mainlanders. For a detailed review, see Veg (2017) and Chen and Szeto (2015). 181 flooded to the beaches to clear the plastic particles on a voluntary basis, practicing their care and love of Hong Kong through action and adding the Anti-MNE campaign a flavour of localism. All these gave rise to a sense of threat and urgency to resist the “invasion” of the CCP. As an Anti-MNE campaign participant, Kate, expressed, “[the CCP] seems to be marching into Hong Kong progressively through education to replace the existing things in Hong Kong and invade Hong Kong.”57 Even for people who have never engaged in protest, this sense of imminent threat was equally prominent. For example, Erica said, “it is not a suitable time [to introduce national education]. If [the CCP] take charge of Hong Kong 50 years later, they can do so. But now it is not. I don’t want an early introduction because we don’t have it initially …… Patriotism is like forcing someone to learn something.”58 With an ever stronger perception that the CCP was invading Hong Kong, an anti-China sentiment was on the rise, which was profoundly reflected in the result of the 2012 LegCo election during which candidates upholding a strong anti-China position received a large share of votes (Ma, 2015). This came to shape tactics, discourses, and emotions in civil society. A few days after the occupation action at the Civic Square, the Hong Kong Federation of Students, a tertiary student activist group, mobilized a class boycott to push for a definite withdrawal of MNE. Two banners hung on the stage wrote, “Decolonization and Anti-MNE, Class Boycott by Tertiary Students,”59 enunciating a clear demand for subjectivity and a local identity, a cultural vector inherited from the campaign to preserve the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier as well as the Anti-XRL campaign. On the nativist side, a call for a clearer demarcation between Hong Kong and China in social, cultural, and political terms was made. Key opinion leader Chin Wan even argued for making Hong Kong a city-state, a proposal akin to Hong Kong independence in the eyes of the Beijing government. More provocatively, he censured that social movements led by left-wing activists have been too conservative and unaggressive. Instead, a new tactical-emotional vector based on anger and determination—the so-called “brave and militant-style struggle” (yongwu kangzheng)— was proposed. This has received much resonance and come to affect political mobilization

57 Interview on October 26, 2017. 58 Interview on November 27, 2017. 59 Here the student activists were referring to the leftist version of localism. 182 throughout the 2010s, especially when the urge to resist the CCP through a more direct and aggressive way waxed in civil society. A sign of the rising dominance of anger in socio- political struggle was emerging, as we will see in Chapter 6.

V. Conclusion The Anti-MNE campaign once again showed how emotions and social movements were constructed through the interaction between social processes of different timescales and at different spatial levels. While scholars of the sociology of emotions emphasized the making of emotions on an everyday basis (Hochschild, 2003; Denzin, 1985), this chapter shows that emotions could be shaped through social processes that span across decades. Building upon the collective emotional experience of the Hong Kong population regarding Chinese politics, two sets of feeling rules were fashioned by national and local players. The contention over feeling rules, in the late-2000s, was not only conditioned by national politics which has traditionally been emphasized by movement scholars (Tilly, 1978; McAdam, 1982), but interacted with the broader transformation of the global political economy and the Chinese economy, contending views regarding the sequence and rhythm of modernization, and the regional policy of economic integration. This broadens our analysis of strategic interaction from a localized focus (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015) to a focus that takes multiple spaces and temporal processes into account, which makes the analysis of emotions and social movements more temporally and spatially sensitive This again demonstrates the utility of the strategic temporal-spatial approach I have set out. This kind of analysis is not to downplay the importance of short-term timescale and localized arena of conflict. As the case study has demonstrated, while the contention between national and global players was diffused to the local arena of education, blunders and contingent incidents in the local society made possible a campaign resisting the post- colonial temporal order and the statist feeling rule. Meanwhile, localized spatial practices and place-based actions, such as the hunger strike, helped to generate both negative and positive emotions that fueled the mobilization. Like the previous two cases, emotions played both a direct and indirect role in the Anti-MNE campaign. Emotions which we commonly perceive as negative and inhibitive—

183 fear, guilt, and shame—had assumed a positive role in giving rise to a full-fledged mobilization. However, this is context-dependent since these emotions had intersected with structural factors like the hybrid regime in Hong Kong and micro-factor like the biological age of activists. Meanwhile, emotions also played a facilitative role in reinforcing spatial meanings and subversive discourses fashioned through spatial practices. The different emotions produced through various feeling rules described in the data presented above, are summarized along with their temporal and spatial underpinnings in Table 5.1. In 2012, the Anti-MNE campaign bespoke the peak of emotional diversification in local politics. A wide array of emotions continued to feature in socio-political conflicts and assist mobilization. Fear dominated in the period discussed above, but joy, shame, and guilt all played a crucial role in expanding the diversity and efficacy of political actions. Nevertheless, the campaign provoked another strategic response by Beijing to further tighten the temporal-spatial order through a discourse of national sovereignty, which will be further disentangled in Chapter 6. Negative emotions like anger and abhorrence towards China began to dominate the civil society and orient tactical choices, discourses, and practices, gradually leading to greater difficulty in bridging spatial and temporal orientations of action—pace, directness, expectation, and rhythm in particular—among activists. These were evident in the Umbrella Movement.

Beijing Mainstream Scholarism / Radical government / democrats the Civic Anti- activists HKSAR MNE Alliance government Feeling rules To turn loving Love the Love the Place-based and/or the nation into nation, culture, nation, culture, attachment to display rules loving the and Chinese and Chinese the Civic being nation-cum- people through people through Square; anger proposed party-state the feeling rule the feeling rule and urgency to through the of critical of critical resist CCP’s feeling rule of patriotism patriotism; invasion patriotism joyous struggle Spatial Regional Maintaining Maintaining Aimed to underpinning integration; the political, the political, continue the of feeling blurring the economic, and economic, and spatial rules line between cultural cultural occuption Hong Kong distinction distinction and China between Hong between Hong

184

under One Kong and Kong and Country, Two China China; spatial Systems occupation; turning every school into an arena of conflict Temporal A discourse of Progress Progress Aimed to scrap underpinning modernization through through national of feeling regarding reviewing the reviewing the education as a rules China speed historical faults historical faults whole here and (i.e. ignore the and the dark and the dark now CCP’s side of one- side of one- historical party rule; party rule; faults, look for reject MNE but reject MNE but a bright future) not national not national education as a education as a whole whole; set up monitoring groups on national education Table 5.1 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings in the Anti-MNE campaign

185

Chapter 6: Challenging the Post-colonial Spatial Order: The Umbrella Movement

The Anti-MNE campaign once again “proved” the Beijing leaders’ conjecture about the malicious intent of the Western powers to subvert the CCP’s rule and China’s distinctive path of modernization. Hence the Beijing government not only accelerated the engineering of a post-colonial temporal order for Hong Kong but articulated it with a new spatial order to refashion the boundary between the “One Country, Two Systems,” setting more barriers to the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong. As with Chapter 5, this chapter examines local activism through scrutinizing global-national interactions, but it also investigates how these interactions functioned at the regional level. With a special focus on space, this chapter analyzes how conflicts between players at different scales provoked subversive emotions in the local society and hence the Umbrella Movement in 2014, a campaign fighting for universal suffrage in Hong Kong. Section I delineates the emotional and tactical precursors that were thematically pertinent to the 2014 Umbrella Movement and this involves a discussion of two earlier pro- democracy campaigns, the 5-district de facto referendum in 2010 and Occupy Central in 2013-2014. Section II further unfolds the longer-term trajectory of the movement. I outline some key discursive, tactical, emotional, and policy vectors that were relevant to the contention between China and the West regarding the national sovereignty and territorial integrity of China. As I will show, while these conflicts operated at the global and national levels, they were mediated by a regional event—the Sunflower Movement in Taiwan—to mould how local conflicts were played out. Section III turns to investigate some temporal, spatial, and emotional dynamics at the local level that shaped the wax and wane of the Umbrella Movement. In particular, I outline how multiple feeling rules were proposed in civil society and how activists disputed along the lines of time and space. This chapter further attests the need for an analysis that embraces multiple timescales and spatial levels when understanding emotions and social movements. Aside from scale, this chapter also stresses the spatialities of territory, place, and network, which helps realize how the construction of emotions and the emergence of contention diffuse across different spaces not only vertically but horizontally.

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I. The Prequel of the Umbrella Movement (i) The 2012 Political Reform and the 5-district de facto Referendum The pro-democracy movement was born when the negotiation over Hong Kong’s sovereignty between the Beijing and London governments started in 1982. Through mobilizations in the arena of street, such as demonstrations, rallies, and sit-ins, pro- democracy activists successfully pushed the Beijing government to promise for establishing the “One Country, Two Systems”—the premise of which is a model of “Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong”—and the colonial government to initiate a nascent democratic reform in 1992 (So, 1999; Sing, 2000). Under further political reform initiated by Chris Patten, the last colonial governor, the number of directly elected seats in the LegCo was increased and the electoral base for popular election was widened drastically in 1995. Having gained a landslide victory in the LegCo elections in 1992 and 1995, the then- pro-democracy-legislators were full of hope. This however shifted the focus of action from street mobilization to the parliamentary arena, which not only caused alienation between political society and civil society but weakened the pro-democracy struggle (Ma, 2007a; Sing, 2004). The Beijing government, as the new sovereign master of Hong Kong, was thus able to undo Patten’s reform and delay democratization without much difficulty. Since the handover, the Beijing government has held the election method for the Chief Executive (CE) in Hong Kong tightly. According to the Basic Law, the first two CEs who started their term of office in 1997 and 2002 were elected by an election committee with 400 and 800 members respectively—most of whom were political and economic elites co-opted by Beijing. Eyeing the third CE election as the time point to change, the democrats mobilized to struggle for universal suffrage for the CE and the LegCo in 2007 and 2008. However, their hope quickly vanished. A conservative reform package was announced for 2007/2008 in which no roadmap and timetable for implementing universal suffrage were given. The democrats had no choice but vetoed it in the local legislative process. They hence shifted their target and fought for universal suffrage in 2012, but the Beijing government denied them by reinterpreting the Basic Law in December 2007. Yet the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress (NPCSC), the law-making body in China, also promulgated in their decision that Hong Kong “may have” universal suffrage for the CE in 2017 and the entire LegCo in 2020. This set the timescale for democratization

187 in Hong Kong for the decade that followed and became the cognitive cue that shaped the emotions and tactical choices of different players in the democratic camp. Since the NPCSC decision had not stipulated the actual election method for 2012, a debate arose in the democratic camp not only about whether they should insist on their original goal for universal suffrage in 2012 but also about the tactics of the overall struggle. Although most democrats felt frustrated about the stalemate of democratization, the new temporality set by Beijing led to different emotional responses and different expectations, timings, and spatialities of insurgency. For a group of more radical democrats, they mobilized a campaign dubbed the 5-district de facto referendum in 2010. Led by the Civic Party, a political party founded by a group of barristers who took an active role during the July 1, 2003 Protest, and the League of Social Democrats, a radical party founded in 2006, the campaign suggested that five pro-democracy legislators should resign from their post to initiate a by-election, so that people could vote on whether or not Hong Kong should have universal suffrage in 2012 in order to pile pressure on Beijing. More importantly, they hoped to use this campaign to re-introduce the arena of street to revitalize bottom-up mobilization and cultivate a greater people’s power. The Civic Party leader Audrey Eu claimed:

“We clearly know that negotiation without the backing of people’s power is futile. Compromise without principle will only lead to darkness. The ‘5-district resignation’ is not to depart from the parliament, but to allow the public to have a chance to debate and participate directly. Referendum through one-person-one-vote can quantify people’s opinions and it is more substantial than opinion poll. It is a campaign that turns every man into a soldier.” (Eu, 2009, author’s translation)

The two parties were later joined by young activists who had developed a strong momentum through the Anti-XRL campaign. Targeting to rejuvenate street activism, what these politicians and activists really cared about was not the possible shrinking of the pro-

188 democracy force in the parliamentary arena but a bottom-up power that could provide a long-term impetus for the pro-democracy movement. However, for a group of more moderate democrats, which was led by the Democratic Party (DP), the oldest and the largest pro-democracy party in Hong Kong, they no longer saw the option of having universal suffrage in 2012 as realistic. Rather they treated it as a transitional point to progress to the ultimate goal of universal suffrage in 2017. Chan Kin-man, a member of the Alliance of Universal Suffrage (AUS), an umbrella group comprising scholars, the DP, and ten assorted political groups formed in January 2010, explained their expectation and timing of action:

“When we discussed the 2012 reform package in 2010, what we could make was only an incremental change. It was not the endpoint. I could not see from the social atmosphere that there was a strong demand to push the NPCSC to change its decision. When the NPCSC made the decision and laid down the timetable, the local society had accepted it and did not show strong objection. That’s why I did not see using very confrontational tactic a good method to force the Beijing government and push for an incremental change because this tactic would not lead us to the endpoint …... [We chose to push for] a dialogue with the Beijing government because we thought that the next political reform, not the one in 2010, was more important. If we could start such negotiation and build up a basic mutual trust with Beijing, we could begin the discussion for the universal suffrage in 2017 earlier.”60

A different arena of insurgency was therefore chosen. Positioning themselves as the moderate wing, the DP and the AUS refrained themselves from passionate street politics and chose to stick to the parliamentary arena. Meanwhile, a closed-door negotiation was held between the DP politicians and the Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government (LOCPG) in Hong Kong, the first official contact between pro-democracy party in Hong Kong and the Beijing Government since 1989. A diluted version of the “District Council

60 Interview on May 9, 2018. 189 package”—an attempt to reform the parliamentary arena by adding extra popularly elected seats into the LegCo—was proposed by the DP and was accepted by the Beijing government. Though the DP’s meeting with the LOCPG and its proposal were extremely controversial in civil society and political society (Ma, 2011b; Sing and Tang, 2012), DP members saw it as a small-step democratic progress. In the LegCo meeting for approving the reform package, Cheung Man-kwong, a veteran DP legislator, defended as follows:

“If the constitutional reform package to be passed today is the original ‘crap’ package, it is not a pity to veto it again. But once the constitutional reform package is replaced by the package of the Alliance for Universal Suffrage and the Democratic Party, there will immediately be 10 more directly elected and de facto directly elected seats, which will start giving impetus to the gradual quality change of the Legislative Council …... The Democratic Party trusts direct election, so long as the number of directly elected seats continues to increase in 2012 and 2016 ― we certainly should strive for such increases, and we will be able to open up a new scene: directly elected seats will gradually encircle and isolate [Functional Constituency]61 seats, and a two-thirds majority will eventually be secured. We can start an uprising, when the opportunity comes, to abolish FCs and send them to the Museum of History.” (Hong Kong Hansard, 2010)

Eyeing 2017 as the ultimate target, reforming the parliamentary arena was deemed to be a way to move forward. This progress, as many moderate democrats judged, was a method to break the deadlock and solved their despair over the lack of democratic progress. However, Beijing quickly dashed the moderate democrats’ hope to achieve an “ultimate” universal suffrage for the 2017 CE election and the 2020 LegCo election. Though the LOCPG had agreed to keep regular contact and communication with the

61 Unlike the general constituency, legislators of the functional constituency are elected through sectoral votes, which have a much smaller electoral base and have an inclination to sectoral interests (Ma, 2016). These legislators also tend to uphold a pro-Beijing stance due to the political prerogatives granted by Beijing. The abolition of the FC is hence the key to democratize the legislature in Hong Kong. 190 moderate democrats to discuss further democratization in Hong Kong, it was proven to be a fake promise. After the official contact in 2010, scholars from the AUS were invited to meet with some Beijing officials and pro-Beijing scholars for several times. These contacts, however, were more like a gesture than a sincere attempt to really accommodate the democrats’ demands. 62 Worse still, it seemed to the DP politicians that the Beijing government was making use of the split within the pro-democracy camp to stir up suspicion and mutual attacks during the 2012 LegCo election.63 No further democratic progress was made between 2010 and 2012 and it became increasingly clear that Beijing would break its promise for universal suffrage in 2017. The 30-year tortuous democratization of Hong Kong was likely to continue, while despair and frustration once again became the dominant emotions in the pro-democracy camp, especially among the middle-aged democrats. A veteran journalist and movement sympathizer Ng Chi-sum lamented:

“If we look back, the pro-democracy movement began in the 1986 Ko Shan Summit …… The leaders at that time were young and energetic with full of hope towards democratization. 30 years have gone, some of them became grey-headed, some of them lost most of their hair, and some of them passed away without witnessing any fruit. Looking back on the past 30 years, democracy in Hong Kong is still like a body without a soul.” (Ng, 2013, author’s translation)

The quote shows an articulation between time and emotions: the 30-year-long stagnant democratization was deemed to be the cause for the frustration and despair of the middle- aged democratic fighters and supporters. It was under this context that a radicalized pro- democracy campaign called Occupy Central was mobilized, as illustrated below.

