Toronto Star: Rights wronged

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To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story, which was shared by The Toronto Star, was published on June 11, 2022. 

Police officers across Canada are violating people’s Charter rights with alarming frequency, leading to guilty people walking free and the trampling of rights of the innocent. 

In courtrooms across the country, judges are denouncing police officers for serious violations of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms – the bedrock of Canadian democracy that sets the boundaries of the state’s powers.

The officers’ flouting of the law is so serious that judges warn it threatens public confidence in the justice system. They’ve been forced to toss out key gun and drug evidence. Sometimes they throw out prosecutions altogether.

Guilty people are walking free. The rights of innocent people are being trampled. And these scathing rulings are coming down at least twice a week.

In Brantford, a small army of officers and a K-9 unit illegally detained and searched a suspect for drugs. The reason the officers gave for the pursuit and takedown? The cyclist was riding on the sidewalk without a light. The judge called the ruse “serious police misconduct” and tossed the drug evidence.

Toronto officers stood in a hospital operating room, without a warrant, while a doctor removed heroin from the rectum of an unconscious stabbing victim so they could seize it. Again, the judge threw out the drug evidence.

In Calgary, police trailed a 24-year-old suspect to a convenience store in 2019. Latef Tag El Din, who had a criminal record, was violating a house arrest order and had a loaded handgun hidden in his vest. As he made a break for the exit, an officer unleashed a police dog and tackled him to the floor. For hours after his arrest, officers ignored and mocked his repeated requests for medical treatment and one sang a song ridiculing his pleas for help. As blood seeped through the bandages covering the bite wounds on Tag El Din’s arm, officers taunted him with “laughter, sarcasm, song and judgment,” the judge said.

This “shocking” display, which was caught on audio and video, led the judge to stay charges that even the accused himself acknowledges would have otherwise likely resulted in his conviction.

“If they (the officers) would have followed the rules, I would probably still be in jail right now,” Tag El Din told Torstar.

From Vancouver to Iqaluit to St. John’s, N.L., a Torstar investigation has identified cases of police brutality, callousness and ignorance among officers who don’t appear to understand suspects’ rights. In multiple cities, after serious breaches were repeated by officers in successive cases, judges are upbraiding entire police forces for “systemic” Charter violations within their ranks.

Yet, in many of these cases, what happens in the courtroom never reaches the police station.

Const. Salomon Gutierrez sat in the witness box in October 2020, as the defence lawyer tore apart the prosecution’s case.

Seventeen months before, Gutierrez had arrested the accused during a traffic stop. He found cocaine, methamphetamine and cash. But it was becoming clear the officer didn’t have grounds to search the vehicle, a critical test that police must meet under the law to justify invading the privacy of suspects.

Now, the court was about to hear, it was not the first time the officer had disregarded the law and gutted the prosecution’s case.

The defence lawyer read aloud from a ruling in another case, stemming from an arrest in 2016, in which the judge had found Gutierrez and other officers arbitrarily detained the accused and failed to immediately inform him of his right to counsel.

This was also news to Gutierrez. He told the court it was the first he had heard of the 2018 ruling. He said that when he testified in that case, no one ever told him which way it went after he left the witness stand. No one told him his conduct concerned the judge and led to key evidence being excluded.

“I’m never told anything after I’m done testifying,” Gutierrez testified.

“So that if a judge finds that there’s been a violation of Charter rights, you aren’t notified?” the defence lawyer asked.

“That’s correct.”

Torstar, with the assistance of Western University’s law school, has identified more than 600 court rulings in the past decade where judges found that officers committed serious Charter violations. These rulings came down at a rate of two per week from 2017 to present.

Yet in most provinces and territories, there are no formal systems in place to ensure that police forces – or the officers themselves – are notified of these rulings. Even in the most egregious cases, consequences for the officers involved appear to be vanishingly rare.

Across the country, police forces say they trust that Crown attorneys will tell them when judges have found their officers have committed serious Charter violations. And when they hear of such cases, they say they investigate, and, if warranted, discipline the officers or provide additional training. A few weeks after a judge denounced Brantford police for the unlawful arrest of a cyclist for riding on the sidewalk, the courts notified the chief, prompting the service to conduct a “thorough review of the incident,” a spokesperson said, adding that no further action was taken.

However, in many instances, these informal lines of communication between the courts and police forces have broken or are non-existent. In the last seven years, judges have criticized nine police forces across Canada for displaying a pattern of Charter violating conduct. These serious breaches, repeated by officers in successive cases, include: performing unwarranted strip searches (Toronto, RCMP); storming into houses without good enough reasons (Prince Albert, Sask.); and filming partially naked female prisoners while they used the toilet (Edmonton).

The Toronto Police Service said it was unaware of 94 cases where judges found officers committed serious Charter breaches until Torstar told the force about the rulings. That is more than two-thirds of the cases the reporters identified where judges found Toronto cops violated the Charter.

Toronto is one of the few police services that disclosed whether they knew about the judgments. Most others refused to say.

The lack of information flowing to police services raises the question: “How could any action be taken? How could there be any accountability?” said Sunil Gurmukh, a human rights lawyer and adjunct professor at Western University’s faculty of law, who shared his case law research with the Star for this investigation. “It’s disturbing and alarming.”

Many police forces also refused to say what action, if any, they took to address the Charter-violating conduct of the officers. In some jurisdictions, police said strict privacy laws keep all disciplinary information secret. One lawyer who represents officers facing discipline said cases involving Charter violations are often handled informally – an internal process reserved for disciplinary matters that are considered not serious. Informal discipline cases are not made public.

Citing provincial privacy legislation, Calgary police said it could not provide any information on individual cases, nor could say whether the officers the judge called out for their “cruel” treatment of Tag El Din – including Det. Jennifer Doolan, who oversaw the arrest and transportation and displayed “utter indifference to the safety and well-being of the accused” – faced consequences. Reached by phone at the force’s guns and gangs unit, Doolan declined to comment.

Ottawa police did not respond to questions about  Gutierrez’s repeated Charter violations or whether the force was aware of the outcome in the 2020 drug case. Gutierrez also did not respond. A few weeks after Gutierrez took the stand, the prosecutor told the judge he had reviewed the officer’s testimony and acknowledged Gutierrez’s search of the vehicle, where the drugs were found, was illegal. He asked the court to toss the case.

The justice system’s failure to monitor and understand the scope of officers’ Charter violations alarms legal scholars, lawyers and judges. Torstar’s findings, they say, demonstrate the need for a formal notification system to alert police forces when their officers are found to have violated Charter rights – a critical first step in making them accountable to the public they serve.

Recently retired Ontario Court judge Melvyn Green said this information must reach police forces because officers are “the first line of constitutional protection in the area of legal rights.”

Of the more than 40 police forces whose officers’ Charter-violating conduct Torstar reviewed, 11 told Torstar they would support the creation of such a system. The forces in Toronto, Peel and Victoria were among them.

Waterloo chief Bryan Larkin, who is also president of the Canadian Association of Chiefs of Police, said the lack of information flowing from the courts to police forces about Charter violations is “a national issue.”

“I fundamentally support a system where police leaders are informed,” Larkin said. “We want to instill trust and confidence. We also want to put forth very strong criminal cases … We don’t want evidence excluded. We don’t want charges acquitted, because we have a responsibility to the victim. We have a responsibility to the community.”

Enshrined in 1982 under Pierre Trudeau’s government, the Charter protects the basic rights and freedoms considered essential to preserving our democracy. The Charter makes it unlawful for police to use brutality against us, randomly search our homes and detain us for no good reason.

Former prime minister Jean Chrétien, who helped draft the Charter as justice minister, has called it “the most profoundly democratic declaration in our history.”

Crucially, the Charter gave the courts the power to toss evidence or stay charges in cases where police seriously violate a suspect’s constitutional rights – a remedy intended to guard against undue state interference.

Charter breaches have a corrosive effect, particularly in Black and Indigenous communities where systemic racism has led to overrepresentation in the criminal justice system.

Gurmukh, who is leading research at Western University on hidden racial profiling in policing, said rights violations “negatively impact the physical and mental health of the victims” and “undermine public trust in policing – and ultimately public safety.”

“Frayed community relationships reduce the likelihood of civilians reporting crime, co-operating with police investigations and providing evidence in court,” he said.

Ontario Court Justice Marion Cohen, appointed to the bench in 1993, has spent most of her career as a judge in youth court in Toronto. She said police violations of young people’s rights are particularly serious because of their “vulnerability and the difficulties they would have in pursuing any sort of complaints process.”

“These are things that can affect their whole lives,” she said.

The cases Torstar identified represent only the tip of the iceberg of the serious Charter breaches that police commit, experts say.

Some possible serious Charter violations are never tested in court. This can be because the police don’t end up arresting the suspect or the accused accepts a plea deal or the Crown recognizes there was a significant violation and abandons the prosecution. These cases do not lead to a judge’s decision, so Torstar is unable to track them.

There are many more cases where the rulings are not reported.

Torstar only learned about the case of Emmanuel Awai through his lawyer, who provided a transcript of the judge’s oral ruling.

Awai, an unarmed Black man, was charged with impaired driving, failing to provide a breath sample, resisting police and failing to stop for police in August 2014. A civilian witness had seen Awai’s car parked a few feet away from train tracks, called police and said he was worried that Awai, who appeared to be asleep at the wheel, was impaired. When the officers first approached the car, Awai drove away, before stopping again.

At his 2016 trial, the court saw the police dash cam video. Officers swarm Awai’s car, smash his windows, and drag him out the passenger’s side, while hitting and kicking him. The judge said the officers “had valid concerns” and “were right to be cautious” of Awai because of his past offences and because he initially drove away. But the judge found the officers used excessive force against Awai, and that some tried to “embellish” his conduct in their testimony, which was inconsistent with the video, and that they didn’t get him adequate medical attention.

Awai was acquitted of all but one charge – refusing to submit a breath sample – which the judge stayed.

“The fact that there were grounds to arrest Mr. Awai does not absolve the police,” the judge concluded. “Their power, even at that point, is not unfettered.”

London police refused to say whether they knew about the rulings Torstar identified or say how, if at all, they addressed the conduct of the officers involved. Const. Angus Campbell, who was first on the scene and was among the officers that struck Awai, declined to comment. The other officers who were found to have violated Awai’s rights – Christopher Thomas, Marty Lessick, Matthew Haylor, Mark Mayea and Blair Corsaut – did not respond to questions from Torstar. In a statement of defence they filed in a civil case related to this incident, the officers said they “had reasonable grounds” to believe public safety was at risk, and acted reasonably based on what they knew at the time, including that Awai had “a previous history of violence and weapons offences.”

The Supreme Court of Canada has acknowledged that policing is dangerous, dynamic work. In a 2010 case involving the search of a suspected drug house, the judges stressed that in weighing the significance of Charter breaches, the court must strike a balance between protecting suspects’ rights and keeping the public safe. The role of the court is “not to become a Monday morning quarterback,” the ruling said.

However, as former judge Green observed, at least the “quarterback knows he lost the game.”

Without a system to alert police forces about their Charter-violating behaviour, “The officer may not have any idea, or may not know that it was because of him or her that the game was lost,” Green told Torstar in an interview.

