Information and Disinformation

December 10, 2014

Activists complain rumours distract and damage movement

By Kanis Leung & Jeffrey Loa

Hong Kong is a city with one of the highest smartphone penetration rates in the world, a relatively free-wheeling media and a growing online and alternative media scene. Add to that a large-scale social movement in the shape of the Occupy Movement and people hungry for news, and the result is a mass of information, some of it accurate, some of it less so and some of it downright false.

After the Occupy Movement began in late September, Facebook posts and WhatsApp messages about latest developments started to circulate wildly. As some readers and receivers click the “share” button without verifying the messages, rumours start to spread although their authenticity remains unverified.

On September 28, when the Hong Kong government fired tear gas at protesters in Admiralty, the rumours spread thick and fast. For example, the Hong Kong Federation of Students (HKFS) urged protesters to leave the streets that night because they had received information that police would shoot rubber bullets after midnight; some netizens said the People’s Liberation Army was coming through the Cross-Harbour Tunnel. The hundreds of thousands of protesters who gathered in Admiralty with goggles and masks checked their smartphones, reading and typing feverishly to process and exchange information.

Edwin Ty Pak-sing is a 20-year-old student studying in the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He was not physically in Admiralty on September 28 but he engaged in the battlefield at home with his mobile phone in his hands. Scanning through multiple recorded and text messages on WhatsApp that said police would use rubber bullets to disperse protesters, Ty was worried about his friends out on the streets. He sent out 10 to 20 such messages to warn the protesters. Even in hindsight, Ty says he would still share the unverified information even though it might be fake.

“If it is fake, at most you just believe in misinformation. But if it is true, it may have a great impact,” Ty says.

Ty says he did not share all the messages he received, but only those he believed made sense and did not have any negative impact. For instance, he saw rumours saying that Chinese military aircraft were flying over Hong Kong Airport, but he knew this was just daily flight practice and he dismissed the rumour as a joke.

Though Ty has developed his own method to decide if he should spread messages whether they are verified or not, some are concerned about the potential danger of spreading unverified information. Jonathan Wong Chun-him, a second year journalism student at the University of Hong Kong set up a Facebook page called LIVE: Verified Updates on September 28 to check out the veracity of rumours about the movement. He and his classmates working on the page believe that rumours can cause unnecessary panic.

The aim of the page is to post verified bilingual information about the movement. Some information comes from tip-offs and reports from citizens. Editors in the team will then call the relevant government departments or organisations to verify the information, while Wong and other team members post the information and verify rumours on the internet. The page now has around 113,000 likes.

Among the rumours the page has debunked is one that claimed protesters had used metal rods, metal racks and stones to attack the police. Wong’s team sent reporters to the scene to check it out and found it was untrue.

“They found those [metal rods and stones] were just rubbish and junk items. There was no such thing. But this was reported by Apple Daily at that time,” Wong says.

The Lonely Struggle For Recognition

December 10, 2014

Treatment hampered by lack of definition of rare disease in Hong Kong

By Macau Mak & Total Lam

For Terry Lai Ka-wai, doing simple things that most of us take for granted can be a struggle – for instance, walking. “I used to sweat heavily after walking outside for five minutes in winter. I’d be like someone who’s just played ball games and have to change my clothes,” he says.

Lai, who is now 24, was diagnosed with Pompe disease when he was nine. Pompe is an inherited metabolic disorder caused by the deficiency of an enzyme used to break down glycogen to glucose in lysosomes. The lack of the enzyme causes the buildup of the glycogen in the body’s cells which can impair organs from functioning normally.

In his teens, Lai suffered from muscle weakness, a drooping jaw, curved spine and reduced lung volume and had difficulty walking and speaking clearly.

The Hospital Authority (HA) started providing Lai with subsidised medical treatment in 2010, and his physical condition has improved since then. With increased stamina, he is now working in a ticketing office after finishing his degree at Hong Kong Polytechnic University.

With only around one in 40,000 people worldwide suffering from Pompe, it is regarded as a rare disease in some places like Taiwan and the United States.

There is no universal definition for a rare disease. Most are caused by genetic mutations, some of which are inherited. For the United States, any disease affecting about one in 1,500 people is defined as a rare disease; for the European Union, the figure is one in 2,000 people; for Taiwan, one in 10,000 people. Currently, more than 6,000 rare diseases are known, although the number of patients with any particular rare disease is relatively low.

In Hong Kong, the HA has not defined what counts as a rare disease, so related statistics are unavailable. However, it has been providing enzyme replacement therapy (ERT) to patients suffering from certain lysosomal storage diseases since 2008. The ERT drugs – which provide patients with the enzyme that is deficient or defective in their bodies – are categorized as special drugs in the HA Drug Formulary. Only six diseases are addressed, namely Pompe, Gaucher, Fabry and Mucopolysaccharidosis (MPS) Types I, II and VI. In 2008-2009 and 2010-2011, the government allocated additional recurrent funding of HK$10 million and HK$35 million respectively for the HA to provide the costly therapy.