62 As noted by Chan Kin-man in the interview on May 9, 2018. 63 As noted by Chan Kin-man (May 9, 2018) and Benny Tai (April 26, 2018) in the interviews. 191

(ii) The 2017 Political Reform and Occupy Central: An Emotional and Temporal- Spatial Consequence of Stagnant Democratization The aforementioned temporal processes and emotional experiences prompted the democratic camp to revert to the arena of street and bring about a new emotionality for the struggle. Jasper and Duyvendak (2015) argue that players have the ability to define an arena and the stake of conflict in that arena, but two things they have not mentioned are how players define the emotionality of an arena and for a movement and how this attempt is driven by emotions. In 2013, the emotion of frustration finally prompted three moderate figures in the pro-democracy camp, Benny Tai Yiu-ting, Chan Kin-man, and Reverend Chu Yiu-ming, to take a radical route and mount a civil disobedience campaign called Occupy Central with Love and Peace (OCLP). The idea was to paralyze Central—the business center of Hong Kong—so as to increase the bargaining power of the democrats. Although spatial occupation has been practiced in earlier campaigns, as shown in previous chapters, this tactical vector was further refashioned as an emotional project of hope to respond to the frustration, despair, and fatigue of the democratic activists and supporters. Benny Tai recalled his intention, “initially we expected the 2010 political reform could create a good foundation for discussing universal suffrage in 2017. Unfortunately, Beijing changed its attitude after 2010 …… I realized at that time that it was no longer possible to solve the problem through constitutional design, so I turned to mobilize social action.”64 Chan Kin- man also explained his radical turn, “we had tried everything. We had tried every method. Having a dialogue with the Beijing officials was no longer a workable way. They totally ignored us. Even if we tried to harden our attitude, they showed no response. I was running out of ideas. Therefore I mobilized Occupy Central.”65 Rey Yip Kin-man, a former member of the AUS, also noted the linkage among cognitive perception of reality, emotions, and new tactical choice, “[having a dialogue with the Beijing government] no longer works and does not have any attraction today. In this circumstance, what can we do? What else can we do? Occupy Central seems to provide a way out, soothing the broken hearts of many dejected people” (Yip, 2013, author’s translation).

64 Interview on April 26, 2018. 65 Interview on May 9, 2018. 192

OCLP thus became an emotional project to manage the emotions of pro- democracy fighters—a call for maintaining hope. Characterized by Benny Tai as a “nuclear bomb” in an interview (Chan, 2013), OCLP was by far the most radical proposal in pro- democracy struggle, which created a glimmer of hope that the campaign would push the Beijing government to make a concession. As Benny Tai said, “the most powerful element of this action comes from the number of participants ….. [The police] can evict us if we only have 100 or 1000 participants, but they cannot do anything if we have 10,000 people.” He further elucidated, “the logic is: I notify you that I will organize Occupy Central with 10,000 people, so you need to consider the consequence. The whole proposal is to force a negotiation [with Beijing].” He added:

“The paradox of OCLP was that it was even more radical than most radical action at that time, and that it was proposed by the most moderate figures …… Nobody has ever used such a method to create political pressure …… We wouldn’t be as confrontational as the traditional radical democrats. We would be mild and silent. The number of participants would be the force to create an impact. Therefore it was an interesting mixture of radicalness and mildness.”66

The short-term power of OCLP thus came from a radicalization of the tactical vector of spatial occupation newly developed in the 2000s and the estimated scale of spatial occupation. However, OCLP also contained a long-term power deriving from a “radical” advancement of the longstanding tactical vector of having orderly political action. OCLP, as a civil disobedience, was framed by the phrase “Love and Peace.” Strategically it was meant to eschew provoking negative emotions of the public for being hyper-radical. As Chan Kin-man stressed,

“Occupy Central was indeed a radical idea …… but this would alienate from the mild middle class, so we had to strike a balance …… For me,

66 Interview on April 26, 2018. 193

the essential spirit of civil disobedience is self-sacrifice …... so that we can move the people and get their sympathy …… The word ‘occupy’ might make the moderate population feel uncomfortable, but the frame ‘love and peace’ would make it more acceptable and make people think that we are not going to turn into a mob.”67

While the frame was meant to create a strategic effect, it was also intended to engender a long-term, emotional effect that could go beyond the movement’s timeframe. Benny Tai wrote,

“I still see hope. Some people are already willing to sacrifice their own personal interests to fight for the public interest of Hong Kong. Civil disobedience is going beyond, or even violating, the selfishness inside human nature …… The power generated by love and peace is even greater than a tank because love and peace can penetrate the tank’s armor and move the guy controlling the tank. This power can change the institution and the human heart. Let us go onto the road of justice through civil disobedience. Hong Kong still has hope. The hope is in our heart. To occupy Central, first let your heart be occupied by love and peace.” (Tai, 2013a, author’s translation)

Love and peace were said to be powerful because of their contrastive effect with usual self- interested political actions. Hope was expected to stem from the moral power of civil disobedience that would move the bystanders to commit to the democratic struggle in the long run. In practical terms, the nurturance of hope and the rendering of long-term change were cultivated through the Deliberation Day (D-Day), another tactical vector inherited from the experiments of participatory democracy in earlier spatial struggles described in Chapter 4. By inviting lay citizens to discuss counter-proposals for the political reform before the actual occupation, D-Day aimed to educate and develop the culture and practice

67 Interview on May 9, 2018. 194 of deliberative democracy in Hong Kong, a durable democratic reform that went beyond the statist timescale of democratization. Benny Tai wrote:

“Occupy Central is occupying not only the physical space of Central but the space of ideas, values, expectations, attitudes in our heart …… The democratic ideas Occupy Central introduces are deliberative democracy and direct democracy which go beyond parliamentary democracy. These are new to Hong Kong society. If Occupy Central succeeds, what will change is not only the political institution but the political culture underpinning the institution.” (Tai, 2013b, author’s translation)

Three rounds of D-day were therefore held and a few hundred participants joined, which discussed the main issues to be dealt with in the whole campaign, the democratic principles for the 2017 election, and matters related to the civil referendum that decided which counter-proposals to be adopted. Some D-days were organized in grassroots communities with the help of civil society groups to make the topic of democracy down to earth and related to everyday life. Taken together, Occupy Central was a project of hope to rejuvenate the pro- democracy movement and manage the emotions of despair and frustration emerging in the long trajectory of pro-democracy struggle. The emotion work was intimately tied to a spatiality and a temporality. Through spatial occupation, it put the pro-democracy struggle back into the arena of street; and through the moral power of civil disobedience and the practice of deliberative democracy, it strived to cultivate an alternative duration of activism—a long-term refurbishment of political culture—which was unconfined by the timescale of democratization controlled by Beijing. While this showed how movement players define the emotionality of an arena that has not been addressed by movement scholars (Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015), it also implied that emotion work is often underpinned by space and time which existing theories on emotions have not mentioned (Hochschild, 2003).

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II. A Post-colonial Spatial Order and its Implications on Local Activism (i) A New National Spatial Order Constructed in the late 2000s As reiterated in preceding chapters, understanding emotions and social movement in a local context needs to consider some longer-term processes which operate at multiple spatial levels. This section will continue to highlight national space as an arena of conflict, but unlike some early movement theories (Tilly, 1978; McAdam, 1982), I will show how players within this relatively bounded arena interact with players located at a comparatively borderless, global level. I will also reveal that such national-global interaction which is usually captured by the notion of “scale shift” (Tarrow, 2005; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005) does not occur in a linear fashion. Rather, it is punctuated by political events that radically shift or reinforce players’ strategic actions. Occupy Central, and the pro-democracy movement as a whole, was situated in and shaped by a changing spatial order, an order influenced by the interactions between players at the global and national levels and nested in a trajectory full of contingent events. In Chapter 5, I explained the emerging post-colonial temporal order set by Beijing to correspond to its own socio-economic development and respond to the local event of the July 1 Protest, the global event of the Colour Revolution, and Western threats. The contention between different paths of modernization was inextricably related to several spatial concerns. In particular, national territory became an arena of contention—not only a space where players’ actions took place but a space which different players sought to take control. A political vector thus emerged and was manifested through a discourse of national sovereignty and territorial integrity, which exerted continuing influences across different scales from the mid-2000s to the early 2010s. Thus in the local setting, the spatiality related to the One Country, Two Systems was reconsidered. Despite the promise of a high degree of autonomy for Hong Kong, what was meant by “high degree” was always ambiguous and contentious. In the early post-handover period, Beijing had determined to fulfill its promise through a “hands-off” approach. Yet in the wake of local and global events in the early 2000s, the issue of sovereignty once again surfaced (Cheung, 2018). Protecting the national territory from foreign influences by increasing interference in Hong Kong affairs gradually became a new spatial order.

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The engineering of a more constricted national spatial order was bound up with events occurring in mainland China and reactions from the West. A typical example was the wave of protest—the “3-14 riot” called by the Chinese state media—occurring in the Tibet Autonomous Region a few months before the 2008 Beijing Olympics, which led to a violent repression and several hundreds of casualties. The Beijing government condemned the exiled Dalai Lama for orchestrating the political unrest, but this could only arouse activists around the world—including Hong Kong—to protest against the human rights condition in China and voice concern over the political status of Tibet. While worldwide protests were also mounted by Tibetans living overseas, many Western governments expressed serious concern over the situation. Again, this heightened the Beijing leaders’ alertness about the risk of separatism in places like Tibet, Xinjiang, Taiwan, and even Hong Kong and the possible instigation by the West, especially when the Beijing government and the Chinese nationalists perceived the bias against them in the Western media reportage. The concern over separatism was closely knitted with the issue of democracy in Hong Kong. Spatially, Hong Kong has been a window of China through which (Western) subversive ideas like democracy might be imported into the mainland. For a long time, Hong Kong has been the “offshore civil society” of China—or an arena of contention in networked form—which offered a connection between activists in Hong Kong and those in southern China to communicate and exchange information and subversive ideas68 (Hung and Ip, 2012). Democratization in Hong Kong, therefore, might lead to a spillover effect to places in mainland China and spur similar demands about democracy or even demands for independence in places that have long caused a headache for Beijing (Chen and Kinzelbach, 2015). Far more than a local issue, democracy in Hong Kong has been embedded within, and interacting with activists in, the arena of national territory. The local democratic project is therefore susceptible to national players’ reactions towards both domestic events and Western players’ moves. When the idea of de facto referendum was floated in 2010, it was indeed a very radical move—not in terms of the number of people it could immediately mobilize but in

68 For example, Chan Kin-man was the director of the University Service Centre for China Studies and the founder of the Center for Civil Society Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He was a key figure in promoting the idea of civil society in mainland China. 197 terms of the symbolic challenge it posed to the Beijing government. By letting Hongkongers to vote on the issue of universal suffrage, this action, in Beijing’s view, was akin to a usurpation of power from the central government and the separation of Hong Kong as an independent sovereign state. Therefore, shortly after the 5-district de facto Referendum was proposed, the Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office of the State Council issued a statement:

“As we all know, ‘referendum’ is defined by constitutional laws and is a constitutional arrangement, which carries particular political and legal implications. The Basic Law of the HKSAR does not have a referendum arrangement. The HKSAR is a special administrative region of the People’s Republic of China and does not have the right to design a referendum arrangement …… To carry out a so-called ‘referendum’ in whatever means regarding the future constitutional development of the HKSAR does not match the legal status of the HKSAR. It is violating the Basic Law of the HKSAR and the relevant decisions of the National People’s Congress in principle …… Some people deliberately initiate the so-called ‘5-district referendum campaign’ and they are openly challenging the Basic Law and relevant decisions of the National People’s Congress.” (reprinted in Takungpao, 2010, author’s translation)

A discourse of national sovereignty was put forward to reiterate the hierarchical relationship between Hong Kong and China in spatial-political terms. Under this logic, Hong Kong’s sovereignty is always “under” China’s jurisdiction and hence the referendum, even though the organizers had accentuated that it was only a “de facto” rather than a “de jure” one, was illegal in any sense. In the context of the late 2000s, when the Beijing leaders started to feel the threat from the local society and from the West, a tautened national spatial order was in the making to limit the space for democracy. In sum, political events taking place in the national and global arenas have led Beijing to set a protracted timescale of democratization in Hong Kong. This explains why the Beijing government determined to halt the 5-district de facto referendum on the one

198 hand and refused to give in to the moderate democrats’ demands from 2010 to 2012 on the other. As OCLP leader Chan Kin-man conceded, “regarding the CE election, the central government would take this as a matter of national security …… For example, what position would the CE take towards the U.K. and the U.S.? Would s/he support Taiwan independence? National security is the baseline of Beijing. Power devolution won’t happen if Beijing cannot make sure this.”69 The concern over national territory also coincided with the national political schedule and the internal competition within the CCP to produce the deadlock of democratization in Hong Kong because no one had the authority to confirm the fate of Hong Kong before Xi Jinping, the then-Chinese President, really came to power in 2012.70 These factors again show the need to scrutinize longer-term processes and multiple spatial levels in understanding social movements. They also illustrate how the aforementioned negative emotions of local activists were shaped and how the shifting choice of arena from the parliament to the street were made. Overall, these political processes, which operated at the national level and were shaped by global events and players, set the emotional foundation for OCLP in the local society.

