It was a devolutionist's dream: a state with an authoritarian government which allowed one of its regions to have its own system of law, finance and administration, a separate currency pegged to that of another country and a wide range of freedoms denied to its other citizens.
It is now just over two years since Hong Kong returned to China with all those advantages. Understandably, the eyes of the world have moved away. But just as Hong Kong has gone off the international radar screen, things are changing in a rather disturbing way.
The post-handover period was always going to be complex. To maintain its unique status as a haven of freedom in China, the territory's rulers were going to have to make the most of the slogan "Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong." But the real question was whether Hong Kong people would be able to rule themselves without interference from Beijing.
Shortly before the handover, I interviewed China's then foreign minister, Qian Qichen, in a government guesthouse in the Chinese capital. I asked him how he could reconcile recent hardline statements on limits on freedom of expression with the promise that Hong Kong would be governed by the "one country, two system" concept dreamed up by Deng Xiaoping. Executing a graceful U-turn, Mr Qian assured me that what had seemed like threats of interference had only been expressions of his personal opinion. So long as they remained within the law, Hong Kong people would be free to criticise the central government and to do all the things they had done under the British.
But now the law to which Mr Qian referred is being made subject to interpretation by a committee of China's parliament, the National People's Congress (NPC), a political body which is hardly familiar with the common law as practised in Hong Kong and whose chairman is the hard-line former prime minister, Li Peng. That is bad enough. What is worse is that this blow to the "high degree of autonomy" promised to Hong Kong was delivered as a result of the actions of its own government.
The head of that government, Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa, a British-educated shipping magnate whose family firm was bailed out by Beijing, is deeply conservative. He said the annual vigil for the Tiananmen Square massacre should be relegated to the "baggage" of history. Ignoring his advice, on 4th June 70,000 people turned out to mourn the victims of ten years ago.
By going to Beijing to get an "interpretation" of a ruling on mainland migration delivered by the Court of Final Appeal in Hong Kong, the government has undermined one of the key elements in the Hong Kong system: the rule of law. Of course, the Tung administration says it is as firmly attached to the rule of law as ever-an assurance gratefully noted by a British government anxious not to rock the boat with China. But the decision to ask a political body in Beijing to interpret the law in Hong Kong in order to reverse a verdict of its own supreme court has changed things radically. A senior legal officer even insists that the government can appeal to the NPC during a case.
The appeal to the NPC is part of a pattern of Hong Kong government officials behaving more and more like their counterparts in mainland China. The most striking examples come from the secretary for justice, Elsie Leung. Ms Leung, a reserved lady who resembles a demure Victorian governess, first aroused controversy by declining to prosecute a newspaper owner with good connections with Beijing. And on the sensitive matter of an anti-subversion law, she once said that "mainland norms" would have to be taken into account in framing legislation. Ms Leung is keener on "one country" than on "two systems." Tung, meanwhile, warns against Hong Kong becoming a base for subversive elements, and advises us all to be "more Chinese"-although his own children are American citizens.
Domestically, Tung takes less and less notice of the Hong Kong legislature, where popularly-elected members hold only one third of the seats. To show where his sympathies lie, he made a much-noted visit to the annual reception given by the main pro-Beijing party, while snubbing the democrats who won 70 per cent of the popular vote in elections in 1998.
A year ago, Hong Kong seemed to have made a decent start on its new course. Now, it is hard to be as optimistic. Yes, the economy looks as if it has bottomed out after a long recession. Yes, government intervention in the stock exchange a year ago has pushed the index up sharply. Yes, Hong Kong is still the most modern and international city in the world's most populous nation. But the will to be different, the will to make the Hong Kong exception work is being eroded.
Nobody knows how much of this is being directed from behind the scenes by Beijing. What is apparent is that those in charge of Hong Kong's destiny take a restricted view of the parameters of devolution they inherited when Chris Patten and Prince Charles sailed off into the rain two years ago. Whether-and how-the territory's 6.5m people will react is the big question hanging in Hong Kong's humid air-but don't expect London or Washington to speak out for the democrats.
