Phone cams and hate speech in Hong Kong

camposterize

In Hong Kong, antagonisms toward mainland Chinese are at a fever pitch. From mass to digital media, political debate to everyday talk, ordinary people from mainland China are targets of intense yet also unthinking ridicule and criticism. The South China Morning Post, an otherwise respectable daily, even boasts of a genre of “rude mainland Chinese” stories that its editors gleefully observe “go straight into the site’s top 10 most read articles”.

While in social media, a viral video parody of Psy’s “Gangman Style” entitled “Nasty China Style” displays the most extreme stereotypes of mainland Chinese people as rude savages lacking in manners and civility. Its lyrics include: ”I’ve just pooped…Picking up my poop is you Hong Kongers’ responsibility”. In mainstream and social media then, we see not only a rehash of old stereotypes between “uncivilised” mainland Chinese versus sophisticated Hong Kong cosmopolitans, but also an increase of recent anxieties about the supposed effects of mainland migration on rising costs of housing and competition for jobs.

While city/province stereotypes have long been present in public discourse, it wasn’t too long ago that Hong Kong people expressed great optimism and positivity about closer interactions with mainland Chinese people. The 1997 British handover of Hong Kong to China took place in the context of the Asian financial crisis, and Chinese tourism and trade were then viewed as new economic opportunities. As recent as 2006, surveys indicated that people with direct interactions with mainland Chinese have “higher pride and affection” for mainland China. However, shifting practices in the “One Country, Two Systems” political framework as well as post-recession economic challenges are generative resources to the fashioning of a hostile public environment for mainland Chinese in Hong Kong.

In my own research as media sociologist, I have found that social media make up a crucial part of this hostile public environment in their everyday use as both 1) technologies of surveillance and as an 2) archive of hate speech. As technologies of surveillance, mobile phones become ideal tools for the recent popular practice of phone-cam shaming. This involves ordinary people taking surreptitious, or “ambush”, photographs of other people they view as loud, rude, unfashionable and all forms of shameful going about their business in malls or public transport. These images are then uploaded and shared in social media and are taken-for-granted as undeniable evidence of mainland Chinese misbehaviour. Among the most shared photos is this image of a (supposedly mainland Chinese) child urinating in the middle of a shopping area.

wee

Unfortunately, there is very little public reflection on the ethics of phone-cam shaming, as debate has centred only around people’s rights to use their phone-cams. In December 2012, when security personnel of Dolce & Gabbana in the Tsim Sha Tsui shopping district forbade locals from taking pictures outside of their stores – presumably to protect their mainland Chinese customers from being photographed with their designer spends and shamed by locals for their “new rich” excesses – Hong Kongers staged demonstrations to reclaim their rights as citizens.

Absent in the discussion is talk about their own responsibilities toward migrants or tourists, the fairness of ambush photography, and the validity of images as evidence of mainland Chinese misbehaviour: As Hong Kongers and mainland Chinese share similar physical markers of Chinese ethnicity, how can anyone be certain that the objects of photographs are always of mainland people?

As an archive of hate speech, social media platforms such as Facebook, YouTube, and other Cantonese-language message boards are used as spaces of image collection, display and collective public discussion that, by their very structure, exclude possibilities of debate and dissent from mainland Chinese users. YouTube hosts a widely popular user-submitted video called “Locust World” that re-splices the aforementioned photographs into a music video that laments the mainland migration as a “locust invasion” of their imagined once-pure and prosperous city. The video contains emotionally charged language such as “Locusts come out of nowhere / overwhelm everywhere / Shouting, screaming, yelling / Like no one could hear”. It is also misleading in how it repeats and magnifies evidence to make generalisations about mainland Chinese behaviour, such as in reusing one photograph of a defecating child on a train several times within a four-minute montage to illustrate an entire group’s uncivilised behaviour.

The video has over one million views, thousands of comments and a depressingly large number of “likes” over “dislikes”. The skewed and self-affirming nature of users’ comments is largely a function of the strategic choice of YouTube as the space to carry out the discussion in spite of being (or precisely because it is) a censored website in mainland China. Structurally, these social media platforms exclude the possibility of direct engagement, as mainland Chinese people are spoken about but not spoken with through audio-visual hate speech.

By lacking any sort of access to these videos and forums, mainland Chinese visitors are unable to present counter-evidence, challenge stereotypes, or even learn about the criticism in the first place, as for the most part they arrive in Hong Kong with great confusion as to locals’ chilly reception.