(ii) Intensified Conflict over the National Spatial Order since 2010 In the early 2010s, the arena of the Chinese territory continued to be a space which global and national players strived to take control. This led to an even more rigid spatial order, an even tighter grip on the local democratization progress, and an acceleration of local pro-democracy struggle. Besides the growing conflicts regarding the course of modernization between China and the West outlined in Chapter 5, political events occurring at the local and global levels, which involved multiple players, continued to fortify the discourse of national sovereignty and territorial integrity. As we will see, the repeated mobilization of this discourse allowed Beijing to control local activism in Hong Kong. In 2011, WikiLeak reported that renowned local pro-democracy leaders, including Martin Lee, Anson Chan, Jimmy Lai, and Cardinal Joseph Zen had been closely communicating with the U.S. government to discuss what the stance the U.S. should take

69 Interview on May 9, 2018 70 This is a view from Chan Kin-man in the interview. 199 regarding China and Hong Kong’s democratic development (Wenweipo, 2011). Then the Anti-MNE campaign, which carried a strong anti-China message, erupted in Hong Kong in 2012. A year later, Edward Snowden fled to Hong Kong and revealed the U.S. government’s Internet surveillance of China. Following these events, Lew Mon-hung, a former deputy in the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference, put forward a spatial imaginary:

“Since the high-profile return of the U.S. to the Asia-Pacific region, a C-shaped siege of China has been formed. Due to the instigation by the U.S., the relations between China and its neighbouring countries have been tense. Troubles arose in the East China Sea and the South China Sea. The Central Intelligence Agency of the U.S. and the Military Intelligence, Section 6 of the U.K. are now speeding up the Hong Kong version of the Colour Revolution. Occupy Central staged by the oppositional camp, the quest for genuine universal suffrage, the brainwashing education of Occupy Central propagandized by the Hong Kong Professional Teachers’ Union, the political group Hong Kong 2020 formed by Anson Chan, and the separatist action mobilized by extreme local activists are all political tools of the U.S. and the British governments to declare a cyberwarfare and espionage on China. The ultimate aim is to force the Chinese central government to accept a CE who espouses an anti-China stance, through which the [the U.S. and the U.K] can take over the ruling power in Hong Kong and make Hong Kong as the bridgehead of the Colour Revolution in China.” (Lew, 2013, author’s translation)

The threats to the national territory were both material and digital, which were articulated through a chain of equivalence. As a strategic response, Beijing has endeavoured to shut the window of Hong Kong to fend off Western threats, in particular through denying further local democratic development and combating Occupy Central. In 2013, an internal document commonly known as “Document No.9,” which was reportedly issued by the

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Chinese central leadership, was leaked to the media. It listed out seven erred Western thoughts that would endanger the ideological sphere of China, and the first of these was about Western constitutional democracy:

“The point of publicly proclaiming Western constitutional democracy’s key points is to oppose the party’s leadership and implementation of its constitution and laws. Their goal is to use Western constitutional democracy to undermine the Party’s leadership, abolish the People’s Democracy, negate our country’s constitution as well as our established system and principles, and bring about a change of allegiance by bringing Western political systems to China.” (reprinted and translated by China File, 2013)

The matter of democracy was discursively tied to the CCP’s regime survival. Thus Beijing has determined to reject democracy from taking root both on its home soil and in Hong Kong so that national sovereignty and its modernization project could be maintained. The discourse of national sovereignty—a vector exerting a salient influence since the late 2000s—that aimed to stop the intrusion of democracy via Hong Kong was strengthened by another global event, the Arab Spring. Starting in Tunisia and then in Egypt, the Arab Spring kindled a global wave of pro-democracy protest, leading scholars to wonder whether the “fourth wave” of democratization was coming (Diamond, 2011; Howard and Hussain, 2013). Beijing immediately drew a linkage between OCLP and protests in the Middle East, seeing both as a Western malicious attempt to subvert other countries’ sovereignty through promoting democracy. A pro-Beijing newspaper censured in its editorial:

“Which countries on earth, including the U.K. and the U.S., would let foreign governments intervene in local election affairs? Of course, intervening in other countries through mobilizing Colour Revolution or Jasmine Revolution is the shtick of the U.K. and the U.S. governments in recent years. Are they trying to change the ‘colour’ of Hong Kong

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through promoting ‘Hong Kong independence’? If this is the case, we have to heighten our awareness over their interference and fight back, and we need to warn them: China is not Egypt, Hong Kong is not Cairo, and Occupy Central will not succeed like Occupy Cairo.” (Takungpao, 2013, author’s translation)

As a result, countering democracy in Hong Kong was a strategic response to the Western governments who have tried to spread democracy through initiating street activism around the globe. In June 2014, the discourse of national sovereignty and territorial integrity was institutionalized through the publication of The Practice of the One Country, Two Systems Policy in the HKSAR, stipulating that:

“As a unitary state, China’s central government has comprehensive jurisdiction over all local administrative regions, including the HKSAR. The high degree of autonomy of HKSAR is not an inherent power, but one that comes solely from the authorization by the central leadership. The high degree of autonomy of the HKSAR is not full autonomy, nor a decentralized power …… The system of universal suffrage for selecting the chief executive and forming the Legislative Council must serve the country’s sovereignty, security and development interests …… [I]t is necessary to stay alert to the attempt of outside forces to use Hong Kong to interfere in China's domestic affairs, and prevent and repel the attempt made by a very small number of people who act in collusion with outside forces to interfere with the implementation of ‘one country, two systems’ in Hong Kong.” (State Council, 2014)

By repeatedly proclaiming Hong Kong as a political space under China’s jurisdiction, the Beijing government warned against any kind of separatism and tried to ward off the attempt of foreign powers to make use of the “high degree of autonomy” of Hong Kong to interfere in the arena of Chinese national territory. To uphold these twin spatial concerns, the feeling rule of patriotism, which was built upon the emotional vector of loving the

202 nation, was again underscored to secure the loyalty of the Hong Kong CE. The document further specified, “the chief executive to be elected by universal suffrage must be a person who loves the country and Hong Kong,” otherwise it would be “difficult to uphold the country’s sovereignty, security and development interests” (State Council, 2014). By posing this political-cum-emotional requirement, the coming 2017 universal suffrage in Hong Kong was likely to fall under Beijing’s full control, so that the national spatial order could be upheld. At the same time, global events also allowed Beijing to appropriate the widespread concern over public order—a concern that has long constrained political practices in civil society—to disparage OCLP. Since OCLP was designated to be a civil disobedience, it involved law-breaking action to expose the unjust side of the existing system, which might sit uneasily with the dominant concern over law and order. Another Beijing’s mouthpiece articulated the political conflicts in the Middle East with Hong Kong as follows:

“Since the chaotic case of the Arab Spring, all places around Egypt have had large-scale mass movements. These large-scale street politics can subvert powerful authority, but it can also disrupt social order. It can amass strong public opinion, but it can also induce bloody confrontations, pushing society into an irreversible divisive situation. The standoff situation of street politics has failed to bring democracy to Egypt …… [Occupy Central] tries to make use of large-scale street protest to paralyze Central. The action will only produce mass chaos. Everybody in Hong Kong is unwilling to see the political crisis of Egypt to happen in Hong Kong.” (Wenweipo, 2013, author’s translation)

Political conflicts in other countries, especially the chaotic and violent ones, provided the discursive resources for pro-Beijing players to articulate OCLP with unruly uprisings and evoke the dominant fear of politics in Hong Kong culture, hoping that this could hamper the campaign’s legitimacy and public support. Along with the counter-mobilizations against OCLP (Cheng, 2016), this indeed worked to contain the campaign. In the first six

203 rounds of an opinion poll conducted by a local university, the highest support rate for OCLP only reached 32% and it had never exceeded the opposing rate (HKUPOP, 2014b). All these posed a salient impact on OCLP’s movement framing and tactical choice. The OCLP organizers could only defend the campaign by harping on its domestic nature and claiming that OCLP had nothing to do with Western interference and by drawing on “love and peace” as the movement frame. For example, Benny Tai emphasized five “Nots” about OCLP, namely “Occupy Central is not to seize power”, “Occupy Central is not Colour Revolution”, “Occupy Central is not a pawn of foreign powers”, “Occupy Central is not to assist any pro-democracy political party or politician in elections”, and “Occupy Central is not a violent revolt” (Tai, 2013c). But as we shall see, these assurances were not enough to allay the Beijing leaders’ worries.

(iii) Regional Mediation of the National-Global Conflict The national-global conflict revolving around national territory was also mediated by events and vectors at the regional level, a level that scholars examining movement dynamics and scale shift have neglected (McAdam et al., 2001; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). As we will see, movement players not only act in a localized arena, they also coalesce with players in arenas at other scalar levels through networks. Local social movement is hence a product of interactions between players at multiple spatial scales and it takes on various spatialities simultaneously. In 2014, the Taiwanese Sunflower Movement erupted as a transformative event to reshape regional politics. Viewed from a longer timescale and a wider spatial angle, the movement was embedded in the age-old conflict between China and the U.S. over Taiwan and the regional geopolitical order. Since the end of the Chinese civil war in 1949, the antagonistic relationship between the Beijing and Taipei governments has been exploited by the U.S. government to contain Communist China (Nathan and Scobel, 2012). With a rising economic power, and with the change of the ruling party of Taiwan from the pro- independence Democratic Progressive Party to the pro-unification Kuomintang in 2008, Beijing attempted to entice Taiwan for national integration/unification through an economic initiative. A free trade pact, Economic Cooperation Framework Agreement (ECFA), was signed between the Beijing and Taipei governments, and the Cross-Strait

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Service Trade Agreement (CSSTA) was added under ECFA in June 2013. This however provoked discontent in the Taiwanese society, especially among the young generation. Worried by the potential political-economic control by Beijing and enraged by the lack of transparency in the local legislation process, Taiwanese student activists stormed the Legislative Yuan in March 2014. They occupied the legislature for 24 days and successfully forced the Kuomintang government to put the CSSTA on hold. The Taiwanese Sunflower Movement rewrote regional politics by expanding the arena of activism and by facilitating Hong Kong and Taiwanese activists to form a network. Influenced by common cultural and biographical experiences, young people in Hong Kong and Taiwan both have a strong local identity and a shared hostility towards mainland China. Unlike the older generations who fled from the mainland to Hong Kong or Taiwan, these youngsters do not bear any China-related experience and sentiment. Seeing Hong Kong or Taiwan as their homeland, they endeavour to guard against Beijing’s intrusion and protect their local identity. By nature, ECFA was similar to CEPA in Hong Kong, both of which were based upon the same economic vector of regional integration with mainland China which purported to boost the local economy through the so-called “mainland opportunities” since the late 2000s. Similar grievances and worries over the over-dominance of Chinese economic power in the local societies of Hong Kong and Taiwan were widely felt across the two places. Whereas the design of the One Country, Two Systems, which was originally meant to lure Taiwan for unification in the 1980s, no longer sounded promising to people in both places, the slogan “Today’s Hong Kong, Tomorrow’s Taiwan” became a slogan to capture the shared fate and the joint struggle of people in the two places. The Sunflower Movement thus got widespread resonance in Hong Kong’s civil society and diffusion of emotions and tactics were made possible in the networked arena. Although communication between Hong Kong and Taiwanese activists has long existed, such extensive exchange of tactics and emotions like the current one was rare. While Lin Fei-fan, a leader of the Sunflower Movement, admitted that the “street deliberation” held during the movement was inspired by OCLP (Mingpao, 2014a), activists in Hong Kong also learned the techniques to spread movement messages from their Taiwanese counterparts (Mingpao, 2014b). Meanwhile, the success of the Sunflower Movement boosted hope in Hong Kong. Activist Wong Wing-chi wrote, “to say ‘Today’s Hong Kong,

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Tomorrow’s Taiwan’ is too negative and daunting. My Hong Kong friend, we should say ‘make Hong Kong as the next Taiwan.’ Let’s prepare to occupy Central!” (Wong, 2014, author’s translation). Further exchange of ideas was made after the movement as young activists of the two places have continued their communication. However, regional events also served to lay bare the submerged conflicts regarding the temporal and spatial orientations of action in the local civil society. Since the 5-district referendum, how radical the pro-democracy movement should be and what radical itself means have been fiercely debated. Since spatial occupation sounded radical to many people, the OCLP organizers had tried to make it look mild and moderate to garner support from the conservative middle-class. Temporally, since OCLP was a civil disobedience, it must first wait for the Beijing government to officially reject genuine universal suffrage so that legitimacy could be gained in disobeying the unjust law. In sequential terms, spatial occupation will only be used after the NPC dismissed the quest for democracy. Spatially and emotionally, OCLP was meant to be a campaign with strict disciplines. To relieve Hongkongers’ fear of radicalism, a display rule that suppressed emotional expression was crafted, one that closely aligned with the conventional political practice of having an orderly protest. A rich array of emotional-spatial scripts was set, such as no masking, no chanting, and no use of unauthorized banners or loudspeakers. Sit-in and waiting for arrest would be the only “actions” during the occupation. No struggling was allowed even if the police made the arrest or used violence. The eventual aim was to engender a moral force to appeal to the general public through strategic emotional suppression. In Benny Tai’s words, “we were striving for the largest possible sympathy from the public. Our judgment of the political culture was that civil disobedience was already a big step forward, so we needed to keep it restrained …… The best way was to follow Martin Luther King’s method. It was a drama, a very big one, trying to send a message to the whole world.”71 For other civil society groups, OCLP was too conservative in its approach to each of temporality, spatiality, and emotionality. Witnessing the success of the Sunflower Movement, they questioned whether they should be as determined as the Taiwanese activists in taking direct action to press the authority. Tommy Cheung, who became a

71 Interview on April 26, 2018. 206 representative of the Hong Kong Federation of Students (HKFS), argued for a different sequence of action, “if you adopt a wait-and-see approach to the NPC’s decision, why don’t you use people’s power to force the NPC to make a decision that aligns with people’s opinion? …… Our goal was very simple: we wanted to push [OCLP] to actualize.”72 A “Rehearsal for Occupy Central” was hence mounted. Though it adopted OCLP’s repertoire of silent sit-in, the mock occupation was held on a date before Beijing announced her decision about the 2017 electoral arrangements. Also, a more expressive version of display rule of activism, which was purported to adhere to the same political practice of “being peaceful, rational, and non-violent” was proffered. Johnny Chung from Scholarism explained, “for the OCLP Trios, they didn’t even want to touch the roadblocks set by the police, but we didn’t think so. Sometimes bodily clashes were unavoidable. Yet our goal was not to hurt the police.” 73 Thus, despite sharing the same goal to fight for faster democratization under the national spatial order in the early 2010s, different civil society players endorsed disjunctive sequence and emotionality of activism and different use of the same tactic of spatial occupation. And under the influence of regional politics, these cleavages became apparent. A further example is the break-in action being taken in the LegCo complex in June 2014. As admitted by an activist, the action, which was meant to oppose a rural developmental project, intentionally mimicked the Sunflower Movement. 74 While the action was evaluated positively by young activists, the fierce action was worrisome to the OCLP trios and prompted them to craft the aforementioned emotional-spatial scripts. Clara, a participant in that protest and an OCLP helper, described, “suddenly there was a group of masked protesters who urged others to storm the LegCo complex. You couldn’t really differentiate who they were and you didn’t know the rationale of their action …… Thus I understood why [the trios] imposed some disciplinary rules on the campaign. Because they wanted to avoid uncertainties and police infiltration.”75 In short, social movements are shaped locally, nationally, and regionally at the same time as players interact and coalesce vertically through scales and horizontally

72 Interview on May 7, 2018. 73 Interview on October 11, 2017. 74 Interview on May 10, 2018. 75 Interview on November 11, 2017. 207 through networks. Regional transformative events not only disrupted Beijing’s construction of a national spatial order by expanding the arena for insurgency and enabling circulations of emotions and tactics through networks. It also lifted the internal conflicts between different groupings in Hong Kong’s civil society to surface. At first glance, the conflicts in terms of action style and tactics were due to generational differences like what had occurred between the New and Old Left in the West (Neustadter, 1992; Polletta, 2002). But as I have shown, their tactical difference was underscored by differences in terms of the temporal-spatial orientations of action and emotional expression, which were related to their dissimilar assessments of national politics and references to regional events. These disputes became more apparent after the Umbrella Movement finally erupted. Before moving onto discussing the dynamics of the Umbrella Movement, the different feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings described in the foregoing analysis were summarized in Table 6.1.