While disciplining an officer is warranted in some cases, in many others forces should at least use these rulings “as a learning opportunity” for the officers, he said, so that mistakes aren’t repeated.

The 600 serious Charter breach violations Torstar analyzed are the most visible – almost all of them led to court rulings that were published online. The violations resulted in tossing evidence, a stay, acquittal or reduction in sentence. In some cases, officers’ failure to follow procedure compromised prosecutions. In others, the conduct was found to be in bad faith.

In Toronto, where the police service said it was unaware of 94 serious Charter breach cases Torstar brought to the force’s attention, Chief James Ramer said Torstar’s findings are “causing us to look introspectively, and go, ‘Are we missing something here?’”

In an interview, Ramer said he believes police are notified in the most egregious Charter breach cases through the processes currently in place. But he acknowledged that more can be done to keep these rulings from slipping through the cracks.

“If there’s a process that can be put in place that helps identify potential misconduct, so we’re all aware of it … I’m certainly open to that,” he said. “That’s the only way that we’re going to correct it, and it’s so essential to public trust and accountability.”

In Ontario, prosecutors must notify the Crown attorney’s office if they believe an officer has lied under oath or “engaged in criminal misconduct,” such as excessive use of force, a spokesperson for the ministry said. However, none of the provincial or  territorial justice ministries has a formal system in place to notify police services when officers have violated the Charter.

The informal approaches vary. In Saskatchewan, it’s “standard practice” for trial prosecutors to communicate judicial findings to police, a ministry spokesperson said. In Newfoundland and Labrador, courts are not expected to report such serious findings to police.

In Edmonton, no one seems eager to track the problem.

In 2020, a judge tossed key evidence against a drunk driver after finding Edmonton police officers unlawfully searched the suspect’s home and then failed to properly inform him of his right to a lawyer.

A few weeks after the ruling, defence lawyer Tom Engel, who was not involved in the case, sent the judgment to the police chief. An Edmonton police official told Engel the prosecutor hadn’t reached out to inform the chief of the decision.

Engel followed up with the police official a year later. Engel asked whether a formal policy requiring prosecutors to notify the police in such cases would be created.

“There is no policy,” the police official answered. “Nor do I believe one will be generated.”

A spokesperson for the Edmonton Police Service did not directly address questions about Engel’s exchange with the force’s lawyer, and refused to comment on 31 serious Charter breach cases involving its officers.

The spokesperson said the force has created “a feedback process” with prosecutors to notify the force of Charter violations. Edmonton is among a handful of police services that told Torstar they are informed when judges find their officers breached Charter rights through systems they have developed with the courts.

Engel said too many cases like the 2020 drunk driving ruling are going undetected.

“I shouldn’t be the gatekeeper.”

In Ottawa, defence lawyer Lawrence Greenspon also feels like a lone sentry, watching as Charter violations mount and go unaddressed.

When his clients sue police and its oversight board, his firm adds a clause to their statements of claim, alleging negligence for failing to implement policies to prevent further Charter violations and for failing to identify and fix “systemic” problems within the police service.

Torstar identified several rulings, stretching back to 2015, where judges have described the repeated failure of Ottawa police to properly inform suspects of their right to a lawyer as “systemic.” Most recently, in an impaired driving case in Ottawa in 2020, a judge threw out the breathalyzer evidence after the defence lawyer presented 15 previous decisions in which judges found that Ottawa police officers violated this Charter right.

Greenspon represented the driver in the 2020 drug trial in Ottawa where  Gutierrez told the court that he wasn’t notified about a prior Charter violation he’d committed. When Greenspon questioned Gutierrez, he was not surprised the officer was unaware of the outcome in the earlier Charter case.

“That is a serious gap in our justice system, and (it) shows both the judiciary and the Charter disrespect,” Greenspon said.

A spokesperson for the Ottawa Police Service said the local prosecutor’s office is supposed to alert them when the courts find officers’ conduct was egregious and may result in Charter violations. The spokesperson also said that the force monitors databases that publish court cases online.

“When the Service becomes aware of these matters, we review the case, determine the cause of the breach and take rectifying measures,” the spokesperson said, adding  they could not provide this information for any of the 22 cases Torstar identified.

In the 600 Charter cases Torstar reviewed, reporters found evidence that only a handful of officers faced serious professional consequences. They include four Peel officers – Const. Richard Rerrie, Const. Damian Savino, Const. Mihai Muresan and Sgt. Emanuel Pinheiro – who pleaded guilty to attempting to obstruct justice and resigned in 2019 for conduct a judge described as “shocking.” The officers were caught on tape stealing a statue of “Scarface” character Tony Montana from a storage locker belonging to an alleged drug dealer, and then lied about it on the stand.

Last year, a Toronto police disciplinary tribunal ordered that Const. Matthew Brewer resign or be fired. Brewer was found to have used “excessive force” against a suspect in a 2016 arrest. It was one of several incidents of “egregious” conduct that led to the rare dismissal, including a 2019 impaired driving conviction.

Brewer is suspended with pay while he appeals his firing. His lawyer David Butt said Brewer could not comment while the matter is before the Ontario Civilian Police Commission, where he argued that Brewer was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and alcohol abuse disorder at the time of the misconduct and has since been successfully rehabilitated.

Toronto police said officers had been informally disciplined in 15 unidentified cases. Thunder Bay also confirmed informal discipline in one case.

Those who seek to hold the police accountable for trampling their Charter rights can face a long and difficult road.

Ashton Boodoo’s chilling screams can be heard in a cellphone video of his 2015 arrest.

Montreal police said that concerns about Boodoo’s driving prompted them to tail him to the driveway of his home – a motive the judge would dismiss, concluding instead the officers “must have been after something else, or were simply fishing.” In the poorly lit driveway outside of Boodoo’s building, officers shattered his car window, repeatedly pepper-sprayed him in the face and struck his leg with a metal baton, the judge found.

“I was going to die – that was my feeling,” Boodoo said in an interview. 

“I’m embarrassed every time that video plays, because that was my scream for dear life.”

The officers charged him with impaired driving and obstructing a peace officer, among other alleged offences.

In 2018, a judge found the officers used excessive force, unlawfully detained Boodoo for nearly six hours and never gave him a chance to call a lawyer.

Instead of admitting their mistakes, the officers “attempted to mislead the court by giving testimony that, in the end, was rejected,” the judge wrote. A stay of proceedings, he concluded, “is the only remedy that sends a clear message that the kind of brutality used by police against Mr. Boodoo is unacceptable and will not be condoned by our courts.”

Boodoo is suing the Montreal police and two officers who violently arrested him – Steve Crevier and Olivier Lapointe – as well as a third officer who was supervising the jail where Boodoo was kept in an isolation cell. The police service said it and its officers declined to comment on the case citing ongoing litigation.

In a statement of defence filed in that litigation, a lawyer for the officers said Boodoo’s “suspicious if not dangerous” driving gave them reasonable grounds to arrest him. They allege Boodoo was “the architect of his own misfortune” and they struck him in the thigh with their hand and pepper sprayed him because he “resisted so much.”

The officers denied Boodoo’s allegations that he was racially profiled.

Montreal police would not say what it did to address the Charter-violating behaviour the judge documented in his scathing decision, or how it dealt with the Charter-violating conduct of officers in 10 other cases.

Six years after Boodoo’s arrest, Quebec’s independent police oversight commission laid professional misconduct charges against officers Crevier and Lapointe, alleging they abused their authority and flouted the law by repeatedly violating Boodoo’s rights.

A hearing is scheduled for January 2023.

 

Toronto Star: Ontario is overhauling its blue box program — and critics say it will be a disaster

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To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story, which was shared by the Toronto Star, was published on March 19, 2022. 

The new rules are so baffling, even key stakeholders say they don’t understand how it will work.

Though it dropped with little notice in the wider world, plunked down with scant fanfare in a late COVID spring, it was, nonetheless, a massive moment for many Ontario companies — not to mention Ontario cities, Ontario towns and anyone who owns an Ontario home, or just lives in one.

Ontario Regulation 391/21: Blue Box was published online on June 3, 2021. It laid out the terms by which Ontario’s entire curbside recycling regime would be overhauled over the next two years.

Under the current system, more than 240 Ontario municipalities run their own separate blue box programs, with the costs split between cities and the companies that produce and sell household plastics, metals, glass and printed paper. Under the new system, the companies themselves, including giants like McDonald’s, Unilever and Loblaws, will be responsible not just for the entire cost of the program, but for running it, too.

The new blue box regulation appeared following years of fevered lobbying by some of Ontario’s largest and most influential corporate interests. It set the stage for a change environmentalists hoped would drive a new era of better, more productive recycling in the province, and kicked off a fierce and barely concealed battle for hundreds of millions of dollars in annual collection and processing contracts.

It was, in other words, a big deal: for almost any company that sold or manufactured household products in Ontario; any company involved in the $2.8-billion Ontario waste management industry; and anyone interested in the environment or the economy of Ontario.

For Doug Ford’s government, the regulation was a defining piece of industrial and ecological policy, one that would touch the lives of almost every person in the province and set the stage for either a generation of household recycling gains in Ontario or several decades of costly and damaging stasis.

The stakes, then, could not have been higher, which is in part why so many players in the recycling world were completely baffled by what the government put out.

“I’ve been around this issue for a number of years,” said Jo-Anne St. Godard, executive director of the Circular Innovation Council (previously known at the Recycling Council of Ontario). “A lot of us have, and I remember when it first came out … we were calling each other going, ‘I don’t even know how to read this.’ ”

The idea behind Ontario’s big recycling change isn’t new or novel. Other jurisdictions, especially in Europe but more recently in North America too, have been off-loading recycling costs and responsibilities to paper and packaging producers for years.

But what the Ontario government came up with wasn’t built off any of those existing models, according to experts in environmental policy. Instead, critics say, it was a made-in-Ontario mishmash, a unique regime that even some with decades of experience in waste management and environmental consulting have trouble understanding.

“Don’t beat yourself up if you find it confusing. It’s confusing to people who’ve been in the industry for 30 years,” said Denis Goulet, president of Miller Waste Systems, a garbage and recycling company headquartered in Markham.

That confusion could have serious consequences. More than eight months after the regulation was published, industry players are still struggling to build a workable system off the government model. With the transition to the new regime set to begin in less than 16 months, and a provincial election campaign just weeks away, many are worried the various players won’t have enough time to get a functioning system off the ground before the summer of 2023, when the new regime is set to kick in in Toronto before rolling out across the province over the following two and a half years.

That kind of delay could be costly. It would force some municipalities to sign expensive contract extensions with existing suppliers (Toronto has already made provisions to extend its current contracts if necessary) or work out new deals in a tight market already constrained by supply chain backlogs. (The lead time to buy a new garbage and recycling truck, for example, is now somewhere between 18 months and two years, according to industry sources.)

But timetables and deadlines are only part of the story. The larger issue, according to many in the recycling sector, is that they don’t believe the Ford government’s blue box regulation as currently designed will be good for either companies in packaged good industries or for the environment.

The main goal of having a recycling system paid for and run by the companies that produce paper and packaging is simple: to get a better recycling system, one where less packaging ends up in landfills and more raw materials are repurposed and put back into the economy. But that only works, according to both environmentalists and industry experts, if the government lets the market do its job, by setting high standards and then getting out of the way.