Discrimination is, of course, far-reaching and extends beyond social media and shopping malls: in the university where I taught for two years in Hong Kong, it was unfortunate to see clear divisions among locals and mainland students both inside the classroom and in their friendship groups.

While it is crucial to call out individuals on their everyday bigotry and morally irresponsible (though perfectly legal) use of personal technologies, Hong Kong policymakers and media pundits are faced here with a great dilemma to facilitate cultural inclusion either through policy measures of redefining hate speech claims, creating more positive images of mainland Chinese people in local news or even soap opera and opening up spaces for public dialogue that not only allow for dissent but even just basic participation. Hong Kong’s ambitious claim to be “Asia’s World City” must be backed up not only by snazzy branding, but by a more comprehensive agenda of social and cultural inclusion through policy and media representation.

*Dr Jonathan Corpus Ong [2007] was a Gates Scholar at Corpus Christi College, University of Cambridge, where he received a PhD in Sociology. He is currently Lecturer in Media & Communications at the University of Leicester. His research is on media ethics and hate speech. He has a forthcoming book entitled The Poverty of Television (Anthem Press: London & New York). Picture credit: posterize and http://www.freedigitalphotos.net.

 

 
Advertisements

Memory, monuments and faith

kevin

When I mention that I study memory in theology, the most common response is for my interlocutors to ask about the things they routinely forget – from quotidian activities to birthdays. And at this point, I have to clarify a bit. The Abrahamic religions use frequently the verb “to remember” originating from the same Semitic root. This is a non-standard usage of the word; one recalls or commemorates the actions of sacred history not simply as events of the past, but in order to participate in the encounters with God that those events narrate. For instance, the recollection of the Passover for many religious practitioners is their very spiritual participation in the one Exodus to freedom. Similarly, Eucharistic rites are not historical re-enactments of the last supper of Jesus with his apostles, but, for many Christians, these rites are a way of participating in that very event. “To remember” in this sense, is to experience as present again, and in an ongoing manner, some aspect of God. Remembering a scriptural text, for instance, is less an exercise of citing chapter and verse than one of participation. The literary scholar Erich Auerbach, in Mimesis, makes this point famously by comparing Scripture to Homer: “Far from seeking, like Homer, merely to make us forget our own reality for a few hours, [Scripture] seeks to overcome our reality: we are to fit our own life into its world, feel ourselves to be elements in its structure of universal history.” This understanding of memory helps to open up religious practice, particularly to non-practitioners.

I encountered this most recently with a group of North American theologians in Israel and Palestine. In the course of one day, this group of academics was able to visit three seemingly ordinary sets of stones which comprise some of the most fraught real estate in all of the world: the Foundation Stone in the Dome of the Rock, the Western Wall of the Temple Mount, and Golgotha in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Each of these stones, in its own way important to one or more of the Abrahamic faiths, might simply be considered a monument or a marker. Yet, to encounter those who pray in each of those places is to realise that the stone is far less important than the reality in which the ones praying are participating. The monument itself is a contested marker of history – guidebooks spill extra ink deliberating whether or not a location might be the precise spot of a long-ago historical reality. But the monument is also a place where religious memory is lived. Prayer at the base of the Foundation Stone is appropriately directional, interestingly away from the rock itself and toward Mecca. At the Western Wall, men and women unroll and recite the words of Scripture, living themselves the reality of the desert, the liberation, the tribes, and the kingdoms. And, at Golgotha, the six earliest sectors of Christianity, each in its own way, relive the self-sacrifice of one man who promises them mercy and eternal life. Each prayer is an exercise of memory, not for the purpose of living in another time, but in order to relate to God in the present once again.

Memory, as it turns out, links together physical sites, religious texts, and the practices that form and shape both individuals and collectives in the present. These ongoing commemorations comprise the broadest and most enduring practices of believers. They provide a hermeneutic that resists reducing religion to violence, power, or conquest, and instead open up the most foundational aspect of the Abrahamic religions that undergirds not only conflict and violence, but forgiveness, community, and the disposition of hope. A phenomenology of the religious life accounts for how it is that one prays. In three major faith traditions of our world, that action of prayer involves a powerful movement to memory.

*Kevin Grove [2011] is doing a PhD in Divinity.