Beijing government OCLP / moderate HKFS / Scholarism democrats Emotions of Data not available Despair and Data not available players frustration Feeling rules Love the country and Maintaining hope; A freer emotional and/or love Hong Kong suppressing emotional expression during display rules expression during occupation being occupation proposed Spatial National sovereignty Rejected its linkage Occupy Central as a underpinning and territorial integrity with the Colour way to bargain with of emotion Revolution; Occupy Beijing; storming the work Central as a way to LegCo complex as a bargain with Beijing way to boost morale Temporal Protracted 2017 as the target to Occupy Central before underpinning democratization of implement “ultimate” NPC made the of emotion Hong Kong universal suffrage; decision; pushed work looked for long-term OCLP to realize as change of political soon as possible culture; waited for the NPC decision before occupation Table 6.1 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings before the Umbrella Movement

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III. The Umbrella Movement: An Embattled Campaign with Countless Conflicts over Time, Space, and Emotions (i) From OCLP to the Umbrella Movement: The Mutual Production of Space and Emotions These longer-term processes at the wider spatial level eventually affected the formation of local social movement when the NPCSC issued a decision to set the guidelines for future CE elections on August 31, 2014. Unsurprisingly, it reiterated that the CE must love the country and love Hong Kong. Despite broadening the electoral franchise, it ruled that the size of the future nomination committee will follow the current election committee and remain at 1200 members and that only two to three candidates will be nominated for the final runoff of the election, each of whom must obtain the support from more than half of the nominating committee, four times higher than the current one-eighth threshold. As expected, “The 8.31 Decision” spawned local political contention. Despite the internal tensions within civil society, the idea of spatial occupation of OCLP was actualized through the strategic-cum-emotional interactions between the elder OCLP organizers, young activists, pro-Beijing political groups, and the Hong Kong police which took place at a relatively short-term timescale. Like the previous three cases, the Umbrella Movement was shaped by longer-term processes, but it was ultimately realized through a moral anger towards the authority’s blunders and mistakes, and once again, through the moral force of biological age. After the “8.31 Decision” was announced, it was widely believed that OCLP would begin on October 1, the national day of China, but the exact date and time were yet to be confirmed. Indeed, their delayed announcement carried a very practical concern. Since OCLP was illegal in nature, an official declaration might cause an immediate arrest of the leaders, which might make the campaign to lose its direction. The inaction of the OCLP leaders came to be an opportunity for the young activists to advance their own pace, space, and feeling rules. Scholarism and the HKFS called a one-day class boycott in secondary schools and a one-week boycott at the tertiary level in the week beginning from September 22, trying to put pressure not only on Beijing but the OCLP trios to change their tempo.

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The class boycott boosted the momentum in civil society and drove OCLP through a different emotional and spatial-temporal trajectory in the short run. “Deep inside our hearts, we did not simply want a one-week class boycott. We wanted to do something to make OCLP happen,”76 Tommy Cheung from the HKFS recalled. Thus on September 26, the final day of the class boycott, student activists decided to take action to make OCLP more emotionally powerful and forceful on October 1. The original plan of Scholarism and the HKFS was to stage a sit-in at the Tamar Park until the start of OCLP, but the site was suddenly booked by a pro-Beijing satellite group who wanted to reclaim the space and drive the students away. Meanwhile, gathering at the Civic Square was not a viable option because it was barricaded by the government after the aforementioned protest in June. The students could only gather in the open area next to the Civic Square. However, the spatial constraints set by the pro-Beijing players flopped when student activists decided to storm the Civic Square in the late evening. It was a contingent decision made in a short period of time, and it was also a decision made under various spatial and emotional opportunities and constraints, as well as the young activists’ memory of victory in that space. Johnny Chung from Scholarism explained:

“In the evening of September 26, many people had come and we did not want to waste this force. Thus we decided to do something and keep the momentum for OCLP on October 1. There were a number of proposals at that time. A proposal was to march towards the Golden Bauhinia Square, 77 but the square was too far away from where we were gathering. Some proposed that we directly march to Central, but the distance was also too long …… So why not reclaim the gated Civic Square? Our original expectation was that we enter the square and open the gate, and then we set up some booths like what we did in the Anti- MNE campaign to wait until October 1. Then we will tidy up the area and walk to Central together on that day. Initially, we expected to have a carnivalesque-style struggle like the Anti-MNE campaign in the Civic

76 Interview on May 7, 2018. 77 The Golden Bauhinia Square was built to celebrate the return of sovereignty to China. Today, important ceremonies, including the flag-raising ceremony of the national day, are held in that place. 210

Square. And we did not expect that the police would close the gate and arrest us one by one.”78

Thus, the continuation of the tactical vector of occupying the Civic Square was shaped by a short-term decision to capitalize on the existing emotional energy and boost up the mild and gentle OCLP. It was also a decision driven by the spatial meanings about activists’ previous victory at the Civic Square on the one hand, and a forced choice under the immediate spatial constraints set by the pro-Beijing groups and the government on the other. A succession of contingent decisions made by student activists and the police changed the pace, emotionality, and spatiality of OCLP. The police’s response to the sudden occupation was tougher than what the students had expected. Several student leaders including Joshua Wong, the leader of Scholarism, were arrested immediately. In the daytime of September 27, the police arrested more student protesters, including the Secretary-General of the HKFS, Alex Chow, and the deputy Secretary-General, Lester Shum, who stayed at the Civic Square overnight. The police also repelled other supporting students from staying outside the Civic Square in a rather violent manner. The bloody and scary footage of a policewoman dragging a young girl on the floor who was wearing short pants was televised. While the way the police evicted the students caused dismay to the public, denying access to food and lavatory for the detained students also provoked a public outcry and an outburst of mass anger. More and more adult supporters therefore came to Admiralty, the location of the government headquarters, to show support to the students. For the OCLP leaders, once the young activists kicked-start the game, everything had to speed up. Witnessing the high turnout and trying to shift the manpower and resources of OCLP to assist the nascent student movement,79 Benny Tai announced an early start of OCLP at the dawn of September 28. In the daytime, supporters flooded the roads and streets in Admiralty. “Release the Students!” were cried over and over again. Responding to OCLP, the police launched their pre-planned action dubbed Solar Peak. As

78 Interview on October 11, 2017. 79 This intention was revealed by both Johnny Chung and Benny Tai in the interviews. 211 their action showed, they seemed to target at a quick dislodgment of the crowd. This tempo motivated them to carry out more repressive action towards the protesters, which backfired again and produced an even larger space of insurgency as more people were angered by the police’s action and came to occupy more roads. From now on, the campaign, which was supposed to mobilize the mild and non-radical middle class through emotional suppression, had become a city-wide emotional mobilization which relied on a direct expression of anger towards the HKSAR government. Moreover, it was Admiralty rather than the business hub in Central that became the arena of contention. Space and emotions continued to produce and prefigure one another to expand the protest scale. In the late afternoon, the police made an unexpected decision that caused an explosion of mass anger—they fired tear gas to dissipate the crowd. In a sense, firing tear gas might not be a very high level of violence, but in the context of Hong Kong where protests and the handling of protests have traditionally been mild,80 it became a source of moral shock. As Kiu recalled his feeling when he faced tear gas on the scene, “my instant reaction to tear gas was very emotional. Crazy! Was this government going crazy? They really fired tear gas …… At that moment I was shocked, angry.”81 Rick, another frontline protester, said, “I was unhappy and my feeling was quite angry …… I was angry because [the police] did not really need to do so.”82 Even moderate democratic supporters felt angry. Chiu Woo, an OCLP helper who assisted at the first aid station on that day, described, “the police on the bridge fired tear gas towards the first aid station down there! It’s hard not to have any emotion …… It was violating human rights. I immediately swore at the police.”83 Another protester Hung recounted, “everyone knew it was tear gas and they retreated a bit. Then they started to get angry, swearing ‘they really shot at us!’ Everyone was swearing at the police, but no one wanted to leave and they soon got back to the front line.”84 Although there was a rumor that the police were going to use rubber bullets and although the HKFS also issued a retreating call to avoid casualty, the crowd stayed and insisted on battling with the police for the whole evening.

80 It is not a common tactic for the police in dealing with protesters. In the past 50 years, the police had only fired tear gas in the 1966 riot, the 1967 riot, the taxi driver strike in 1984, a street brawl in 1989, the Vietnam refugee riot in 1995, and the anti-WTO protest in 2005. 81 Interview on October 23, 2017. 82 Interview on October 9, 2017. 83 Interview on October 10, 2017. 84 Interview on September 15, 2017. 212

Eighty-seven canisters of tear gas failed to restore the spatial order, and they unintentionally produced more arenas of conflict. Since the police blocked more roads and requested the Mass Transit Railway (MTR) to stop the underground train service at the Admiralty station, supporters were forced to gather at pedestrian lanes and streets in nearby districts. Alvin was a supporter who could only reach the fringe of Admiralty because of the roadblocks. He described that when the police fired tear gas, many people tried to march towards the government headquarters and gave support, but they failed to go any further due to the police’s barriers 85 As the police fired more tear gas, people were dispersed to Causeway Bay, a busy district around two kilometers away from Admiralty, and set up a base there. At around midnight, Causeway Bay became another occupied zone. Across the Victoria Harbour, it was also an eventful night. Ha Chi and his friends were originally in Admiralty, but like many others, they were expelled. 86 They crossed the harbour and went to Mongkok, thinking that the movement should not be confined to Admiralty. He and his friends started to browse a popular online forum, the Hong Kong Golden Forum, and found that many netizens had similar thoughts. They thus agreed to gather at a particular exit of the Mongkok MTR station and get onto the ground together at a particular time. Assisted by digital space, protesters started to swamp a busy crossroad at Argyle Street and Nathan Road and successfully established another occupied zone shortly after midnight. In short, emotions and space produced each other and actualized the occupy movement. As a survey shows, while 53.7% of citizens deemed the firing of tear gas inappropriate, the support rate for the occupy movement surged from 31.1% in mid- September to 37.8% in mid-October and exceeded its opposing rate for the first time (CCPOS, 2014b). Meanwhile, the campaign was no longer the elite-led OCLP but the leaderless, bottom-up Umbrella Movement, a name replacing “Umbrella Revolution” given by the Western media to prevent provoking Beijing.

85 Interview on September 26, 2017. 86 Interview on October 6, 2017. 213

(ii) Conflicts over Temporal-spatial Orientations in Civil Society The bottom-up nature of the Umbrella Movement was a double-edged sword. Although it allowed a societal-wide engagement through diverse ways of participation, ranging from setting up tents to occupy the roads, building barricades, sharing resources and doing volunteer works, creating artworks, to confronting the police in the frontline, it also brought about a serious conflict regarding temporal-spatial orientations of action in civil society. As shown in Chapter 4 and 5, nascent conflicts over time, space, and emotions already appeared in past struggles. In the Umbrella Movement, these submerged conflicts exploded. Time, space, and emotions interacted in a complex and multi- directional way to shape activists’ thoughts and actions. With different ways of thinking and acting in spatial and temporal terms, different versions of feeling rule were proposed and hence different actions were carried out. Contrary to the existing movement theories which either ignore the emotionality of players (McAdam et al., 2001; Fligstein and McAdam, 2012) or slight the time and space of emotions during political contention (Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015), the following sections show how the time and space guided emotive actions on the one hand and how emotive action refashioned the temporal-spatial boundary of arena on the other. a. How Emotions Mattered The first interactive process started with emotions being an explanatory factor for different pace and directness of action and spatial tactics to be proposed and carried out. Mixed emotions arising from miscellaneous spatial experiences could be observed in the first week of the occupy movement. The first emotion felt by occupiers was hope. The exceptionally high turnout gave occupiers a glimmer of hope that the campaign might succeed. “At that moment, it felt like it was one step away from democracy …… Even if the government might not promise us democracy, perhaps Leung Chun-ying (i.e. the incumbent CE) would at least step down,”87 occupier Ben recalled. Psychological urge was translated into a call for tactical escalation. Another occupier Ivan expressed, “this feeling came quickly. [I] immediately felt that the campaign was stagnant after three or two days when [I] saw no progress at all …… With hindsight, perhaps we needed to escalate our

87 Interview on October 20, 2017. 214 action on September 29, right after the firing of tear gas on September 28.”88 Emotions intermingled with a temporal orientation of “now or never” to push the young activists to aim high. The HKFS and Scholarism, who had become the de facto leaders of the movement, thus issued an ultimatum to request Leung Chun-ying to resign by midnight on October 3. Otherwise, they would mobilize the occupiers to block the government headquarters and lay a siege to the office of the CE. Despite the hope to succeed, the emotions of anxiety and fear haunted everyone in the occupied zones as a great threat of repression by the police was perceived in the first few days. The student leaders’ intention to radicalize the action inevitably aggravated unfriendly responses from the police. Noticing the news about a possible escalation, the police seemed to have prepared for using a higher level of violence, which engendered an even higher sense of anxiety among occupiers. As occupier Kiu talked about the situation in those days, “after September 28, everyone was highly alerted. Different news was circulating and you could not differentiate which one was real and which one was fake …… Some said the police were sending lunch boxes, some said those were weapons …… In that period, everyone’s alertness went up to a level of over-nervous. Everyone was tense.”89 No one knew whether the police would turn tough or not, and even if the police came to bargain, no one knew whether it was a lie. “One day, we engulfed a team of police. They sent a policewoman to negotiate with us and ask for access to food and water. But what they sent into the area were all tear gas canisters and flags. They had no integrity!”90 Lau Yuen-keung narrated the experience of being cheated by the police during a walking interview near the government headquarters. Anxiety proved to be an inhibitive emotion that impeded some occupiers to advance the occupy movement. As Kiu said, “I did not really think about [the issue about escalating the action on September 29 or 30], what occupied my mind was whether the police will come or not.”91 At this point, what came to drive tactical choice was time. Emotions interacted with long-term biographical experiences and the inspiration from short-term transformative events to shape the pace and directness of action, tactical choice, and the cleavage structure