Critics charge that the Ford government’s plan does neither. “The government did exactly what we were all fearful of them doing, which has been to be too prescriptive in the process,” said St. Godard.

The regulation sets recycling benchmarks that environmentalists say are far too lax to spur real change and lays out a process that some in the recycling sector believe is much too cumbersome to allow for market innovation to thrive.

“They’ve written a regulation, ostensibly to promote competition, that’s turned into the most anti-competitive recycling regulation I’ve ever seen,” said Usman Valiante, a private sector consultant with almost 30 years of experience in the recycling industry.

As a result, many in the recycling world now fear that Ontario will end up with a blue box system that splits the baby and throws out both halves, one that is neither progressive on environmental issues nor market driven on execution, a result that leaves some wondering why the industry was put through this long and expensive process in the first place.

“I’ve been involved in the waste system for more than 30 years and I’ve never seen anything as f-ed up as this,” said one senior industry official who was granted anonymity to speak frankly about an ongoing, commercially sensitive process. “I think the blue box is going to be a disaster at this point.”

The Star sent a detailed list of questions to Ontario Environment Minister David Piccini about the new blue box regulation, the lobbying that preceded it and the pushback from both industry and environmental groups about the new system. He answered none of them. Instead, a spokesperson for the Ministry of the Environment, Conservation and Parks, sent a long statement that read in part:

“We are working to deliver a blue box system that will make recycling easier by standardizing what goes in the blue box and expanding services to more communities across the province … We have made sure we have a process that ensures broad collaboration and brings all parties together in pursuit of the best possible recycling system, and one that will be a North American leader.”

The process that led to Ontario’s current blue box quagmire began decades ago, when the province launched the world’s first curbside recycling program, in Kitchener. The Kitchener trial proved a success and soon blue box programs were spreading across Ontario and the rest of the world.

The bones of the current system were laid down in 2002, when Ontario passed the Waste Diversion Act. Under the rules established that year, companies that produced packaging or printed paper for consumer use had to register with a provincial agency and pay into a fund that subsidized curbside recycling.

For the past 20 years, the foundation of that system has operated more or less unchanged. Today, Ontario municipalities are responsible for operating or contracting out curbside recycling services while the costs of those services are, in theory, split evenly between municipalities and producers. (In practice, the two sides have squabbled endlessly over how to calculate those costs.)

The 50/50 split represented Ontario’s first baby steps toward what’s known as Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR), a term coined by Swedish academic Thomas Lindhqvist in 1990. The philosophy behind EPR was that if you made packaging a cost for businesses, not just on the production side but on the disposal and recycling end, too, they would, over time, be incentivized to use less and more ecologically friendly packaging.

“If waste becomes an external cost of doing business, then you would treat that cost just like you would any other,” St. Godard said. “And through the competitive tensions of the marketplace, you would be incented to design better, and you may even — (in a) utopia — design it so that you get that product or package back and integrate it into your own production cycles.”

The current transition takes that idea and pushes it into hyperdrive. In 2016, the then Liberal government introduced the Waste-Free Ontario Act, which aimed to move the province to a full EPR system. The legislation established the principle, already standard in Europe, that producers should be fully responsible, not just for the costs of the curbside recycling system, but also for the operation of the system itself, including contracting, collection and processing.

What the Liberals did not do, however, was lay out exactly how that system was supposed to work in Ontario. Instead, in 2018, they lost to Doug Ford and the Progressive Conservatives and left the details up to the new government.

How exactly the Ford government came up with its own regulation is still something of a mystery, even to some who have been intimately involved in the blue box process. Most agree, however, that it involved some mix of ideology, influence and ignorance about how recycling policy works in the real world.

Beginning in 2018, producer groups and waste management companies started signing up a who’s who of well-connected lobbyists to push their competing versions of an ideal blue box regime. (“Ontario has very strict lobbying rules, which we take very seriously, and any insinuation otherwise is completely and totally inaccurate,” the ministry said in its statement.)

In return for paying for the system, the producer groups, which include many of the largest consumer-facing companies in the province, had a simple ask: they wanted full control over how it worked.

Environmental groups, meanwhile, wanted the province to set high benchmarks for recycled materials and strict reporting and auditing requirements for producers.

(Those pleas, according to environmentalists and some industry sources, were largely ignored. “This government has completely marginalized the environmental groups,” said another industry source who is still actively involved in the negotiations.)

Waste management companies, meanwhile, wanted a seat at the table and a regime that would allow them to protect their investments and existing infrastructure.

All of that sounds very complicated. And it is. But it’s not unprecedented. Many other jurisdictions have managed the transition to full producer responsibility. There was no need for Ontario to reinvent the wheel. And yet, that’s what the province did.

The new Ontario system laid out in the regulation published last June is unlike any other in the world, according to Duncan Bury, an Ontario consultant who has spent more than 25 years working on EPR. “This is a unique Ontario (he paused here to laugh) special case,” he said. “What they’ve developed is way more complicated than it needs to be, and I think there’s real worries about how this will actually roll out.”

The new regulation created a complex system whereby producers would sign up with competing Producer Responsibility Organizations (PROs), which would in turn create rules to divide recycling pickups among themselves geographically across the province and then contract out those pickups to waste management companies, all under a heavily proscriptive regime that ran some 36 printed pages and almost 17,000 words.

The Star spoke to almost a dozen executives and consultants who have worked on every side of this file. Almost to a person they expressed some confusion about the new rules. “This is the most bizarre approach to packaging regulation and EPR we’ve seen,” said St. Godard.

“It’s just so obtuse, you cannot understand what the hell they’re talking about,” added Bury.

It’s also, according to some at least, not particularly rigorous. “Clearly, the targets are not as robust as they should be on plastics, which is a critical issue to everybody,” Bury said. Nor are the reporting requirements strict enough, St. Godard believes.

“The focus has always been around what you do with the waste. There has been very little discussion around what really are the impacts to the environment and health when it comes to having these regulations in place,” said Fe de Leon, a researcher with the Canadian Environmental Law Association. “That’s, to me, almost like a second-tier discussion.”

Why did the regulation turn out this way? Some blame politics. Multiple sources familiar with the negotiations that led to the published version say they believe that direction on this issue was set at the top level, in the minister’s office, where staff were focused almost exclusively on having a system that had competition between PROs.

One private sector consultant said the government came in with an ideology, but without a real understanding of the complex regulatory and commercial environment at play.

It was that ideology, some believe, rather than a specific outcome, that drove the policy-making process. “The government at the time decided to go out with multiple PROs because they think it created competition,” said Patrick Dovigi, founder and CEO of Green For Life Environmental, Ontario’s largest waste management company. “That was in their mindset. I personally think the mistake that they made is there is no competition at the PRO level. All the multiple PROs dynamic does is create inefficiencies where all the costs really are.”

That government said that the new system has high targets backed by robust data reporting and auditing requirements and that it will encourage innovation and competition. “Ontario will soon be home to a leading blue box service that will better serve the taxpayer, have the highest waste diversion targets in North America, and promote innovations in recycling technologies and use of recycled materials,” the ministry said in its statement.

How soon, though, remains an open question. The regulation established a strict timetable for the creation of the PROs, the signing up of producers and the submission of the final rules. But the process since last June has been anything but smooth.

In July, GFL acquired the Canadian Stewardship Services Alliance (CSSA), a kind of non-profit clearing house on recycling policy founded by and funded by producers. In the same news release announcing the acquisition, Dovigi revealed that GFL was starting its own PRO, the Resource Recovery Alliance (RRA).

That decision sparked a major dispute between Dovigi and the large producers, many of whom believed that there is an inherent conflict in GFL, a waste management company, owning a PRO, which would in turn be contracting out business to waste management companies. (Producers had hoped for a regulation that barred that kind of vertical integration.)

Some also feared that GFL would use its market dominance to undercut other PROs on price and sign up a supermajority of producers which, under the regulation, would allow it to craft new allocation rules for the entire province.

Producers weren’t the only ones worried. “I think you need to be able to have separate church and state,” said St. Godard. “Producers need to be protected so that they have choice in the marketplace. That was the whole point of this. And if you have a monopoly service provider, or one that has a very big dominant position, the buyers of that service may find themselves only having one price-taker effectively.”

But Dovigi thinks all of that was overblown. “From our perspective, there’s no disagreement,” he said. “They think that we are the big bad guys that are going to get in and drive up costs significantly once we control the market. And it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

And if there’s anyone at risk of being bullied in a dispute between GFL and the major producers, Dovigi believes, it’s him. “This is David versus Goliath, right? I’m David. They’re Goliath,” he said. “People are making me out to be the bad guy, but I’m dealing with hundreds of billions of dollars of corporations on the other side and we’re just little GFL from Toronto.”

(GFL, the fourth largest waste management company in North America, and by far the largest in Ontario, has a market cap of $12.3 billion.)

In any case, by late fall it was clear that, for now at least, RRA and GFL didn’t have anywhere close to a majority of producers signed up. Instead, Circular Materials Ontario (CMO), a non-profit PRO owned by producers, seemed to have the edge.

Early in the new year, CMO was prepared to submit its own rules to the province (in collaboration with a third, much smaller PRO, Ryse Solutions, owned by Emterra, another waste management company). But then, everything got turned upside down.

On Jan. 13, the Resource Recovery Alliance, GFL’s wholly owned PRO, sent a letter to the province arguing that the blue box regulation was fatally flawed. The rule-making and allocation provisions were “complex and practically unworkable,” Nicole Willett, RRA’s vice-president, wrote. With the deadline for the rules fast approaching and a provincial election on the horizon, RRA was asking the province to rip open the existing regime and start over with something new.

In February, David Piccini, who became Ontario’s environment minister last June, signalled that he might be open to doing just that. Piccini summoned all three PROs to a private meeting where he announced a new, thinly sketched plan for a mediated consultation between the competing groups.

As of mid-March, that process is ongoing. The different PROs have submitted proposals to the mediator and to accounting firm KPMG and are awaiting direction from the minister with an update expected, according to a source familiar with the timetable, on March 22.

Time, meanwhile, is ticking away. The provincial campaign is expected to start no later than early May, leaving barely a year after the election before the blue box transition is set to begin.

“That’s why we’re nervous when we hear about another process that’s been sparked or led by the ministry,” St. Godard said. “And we don’t really understand why. As unique as this regulation is, the stakeholders have found a way to manage themselves within it. So why the extra process?”

In any case, for all their disputes, GFL and the major producers now agree on this much at least: the existing regulation, the one drawn up last June that so many stakeholders have found so utterly baffling, doesn’t work. They still disagree on the details. But both RRA and CMO have now asked the minister to rewrite the regulation, to reverse the central tenet calling for competing PROs, and to impose a single Producer Responsibility Organization to oversee the entire system.

“It’s just wrong,” said Dovigi. “The regulation needs to be fixed.”

For all the chopping and changing and moving around, one thing about the blue box process in Ontario has remained blissfully the same. As the Ford government scrambles to pump out perhaps the defining environmental policy of its first term, environmental groups say they’re still on the outside looking in. They haven’t been invited to the current round of consultations. They are not being asked to weigh in on any proposed regulatory change.

