Stephen S. Roach recently reignited debate over Hong Kong’s future with an article titled “Yes, the Hong Kong of Old Is Over.”
His central argument was not that Hong Kong’s economy had collapsed. On the contrary, he acknowledged the city’s resilience and even its revival as the world’s leading market for initial public offerings.
His point was more fundamental: the Hong Kong that once distinguished itself from every other Chinese city has undergone a profound transformation. It remains prosperous, but it is no longer the same city.
The Hong Kong government’s response was swift. Acting Financial Secretary Michael Wong Wai-lun rejected Roach’s conclusions, pointing to strong GDP growth, booming exports, a thriving IPO market, and Hong Kong’s enduring strengths as an international financial center.
He also suggested that some criticism stemmed less from objective analysis than from prejudice against China.
Yet the exchange revealed something more interesting than the debate itself.
Roach and Wong were not answering the same question.
Roach argued that Hong Kong’s institutions, identity, and governing philosophy had fundamentally changed. Wong responded by listing economic indicators.
Those figures may well be accurate, but they do not address Roach’s central thesis. A city can enjoy respectable economic growth while simultaneously becoming a very different place politically, institutionally, and culturally.
Roach identified three major transformations. First, Hong Kong’s renewed IPO success has been driven overwhelmingly by Chinese companies, making the city less an independent global financial center than China’s preferred international fundraising platform.
Second, the legal and political landscape has been fundamentally reshaped by the National Security Law and Article 23, accompanied by the departure of foreign judges, the disappearance of an independent press, and the imprisonment of political activists.
Third, demographic changes have gradually altered the city’s character as workers from China replace many departing expatriates and Hong Kong residents, while Mandarin increasingly rivals Cantonese in daily life.
Roach’s observations capture much of Hong Kong’s transformation, but they do not tell the whole story.
Perhaps the most overlooked change has been the erosion of meritocracy.
For generations, Hong Kong’s civil service enjoyed an international reputation for professionalism. As a politically neutral institution, it largely rewarded competence, performance, and integrity.
The civil service became one of the pillars upon which Hong Kong built its reputation for efficient government and clean administration.
Today, political allegiance has overshadowed professional excellence. The governing principle of “patriots administering Hong Kong” has gradually extended beyond elected office into the wider public sector.
Loyalty to Beijing has become not merely desirable but essential. This shift reaches far beyond the civil service.
The legislature has become homogeneous. The judiciary faces growing expectations of political alignment. Across public institutions, political reliability increasingly appears to outweigh independent judgment.
Closely related is the weaponization of government administration.
In the Hong Kong of old, government departments were expected to administer laws and regulations impartially. Today, administrative powers are increasingly perceived as instruments of political enforcement.
Artists considered politically undesirable are denied venues, public or private. Booksellers have been arrested for selling politically sensitive titles, yet authorities refuse to publish a list of prohibited books.
Restaurants and small businesses deemed sympathetic to the 2019 protests face repeated inspections or licensing difficulties. Independent journalists have received sudden tax demands for income they never earned.
Government procurement decisions increasingly favor politically connected or Chinese enterprises.
Whether each individual case can be explained on its own is almost beside the point. Collectively, they create the perception that administrative neutrality has yielded to political calculation.
Another revealing development is the gradual securitization of civilian government.
Former senior police officers increasingly occupy leadership positions far removed from law enforcement, heading agencies responsible for public information, consumer protection, arts administration, and other civilian institutions.
No single appointment proves everything. Together, however, they reflect a broader change in governing philosophy.
Security considerations increasingly shape institutions that once emphasized professional expertise and public service.
Perhaps the most disturbing transformation has been the collapse of political accountability.
Hong Kong governments were never immune from mistakes or controversy. Yet there once existed a deeply rooted administrative culture that recognized public accountability.
Major failures were followed by statutory inquiry, public explanations, apologies, or resignations.
That culture appears to have vanished.
The Wang Fuk Court fire, Hong Kong’s deadliest fire disaster in decades, killed 168 people despite evidence pointing to failures across multiple government departments. It exposed more than administrative shortcomings.
It exposed a system in which political accountability itself seemed to have disappeared.
No senior official accepted responsibility. The independent inquiry was non-statutory. Individuals who spoke out for the victims were warned, silenced, or arrested.
The preservation of political unity appeared to take precedence over accountability to the public.
Taken together, these developments suggest that Hong Kong’s transformation extends well beyond economics or constitutional reform. It reaches into the philosophy of government itself.
Yet the most curious aspect of the debate is not the transformation. It is the refusal to acknowledge it.
Hong Kong officials enthusiastically celebrate deeper integration with China. They promote the Greater Bay Area. They praise “patriots administering Hong Kong.”
They describe closer alignment with national development as the city’s greatest opportunity. If these changes are genuinely beneficial, why deny that Hong Kong has fundamentally changed?
If officials believe that the old Hong Kong permitted excessive political confrontation, they should say so. If they believe today’s Hong Kong is safer because speech and political activity face tighter restrictions, they should defend that proposition openly.
If integration with China has produced a stronger, more stable, and more prosperous city, then let that be the argument.
Instead, the government attempts to hold two incompatible positions simultaneously. It celebrates transformation while denying transformation.
It praises a new political order while insisting that nothing essential has changed.
Even Roach’s observation that “Xianggang,” the Mandarin pronunciation, better reflects the city’s current identity than “Hong Kong,” the Cantonese-derived pronunciation, should not be controversial under the government’s own narrative.
If deeper integration represents progress, “Xianggang” should be embraced as a symbol of success.
Perhaps the strongest evidence that the Hong Kong of old is over may not be found in Roach’s observations. It may lie in the government’s own response.
The Hong Kong I grew up with rarely dismissed criticism by questioning the motives of its critics. It answered criticism with facts where facts existed, acknowledged shortcomings where shortcomings were evident, and sought improvement where improvement was needed.
That confidence was itself one of Hong Kong’s defining strengths.
Today, criticism is increasingly answered by questioning the intentions of those who raise it. That rhetorical shift reflects something deeper than changing politics.
It reflects an uncompromising dogma: that authority is structurally incapable of error, making every critique an act of bad faith.
If the new Hong Kong is truly better than the old one, its leaders should have the confidence to admit that it is no longer the same city.
After all, one cannot celebrate transformation while insisting that nothing has changed.
John Cheng is a retired businessman from Hong Kong who lives in Taiwan and is the author of “Taiwan Is Taiwan.”