88 Interview on October 26, 2017. 89 Interview on October 23, 2017. 90 Interview on October 14, 2017. 91 Interview on October 23, 2017. 215 among occupiers. When the action to besiege the office of the CE was floated, it encountered heavy objection from the veteran democrats and the OCLP leaders. These democrats were the generation who witnessed the 1989 Tiananmen massacre and who were haunted by the emotion of fear and a deep-rooted worry of violent repression. As Chan Kin-man expounded:

“Just look at Taiwan’s Sunflower Movement, protesters were all right when they occupied the Legislative Yuan, but they were beaten by the police violently when they tried to occupy the Executive Yuan …… Even if we succeeded in making the government dysfunctional, I believe the People’s Liberation Army would take over. The Central government would not allow the HKSAR government to become paralyzed.”92

The image of having troops in the city is a telling depiction of how the traumatic memory has influenced the decision-making of Chan’s generation. While this had to do with the physical spatial setting that the headquarters of the People’s Liberation Army was located right next to the main protest site, the collective emotional experience of fear—as a vector—founded in a political event and embedded in history was so powerful in shaping the pace and directness of action. Chan added,

“For me, civil disobedience is not a revolution. The essence of civil disobedience is to create pressure on the government through massive public sympathy …… The most probable achievement at that time was to pull Leung Chun-ying down and restart the political reform …… then we had to wait for another opportunity to make another breakthrough.93

Studies on collective memories suggest that important events occurring at one’s adolescence and early adulthood carry great significance for a cohort (Schuman and Scott,

92 Interview on May 9, 2018. 93 Ibid. 216

1989). Thus, for those who did not embody the traumatic June 4th experience, a faster and more direct mode of action was preferred. Some young occupiers referred back to the Taiwanese Sunflower Movement and set them as the spatial anchor for tactical choice. A “Post-80s” occupier, Lau Yuen-keung, contended:

“[The veteran activists’] fear of repression was over-cautious. We had besieged the government headquarters …… If we never escalate the action, it would be too slow. Why we need to hold on? …… The Sunflower Movement was a good example. After they occupied the legislative branch, they succeeded in achieving their goals ……. We can at least try.”94

Different emotional experiences shaped through time thus led to divergent temporal and spatial orientations of action. Yet, no action was mobilized to attack the government headquarters because consensus could not be reached between the young and old movement leaders. This sowed the seed for disputes among occupiers. The leaders’ decision failed to convince the young occupiers and contained their urge to take further action. Different bottom-up spatial actions were taken and they sharpened the frictions between campaign leaders and participants. After knowing that no tactical escalation would be called, many frontline protesters felt unsatisfied and still gathered in the area adjacent to the government headquarters and some of them tried to block Lung Wo Road,95 a crucial road linking the east and west of the Hong Kong Island. Another group of protesters blocked the flyover connecting the government headquarters and the MTR station, attempting to stop thousands of civil servants from getting back to their office. When the OCLP leaders tried to persuade them to stop blocking the flyover and remove the barricades, they were booed and given the cold shoulder. The discrepancy in harnessing the tactical vector of spatial occupation was also exemplified in the conflicting views about how much occupied area should be preserved.

94 Interview on October 14, 2017. 95 It is a road built from the Central Reclamation Phase III project. While it led to the campaign to protect the two piers discussed in Chapter 4, it paradoxically became another contentious space even after the government “successfully” suppressed the protest in 2006-2007. 217

With a tiny hope to win the battle, protecting every piece of land that has been occupied was to preserve the bargaining chip for the occupiers. Heman, an occupier stationing in the fringe area in Admiralty, reflected on how he and his fellows thought:

“For the occupiers, including me, letting vehicles pass through the occupied zone was like ceding a territory. It was me who fought and won this space. If I let vehicles pass through, does it mean that I need to give up the whole area? This means the level of control is downgraded and this is why people did not want to let vehicles pass through. Today it is an ambulance, will it be a police car tomorrow? …… To a certain extent, the occupiers felt that the controlling power of the occupied zone was weakened and the bargaining chip was devalued.”96

A similar case occurred in Causeway Bay. When the OCLP leaders requested to open an emergency path for ambulances, the proposal was vetoed by the occupiers and only a narrow path would be opened when necessary. Surrendering any space of the occupied zones was obviously unwelcomed, especially at the early stage of the movement. In sum, emotions, which are ignored by scholars studying movement dynamics (McAdam et al., 2001; Fligstein and McAdam, 2012), matter by moulding players’ action orientations. During the Umbrella Movement, both enabling emotions and constraining emotions were developed via occupiers’ on-site spatial experiences at the early stage. Yet, emotions embedded in long-term historical trajectory and emotions moulded by short-term transformative events, both of which occurred beyond the local political arena, also steered the course of the movement. Emotions in turn produced disjunctive temporal orientations of action and then led to different spatial orientations and tactics. These disagreements were destructive and they shaped the cleavage structure in the Umbrella Movement. b. How Time Mattered Discrepancies in historical and emotional experiences could not provide a full picture of the temporal-spatial and emotional dynamics of the Umbrella Movement. The

96 Interview on November 14, 2017. 218 view of escalating the action not only received resonance from young occupiers. Many elder supporters also joined and upheld an unyielding stance in protecting the occupied areas. To explain this, we need to bring in the factor of time to learn how it shaped emotional experiences and spatial tactics. As shown in Chapter 4, the management of expectation was crucial to emotional management and spatial actions. The failure to do so in the Umbrella Movement sapped the movement’s strength and impaired activists’ solidarity. Aiming high at the early stage, the HKFS and Scholarism set out four big goals: first, Leung Chun-ying to step down; second, implementing civic nomination 97; third, withdrawing the NPC decision; fourth, reopening the Civic Square. However, since the Umbrella Movement was made possible simply through a moral anger towards the government’s wrongdoings in treating the young protesters, it was always ambiguous about the extent to which these goals were shared and embraced among the public. For the OCLP leaders, despite sharing the same goal of democratization, a different expectation and hence a dissimilar pace and directness of action were embraced. They viewed the Umbrella Movement as the starting point of a long-term cultural change in Hong Kong politics and thus did not see it as a one-off game to achieve all these goals. “We always know non-violent resistance like this is not a one-off game. It must be a long- term battle,” Benny Tai said.98 Thus derailing the proposal of tactical escalation was both an emotional and a strategic concern. Benny Tai further explained,

“For me, I did not want to push any further because the scale of the movement has already exceeded my expectation. It has already achieved our goal to raise social attention, that’s why I did not prefer to escalate the action …… We witnessed the incident in Mongkok on October 3 (i.e. see next section) and the police sending bullets into the CE’s office, so we feared that the police would become more violent in repression …… We mobilized [the occupiers] to join the movement, so we needed to care about their safety …… Therefore, I proposed to end

97 Civic nomination was proposed by Scholarism during the constitutional reform consultation, aiming to democratize the nomination process of CE election. 98 Interview on April 26, 2018. 219

the movement on October 5. We must leave …… We could not change the whole system through one single action. At that moment, I thought we have already won because the public opinion was on our side …… We can have the Umbrella Movement, why can’t we have another action? …… If you look at the whole development …… we can evolve from the July 1, 2003 Protest to the Umbrella Movement in 2013-2014, why can’t we have more in the future?”99

The expectation of making long-term change, or a sense of hope towards another mobilization, entwined with a fear of repression to give rise to a temporal orientation of a step-by-step progression and shape the spatial tactics of the OCLP leaders. Rather than agreeing with expanding the space of occupation, they tried to push for a dialogue between the student leaders and the HKSAR government. For the student leaders, their position was a bit awkward. On the one hand, like other young activists, they wanted to achieve something concrete by escalating the action. On the other hand, they were hamstrung by a fear that a hasty escalation would risk the protesters’ life. For example, in the action blocking Lung Wo Road, their stance was ambiguous. While they did not take the lead, some members of the two student groups did participate and give support in their personal capacity. “In the action at Lung Wo Road, many members of Scholarism did participate and deploy our resources to support the occupiers. Although we did not officially endorse these actions, we would not condemn them,”100 Johnny Chung illustrated their stance. But their vague official stance sometimes led to misunderstandings by other frontline protesters who accused the two student groups of being too conservative and of offering no support. The HKFS therefore put all their effort to push for a dialogue with the government by lowering their goals a bit—not to insist on the withdrawal of the NPC decision and the demand of Leung Chun-ying down at least in their public statements. After the HKFS’s fruitless dialogue with the government in mid-October, their stance became even more confusing. By that time, there already emerged a group of

99 Ibid. 100 Interview on October 11, 2017. 220 occupiers who insisted on the initial big goals and refused to retreat (see the next section for more explanation). Since it was always claimed that the Umbrella Movement was a bottom-up movement, the student groups tried to make their decision as democratic as possible. Trying to meet everybody’s expectations, they inevitably maintained a high threshold for what was meant by success. Put another way, their pace, directness, and spatiality of action got driven by the radical activists and the committed occupiers, especially at the later stage. “These participants were not mobilized by us, how could they listen to our call and leave?” Tommy Cheung questioned and then described the dilemma the HKFS faced,

“Did we have a choice to say no [to the occupiers’ opinions]? We could not say no. Even if [the HKFS] disregarded their views and left, these guys would stay …… If we could not guarantee 100% of the participants would leave, it was hard for us not to stay. We mobilized the campaign, so we had to stay until the last guy left.”101

The student leaders’ indecisiveness in setting a more “authoritative” expectation of action and spatial tactics thus turned into a passive agreement to the temporality and spatiality proposed by the radical activists and the committed occupiers (cf. Cai, 2017). The campaign started to lose direction and emotional and spatial consequences ensued. Frustration and despair grew among occupiers as the campaign was stagnant, no matter what stance they upheld. Whereas the moderate and occasional participants were not enthusiastic at radical action, the regressive development of the campaign since the government-students negotiation failed to bring hope and emotional energy for them to carry on. Emilia, an occasional participant, said, “it’s like a war …… When it prolonged, [I] no longer wanted to spend energy on it. As I could foresee the government would not give a response, I did not see hope [in the action], so I went [to the occupied zone] less frequently.” 102 Being unable to line up with both the student leaders and the radical activists’ temporalities, some of them dealt with their despair and frustration by self-

101 Interview on May 7, 2018. 102 Interview on November 6, 2017. 221 dropping out from the spatial occupation gradually. For the more radical and obdurate occupiers, however, frustration and despair at this stage further consolidated their initial thoughts on tactical escalation. Since they were deeply engaged in the campaign, they were the on-site witnesses of police violence and the campaign’s decline. They thereby maintained their temporal orientation of “now or never” and wanted to have the last fight. As occupier Ha Chi said, “I would support every proposal about occupying more roads. I would definitely support that …… We were too slow to escalate our action, [we felt so because] we witnessed the number of participants was declining after the first 10 days.”103 In late-November, their temporal and spatial orientations of action were finally endorsed by the HKFS and Scholarism who mobilized an action to besiege the government headquarters under the OCLP trio’s heavy objection, which failed and indirectly ended the Umbrella Movement. In all, time mattered by orienting the expectation, pace, and directness of action. It was in turn shaped by in-situ spatial experiences and the opponents’ responses. While the above analysis confirms how disjunctive temporal orientations of action brought negative emotional consequences (Wagner-Pacifici and Ruggero, 2018), it also shows how cleavages in temporal orientations made it difficult for emotions to be managed properly among activists and how this led to divergent views on spatial tactics. Failing to bridge temporal and spatial orientations of action, the movement struggled to advance any further. c. How Space Mattered How to explain the radical activists’ insistence on the tactical vector of spatial occupation? How to explain their obstinate stance in keeping the occupied areas and in maintaining the view to have more extensive occupation? The answer lies in the emotions, bodily experiences, and cognitive knowledge founded in space. These in turn led to a particular temporal orientation and tactical choice. As the movement went on, the occupied zones, as movement arenas, became places where sets of attitude and behaviour and a sense of belonging were founded. During the movement, the three occupied zones and different areas of the occupied zones were indeed dissimilar places for occupiers to experience disjunctive styles of political struggle

103 Interview on October 6, 2017. 222 and hence develop divergent views on how the campaign should move on. Especially, the spatial-emotional experiences occupiers gained in these places were vital. For occupiers stationing in fringe areas like Red Cotton Road and Queensway in Admiralty or in militant zones like Mongkok, many of them were not only the ones who defended the areas in the frontline but also the pioneers who won those pieces of land through hard-fought battles. A sense of place attachment and love towards those places thus propelled them to protect their territory. For example, occupier Ha Chi mentioned, “I usually stationed at Red Cotton Road and Queensway. It was because I had contributed to reclaim the land, that’s why I had a sense of belonging there. I helped to set up the barriers …… I had a sense of ownership of that territory.”104 Heman, another occupier in the fringe areas, also reflected on his feeling, “what the occupiers held was mostly a sentimental attachment to the occupied zone. Actually, I shared this feeling too.” The emotion of love thus gave rise to the tactical choice of making no concession as mentioned in previous sections. These movement arenas were also places where occupiers learned the political reality in bodily and cognitive terms and where tactical orientations were cultivated. From time to time, the fringe areas and the occupied zone of Mongkok were prone to police violence and the disturbance from pro-Beijing gangs. This pushed up occupiers’ alertness and determination in defending these places, in both emotional and strategic terms. At Queensway in Admiralty, for instance, if this short crossroad was lost, in some occupiers’ view, they lost the outer defensive line of the occupied zone, making the main site at Connaught Road and Harcourt Road vulnerable to eviction.105 Their firm attitude to protect these places was thus more than a sense of anger towards state violence. Indeed, it was a consideration arising from the real threat they perceived in these places. The stronger the threat posed by the state, the greater the determination of the radical occupiers shown in defending the area. Strategically, preserving these dangerous zones was also deemed valuable to the whole campaign. As Heman analyzed, “in the case of Mongkok, to be radical was not only about continuing the movement but also about dispersing the police power. That’s why we had to defend Mongkok.” 106 Consequently, in contrast to the

104 Ibid. 105 This view was expressed by Heman, an occupier at Queensway and in Mongkok, in the interview on November 14, 2017. 106 Ibid. 223 moderate participants whose spatial experiences were mainly found in the main site—the relatively safe areas—the radical and committed occupiers’ real encountering of danger and threat pushed them to uphold a firm stance to protect every occupied space. These emotional-cum-strategic considerations, however, were not shared by the student leaders, the OCLP trios, and the pro-democracy politicians who jointly led the movement and who had different sets of spatial concerns. For the pro-democracy politicians who held a seat in the LegCo or the District Council, they started to oscillate between the parliamentary arena and the arena of street. Angering local residents by causing unnecessary inconvenience might jeopardize their future election campaigns. They thus preferred to reduce the extent of spatial occupation and lessen the impact on ordinary citizens. For the OCLP trios, due to their vision of long-term change, the arena of street was not always privileged. Accordingly, they proposed to shift the arena to local communities—another tactical vector inherited from the earlier community movements. Benny Tai wrote, “[d]emocratic virtues need to be cultivated throughout the city. More forums on democracy should be organized on the neighborhood level. Through home visits, younger Hong Kongers can meet face-to-face with elderly people living in public housing estates and explain to them the significance of genuine universal suffrage” (Tai, 2014). For the HKFS and Scholarism, they had insisted publicly that they would always side with the occupiers regarding their decision to re-open any road or not (Hong Kong Economic Journal, 2014). But when it comes to actualizing their stance, the student leaders had to face a practical problem in terms of space and manpower. Chiu Woo, a prefect in the Umbrella Movement, explained:

“It was about the distribution of human resources. At the later stage, the defensive lines were too scattered. Everyone was so tired to persist. And we had to consider whether it was daytime or nighttime. If it was daytime, most occupiers went back to work …… We also had to think about whether it was right to resist [the pro-Beijing gang’s attack] when the resources were so tight.”107

107 Interview on October 10, 2017. 224

The constraints of physical space and human resources not only confined the scale of occupation but dictated the pace of tactical escalation. Though not opposing to the idea of radicalization, Johnny Chung from Scholarism mentioned a similar practical concern, “regarding tactical escalation, we would question: even if we take over a new road, do we have enough manpower to defend it? And if we do not have enough people to set up roadblocks and occupy an area, are we going to attack the police?”108 This spatial concern marked the difference between the campaign leaders and the frontline activists, which caused a split among them in terms of the pace and the proper arena of action. Divergent emotions, experiences, orientations, and thoughts about space produced disparate and even contradictory pace and directness of action and hence dissimilar emotional management strategies. For the campaign leadership, maintaining a not-so-tense atmosphere via the once successful tactical vector of carnivalesque-style struggle and the long-held practice of having a peaceful, rational, and non-violent protest was a way to maintain support from ordinary citizens. But for certain frontline activists, the perceived danger and high sense of alertness developed in areas prone to violence were reformulated as a rejection to the moderate leaders’ feeling rule regarding joyous struggle. Occupier Heman described his fellows in Mongkok as follows:

“The guys in Mongkok were wholehearted in defending the zone and in treating the movement. They were not meant to stir up violence or anything else. That’s why they did not like a joyous atmosphere. They wanted to keep up the sense of alertness and the awareness of threats. That’s why guys in Mongkok looked more radical. Their radical and militant orientation was due to their sense of alertness to danger. That’s unavoidable.”109

Being blamed as “radical” and felt no sympathy from the leadership, some of these occupiers started to see joyous struggle as an emotional hegemony to be countered. This also had to do with the socio-political development described in Section IV(ii) of Chapter 5.