The new rules, when they are finally ironed out — if they are finally ironed out — will impact what every Ontarian puts in their blue bin. They will govern who picks up those bins, who pays for the system, and how many shopping bags, bottles and coffee cups end up getting recycled in Ontario and how many end up in a landfill. There are few provincial policies that touch so many in the province in such a tangible way. “So I’m not sure why they wouldn’t want to meet with every stakeholder,” said St. Godard.

But what’s remarkable about the reaction to Ontario’s blue box regulation is not that environmental advocates are opposed. Environmentalists have rarely seen eye to eye with the Ford government. It’s that so many other stakeholders, from so many different sectors, have been so put off too.

“It’s the right thing to do, but I’m sad to say, and in fairly typical Ontario fashion, it’s become overly complicated,” said Bury. “And, frankly, it’s a bit of a mess.”

The Straits Times: ‘I felt so alone in Singapore’

Many foreign women, wed to low-income Singaporean men, face problems ranging from family violence to poverty. Photo: ST.

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story, which was shared by The Straits Times (Singapore) and was first published on March 8, 2021.

Two foreigners wed to Singaporean men share their struggles and breakthroughs as they made a new life in the city state.

SINGAPORE – Siti’s husband, an odd-job worker 10 years her senior, did not allow her to leave the house without him – not even to do marketing.

Her husband also did not allow her to work and she was not given an allowance, though he paid for the bills at home.

Siti (not her real name), now 38, met her husband while working as a hotel receptionist in Indonesia, where he was holidaying.

They got engaged after a long-distance relationship of three months.

“I married him as he was very sincere in wanting to marry me,” she said.

However, life in Singapore in the early years had been mostly housebound for her. She stayed home to raise their four children, the oldest of whom is now 14.

“I felt he was afraid of me making new friends and I felt very alone.”

She said she did not go into marriage thinking that a Singaporean man would be her ticket to a better life, but she certainly did not expect the chagrin of having to ask him for money for even the smallest things.

“I felt like a child,” she said.

“Once I asked him for $5 to buy chilli for cooking, and he said he had no money. I was angry that he had money to buy 4D, but said he had no money to buy chilli.”

Many foreign women, wed to low-income Singaporean men, face problems ranging from family violence to poverty. Photo: ST.
Many foreign women, wed to low-income Singaporean men, face problems ranging from family violence to poverty. Photo: ST.

Siti is not alone in her marital woes.

There are many foreign women, wed to low-income Singaporean men, who face problems ranging from family violence to poverty as well as an uncertain stay in Singapore.

These women remain “invisible and voiceless” largely due to their immigration status, as they have limited rights, protection and access to social benefits, said Ms Shailey Hingorani, head of research and advocacy at the Association of Women for Action and Research (Aware).

She added: “Many lack knowledge of the rights and benefits that they are entitled to and are left feeling helpless in times of need as they do not know where to seek support for various challenges. This is compounded by the limited social networks they have in Singapore.”

There are women who remain “invisible and voiceless” largely due to their immigration status, said Ms Shailey Hingorani, head of research and advocacy at the Association of Women for Action and Research. Photo: Aware.
There are women who remain “invisible and voiceless” largely due to their immigration status, said Ms Shailey Hingorani, head of research and advocacy at the Association of Women for Action and Research. Photo: Aware.

Lowest family income, highest level of conflict

In 2019, 4,426 Singaporean men wed non-resident brides – making up one in five marriages involving at least one citizen, according to the Government’s Population In Brief 2020 report.

A recent landmark study on cross-national families by Professor Jean Yeung, founding director of the Centre for Family and Population Research at the National University of Singapore, and PhD student Shuya Lu, shed light on these families.

In 2018 and 2019, the researchers interviewed 3,121 women who were the primary caregivers of Singaporean children aged up to six years old.

It found that 18 per cent of these families had a wife born overseas and a Singapore-born husband, and 57 per cent had both parents born here.

The other families are those with a Singapore-born mum and a foreign-born dad and families with both parents born overseas.

The top five countries the foreign-born wives in the study are born in are China (26 per cent), Malaysia (25 per cent), Vietnam (14 per cent), Indonesia (11 per cent) and the Philippines (7 per cent).

The study also found that the level of family conflict is inversely related to family income.

The pressures of making ends meet often stress a marriage, and families with a foreign-born wife and a Singapore-born husband had the highest level of family conflict.

Social workers say Prof Yeung’s study confirms what they have been observing on the ground for years: that many of the Singaporean men who marry foreign wives are older, less educated and are low-wage workers.

And given the financial, legal and other challenges many of these women face, the study confirms the vulnerability of these foreign wives, they say.

Foreign wives of Singaporean men attend a class at the Archdiocesan Commission for the Pastoral Care of Migrant and Itinerant People. Photo: Alphonsus Chern.
Foreign wives of Singaporean men attend a class at the Archdiocesan Commission for the Pastoral Care of Migrant and Itinerant People. Photo: Alphonsus Chern.

Shaky foundation to marriage

Foreign women married to low-income Singapore men are particularly vulnerable to family violence and marital woes, social workers note.

Women interviewed for this story said their marriages were not arranged by matchmaking or “mail-order bride” agencies.

The couples had met instead through friends, social media, or while the Singaporean was holidaying or working in their country.

One reason these marriages are particularly vulnerable is that the couples tied the knot after a brief courtship and do not know each other well.

Sister Sylvia Ng, case manager at the Archdiocesan Commission for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People, said some of these couples had “shaky foundations” to their marriages.

They may have met only a few times before saying I do or they may not even share a common language, she said.

Ms Amanda Chong, co-founder of volunteer group Readable, has conducted a research study on migrant brides. Many of the women felt that Singaporean men can provide for them. Photo: Jason Lai.
Ms Amanda Chong, co-founder of volunteer group Readable, has conducted a research study on migrant brides. Many of the women felt that Singaporean men can provide for them. Photo: Jason Lai.

Ms Amanda Chong, whose research study on migrant brides was published in the Harvard Journal of Law and Gender in 2014, said that many of these women she interviewed told her they wed a Singaporean as an “economic strategy”.

Ms Chong, who co-founded Readable, a volunteer group that teaches children from disadvantaged families literacy and numeracy, added: “They feel that Singaporean men can provide for them and their children will have more opportunities here than in their own countries.”

The women often depend on their husbands to support them financially and to sponsor their long-term visit pass (LTVP), she added.

So some choose to stay in abusive or strained marriages, as they fear being separated from their children should their husbands cancel their LTVP if they ask for a divorce, social workers say.

Siti is a case in point.

The LTVP holder had once considered divorce, but banished the thought for fear of never seeing her children again.

“So I just tolerated everything,” she said, adding that her relationship with her husband has improved over time.

The Immigration and Checkpoints Authority, however, has said that Singaporeans cannot unilaterally cancel their foreign spouse’s LTVP or long-term visit pass-plus (LTVP+) without their spouse’s consent – a fact which social workers say many foreign wives may not know.

Measures to help

Of course, there are many happy marriages between Singaporean men and their foreign wives.

And in the past decade, the Government has put in place policies and programmes to help foreign brides and their families.

For one thing, it is now easier for LTVP and LTVP+ holders to work here. Since December 2018, they do not need their employers to apply for a letter of consent for them to work and they are granted such pre-approved letters.

With these pre-approved letters of consent, their bosses just need to notify the Manpower Ministry when they start work.

Foreign spouses holding a LTVP or LTVP+ are not subject to foreign worker quotas or levies, which boosts their employability, said those interviewed.

The Government has put in place policies and programmes to help foreign brides and their families. Photo: Ng Sor Luan.
The Government has put in place policies and programmes to help foreign brides and their families. Photo: Ng Sor Luan.

Sister Sylvia said: “This is a great development as it allows foreign wives to be employed and contribute financially to their family.”

The Government has also improved the accessibility and affordability of HDB flats for transnational families, a Ministry of Social and Family Development (MSF) spokesman said.

For example, since 2019, a citizen aged 21 and older marrying a non-resident spouse and applying for an HDB flat for the first time can apply for the Enhanced CPF Housing Grant (Singles) of up to $40,000 when buying a resale flat. Previously, the Singaporean had to be at least 35.

More can be done

Still, those interviewed say more can be done for this vulnerable group of foreign wives.

For example, Kreta Ayer Family Services social worker Tan Ee Hiang said more healthcare subsidies can be extended to foreign wives holding a LTVP.

Aware’s Ms Hingorani said: “There should be clear and timed access to permanent residency and citizenship for migrant spouses, so as to secure more rights for this group of people who have committed themselves to being part of the Singaporean community.”

The MSF spokesman said that Singapore does not automatically grant immigration passes such as LTVP and LTVP+ to all foreign spouses, and it assesses each application on its individual merits.

The MSF spokesman said: “Our immigration policies must strike a balance between facilitating marriage and parenthood, and safeguarding against marriages of convenience that aim to circumvent our immigration framework.

“The family must also be able to support itself financially, and the marriage must be stable, among other considerations.”

For Siti, her life here became brighter after she took up a cleaner’s job – going against her husband’s wishes, she said.

He was angry at first but relented and allowed her to work as her over $1,000 monthly pay also paid for some of the children’s expenses.

She also has made more friends through work and says she now knows how to seek help from social workers if she needs it.

She said: “I’m happy I earn my own money, as I can spend it on myself and my children. And I have saved some money in case of an emergency.

“I have made more friends.”

‘I feel so blessed’

SINGAPORE – What should have been the honeymoon period of her marriage was instead eclipsed by homesickness.

Ms Khuong Thi Van, who moved to Singapore after marrying a Singaporean three years ago, missed her parents, who run a vegetable wholesale business, and her two younger brothers back in Vietnam.

The 24-year-old Vietnamese, who goes by the name Anna Ng, also missed Vietnamese food and had no friends here.

The high school graduate who speaks English said: “I felt very lonely during my first year here. I cried a lot and felt very lost.”

Mrs Anna Ng was homesick and miserable in her first year in Singapore. Photo: Ng Sor Luan.
Mrs Anna Ng was homesick and miserable in her first year in Singapore. Photo: Ng Sor Luan.

But her “buddy”, whom she met while attending a marriage support programme for transnational couples like her, was a lifeline.

The Vietnamese woman introduced her to other Vietnamese wives and showed her around. Mrs Ng also made more friends through the church she attends.

Mrs Ng met her 25-year-old husband Ng Bon Han, a sales engineer, through friends. During their year-long courtship, he often visited her in Vietnam.

“I feel I can relate to him,” said Mrs Ng, who is not working. “And he cares a lot about me.”

Mrs Ng and her husband Ng Bon Han tied the knot after a year-long courtship. Photo: Anna Ng.
Mrs Ng and her husband Ng Bon Han tied the knot after a year-long courtship. Photo: Anna Ng.

Their first year of married life was the hardest as they had to adjust to being man and wife.

For example, she initially wanted to have children immediately, as couples in Vietnam usually do, but he wanted to save up first.

They now plan to have children in five or 10 years’ time, as they believe it is costly to raise children here.

She said: “Even though we love each other, we still have differences. So we communicated a lot more to understand each other. Now our marriage is very stable.”