108 Interview on October 11, 2017. 109 Interview on November 14, 2017. 225

Joyous struggle was now associated with the lack of willpower to win and with the “past failures”, such as the failures to stop the XRL proposal in 2010 and force for a complete abolishment of national education in 2012. While these radical activists labelled the leftist activists who led the previous campaigns as “leftards” (jo gau),110 a “brave and militant- style struggle,” an anger-driven action style, was now cherished. Proponents of this tactical style proclaimed an alternative display rule that occupiers should not shy away from confronting the police through bodily clashes and that any kind of entertainment should be prohibited to keep a high sense of seriousness. This was especially the case in Mongkok. To some extent, the discontent towards joyous struggle could be attributed to the mistakes made by the campaign leadership. On October 3, some pro-Beijing gangs attacked the occupiers in Mongkok, but no mobilization was made by the campaign leaders in Admiralty to call for support. The leaders even urged the occupiers to retreat from Mongkok and get back to Admiralty. A more ironic scene was that hundreds of thousands of supporters gathered to sing to boost the momentum, leaving activists in Mongkok to fight a lone battle. As Koren, a self-defined non-radical occupier, narrated,

“In that evening I truly felt why carnivalesque-style struggle was assailed. I agreed that social movements do not need to be so tense all the time, but when I was singing at that time, I questioned myself ‘what are we doing?’ …… Singing itself may not be a gau action. Perhaps it can boost morale. But when people came to gather and sang, the whole atmosphere had changed. It’s like …… were they simply coming for a social gathering? …… Supposedly we were here to oppose the ‘8.31 decision’, but if we just sang and chanted, what’s the utility of doing these? At that moment, the feeling was so gau.”111

Anger, hostility, and resentment towards the student and OCLP leaders—whom radical activists called jo gau—thus grew quickly, which not only made the dispute over emotional management strategy more apparent but consolidated activists’ place identity to defend

110 Jo means left in Chinese. “Gau” is the Chinese homonym for the word “dick”, a foul language. 111 Interview on November 28, 2017. 226 those dangerous areas and set themselves apart from the overly mild tactics of activists in Admiralty in both symbolic and spatial terms (Yuen, 2018). What was associated with the radical occupiers’ dissenting views on emotional management was an alternative temporality of action. While they perceived more danger in space, they saw confrontational action as a more direct way to counter police violence. Occupier Heman argued:

“We all thought that the campaign leadership was too stupid …… They always said things like ‘we have already had a victory’ or ‘it is already a big achievement now’ [to boost people’s momentum]. Hey, what were you talking about? Our war has not ended yet! …… [The enemy] was now besieging us. It was useless to say these things or to sing …… At the very beginning, I also upheld the principle of being peaceful, rational, and non-violent. But if you have the experience of being chased by the police—and I experienced more than once—it is an instinct [to fight back] …… When your life is threatened, you cannot ask everybody to be peaceful, rational, and non-violent. You cannot force everybody to become Gandhi.”112

In other words, different spatial-emotional experiences resulted in different views on the pace and directness of action and disparate ways of expressing emotions. In the action mobilized to besiege the government headquarters in late-November, one crux of contention was how radical the action should be. For the OCLP trios, they objected to the action because they wanted to avoid casualties. But for those who supported the action, while they regarded the action as the last strategic attempt to press the government, they saw the principle of “being peaceful, rational, and non-violent” as unnecessarily constraining and thought that rage should be expressed more directly, even though the public opinion was shifting and the movement was losing public support since the HKSAR government became more prudent and made no more serious mistakes. Unsurprisingly,

112 Interview on November 14, 2017. 227 such radical action at such a strategic site failed and the police suppressed the action without costing the government’s legitimacy. In conclusion, movement arena, as the space of political action, not simply provides cognitive knowledge and experience as movements scholars consider (Duyvendak and Jasper, 2015; Fligstein and McAdam, 2012). It is also the emotional foundation for players to develop various temporal orientations of action and emotional management strategies. This hence gives rise to different ways of adopting the tactical vector of spatial occupation, in both temporal and emotional terms, as we have seen. The dynamics regarding various versions of feeling rules alongside the debates over time and space described in this section are summarized in Table 6.2 and 6.3 below.

Hong Kong OCLP / HKFS / Radical police moderate Scholarism activists democrats Emotions of Data not Anger over the Anger over the Anger over the players available firing of tear firing of tear firing of tear gas; fear of gas; fear of gas; fear of repression repression; repression; hope for a hope for a quick victory quick victory Feeling rules Data not No particular No particular No particular and/or available rule being rule being rule being display rules proposed proposed proposed being proposed Spatial Quick eviction Rejected more Called for Called for underpinning of protesters extensive more extensive more extensive of emotion who occupied occupation occupation occupation; work the road refused to give up any occupied area Temporal Quick eviction Progress step- Now-or-never; Now-or-never; underpinning of protesters by-step; push called for called for of emotion who occupied for long-term continuing the continuing the work the road change of occupation occupation political culture Table 6.2 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings at the early stage of the Umbrella Movement

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OCLP / moderate HKFS / Scholarism Radical activists democrats Emotions of Hope towards another Despair and Despair and players mobilization; fear of frustration frustration repression Feeling rules Joyous struggle Joyous struggle Anger-driven brave and/or and militant struggle display rules being proposed Spatial Called for ending the Called for continuing Called for continuing underpinning occupation and the occupation the occupation; of emotion continue the struggle refused to give up any work at the community level occupied area Temporal Pushed for long-term Wanted immediate Wanted immediate underpinning change of political success but hesitate to success; called for of emotion culture escalate the action faster tactical work escalation Table 6.3 Different sets of feeling rules and their temporal-spatial underpinnings at the mid- and final stage of the Umbrella Movement

IV. Conclusion The Umbrella Movement again attested how local activism and emotions were constructed through both long- and short-term interactions at various spatial levels. Different from the early movement theories (Tilly, 1978; McAdam, 1982), the Umbrella Movement showed how national politics was intertwining with global politics in producing local contention. As we have seen, the discourse of national sovereignty has been a vector influencing Beijing’s policy and strategy over Hong Kong’s democratization since the mid- 2000s, but this discourse was very often consolidated by Beijing’s attempt to respond to Western threats. Meanwhile, the case also demonstrates the diffusion of contention through various kinds of spatiality. While the existing discussion of “scale shift” assumes a linear process of diffusion (Tarrow, 2005; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005), the analysis here suggests that the processes that create emotions and hence social movements could operate horizontally through networks. For example, the policy vector of economic integration led to an unintended expansion of the arena of contention, not only through engendering the Sunflower Movement at the regional level but also through facilitating the formation of an activist network between Hong Kong and Taiwanese activists. With an emphasis on space,

229 this chapter again validates the need for a temporally and spatially sensitive account of emotions and social movements, as claimed in the theoretical framework being set out. Emotions were thus constructed in the arenas of territory and network, but they were also cultivated in places. During political conflicts, emotions could be both enabling and constraining. They could directly spur the appearance of a campaign, but they could also discourage activists’ actions. During contention, emotions were independent factors in steering spatial decisions of how much and how long to occupy and activists’ temporal thoughts, including pace, directness, and expectation of action. Yet emotions were also dependent factors determined by both immediate and distant events, such as the 1989 Tiananmen massacre and the bodily and cognitive experiences in movement space. In both ways, emotions shaped movement arenas and affected the solidarity among insurgents. The impacts of the Umbrella Movement have been far-reaching. Despite its sheer scale, it failed to force the Beijing government to make any concession. Crucially, the changing dominance of emotions in the local political culture became more noticeable. At different stages, positive emotions like hope and joy and negative emotions like frustration, despair, anger, anxiety, and resentment were featured. These emotions have been examined in various ways in the existing literature. While there are attempts to analyze the conditions under which different emotions help or undermine social movements (Kleres and Wettergren, 2017; Gould, 2009; Ransan-Cooper et al., 2018; Azab and Santoro, 2017), there are also efforts to categorize emotions according to their speed of response and sustaining time (Jasper, 2018). This chapter shows how the two ways of analysis can be combined. In the Umbrella Movement, unlike the previous three cases, positive emotions could only play a marginal and rather short-lived role when the threat from the state was too strong. As Beijing refused to give in, negative emotions became preeminent during both state-society interaction and interaction among activists. Thus, an increasing dominance of negative emotions was observed, due to both the failure to achieve the movement goals and internal conflicts within civil society. Although it has been shown that activists can often sustain a movement despite years of failure either through long-term and intensive interactions at the organizational level (Summers-Effler, 2010) or through a space of emotional reflexivity (Brown and Pickerill, 2009), the Umbrella Movement, as a campaign consisting of multiple sets of actors with diverse ideological positions and as a

230 campaign responding to the timely goal of resisting the “8.31 Decision,” could hardly resolve emotional burnout and exhaustion through these ways. The result was a campaign driven by negative emotions.

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Chapter 7: Conclusion: Putting Social Movements and Emotions in Time and Space

In the three empirical chapters, I analyzed emotions and socio-political conflicts in Hong Kong between 2003 and 2014 from a time-space perspective. For all four cases under study, I traced their temporal trajectories—processes covering not only key events but a set of patterns of social interaction that had a bearing on tactics, discourses, practices, policies, and emotions. These processes were explained in relation to a broader context encompassing local, national, regional, and global influences that made a difference over both shorter and longer timescales. By depicting analytically relevant time-spaces within which political contention played out, it was able to see how framing rules, feeling rules, and display rules, as well as strategic decisions, were shaped. This chapter sums up the key theoretical arguments and the empirical findings on social movements in Hong Kong and responds to the larger question set out in the introductory chapter: How, and under what conditions, is political mobilization shaped in Hong Kong?

I. The Making of Emotions and Social Movements in Time and Space This thesis set out four research questions for understanding the social construction of emotions in Hong Kong’s social movements. These questions are: 1) How do emotions feature in activists and relevant powerholders’ actions and discourses during socio-political mobilizations? 2) How do the production and counter-production of emotions affect the rise and the development of social movements during state-society interactions? 3) What are the key social processes that characterize the period under study and how do they shape the construction of emotions and political mobilizations over time? 4) What and where are the key geographical sites of emotions and how are various attempts of constructing emotions shaped by the political and cultural characteristics of these sites? This thesis tackled these questions by analyzing four socio-political conflicts between 2003 and 2014 through a strategic temporal-spatial approach that brings together three core elements of mobilization: the social construction of emotions, the geography of political action at multiple scales, and the interplay of social processes at different timescales. In understanding the making of emotions, I drew on Hochschild’s (1979; 2003) emotional management theory to examine how emotions are created, managed, and

232 expressed in political contention. Thus, with regard to the first research question, I argue that emotions feature in, and are constructed by, discourses and actions as feeling rules, framing rules, and display rules during moments of contention. For example in Chapter 4, I discussed the case that when the HKSAR government wanted to mobilize sadness and nostalgia as a rule for feeling about the loss of two historic piers, it simultaneously needed to work out a framing rule that framed economic development as necessary and high land price as an “objective” fact. Yet as I pointed out in Chapter 2, there are three deficiencies in Hochschild’s theory. One of them is that it does not take the broader spatial context of emotions into account and neglects how emotion work is done at multiple spatial levels. The other problem is that the theory is confined to discussing the construction of emotions in everyday interaction and does not consider the processes with varied timescales behind emotions. Thus, in the case studies, I showed how the making of these three emotional rules is underpinned by space and time. To draw examples from Chapter 4, we can see that the feeling rules and framing rules maintained by the HKSAR government were tied to the broader transformation of the global political economy which produced the Asian Financial Crisis and then sped up urban restructuring in Hong Kong through the global city project. Without understanding these political-economic processes at a wider spatial level and in a longer timescale, it is impossible to fully realize the evolution of local conflicts and the making of players’ emotions through years of interaction. In examining the social construction of emotions, this thesis also analyzed the production and counter-production of emotions in political contention. In a sense, this is an attempt to address the other problem in Hochschild’s theory. In outlining her theory of emotional management, Hochschild (2003) mainly treats economic organizations as core agents of emotion work. She thus fails to account for the co-existence of and the interaction between multiple types of emotion work that often occur in social movement settings. This problem can also be found in social movement studies, where scholars tend to examine either the emotional work done by activists or that by the state without scrutinizing the ongoing contention between different emotion works in a single study (Cadena-Roa, 2002; Barbalet, 2002; Gould, 2009; Bröer and Duyvendak, 2009; Jacobsson and Lindblom, 2013). By showing the emotion work done by multiple sets of movement players in social movements, the three empirical chapters have shown that no emotions are by nature

233 progressive or conservative and they are constantly subject to making and remaking by various contenders. Love could be constructed through a discourse of community-based love to push for a progressive change of urban governance, but it could also be appropriated by the state to promote patriotism and support one-party rule. In the same vein, hope could be constructed through a range of policy discourses to prepare for a political- economic integration with mainland China, but it could equally be championed by the democrats to sustain the pro-democracy movement. Various makings of feeling rules entail a proper framing of the cognitive reality. For example, in crafting the feeling rule of patriotism, a discourse of modernization representing the past and future was advertised by the Beijing government. Likewise in the Anti-XRL campaign, the alternative feeling rule of anger was put forward through an attempt to reframe the huge increase in the construction cost as the government’s fault and as unacceptable. The dynamic making of feeling rule gives emotions both constraining and enabling roles to play in social movements. Thus, the answer to the second research question is that, the production and counter-production of emotions are often a crystallizer for the rise of social movements, and they also facilitate discursive claim-makings and spatial actions to shape movement development. Notably, these impacts take effect in and through time and space. As we have seen, emotions often played a direct causal role in spurring the rise of socio-political conflicts. Anger, as suggested by much literature and my cases, was the most crucial emotion in social movement formation. While anger could be felt by those who were directly victimized, such as the CYV villagers, mass anger and moral outrage were often wrought by the faults and blunders committed by the authority. Entwining with time, such as student activists’ biological age and their temporal orientations of action in the Anti-MNE campaign, emotions could be a strong crystallizer of mobilization. Emotions could also shape political practices and tactical choices when they were entangled with a time-bounded and spatially-linked cultural identity, such as the local identity relevant to a particular generation and connected to Taiwanese activists in the Anti-XRL campaign and the Umbrella Movement. The Umbrella Movement further showed how emotions and space produced each other through the street battle between protesters and the police.

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The productive role of emotions is also expressed in a less direct way. As presented in my cases, emotions were often part and parcel of spatial actions and they effectively assisted not only the creation of subversive spaces but the fashioning of alternative discursive meanings. In the campaign protecting the two historic piers, emotions were implied through in-situ practices in space. Place-based emotions in turn assisted activists’ claim about the preservation of an everyday space as well as the claim of decolonization. Meanwhile, emotions rooted in place also helped broaden the discursive claims of democracy and individual autonomy. In the Anti-XRL campaign, spatial and temporal claims were conveyed through spatial discourses, actions, and practices, but they were also expressed through emotions implicated in those actions, such as the prostrating walk. In Hong Kong, evoking positive emotions in movement spaces, such as joy, was also a way to manage negative emotions regarding politics, which in turn assisted the mobilization of socio-political struggles, as we have seen in both the Anti-XRL and Anti- MNE campaigns. Emotions, however, also play an inhibitive role in containing socio-political contention. This role is manifested in and through time and space as well. As we have seen, creating and maintaining a spatial and temporal order was at the same time the making of emotions. In the campaign protecting the two piers and the Anti-XRL campaign, the construction of a space for capitalist accumulation was at once an effort to manage fear and anxiety arising from the two financial crises and an attempt to create hope towards the statist economic policies. Yet the endeavour to tame activism through managing emotions could be done more brutally. In the Anti-MNE campaign and the Umbrella Movement, the post-colonial temporal and spatial orders were set from top-down, with loving the nation being promulgated as a strict feeling rule for political loyalty. This has effectively halted the progress of the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong and denied activists’ democratic claims by merging feeling rules with institutional requirements. Time and space are hence two crucial axes for the construction of emotions as well as for the formation and the shaping of social movements. However, social movement theories have persistently failed to bring time and space into the analysis of the dynamic making of emotions. In the existing theories on movement dynamics and strategic interactions, short-term timescale regarding the moves and counter-moves of social

235 movement players is often privileged (McAdam et al., 2001; Jasper and Duyvendak, 2015). This leads us to lose sight of the impact of longer-term processes that often have a bearing on players’ short-term emotions, choices, and decisions. This thesis thus adopted Gillan’s (2018) notion of vector to understand how social processes of different timescales emerge, change, evolve, and interact. As patterns of interaction, vectors travel across time and space to connect movement campaigns occurring at different time points. Therefore, in response to the third research question, I argue that political activism and emotional production take place through social processes with different timescales in the political, economic, and cultural domains. These processes are connected through vectors—patterns of social interaction that carry ongoing significance for a period of time—and are often punctuated by events happening contingently. A number of vectors that travelled through different phases of conflict have been identified in the empirical chapters. Although this thesis took 2003 as the starting point of analysis, it nonetheless showed that vectors developed before this time point were germane to the four cases. These vectors were embedded in long-term historical development. Examples were the emotional vector founded in the collective emotional experience regarding the fear of Chinese politics and loving the nation, and the tactical vector that based upon the political practice of having moderate and not-too-emotional political actions. Another example is the economic vectors of capitalism. It consists of a persistent set of practices such as free market, financialization, and free trade, and it transformed the Chinese economy from the 1980s to the 2000s and then affected the socio-economic and political development of Hong Kong since the mid-2000s. Vectors that shaped a current struggle were also embedded in a medium-term trajectory. For example, the spatial policy of regional integration posed significant impacts across the political spaces of Hong Kong and Taiwan to affect their socio-economic development. This vector interweaved with other medium-term vectors—the discourse of national sovereignty and the feeling rule of patriotism—both of which were founded in response to the local event of the July 1, 2003 Protest and the global event of the Colour Revolution—to define the post-colonial temporal order for Hong Kong, a temporal context that sped up the political and economic integration of Hong Kong with mainland China. Also important were vectors developed at a relatively short-term timescale. For example, the tactical vector of direct action, spatial

236 occupation in particular, was learned by local activists during the Anti-WTO protest held in Hong Kong. Since then, it was practiced and experimented over time and became a well- established repertoire in subsequent years. All these vectors interacted but very often came into conflict to shape local contention and the making of feeling rules. Without understanding social processes of different timescales, we would continue to see emotions that spur political contention as merely short-term responses and slight how they are produced through complex temporal processes. The discussion of time has to be linked up with a thorough examination of space, another persistent failure of the existing movement theories in addressing movement dynamics and emotive actions. Several problems can be found in the extant literature. First, scholars often prioritize the analysis of a localized place at the expense of spatialities at the wider level, as we can see in McAdam et al. (2001) and Jasper and Duyvendak’s (2015) theories. Second, in the notion of “scale shift,” scholars tend to treat the process of the diffusion of contention as a linear process without taking into account a range of other scales, such as the regional level (Tarrow, 2005; Tarrow and McAdam, 2005). Third, when discussing movement space, or what Jasper and Duyvendak (2015) call “arena,” little attention is paid to the emotionality associating with the physical and cultural characteristics of that space. To address these concerns, this thesis drew on Jessop et al.’s (2008) “TPSN” framework to consider how the interaction between movement players, the diffusion of contention, and the making of emotions happen in place (i.e. more localized arena) and territory (i.e. arena with a wider spatial boundary) and move across scale (vertically) and network (horizontally). Thus, in response to the fourth research question, I argue that political contention evolves in movement arenas that take various forms of spatiality—territory, place, scale, and network. These spaces shape the construction of emotions not only by serving as the spatial context of emotional experiences but also by offering cognitive cues and symbolic resources for the making of feeling rules. Scale is the spatiality featuring in all three empirical chapters. As we have seen, vectors travelled across global, regional, national, and local arenas. They often moved across scales to interact with one another in a vertical sense, but this movement was by no means a unidirectional one. The economic vectors of global capitalism have swept across the world including China. But once China harnessed the economic vectors with its

237 distinctive growth model in 2008, the advent of China as a world economy leader has affected the promotion of patriotism in Hong Kong while sending feedback to the globe through a discourse of modernization and a discourse of national sovereignty to resist the Western practice of democracy. Frequently, the vertical movement of contention was intersecting with a horizontal one. Since 2008, the policy vector of economic integration has affected both Taiwan and Hong Kong. This unintendedly produced a network of activists who shared common grievances and similar local identities and who joined to counter the “invasion” of China. Ideas and practices flowing through this horizontal linkage in turn moved vertically and reached down to Hong Kong’s civil society, profoundly moulding the emotions and tactical choices during the Umbrella Movement. Yet, while arenas of contention always move, they are also located within a relatively well- defined boundary. This boundary is not objective and pre-existing but actively defined by different players. In judicial terms, Hong Kong has been located within the Chinese territory, but the features of the arena of territory were constructed through specific political and cultural meanings circulating at particular historical stages. In the context of 2003-2014, the arena of territory was delineated through Beijing’s discourse of national sovereignty and territorial integrity that was meant to react to the global events of the Colour Revolution and the Arab Spring, producing what I have called the post-colonial spatial order for Hong Kong. This arena came with a feeling rule of patriotism that was buttressed by a love towards the nation (an emotional vector shaping many Hong Kong Chinese) and an interest-based relationship (a medium-term economic vector). Like territory, the arena of place is not pre-given but created historically and spatially. After the Asian Financial Crisis which initiated a massive urban restructuring, the “old” community movement which had focused simply on material compensation was reformulated and local community became both an arena of action and a source of subversive political-cultural ideas. Thus, the construction of emotions in place, and for preserving place, was grounded in the physical environment where the campaign was mounted as well as in the symbolic meanings attached to that place. For example, the alternative feeling rule of community- based love was founded upon the community setting and the agricultural practice of the CYV villagers, which served as a rebuttal to the state-promoted speed of life and space for capital accumulation.

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In addition to theorizing the macro temporal-spatial boundary for political action and emotions, this thesis also re-considered movement players’ actions by showing that strategic interaction is underpinned by time and space. As what I have termed the spatial and temporal orientations of action, time and space guide players to create tactics, meanings, and feeling rules. In the Umbrella Movement, for instance, the cognitive knowledge and bodily experience gained in the occupied zone were two important bases for radical activists’ insistence of prolonging the occupation. Meanwhile, this thesis also showed the relevance of various temporal dimensions in anchoring strategic interaction and emotional production, including the timing, expectation, pace and directness, sequence, rhythm, duration, and timescale of an action, as well as ideas about the past, present, and future. Consistent with Wagner-Pacifici and Ruggero’s (2018) findings, my empirical analysis demonstrated that disjunctive temporal orientations often problematized interactions and movement coordination. Yet I advanced the argument in two ways. Firstly, I revealed that the problems caused by divergent temporal orientations were usually emotional. Embracing different pace, directness, and rhythm of action, the radical and the moderate wings in civil society disagreed with each other’s tactical choices and feeling rules in the Anti-XRL and Anti-MNE campaigns. This produced mutual resentment that evolved over time and exploded to thwart the internal unity of activists during the Umbrella Movement. Secondly, this thesis revealed a successful case where temporal orientations could be bridged by managing expectations. In the Anti-XRL campaign, the movement goals were redefined repeatedly to shape what the participants should expect from the actions, which thereby maintained a level of adherence to the feeling rules set up by leading activists. However, the management of expectations was not unconditional. When the threat from Beijing became more imminent, the urgency to have the last fight often engendered a relatively short-term vision that sat uneasily with moderate activists’ expectation of long-term change, as we could observe before and during the Umbrella Movement. Thus in strategic interactive terms, while temporal orientations guide how a struggle should move on, they are very much dependent upon the responses of the movement opponent. Overall, my strategic temporal-spatial approach to emotions suggests that social movements and emotions should be understood within the contextual boundary co-

239 constructed by time and space. At the same time, time and space are also the anchors for political action and the construction of emotions. These contexts and orientations are not fixed at one particular scale but are always situated at multiple spatial levels. Taken together, space and time are the arenas and the moving grounds where cognitive cues for emotional experiences are found, where emotions are expressed, and where the representation of emotions are developed and confined. Space and time are the foundations of emotional experiences, but they are constantly under reconstruction through emotionally-driven discursive representations and spatial actions. To further advance the strategic temporal-spatial approach, we may consider taking into account the role of bystanders who are only barely touched upon in this thesis. If social movements broaden the scope of emotions for the purpose of attracting more people to join, then how these bystanders receive and react on the proposed feeling rules would be crucial. A difficulty in researching bystanders is that it is always hard to define who the bystanders are. Are they people yet to join the movement? Are they people who are simply uninterested in politics? Are they silent supporters of the regime? Or do they simply possess all these attributes? From the interviews with nine Hong Kong citizens with no prior protest experience, I found that they had varying levels of support or hostility towards political activism. Thus the task facing us is to break down the notion of bystanders, as movement scholars have done for the notions of players and arenas, in order to better disentangle how different groups of people interact with activists and the authority and shape emotional dynamics.

II. Political Activism in Hong Kong, 2003-2014 This thesis studied political activism in Hong Kong from 2003 to 2014 through a multi-level and multi-timescale analysis. Over 11 years, various kinds of activism erupted, giving rise to a nascent “social movement society” in Hong Kong (Meyer and Tarrow, 1998; Lee and Chan, 2013). Though with different stakes of conflicts, many of them shared a common endeavour to make pro-democracy claims. This thesis selected four major campaigns as case studies. While both the campaign protecting the two piers and the Anti- XRL campaigns were resistances against urban development, they strived to challenge the twin forces of the capital and the undemocratic urban planning system. Although the Anti-

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MNE campaign did not make any explicit pro-democracy demand, it scrambled to fend off authoritarian control from the Beijing state. The last case, the Umbrella Movement, was the one aiming to intervene in the constitutional reform and struggle for democratization. Underpinned by time, space, and emotions, political activism in Hong Kong have been situating in an increasingly authoritarian context under Beijing’s political, economic, and cultural grips. The post-colonial temporal and spatial orders depicted in Chapter 5 and 6 have gained more and more leverage in steering the democratic progress of Hong Kong. They have also been buttressed by a relentless making of regime supporting emotions like hope towards the economic power of China and love towards the nation-cum-party-state. In sum, the Beijing government has shown its visible hand in arresting pro-democracy activism in Hong Kong. In Table 7.1, I provide a comparison of the four case studies to outline the features of, and the connection and evolvement between, these cases in temporal, spatial, and emotional terms.