Mrs Ng and her husband have grown closer after working through their differences. Photo: Anna Ng.
Mrs Ng and her husband have grown closer after working through their differences. Photo: Anna Ng.

Other marriages on the rocks

However, a few of her Vietnamese friends’ marriages to Singaporeans are on the rocks.

Some wed Singaporean men in the hope of leading a better life here, after a courtship of as short as a month and without getting to really know their spouses before saying “I do”, she said.

One or two friends wed a Singaporean twice their age, and the couple have different sets of values and expectations about marriage, Mrs Ng added.

“I always tell my friends, marry the one you love and it doesn’t matter where he comes from. But many still feel marrying a Singaporean is a dream,” she said.

To help transnational couples start their marriage on a “strong foundation”, the Ministry of Social and Family Development (MSF) introduced a marriage preparation programme (MPP) and the marriage support programme (MSP) in 2014.

The programmes cover communication and conflict management in a cross-cultural context, and offer practical advice on living in Singapore, said an MSF spokesman.

Couples attend a marriage support programme run by Fei Yue Community Services. Photo: Project Family.
Couples attend a marriage support programme run by Fei Yue Community Services. Photo: Project Family.

The MPP is a half-day programme, while the MSP is a full-day programme, said Ms Isabelle Ng, social worker at Fei Yue Community Services, which runs the programmes.

Fei Yue also organises classes to teach the foreign spouse basic conversational English or Mandarin, organises outings and matches a buddy to those who want one.

Ms Ng said: “Due to cultural and language gaps, the marital difficulties faced can be magnified. So the buddy is a source of emotional and practical support for the foreign wife.”

After a review of the programmes in 2019, the MSF revised the content to focus more on managing cultural differences as well as relationship skills, such as communication skills and conflict resolution, among other things.

Mrs Ng is now a buddy to two Vietnamese women, as she found the marriage programmes run by Fei Yue helpful.

She said: “My buddy did a good job for me and now I can help others. I have more friends now and feel less stressed now. I feel blessed.”

South China Morning Post: Can Hong Kong deliver on 2049 target to wipe out subdivided flats and ‘cage homes’? Resident says ‘I will probably die in one of them’

Illustration: Adolfo Arranz.

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story by Fiona Sun (Edited by Emily Tsang and Alan John) with visual storytelling by Adolfo Arranz, Marcelo Duhalde, Kaliz Lee, Han Huang and Dennis Wong — was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

In the last of a three-part series on Hong Kong’s subdivided flats, Fiona Sun looks at the alternatives for tenants, their prospects for better accommodation, and what the government needs to do to achieve Beijing’s target of getting rid of such housing by 2049.

Cindy Lu finally put her days of living in a tiny subdivided space behind her, after waiting 10 long years. 

The housewife, 37, moved into a public rental flat in Kwai Shing East last October with her husband, 39, two daughters aged 14 and 11, and two-year-old son. 

Their 450 sq ft flat has a living room and three bedrooms, and the monthly rent is about HK$2,500 (US$320). 

“ Finally I don’t have to worry about rats and cockroaches or the ceiling leaking on rainy days. Nor need I fear rent increases or being kicked out at any time,” she says. 

Before this, the family paid HK$4,200 a month to squeeze into a 100 sq ft subdivided unit in Kwai Chung. It seemed even smaller during the coronavirus pandemic, when all five were at home. 

The family had only known living in similar tiny spaces, because they could not afford better on her husband’s income of about HK$10,000 a month as a construction worker. 

Public rental housing was their only hope of better living conditions and they applied in 2011, only to wait a decade before the good news finally arrived last year. 

“The wait and struggle seemed endless,” Lu says. “But now I’m looking forward to a stable and secure life. It finally feels like a home.” 

More than 220,000 people live in about 110,000 subdivided units, Hong Kong’s smallest and most substandard housing, and many long for better accommodation. 

According to a report released by the Transport and Housing Bureau in March last year, nearly half of households in subdivided flats had applied for public rental housing. 

A survey by the Hong Kong Council of Social Service between June 2020 and January last year found that about seven in 10 of the 2,108 respondents living in subdivided flats had no idea how long they would remain in such housing. The rest expected to stay for about four years on average. 

Long wait to move out 

Social workers and experts say that skyrocketing private home prices and rents, the severe shortage of affordable public housing, and insufficient government and social support have left many unable to get out of substandard living conditions. 

For many, public rental housing is their only shot at anything better, but the wait can be agonisingly long.

Hong Kong had 844,078 public rental flats at the end of March this year, housing about 2.2 million people. 

As of March this year, there were about 147,500 general applications for public rental housing from family and elderly one-person applicants, with an average waiting time of 6.1 years. 

Further back in the queue were another 97,700 non-elderly one-person applicants, many of whom have been waiting decades. 

“I have grown older in these tiny units. I will probably die in one of them,” says Jane*, 47, who has lived in subdivided units for about 30 years. 

The single woman, a clerk, left her parents’ public rental flat at 18 and has moved about eight times over the years, whenever landlords sold the property or raised the rent. 

On her salary of HK$10,000 a month, this is all she can afford, even as rents have crept up and her living space has shrunk. She started out paying HK$2,000 a month for a 200 sq ft unit, but now pays HK$4,200 for less than 100 sq ft in Sham Shui Po. 

Her current place has room for only a single bed, table and fridge, but she worries her landlord may raise the rent and she will have to move again. 

Jane applied for a public rental flat in 2005 but has no idea if one will ever come her way. The endless waiting has left her feeling helpless and depressed. 

New moves to ease housing woes 

Social workers have long urged the authorities to build more public rental flats to meet the demand. 

“Some residents have waited so long that they grew old and gave up, waiting for death in their subdivided units,” says Sze Lai-shan, deputy director of the Society for Community Organisation (SoCO). 

Outgoing Hong Kong Chief Executive Carrie Lam Cheng Yuet-ngor said last October that the government had identified about 350 hectares to build about 330,000 public housing units over the next decade, exceeding demand. 

She said another 5,000 units would be added to the overall supply of transitional housing, making a total of 20,000 units in coming years for people living in poor conditions while waiting for public rental flats. 

As of May, there were 4,484 transitional housing units with about 6,000 occupants. 

The government has also subsidised NGOs to rent suitable hotels and guest houses to use as transitional housing. As of April, it had approved five NGOs to provide 730 units and about 450 have already been occupied by about 570 people.

SoCO has provided about 300 transitional housing units, including hotel rooms and private flats, for about 700 people, who pay HK$2,000 to HK$6,000 a month and can remain for up to three years. 

Sze says such units – clean, with windows and are under good management – are still in too short supply and there are thousands on the waiting list. 

Among the first to move into SoCO’s transitional housing was Steffen Lee Kar-chow, 72, who settled into a 100 sq ft hostel unit in Mong Kok last August at a monthly rent of HK$2,500. 

He has a double bed and cupboard, but no table. The bathroom is small but clean. Without a kitchen, he has to buy takeaway food and eat over his suitcase. The only window opens to a podium that stinks of sewage. 

“It is much better than the place where I used to live,” says Lee, who has four children from a past relationship but has no contact with them or their mother. 

The retired underground surveyor used to pay HK$1,500 a month for a bed space in a flat with a dozen other male tenants who shared one toilet. 

He had nothing but a bed and, for privacy, he had to hang a piece of cloth around his tiny space. He wore earplugs when he wanted to shut out the sounds around him. 

Happy with his SoCO unit for now, he hopes he will get a public rental flat eventually. He applied for one last year, but was told he did not qualify because his savings exceeded the limit. 

He will apply again when his savings run out. 

More efforts to protect tenants 

A new tenancy control bill passed by the Legislative Council last year took effect in January, which, among others, restricts rental hikes and utilities charges. 

But tenants and concern groups said not much has improved, as many occupants were still overcharged for water and electricity, and some landlords resorted to oral agreements instead of signing a written contract with tenants to bypass the regulations. 

They also criticised the authorities for failing to enforce the law and intervene in cases where the rules had been breached. 

Other schemes by the administration aim to improve the living conditions of those waiting for public rental flats. 

The Cash Allowance Trial Scheme, launched in June last year, offers cash allowances of HK$1,300 to HK$3,900 a month for households who have waited for public rental housing for more than three years. About 90,000 households are expected to benefit.

The Community Care Fund started a two-year programme in June 2020 to provide a one-off subsidy for low-income households in subdivided units. The subsidy, with a ceiling of HK$8,500 to HK$13,000 depending on household size, can be used to make minor improvements and repairs, buy furniture and household goods, or engage pest control services. 

NGOs and other social institutions also offer help. 

The Caritas Community Development Service runs activities for households of subdivided flats on Kim Shin Lane in Sham Shui Po and has set up a platform for them to give their views and approach government agencies for help. 

Wong Siu-wai, its senior social work supervisor, says these efforts have encouraged households to clean the common areas in and around their flats to improve their living environment. 

“Although they still live in subdivided units, they now contribute to the community, which helps improve their well-being,” she says. 

The Hong Kong Sheng Kung Hui Lady MacLehose Centre has a 100 sq ft kitchen, a washing machine and clothes dryer at its Kwai Chung centre for residents of subdivided units in the area to use. About 100 residents use these facilities each month. 

The centre also provides residents with legal advice and help with moving and home maintenance. 

Worries, optimism over 2049 target 

While these various schemes are welcome, the main question is whether Hong Kong can meet Beijing’s target to get rid of subdivided flats and “cage homes” by 2049. 

This was a goal set last July by the director of the State Council’s Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office, Xia Baolong, for the city’s administrators to achieve by 2049, when the People’s Republic of China celebrates the centenary of its founding. 

Peace Wong Wo-ping, chief officer of policy research and advocacy of the Hong Kong Council of Social Service, a federation of non-government social service agencies, says the existence of subdivided units reflects the problems of the city’s housing market, including the shortage of supply, lack of regulation and the inability of low-income people to meet their living needs. 

He says it will take a determined effort by the city authorities to deal with the issue of subdivided units. 

“If it is successfully achieved, all residents, both rich and poor, will reach a minimum housing standard,” he says.

But Tang Po-shan, convenor of the Hong Kong Subdivided Flats Concerning Platform, a community organisation of social workers and scholars, warns that simply eliminating subdivided flats could give rise to other forms of inadequate housing with poor living conditions. 

He says the government should not only get rid of such designs, but also resettle the households. 

“The key should be improving the living environment and quality of the residents,” he says. 

Tang adds that many tenants are indifferent to the government’s target almost three decades from now, and some are worried about what choice they will have if these cheap units are wiped out. 

He says:“ They are asking, ‘Will my living conditions truly improve after subdivided units disappear?’” 

Professor Yau Yung, of Lingnan University’s department of sociology and social policy, says the key to achieving the 2049 target without driving households to other forms of inadequate housing is the government’s ability to increase the supply of public rental flats significantly. 

He says the current average waiting time is too long and should be reduced gradually, to at least four years initially. 

The government should also consider legislation to ban more subdivided units coming on the market. 

Yau points out that this is not the first attempt to wipe out these tiny units. Former city leader Leung Chun-ying’s administration also tried to do so, but found it too difficult to rehouse affected residents because there were not enough homes they could afford. 

“The 2049 target is a good thing for Hong Kong,” Yau says. “It can be achieved, but it depends on what the government will do from now on.” 

Dr Lawrence Poon Wing-cheung, a senior lecturer at the building science and technology division of City University, says the city’s political conflicts left many government policies in limbo over the years. 

He urges the government to take advantage of the current stable social environment to move forward quickly with land-related policies to increase housing supply. 

A former member of the Town Planning Board, he suggests exploring land reclamation possibilities, changing the land use of some areas, and raising plot ratios – which fix the built-up area on a site – to build more homes. 

Optimistic that the target can be achieved before 2049, he says: 

“In a city with a highly developed economy like Hong Kong, it is unacceptable to have these subdivided units, which must be wiped out.”

*Name changed at interviewee’s request.

South China Morning Post: ‘This is not a home’: depression, cockroaches, rats and shame add up to misery for Hongkongers in subdivided flats

Illustration: Adolfo Arranz.

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story by Fiona Sun (Edited by Emily Tsang and Alan John) with visual storytelling by Adolfo Arranz, Marcelo Duhalde, Kaliz Lee, Han Huang and Dennis Wong — was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

In the second of a three-part series on Hong Kong’s subdivided flats, Fiona Sun looks at the physical and mental toll on tenants of the city’s most inadequate housing. Beijing has set the city government the target of getting rid of these tiny units and ‘cage homes’ by 2049.

Siumei* prepares dinner in the living room of the 100 sq ft space she calls home in Mong Kok, while her seven-year-old son does his homework at a massage bed near her. 

The 42-year-old divorcee lives with her son and widowed mother, 70, in a subdivided unit too small to have a separate kitchen. 

The adults eat at a small foldable table, while the boy has his meal on the bed, with a line of drying laundry hanging over him. 

After dinner, Siumei plays with her son on the floor while her mother watches TV. Sometimes the three go for a walk outside to leave their tiny space for a while. 

Their 10 sq ft bathroom, most of which is occupied by the toilet and sink, is so small that Siumei must stand outside to help her son bathe. The blocked drainage means they can only shower for less than five minutes at a time, or smelly waste water will flood the floor. 

Siumei and her son share the upper berth of a bunk bed, while her mother sleeps below. They are occasionally startled by rats, which have chewed into their wooden furniture. Cockroaches and dragonflies are common.

One window opens to a podium of stinking garbage, so it is kept closed. Poor ventilation makes their home stuffy, but they switch on the air conditioner only at night to save electricity. 

“When my son asked why we live in such a tiny, poor place, I can only tell him I was too poor to afford a bigger home,” says Siumei, who came to Hong Kong from Guangdong after meeting a Hongkonger. 

The couple married in 2009 but divorced six years later. 

She pays about HK$4,000 (US$513) a month for their unit in a seven-storey tenement building that is more than 50 years old. The amount is more than half her monthly income working part-time at a restaurant. 

“I feel so burnt out and helpless, but I don’t even have room to vent my emotions,” she says. 

Hong Kong has about 110,000 subdivided units ranging from 20 sq ft to 200 sq ft, and they are notorious for their substandard conditions, poor hygiene and fire and security hazards. 

The poor environment has taken a heavy toll on the physical and mental health of the more than 220,000 people who live in them. 

Flimsy partitions, fire hazards 

Most subdivided units are in dilapidated tenements, many of which are dubbed “three nil buildings” because they are without owners’ corporations, residents’ organisations or property management companies. 

The findings of a survey released by the Transport and Housing Bureau in March last year showed that concerns about electricity supply, law and order, and the lack of a fire escape were the top sources of dissatisfaction among subdivided unit tenants. 

Professor Yau Yung, of Lingnan University’s department of sociology and social policy, says the subdivision of flats often results in narrow, long and blocked escape routes, and poor ventilation makes it hard for smoke to disperse. 

Some partitions are not fire-resistant and, without access to kitchen facilities, cooking over an open flame within the units is a fire hazard. 

The Buildings Department warns that work to remove original walls and install new partitions to create subdivided units or add toilets and kitchens may adversely affect safety and hygiene, and put tenants’ lives at risk. 

The department issued 1,913 removal orders for such works from 2016 to 2020, for flouting the Buildings Ordinance. It issued 475 orders last year, and 18 in the first three months of this year.

The operation of the city’s tiniest bed spaces, known as “cage homes”, is regulated by the Bedspace Apartments Ordinance. 

The Home Affairs Department says the number of licensed bed space apartments fell from 15 in 2011 to nine this year. They included six in Yau Tsim Mong district, and one each in Central and Western, Eastern, and Sham Shui Po districts. 

But social workers say many more cage homes as small as 20 sq ft are available in unlicensed flats that go unrecorded. 

‘Inhuman conditions’ 

Yau Sai, 68, pays HK$2,000 a month for his boxlike compartment in an unlicensed bed space flat he shares with 18 other men and women in Mong Kok. 

Returning at night from his job at a food factory in Tsuen Wan, the single man, who asked to be identified only by his given name, unlocks his unit and climbs into it, taking care not to hit his head. 

The flat is stacked floor-to-ceiling with three-layered boxes separated by wooden boards, each big enough for one adult to lie in. 

Yau Sai’s mid-level space keeps him sandwiched between tenants above and below him. A tall man of 180cm, he cannot stretch out as half his space holds his personal belongings. 

There is a small kitchen and three bathrooms. A tenant used to be paid by the landlord to clean the common areas, but that stopped, leaving the bathrooms dirty. 

For privacy, Yau Sai keeps his compartment door closed, but that does little to block the sounds of other tenants chatting, making phone calls or watching TV. 

He browses his mobile phone for the news and to watch videos before bedtime, but is sometimes startled when the tenant above him hits the wooden boards accidentally. 

A bad night’s sleep can leave him with an aching back the next day. He makes sure to lock his unit and take all his cash and bank cards with him when he leaves the flat. 

“It’s inhuman to live in such conditions,” he says, adding he cannot afford anything better on his monthly income of about HK$10,000. 

According to a report on the quality of living in subdivided units released by the Society for Community Organisation (SoCO) last August, almost all 347 households surveyed complained about hygiene problems. 

Many subdivided flats had rats, mosquitoes and bugs. Many units had a makeshift kitchen installed in the living room or a bedroom.

Wrongly connected water pipes smelled bad, and water seeped through walls or from the ceiling. Poor ventilation was common, and some units had no windows. 

In another SoCO survey of 385 households living in cage homes and cubicles in 2020, one in three said they did not feel safe having to stay at home during the Covid-19 pandemic and feared contracting the virus. 

More than half shared a toilet with seven to 10 others – with some using the same toilet with as many as 16 to 20 others – and there were complaints that common areas such as the kitchen and bathroom were not cleaned during the pandemic. 

Impact on physical, mental health 

Living in such poor conditions affects tenants’ physical and mental health, social workers say. 

A survey conducted between 2020 and 2021 by the NGO Caritas Community Development Service of 527 households living in inadequate housing, including subdivided units, asked tenants to score their physical and mental well-being on a scale of up to 100. 

Three in five scored below 50 for physical health, and more than nine in 10 scored below 50 for mental health. 

Many suffered muscle strain, cardiovascular diseases and respiratory problems, as well as mental disorders, and some blamed their poor living conditions. 

Wong Siu-wai, the NGO’s senior social work supervisor, says children living in subdivided flats face higher risks of eye problems because of a lack of natural light, and many have spinal problems from studying in bed. 

“Housing has a significant impact on people’s physical and mental health,” she says. 

The Kwai Chung Subdivided Flat Residents Alliance, made up of residents living in such units in Kwai Chung and social workers, found in a survey last year that about three in four of 78 people living in inadequate housing units suffered moderate to severe depression, and more than two in five had moderate to severe anxiety. 

Social worker Poon Wing-shan, a member of the alliance, says sharing small spaces often leads to conflict and there is no escape for tenants at home. They are also burdened by their rent, which accounts for about 40 to 50 per cent of their income. 

She says tenants live in a constant state of insecurity, subject to rent increases and utility charges by landlords, and fear being kicked out at any time. 

Some who are parents feel guilty for being unable to provide their children a better living environment.

“They regard living in subdivided units as a failure,” Poon says. “None of them thinks of their unit as home, and they view themselves as passers-by with no roots.” 

‘No sense of belonging’ 

Housewife May Lau, 34, feels too ashamed to tell anyone where she lives with her husband, a renovation worker from mainland China who is also 34, and their five-year-old daughter. 

“Living in a subdivided unit makes me feel inferior to others,” she says. 

The family moved into a 150 sq ft subdivided unit in Kwai Chung for HK$6,300 a month in June last year after living with her parents at their public rental flat in the same area. 

But with her husband’s monthly income of about HK$14,000 – below the city’s poverty line for a three-person household – they could not afford anything bigger. 

Their unit is one of the three within a flat and has no separate bedroom or kitchen. There is no space for a sofa or television, and they eat at a small, low table. All three squeeze themselves on the lower berth of a bunk bed, keeping their belongings piled above. 

Her daughter, a kindergarten pupil, complains that there is no room to play and asks to return to her grandparents’ home. 

Her husband’s parents in mainland China also blame her for the family’s poor housing, and Lau says she has stopped seeing some friends who look down on her because of her circumstances. 

Alone at home, she is sometimes overwhelmed worrying their rent might go up, and fearing the impact of the family’s poor living conditions on her daughter. 

“It is not a home. I have no sense of belonging here,” Lau says. 

*Name changed at interviewee’s request.

South China Morning Post: ‘Like a caged animal’: why Hongkongers in city’s notorious subdivided flats say they have no choice

Illustration: Adolfo Arranz.

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story by Fiona Sun (Edited by Emily Tsang and Alan John) with visual storytelling by Adolfo Arranz, Marcelo Duhalde, Kaliz Lee, Han Huang and Dennis Wong — was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

Hong Kong’s poor and destitute have long been unable to afford anything but subdivided living spaces. Now Beijing wants the local government to rid the city of these tiny units and “cage homes” by 2049. John Lee Ka-chiu, who will be sworn in as the city’s next leader on the 25th anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to Chinese rule on July 1, has pledged to resolve housing woes. In the first of a three-part series, Fiona Sun looks at the city’s worst homes and speaks to the people living in them.

After a long night shift, security guard Leung returns to the tiny space he calls home in an old residential building in Sham Shui Po. 

He has 50 sq ft in a loft space that has been subdivided into 12 units of more or less the same size, each barely enough for one person. 

His space is so small that he piles boxes of personal belongings and clothes on the bed, which means he cannot stretch out fully when he sleeps. He has a sink, and a bathroom with no door, but there is no kitchen. 

The windowless space is stuffy, even more so in summer. Mosquitoes keep him up on many nights, and his mattress is stained by squashed bed bugs. 

“When I tell people new to the city about my living conditions, they just cannot believe it,” says Leung, 58, who asked to be identified only by his surname. 

Divorced with an adult son, he moved into the unit in April last year. He had a slightly bigger unit in the same loft for about a year, but downsized when he could no longer afford the HK$3,900 (US$500) rent. Now he pays HK$2,800 a month. 

There are more than 220,000 people like Leung, living in Hong Kong’s worst housing. The city has about 110,000 subdivided flats, mostly in dilapidated buildings in Kowloon and the New Territories. 