Campaign to Anti-XRL Anti-MNE Occupy preserve the campaign campaign Central and Star Ferry Pier Umbrella and the Movement Queen’s Pier Temporal Transformation Transformation Transformation Protraction of context for the of political of the Chinese of the Chinese Hong Kong’s campaign economy in East economy (i.e. economy; the democratization Asia; the by seeking emergence of a (due to the remaking of leverage from Chinese-style occurrence of Hong Kong the Hong Kong course of global, national, from a capitalist capitalist modernization; local events); city into a economy) the emphasis of the emphasis of “global city” a historical love a historical love towards the towards the nation nation Spatial context Urban Regional Integration with Integration with for the restructuring in integration with China culturally China campaign inner cities; the China spatially and politically; waterfront and psychologically national planning project economically ; national sovereignty and sovereignty and territorial territorial integrity integrity The state’s To feel sad and Hope towards Hope towards To turn loving

241 feeling rule nostalgic but the economic the economic the nation into don’t disrupt benefits from benefits from loving the economic regional regional nation-cum- development integration; fear integration; to party-state of being turn loving the economically nation into isolated loving the nation-cum- party-state; control anger over the CCP’s faults Temporal Decolonization Slow and Progression of a Resisted the claims in (to cleanse the sustainable nation entails statist timescale protest capitalist and development; facing historical of protracted undemocratic rootedness in errors democratization; practices everyday life strived for a inherirted from long-term the colonial era) change in political culture Spatial claims To re-introduce To re-introduce An implicit An implicit in protest the importance the importance claim of claim of of everyday of everyday maintaining the maintaining the space used by space (i.e. rural “One Country, “One Country, ordinary people village and Two Systems” Two Systems” (i.e. public farmland) boundary boundary; space, local occupy Central community as a way of bargaining Alternative Love (based on Love (based on Loving the Resisted the feeling rules local space and neighbourhood nation; more criteria of and/or display culture); more and expressive patriotism in the rules being expressive community); emotional “8.31 Decision”; proposed emotional more expressive actions in more expressive actions in emotional protests emotional protests actions in actions; direct protests manifestation of anger through confrontational actions Movement Sadness, Fear, anxiety, Love (the Love (the nation inhibitive nostalgia hope nation and and party-state), emotions party-state) frustration, despair Movement Anger, love, joy Anger, love, Love (the Anger, joy, hope facilitative joy, grief nation), joy,

242 emotions grief, shame, fear Major 1. HKSAR 1. HKSAR / 1. Beijing 1. Beijing cleavage government vs. Beijing government vs. government vs. structures young activists governments local civil local civil (manifested) vs. young society society 2. young activists (manifested) (manifested) activists vs. (manifested) 2. student 2. student mainstream 2. young activists vs. activists vs. democrats (in activists vs. mainstream OCLP leaders / tension but not mainstream democrats (in veteran yet in conflict) democrats (in tension but not democrats tension but not yet in conflict) (manifested) yet in conflict) 3. student activists / OCLP leaders vs. radical activists (manifested) Table 7.1 A comparison of the four case studies

In temporal terms, social movements in Hong Kong have been increasingly submerged in a context shaped by the economic vectors that transformed the Chinese economy into state-controlled capitalism, the long-existing emotional vector of loving the nation, and the political vector that contained long-time practices of undemocratic governance. Although the selected case studies were concerned with different issues of contention, they were nonetheless connected through vectors that travelled across the late 1990s to the mid-2010s. As Hong Kong strengthened itself as a capitalist city after the Asian Financial Crisis, it met with China’s attempt to transform its economy into a more capitalist-oriented one. Being embedded more deeply in the Chinese political economy, social movements in Hong Kong have evolved from resisting local policies and undemocratic practices to one that struggled against political, economic, and cultural integrations with mainland China that have redrawn the local-national relationship. Understanding the temporal processes underpinning these four cases is important because it moves beyond conventional analyses that are insensitive to the shifting temporal contexts of social movements and that are usually movement-centric. Although there is no shortage of historical studies of Hong Kong’s social movements (e.g. Morris and Vickers, 2015; Ortmann, 2015; Hung, 2016; Dirlik, 2016), they seldom connect long-term historical

243 processes with short-term interactions in social movements. By showing the production of emotions, tactics, discourses, and spatial actions as historically embedded and moulded, this study rebuts studies that consider political mobilization as a momentary eruption (Lau, 1982; Lau and Kuan, 1995) and demonstrates how a particular conflict was submerged in time and occurred in certain historical junctures. Also different from studies that use a single case as their focus (Lee and Chan, 2018; Ng and Chan, 2017; Ma, 2017), this thesis reveals how movement campaigns were inextricably connected and how they prefigured and informed one another. Spatially, social movements in Hong Kong have been locating in a context where the discourse of national sovereignty reigned and where “one country” is increasingly prioritized over “two systems.” Whereas the crux of contention for the first case was about local undemocratic spatial planning, the urban landscape of Hong Kong has been progressively fallen under national control, which produced the latter three cases, which resisted the intrusion of Chinese influence in economic-spatial, cultural, and political terms respectively. This local-national interaction, however, was frequently shaped by both global and regional politics. The discourse of national sovereignty, for example, was not simply a discourse to respond to local pro-democracy mobilization but a counter-move against Western threats. In countering the Beijing authority, activists also liaised with activists in Taiwan through networks. The potential for social conflicts and the construction of emotions were hence located in a multifaceted relationship among local, regional, national, and global politics. Understanding this relationship leads us to transcend the usual focus of local-national interaction in studying Hong Kong politics (Lam, 2004; Cheng, 2016). As I have shown in the case studies, while the Beijing national government’s actions and strategies on Hong Kong were often impacted by political events around the world, tactics, discourses, and practices at the local setting were frequently learned from and influenced by actors at the global and regional levels. This gives us a three-dimensional understanding of how movements were located in a local context on the one hand and how they diffused vertically and horizontally on the other. From time to time, these temporal and spatial processes engendered emotions that spawned political mobilizations. However, social movements have also been an agent of social change by constructing subversive emotions and reshaping time and space. They

244 have been a persistent producer of emotions to challenge the statist feeling rule, encourage Hong Kong people to feel in alternative ways, and enable socio-political struggles through emotional mobilizations. Reclaiming the right to feel differently has led to a re-production of space and time. Since the mid-2000s, an alternative spatiality of place has been put forward to confront the attempt to engineer the spatiality of territory and the political- economic regional integration. An alternative discourse of the future was also proffered alongside the feeling rule of love to scramble for not only political liberty and democracy but also decolonization—a future that hinges not so much on the transfer of sovereignty as on an autonomous way of living free from political, economic, and cultural dominations. These alternative spatialities and temporalities in turn bolstered locally- and community- based emotions, as epitomized by the fraternal love and affective bonds developed during the spatial occupation in the Anti-MNE campaign and the protest camp in the Umbrella Movement. The contestation over emotions, time, and space are tether to the space of emotions in the local political sphere. As listed previously, a host of emotions could be found in Hong Kong politics. This refutes the common assertion that fear is the cornerstone of Hong Kong’s political culture (Lam, 2004; Lee and Chan, 2008; Lau and Kuan, 1988). They were socio-cultural constructs deriving from vectors travelling across time and space. While temporal and spatial processes produced movement facilitative emotions and allowed activists to express their artfulness in emotional production, they also permitted the authority to sanction certain emotions directly or indirectly. For example, when the Beijing government squeezed the temporal and spatial orders, love became a strict feeling rule and negative emotions like anger came to outmuscle positive emotions like joy in civil society. Simply put, the struggle over time and space was at once a struggle over how many, what kind of, and to what extent emotions can be felt and expressed. Time and space controlled the diversity and the relative dominance of emotions in the space of emotions in Hong Kong politics, which, as illustrated below, determined the extent of challenges a mobilization could pose on the authority. As the four cases have shown, although emotions could not guarantee the success or failure of mobilizations, they were nonetheless indispensable in shaping the mobilization capacity of a campaign and the internal solidarity of the opposition.

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Between 2003 and 2012, a range of positive emotions and negative emotions were fashioned in civil society. They were derived from the shifting spatial and temporal orders as well as activists’ creative manoeuvre of feeling rules. These emotions joined to broaden the ways emotions could be expressed and allow diverse emotional experiences and displays to co-exist in political contentions. They interacted to produce a “moral battery” (Jasper, 2011) to buttress socio-political struggles by assisting discursive claim-making, broadening the base of supporters, sustaining movement participation, and producing subversive spaces. The power of emotional mobilization and the solidarity of activists were further reinforced when efficacious emotional management and a more or less coherent feeling rule were achieved through a successful alignment of temporal and spatial orientations of action. By and large, although emotional mobilization could not guarantee success, it helped to configure a strong material, cultural, and agentic basis in challenging the authority and in maintaining a relatively united civil society. Since 2012, the scope of emotions in Hong Kong politics has remained wide, but negative emotions have gradually taken an overriding role. Social processes at different spatial levels continued to provide impetus for bottom-up contention, but at the same time these processes also alerted the Beijing government and prompted her to respond to local activism with a hardened attitude. Not only increasing counter-mobilizations and repressions were made (Cheng, 2016) but also a more tightened national temporal and spatial order and a stricter feeling rule of patriotism were established. A more limited space of emotions was thus resulted due to a change in the macro-context on the one hand and keener competitions regarding the temporality, spatiality, and emotionality of socio- political struggles among local protesters on the other. As the sense of urgency against the CCP got more imminent, the space of emotions was now characterized by an over- dominance of negative emotions. Consequently, the split civil society and the mono-mode of emotional mobilization have failed to engender a forceful assault on the authority and bring about greater socio-political changes. In sum, the diversity and the relative dominance of emotions have been fundamental in explaining the rise and fall of activism from 2003 to 2014. Emotions lie at the heart of the explanation for how, and under what conditions, socio-political mobilization has been shaped in Hong Kong.

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Overall, this thesis contributes to the literature of Hong Kong politics by unpacking local socio-political conflicts through a multi-level and multi-timescale analysis. This thesis is also the first study to survey the range of emotions occurring in the political sphere of Hong Kong and explore their construction process. Although this thesis focuses on four cases, the emotions being surveyed suffice to prove that fear is not the only political emotion that influences Hong Kong politics and that emotions could both hamper social movements and facilitate them under certain temporal and/or spatial conditions. By examining emotions through a temporal and spatial perspective, and by taking political players and their interactions at various spatial levels into accounts, this thesis presents a novel picture of the micro-foundations and the micro-dynamics of social movements, as well as their linkages with the shifting macro-contexts in post-colonial Hong Kong. Although this thesis focuses on four campaigns and the emotional dynamics from 2003 to 2014, the discussion can be extended to examine the success and failure of other campaigns occurring in the same period or other periods of time. Future research may further question, how did various emotions affect, facilitate, or contain other socio-political conflicts between 2003 and 2014? How did the latent period of mobilization from the 1990s to 2003 prepare for local activism and the making of feeling rules after 2003? How did the emotional strategies of activists and state actors differ before and after the period between 2003 and 2014? Did emotions play a different role in producing and shaping socio-political conflicts beyond 2003-2014, and how did they make a difference to movement outcomes? This thesis offers an emotional and temporal-spatial explanation for the wax and wane of socio-political mobilizations in 2003-2014, but this perspective can be further testified by investigating other campaigns emerging in different periods.

III. The Present State of Political Activism in Hong Kong After the Umbrella Movement, a five-year-long decline of the momentum of socio-political conflicts was witnessed and a drop in the self-perceived political efficacy of Hong Kong citizens was recorded (Lee, 2018). Local activism was not reinvigorated until the Anti-extradition protests in 2019. Provoked by a proposed law amendment of the Fugitive Offenders Ordinance, the local civil society once again geared up. Fearing that the proposed bill amendment would cause political rights and civil liberties in Hong Kong to

247 further deteriorate, millions of Hongkongers resorted to both peaceful and violent tactics to confront the authority. Viewed from a wider spatial and temporal perspective, the protest was indeed a result of the political-economic conflict between China and the U.S.. While the law amendment was believed to be a revenge for the arrest of the chairwoman of a giant Chinese telecom company in Canada and a likely deportation to the U.S., the protest in Hong Kong was mobilized in the midst of the U.S.-China trade war. Possibly harming the already-in-decline political rights and liberties in Hong Kong, the proposed bill amendment incited emotions to enable a city-wide protest. Anger and fear of Communist China pushed Hongkongers to make a desperate fight against the authoritarian Chinese government. While it is too early to speculate the result of the protests, time, space, and emotions can be a useful analytical lens in understanding local political activism. For activists, better choices might be made by understanding the temporal-spatial underpinnings of strategic interaction. For observers and analysts, appreciating the multiplicity and the conflictual nature of time-space and emotions is a vital step for making sense of social movement dynamics and look ahead what might come next.

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Appendix: Profile of the Interviewees

No. Age Household Experiences of movement Date of Name Gender Category group Income group participation Interview 1 Hung Male 30-39 3 P XRL, MNE, UM Sept 15, 2017 2 Jason Male 30-39 5 P XRL, MNE, UM Sept 16, 2017 3 Alvin Male 18-29 5 P UM Sept 26, 2017 4 Jack Male 30-39 2 P MNE, UM Oct 2, 2017 5 Hing Male 30-39 4 P UM Oct 4, 2017 6 Ha Chi Male 18-29 2 P MNE, UM Oct 6, 2017 7 Jim Male 30-39 2 P UM Oct 7, 2017 8 Rick Male 30-39 7 P UM Oct 9, 2017 9 Chiu Woo Male 50-59 5 P / A MNE, UM (helper in OCLP) Oct 10, 2017 10 Johnny Chung Male 18-29 1 A# MNE, UM Oct 11, 2017 11 Erikson Male 30-39 7 P XRL, MNE, UM Oct 13, 2017 12 Lau Yuen-Keung Male 30-39 3 P / A SP/QP, XRL, MNE, UM Oct 14, 2017 13 Sze Female 30-39 4 P XRL, MNE, UM Oct 14, 2017 14 Carmen Female 30-39 6 P MNE, UM Oct 14, 2017 15 Ben Male 18-29 3 P XRL, MNE, UM Oct 20, 2017 16 Kiu Male 30-39 3 P XRL, MNE, UM Oct 23, 2017 17 Ivan Male 18-29 2 P XRL, MNE, UM Oct 26, 2017 18 Kate Female 18-29 3 P MNE, UM Oct 26, 2017 19 Emilia Female 30-39 5 P XRL, MNE, UM Nov 6, 2017 20 Clara Female 30-39 5 P / A MNE, UM (helper in OCLP) Nov 11, 2017 21 Heman Male 18-29 4 P UM Nov 14, 2017 22 Osman Male 30-39 7 NP (Brief participation in the UM) Nov 17, 2017 23 Susan Female 30-39 2 NP / Nov 21, 2017 24 Karina Female 50-59 7 NP / Nov 23, 2017 25 Sammy Male 30-39 6 NP / Nov 24, 2017 26 Erica Female 40-49 2 NP / Nov 27, 2017 249

27 Samson Male 30-39 4 NP / Nov 28, 2017 28 Koren Female 18-29 7 P UM Nov 28, 2017 29 Cherry Female 30-39 4 NP / Dec 31, 2017 30 Rocky Male 30-39 1 P XRL, MNE, Jan 9, 2018 31 Cammy Female 18-29 3 NP (Brief participation in the UM) Jan 31, 2018 32 Cheryl Female 40-49 2 NP / Feb 6, 2018 33 Ger Choi Tsz-kwan Female 30-39 4 A# SP/QP, XRL, MNE, UM Apr 12, 2018 34 Benny Tai Yiu-ting Male 50-59 Missing A# UM Apr 26, 2018 35 Tommy Cheung Missing MNE, UM May 7, 2018 Male 18-29 A# Sau-yin 36 Ip Iam-chong Male 40-49 Missing A# SP/QP, XRL, MNE, UM May 8, 2018 37 Chan Kin-man Male 50-59 Missing A# UM May 9, 2018 38 Fung Male 18-29 1 P / A MNE, UM May 10, 2018

P = Social movement participant NP = Non-participant of social movement A = Activist (those who involved as movement volunteers are marked as P/A) # = Those who had taken a leading role SP/QP = Participated in the campaign protecting the two piers XRL = Participated in the Anti-XRL campaign MNE = Participated in the Anti-MNE campaign UM = Participated in the Umbrella Movement OCLP = Acted as a helper in organizing Occupy Central with Love and Peace Household income groups (in HKD per month): 1 = below $10,000; 2 = $10,000 - $19,999; 3 = $20,000 - $29,999; 4 = $30,000 - $39,999; 5 = $40,000 - $49,999; 6 = $50,000 - $59,999; 7 = more than $60,000

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