Most are rented by singles or couples, but occupants also include single parents and their children, and even three-generation households. 

The severe housing shortage in the city has driven people to rent tiny spaces in overcrowded flats with as many as 40 occupants. 

The most notorious are “cage homes”, which are also known as “coffin homes”, where partitioned, boxlike units are stacked from floor to ceiling, separated by thin wooden boards or wire mesh. 

Leung’s current accommodation reminds him of his childhood, when he and his two brothers squeezed with their parents into a subdivided flat before moving to a public rental home in Sham Shui Po. 

He left home when he got married and bought his own flat. Now divorced, he left the property to his ex-wife and son.

Leung ran a logistics company in mainland China, but it went bankrupt in 2019 and he returned to Hong Kong. He was jobless until he found work as a security guard last year. 

He longs to have a better place to stay, but says:“ Bad as it is, this is all I can afford for now.” 

Most occupants have no choice 

Hong Kong’s subdivided housing spaces, many of them windowless and plagued by hygiene and fire hazards, have been criticised for their poor living conditions. 

Despite their state, the government has long adopted a policy of merely ensuring their safety rather than phasing them out, as many believe the city’s poorest need these homes. 

Last July, however, the director of the State Council’s Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office, Xia Baolong, set city administrators the target of eliminating deep-seated social problems by 2049, when the People’s Republic of China celebrates the centenary of its founding. 

Specifically, he demanded city leaders eradicate subdivided units and cage homes. 

In what was her final policy address last October, city leader Carrie Lam Cheng Yuet-ngor did not refer to Xia but made housing and land supply a major focus, setting the goal of providing decent accommodation to all residents. 

Her successor as chief executive, John Lee Ka-chiu, has pledged to act on housing, and made a point during his election campaign to visit poor residents of subdivided flats. 

A report by the Transport and Housing Bureau in March last year said there were an estimated 110,008 subdivided units housing 226,340 people, or about 3 per cent of the city’s 7.5 million population. 

It said the median area of these units was 124 sq ft, but social workers estimate that some are as small as 20 sq ft. More than 60 per cent of the units are in Kowloon, about 24 per cent are in the New Territories and the rest are on Hong Kong Island. 

To protect renters, the government introduced a tenancy control bill on subdivided units last July, which was passed by the Legislative Council and took effect in January. Among other measures, it restricts rent increases when leases are renewed. 

Most tenants of subdivided units say that with their meagre incomes, they have no other choice of lodging. 

Unable to buy their own homes in a city with skyrocketing property prices, their best hope is to get a public rental flat. But the queue is so long that it can take a decade to get one, and most say they are forced to rent a subdivided space while waiting. 

An irony of Hong Kong’s housing scene is that on a per-square-foot basis, the city’s poorest people pay rents comparable to those for private flats, or even more.

Statistics show that in April, the average monthly rent per square foot of a private flat under 430 sq ft was about HK$37 on Hong Kong Island, HK$35 in Kowloon and HK$28 in the New Territories. 

For subdivided units, the median monthly rent – the midpoint between the lowest and highest rents – was HK$39 per sq ft, according to the report by the Transport and Housing Bureau. 

But still people choose these homes because the overall monthly rent is still lower. The report showed that the median monthly rent for a subdivided unit was HK$4,800, much lower than for the smallest private flats. 

For those in subdivided units, rent takes up about a third of their monthly household income. 

The Transport and Housing Bureau report showed that these households had a median monthly income of HK$15,000 in 2020, less than half the HK$33,000 for all households in the fourth quarter of that year. 

When the Society for Community Organisation (SoCO) interviewed 432 households living in tiny spaces in April last year, it found that the median monthly rent was between HK$4,500 and HK$6,500 for traditional subdivided flats – in which a standard unit is partitioned into two or more smaller spaces – HK$2,300 for tiny bed spaces, and HK$2,800 for cubicles. 

SoCO found that in March last year, average monthly rents per square foot worked out to HK$104 for a bed space, HK$30 to HK$43 for a traditional subdivided flat and HK$40 for a cubicle – higher than the rate per square foot for most private homes of various sizes. 

Lawrance Wong Dun-king, president of Many Wells Property Agent, says the higher rent per square foot for subdivided spaces shows the imbalance between supply and demand in Hong Kong. 

“The smaller the unit is, the higher its per-square-foot rent. The result is, the poorest pay the highest rent,” he says. 

‘Waiting for death’ 

For the past seven years, Xing Aizhen, 46, and her two sons from her first marriage, aged 20 and 15, have shared a 100 sq ft space in a Mong Kok flat. 

Originally from Hainan province, she came to the city with her sons in 2015 after marrying again, but her second marriage to a Hongkonger ended in divorce too. 

Earning about HK$10,000 a month as a part-time waitress, she says she cannot afford anything better than the subdivided unit, which costs HK$3,900 a month. 

Her two sons share a bunk bed while Xing sleeps on a single bed. Their bathroom and kitchen practically share the same space, and she can smell the stench of the toilet while preparing food.

With only two small windows, the place is so poorly ventilated that stir-frying food leaves a strong, greasy odour. She only boils or steams their meals. 

“The place is just too small for the three of us,” she says, adding that her older son often complains about the arrangement. 

She says the space seemed even smaller during the coronavirus pandemic, when the three of them stayed at home. Her older son took online vocational cooking courses, and her younger son, in secondary school, also had online classes. She has been staying home more too, as her employer cut her working hours and income. 

After waiting five years for a public rental flat, Xing says she hopes to provide a bigger place with better living conditions for her sons. 

“A good place to live is important for us to lead a stable and secure life,” she says. 

For many like her, public rental housing offers the only hope, but such flats are hard to come by. 

As of March this year, there were about 147,500 general applications for public rental housing from families and single elderly people who had priority, with an average waiting time of 6.1 years. 

Further back in the queue were about 97,700 non-elderly single applicants, many of whom have been waiting for decades. 

SoCO deputy director Sze Lai-shan says that when it comes to inadequate accommodation in Hong Kong, the “coffin homes” are the worst of all. 

“Some elderly people describe their lives in cage homes as ‘waiting for death’,” she says. 

Hongkonger Tsang Shiu-tung, 51, says he sees “no light at the end of the tunnel”, having been in the queue for public rental housing for 16 years. 

He lives in one of 18 coffin-like bed spaces separated by wooden boards in a flat in a dilapidated tenement building in Yau Ma Tei. 

“I live like an animal in a cage,” he says. 

Divorced with no children, he moved into the place in May last year and pays a monthly rent of HK$1,500. The pandemic has left the part-time supermarket porter with a reduced income of less than HK$10,000 a month. 

The tiny compartments, each marked with a number, are stacked into two levels. The 18 male tenants, aged from their 40s to their 80s, share two bathrooms, only one of which has a shower. There is no kitchen.

The environment is hellish, Tsang says. His upper-level bed space is so narrow that he can barely stretch out fully or sit upright without hitting the wooden partition, only to have the man in the bunk below kick upwards to signal his irritation. 

Some of the men stay up late, others smoke indoors and the pungent smell of cigarettes lingers. Tsang draws the door of his compartment, but that does little to block the noise or smoke, and only makes it stuffier inside. 

There have been times when he resorted to sleeping rough in parks just to get away. 

“I want to escape from this place, where I feel so helpless,” he says. “All I want is a safe place to live.”

South China Morning Post: Life in Hong Kong’s worst living spaces: from cage homes to subdivided flats

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular series was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

Everyone is familiar with the sight of people crammed into Hong Kong’s cage homes, with barely enough space to lie down. More than 220,000 people live in these notorious subdivided flats, facing grim conditions as well as fire and security hazards because they can afford nothing better. 

This three-part story on the emotive topic struck at the heart of the matter. Through phenomenal infographics and detailed, on-the-ground reporting, the Post looked at the realities of life in such dwellings and spoke to the people forced to live in them. 

They spoke of living like caged animals. ‘This is not a home,’ they told us as they shared the toll taken by the poor living conditions on their physical and mental health. 

And with Beijing having demanded that the Hong Kong government rid the city of these tiny units by 2049, our series of reports hammered the point home, spotlighting the impact of policy decisions on real people and recording these experiences for posterity, with the hope that one day no Hongkonger would have to repeat them.

Part one: ‘Like a caged animal’: why Hongkongers in city’s notorious subdivided flats say they have no choice.

Part two: ‘This is not a home’: depression, cockroaches, rats and shame add up to misery for Hongkongers in subdivided flats.

Part three: Can Hong Kong deliver on 2049 target to wipe out subdivided flats and ‘cage homes’? Resident says ‘I will probably die in one of them’.

South China Morning Post: Why size matters when it comes to China’s new leadership line-up

Illustration: Henry Wong.

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

The Communist Party is set to hold its 20th national congress in mid-October, a gathering that will usher in a new line-up of the party’s leadership. In the second piece in series exploring the rules of the personnel reshuffle, Jane Cai looks at the conventions surrounding the Politburo Standing Committee. 

At the end of the ruling Communist Party’s twice-a-decade congress in October, following a leadership reshuffle, those at the very top of Chinese politics will walk down a red carpet and meet the press. 

Only then will it be known who and how many of China’s political elites will make up the new Politburo Standing Committee, the party’s top decision-making body. 

There are no written rules on how many members it can have – the number has fluctuated between three and 11 since 1927, when the standing committee was first formed. But if the past is any guide, a change in size could reflect a shift in the concentration of power or a move to balance factions. 

Theoretically, the members are chosen by delegates to the national party congress to represent the rich and diverse voices of the 90 million party members. While the members are ranked by a hierarchical order, they carry the same voting rights and make decisions collectively, with the party secretary as first among equals. 

And they vote to decide on most key issues. For this reason, the size of the standing committee is almost always kept at an odd number to ensure there are no tied votes. 

In practice, the standing committee is effectively “the small council” to help the party chief rule the country and the party. Each member is given certain portfolios and areas of responsibility. The exact division of labour and chemistry among the standing committee members varies greatly, and some party secretaries are more dominant than others. 

During Deng Xiaoping’s era, when the real power was in the hands of the party elders, there were mostly just five standing committee members. Deng’s eventual successor Jiang Zemin expanded the standing committee to seven in 1992, and again in 2002 as he stepped down from the party leadership role. 

Hu Jintao, whose tenure was marked by a diffusion of power, had eight other colleagues. While the extra seats ensured different factions had a voice in the top decision-making body, it also led to fragmentation.

During Hu’s decade, the standing committee was often half-jokingly called “nine dragons ruling the rainfall” – a Chinese idiom based on the mythical creature’s role in controlling the rain. Too many dragons lead to severe droughts, as none is powerful enough to produce a downpour. 

When Xi Jinping took over in 2012 with a mission to revitalise the party, he reduced the standing committee back to seven. It was seen as a step to concentrate power for the most powerful leader since Mao Zedong and Deng. 

Most of the analysts interviewed by the South China Morning Post believe this was the right balance between representation and efficiency. 

Xi, 69, leads the current Politburo Standing Committee. The others are, by hierarchical order, Premier Li Keqiang, 67; Li Zhanshu, 72, head of the top legislative body; Wang Yang, 67, chairman of the top political advisory body; ideology tsar Wang Huning, 67; Zhao Leji, 65, head of the top anti-corruption body; and Vice-Premier Han Zheng, 68. 

Xi is widely expected to secure a third term in congress. One of the earliest and surest indications was the 2018 amendment to China’s constitution removing term limits on the presidency. 

Although the presidency and party chief are different roles, they are usually occupied by the same person. Removing the term limits for the presidency strongly suggested that Xi would stay for more than two terms. 

It is, however, unclear whether other Politburo Standing Committee members aged 68 or over will have to retire, as has been the case in the past. 

If the convention holds, Li Zhanshu and Han Zheng will step down. 

Li Keqiang, 67, must step down as premier after completing his second term. He may stay in the standing committee and pick up another official position, although most analysts believe a full retirement is more likely. 

This raises the question for Wang Yang and Wang Huning – both also 67. 

Analysts are divided over how the leadership change will pan out, with estimates of how many seats could be vacated ranging from one to five. 

There are plenty of hopefuls waiting in the wings to take them. 

They include Chen Miner, Ding Xuexiang, Hu Chunhua, Chen Quanguo, Cai Qi, Li Hongzhong, Li Xi, Huang Kunming and Li Qiang – all currently either party secretaries of provinces or municipalities or heads of key party organs. 

But many analysts say the size of the Politburo Standing Committee is unlikely to change, given that Xi has already consolidated his hold on power.

“Historically, the committee had three to five members when the overriding need was power centralisation,” said Chen Daoyin, a political scientist and former professor at the Shanghai University of Political Science and Law. 

“When the emphasis was on balancing power, the [committee] usually expanded to have more members. In the Xi era, power centralisation is the main theme, which means the possibility of the committee expanding is low,” Chen said. 

“Meanwhile, Xi has already cemented his power, so there’s no need to reduce the number of seats.” The Politburo Standing Committee has not always been the party’s supreme body. It was given exclusive decision-making power in 1992, when then paramount leader Deng disbanded the Central Advisory Commission – a body made up of influential, retired party elders that had previously had the final say on key decisions. However, some retired elders have remained influential within the party. 

Xi has become the most powerful Chinese leader since Mao and Deng, helped by a widespread crackdown on corruption within the party, government and military, and indoctrination in his political ideology, Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era. 

The propaganda machine has gone into overdrive in the run-up to the party congress, including embracing a new slogan to entrench Xi’s status – the “two establishments”. It refers to establishing Xi’s status as China’s “core” leader and establishing his political doctrine, which was enshrined in the constitution in 2018. 

Chen said a big change to the size of the Politburo Standing Committee, say an expansion to nine or a reduction to five, would be telling. 

“Both are extreme scenarios and would suggest Xi’s authority was impaired, there was an unexpected objection or an internal power struggle among Xi’s protégés,” he said. 

Steve Tsang, director of the SOAS China Institute at the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies, also expected the standing committee to be kept at seven. 

“The committee size used to be expanded when the general secretary needed to accommodate colleagues from different factions and there was just not enough scope to do so with a lower number,” he said. 

According to Tsang, Xi should have no need to pacify the factions by increasing the committee, with many of their key players weakened after a sweeping anti-corruption campaign that targeted high-profile figures and others, right down to the grass roots. 

Five years ago, Xi told party leaders that five disgraced heavyweights – Zhou Yongkang, Bo Xilai, Guo Boxiong, Xu Caihou and Ling Jihua – had “all engaged in political conspiracy activities”, according to a copy of the speech published by Xinhua.

Zhou had been a Politburo Standing Committee member, while the other four were either on the Politburo or the Central Secretariat, the party’s nerve centre. 

Former deputy public security ministers Fu Zhenghua and Sun Lijun are among the more recent targets, both accused of political disloyalty, establishing political factions, and forming groups for personal gain. 

Neil Thomas, a China and Northeast Asia analyst with consultancy Eurasia Group, also said Xi was unlikely to change the size of the standing committee at this year’s congress. 

“An increase would make central decision-making more unwieldy and a decrease would deny expected promotions to his allies,” he said. “Xi does not need to change the size of the Politburo Standing Committee to consolidate his power, so there seems little incentive for him to spend political capital on doing so.”

South China Morning Post: Why is retirement beckoning for 11 members of the Communist Party of China’s top decision-making body?

Illustration: Perry Tse.

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular story was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

The Communist Party is set to hold its 20th national congress in mid-October, a gathering that will usher in a new line-up of the party’s leadership. In the first piece in a series exploring the rules of the personnel reshuffle, Jun Mai looks at how unofficial retirement conventions will shape the power transition.

Fading out gradually is seldom an option for top Chinese leaders. 

They appear on prime-time news every night. Then, when the day of retirement comes, they suddenly vanish, rarely making public appearances or comments. Little is known about how they spend their time. 

The biggest mystery is how retirement decisions are made. For those who sit on the Politburo – the top echelon of the ruling Communist Party – the only guideline, in place since the party’s first orderly power transition in 2002, remains the unwritten rule of retiring at the age of 68. It was established gradually after decades of political turmoil to rejuvenate the party and ensure a stable transition of leadership at the top.

The 20th party congress, starting on October 16, will produce the first exception to that rule when 69-year-old President Xi Jinping stays on for a third term as the party’s top leader, the first to do so since the death of Mao Zedong in 1976. 

The big question now is whether any of Xi’s 24 Politburo colleagues will benefit from a similar exemption. 

Eleven other Politburo members will have reached the unofficial retirement age. Two of them are members of the seven-man Politburo Standing Committee, the pinnacle of the party’s power structure, which is led by Xi. 

Most experts interviewed by the Post said the privilege of breaking the unofficial retirement age rule at the Politburo level would be reserved for Xi. But exceptions could be made for special cases like Foreign Minister Wang Yi, who is already 68 but still considered a candidate to join the Politburo. 

All eyes are on how Xi, hailed as the third definitive paramount leader in party history, will come up with a new set of rules for power transition. 

“Xi is a man with a strong historical mission who feels that a lot more can be achieved under his continued leadership,” said Zhu Zhiqun, a political scientist at Bucknell University in Pennsylvania. When it comes to leadership transition, Xi has made several bold moves – such as not promoting an heir apparent after his first term and abolishing presidential term limits in 2018. 

Setting aside the age rule would be a third one, but experts said the president would be reluctant to do so for everyone. 

“Mostly likely those who have reached the retirement age will be replaced at the 20th party congress,” Zhu said. 

Deng Yuwen, a former editor of Study Times, the newspaper of the Central Party School, also said others would mostly observe the age rule. 

“The upside is that it’s fair to everyone [other than Xi] but the downside is it would see people who are still capable step down,” he said. “I think they’ll still largely abide by the rules but special treatment might be granted to certain positions, like the foreign policy area.” 

Both of China’s top diplomats – Politburo member Yang Jiechi and Foreign Minister Wang – will have passed the retirement age for their levels when the congress is held. Yang is 72, while Wang will turn 69 in October. 

There are some rising stars in foreign affairs, but none carry the weight and authority of Yang or Wang. With China facing an increasingly complex and difficult external environment, some observers said Wang was likely to stay on and succeed Yang.

Theoretically, the same age limit would apply to Xi’s trusted aide in economic affairs, 70-year-old Liu He. The three generals in charge of the supreme command of the People’s Liberation Army would also all have to step down according to the age rule. 

The dilemma for Xi is that he has to either make many more exemptions or lose such people with proven track records who are still energetic and active. 

Yang Dali, a political scientist at the University of Chicago, also expects Xi will choose to adhere to the age limits. 

“There are not many signs that they will be broken, especially when the top leader wants to promote younger officials, you’d need certain people to step down from their positions,” he said. 

He also noted that at the ministerial level, the retirement age of 65 had been implemented quite rigidly. 

Some ministerial-level officials have even received official notice that their services are no longer required on their 65th birthdays, the Post has learned. 

Exceptions are rare but include Luo Huining, who was given the top job at the central government’s liaison office in Hong Kong at the height of the city’s anti-extradition bill protests in 2020 just months before he turned 65. 

“At the ministerial level, the retirement rule is still largely followed, because otherwise the costs of decision-making would rise dramatically,” Yang Dali said. “In the Chinese system there are lots of deputies, like vice-premiers and vice-ministers, so that makes it somewhat easier to fill the vacancies. It’s not like you’d run out of talent.” 

The real challenge for Xi and the party in terms of power transition, Zhu said, lies in picking a successor for the president. 

“The question is whether he will stay for another five years only or will stay on indefinitely,” he said. “It boils down to how to manage the power transfer from him to a successor peacefully five or 10 years later, but at this point there is no clear successor.” 

In the past 30 years, a clear successor usually would join the Politburo Standing Committee by the time the second term of the party’s top leader started. That person, young enough to serve three more terms, would usually be handed a comprehensive and wide-ranging portfolio. 

Xi and his predecessor Hu Jintao both served as vice-president for a term, anointing them as heir apparent, after they ascended to Politburo Standing Committee membership, but Wang Qishan, then 69, was appointed vice-president in 2018 despite not being a member, derailing what had become a succession train. 

There are no young potential successors to Xi in the party’s top echelon.

“To ensure stability and smooth power transition, the party will need to identify and groom the next generation of leadership soon after the party congress,” Zhu said. 

The party takes pride in the fact that it is governed by more than 3,600 regulations and directives, but there are no rules laid down for the transition of power in the 25-member Politburo. 

Those who sit on the top decision-making body get to vote and have a say on the most important issues facing China, and they always hold key state or party positions. 

A set of rules that became known as “seven up, eight down” was believed to have been implemented in 2002 to set some boundaries on the closed-door bargaining over the top seats, with that year seeing the first orderly power transition of the top leadership since the party was founded in 1921. 

At the 16th party congress in 2002 and the two that followed, all members of the Politburo above the age of 68 stepped down. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that those 67 or younger would retain their seats. 

Many hailed the unwritten rule as a sign the party’s unpredictable politics were evolving in a more stable direction, with Zhou Ruijin, former deputy editor of People’s Daily, described it as “spectacular progress” in 2008. 

But things became blurrier in 2016, when Xi was anointed as the party’s “core”, with the rule dismissed as “folklore” by a mid-level ideology official speaking to overseas journalists in Beijing. 

Throughout China’s long history, the challenge of finding the right heir and ensuring a smooth transition of power has frustrated the country’s greatest emperors and political leaders – from Qin Shi Huang and Taizong of Tang to Mao and Deng Xiaoping. 

Xi has yet to present an effective solution.

South China Morning Post: China’s Communist Party: The Rules for Reaching the Top and Staying

To mark World News Day on September 28, 2022, the World News Day campaign is sharing stories that have had a significant social impact. This particular series was shared by the South China Morning Post (Hong Kong).

This series sheds light on the Communist Party’s top-table reshuffle, providing context and laying out the implications of decisions that will impact the country and beyond.

Part one explores the rules of the personnel reshuffle and how unofficial retirement conventions will shape the power transition.

Part two looks at the history of the size of the Politburo Standing Committee and how it has grown and shrunk through the decades.

Part three will dive into the qualities needed to be promoted to the top. Taken together, the series leaves an outsized impact in the discourse around China’s ruling party.