However, patients are not automatically prescribed the treatment. In 2007, the HA established an expert panel to assess applications for ERT on a case-by-case basis. The panel comprises paediatricians, physicians, clinical pharmacology experts and pharmacists. The panel has handled 27 applications and 17 patients were still undergoing ERT in December 2013. The HA adopts a year-by-year contract system to provide ERT for successful applicants at highly subsidised charges.

Although Terry Lai is one of the successful applicants, he finds the system very stressful. “We would not know whether our contract is renewed until the last minute. It’s just creating fear and pressure for the patients,” he says. Lai adds he knows the HA stops renewing contracts for patients if their body function worsens. As the annual cost of ERT is around HK$2 million without a subsidy, Lai would be unable to continue treatment without government support. So he is under pressure to make sure he can make improvements in walking and lung function tests so that his contract can be renewed.

Make Up or Break Up

December 10, 2014

Marriage counsellers help couples to bury the hatchet and reconcile or part amicably

By Tracy Cheung & Benny Kung

Charles, now a 21-year-old undergraduate, can never forget the moment he called the police to stop his parents from fighting with each other. As an eight-year-old, he was terrified by an incident in which a chair was shattered into pieces and his parents had blood on their faces. Parents quarrelling over money and daily matters was a constant in his childhood.

Divorce was a topic repeatedly mentioned, but never realised. “I have always said if you want to divorce, go for it. As a child, I really understood this,” he says, adding that maintaining marital relations without addressing the problems is harmful to both parties and to any children of a marriage.

Charles (who does not want to disclose his full name) believes if his parents had sought help from marriage counselling, there may have been a remedy or at least some respite from their unhappy union. “Either they divorce or separate, or share the assets; everything will be much smoother with a middle-man. They do not have to torture each other for so long,” he sighed.

“My parents have lots of misunderstandings which are very complicated … if there had been a marriage counsellor, my father could have learnt how to deal with my mum’s emotions,” he says. A social worker from the Social Welfare Department did step in after the first incidence of domestic violence, but Charles believes they could not compare to a professional marriage counsellor. “Social workers may not know how to solve conflicts. Their only resort seems to be divorce or calling the police. But [a marriage counsellor] as a middle-man should be able to mediate the tension like lubricant,” he says.

Without support from any counselling or mediation services, Charles tried to solve the family problem by himself, but to no avail. “One of my relatives said if I studied hard I could make them happy and bring them together again,” he recalls. Nothing worked – the bickering and strained relations lasted until Charles’ dad passed away in June.

Unfortunately, Charles’s experience is not rare or unusual. According to the latest figures from the Statistics Department, the divorce rate has gone up from just under 1.6 per cent in 1993 to just under 3.5 per cent in 2013.

Dr Yeung Ka-ching, principal lecturer in the Department of Social Work and Social Administration at the University of Hong Kong, says both social and economic factors contribute to a growth in the number of divorces – such as women having higher financial autonomy, lower institutional barriers for divorce and the social acceptance of remarriage. But Yeung thinks there is something else. He is concerned the attitude towards marriage of the new generation has changed – from being a lifelong promise to an “easy come, easy go” decision. “In general, getting a divorce is easier and the cost is lower. Even if you remarry after divorce, society is more accepting,” Yeung says.

Dr Yeung Ka-ching, principal lecturer in the Department of Social Work and Social Administration at HKU

Marriage counselling in Hong Kong is provided by Integrated Family Service Centres under the Social Welfare Department, NGOs, churches and independent practitioners like psychologists and counsellors. Counselling services provided by independent practitioners generally cost around HK$1,000 for a one-hour session.

Yeung explains that marriage counselling provides a platform for couples to solve their most urgent concerns, then remedy their relationship, rather than to save a marriage at all costs. “Even if the couple realise they should get divorced in the end, it can be good [to get] counselling as they can have a happier life afterwards,” he says.

Yeung believes that although marriage counselling has become better accepted in recent years, Hong Kong society is not open-minded enough to make it a mainstay. “In the US, people just frankly share the names of their counsellors. In Hong Kong, people cannot fully accept it,” he says. Many still see marriage as a private matter and are ashamed to share problems with outsiders. Some even worry seeking marriage counselling will harm the family’s reputation. These views deter couples from seeking help at an early stage.

3D Printing opens the door to possibilities

December 10, 2014

Hopes are pinned to the medical use of the technology

By Vivian Lai & Zoe So

There were handicrafts and gadgets galore at the Hong Kong Mini Maker Faire where engineers, inventors and artisans showed off their creations. While many visitors gravitated towards the various robots on display, intent on their pilgrimage to find the perfect geekdom, a handful gathered in a corner of the exhibition hall. Their eyes were fixed on a 3D-printed artificial arm – a simple design, yet a cutting-edge invention – which 31-year-old participant Au Kai-chun was using to try to lift a water bottle.

Born without a left forearm, Au gave up using a traditional artificial arm after a short period of time as a child. “The traditional ones are designed to be durable and heavy, as they assume you will wear it throughout your life,’’ he says. Au has grown accustomed to life without a forearm, but when he came across the idea of a light and stylish prosthesis made by 3D printing, he decided to join a project initiated by the Maker Club as a tester.

Au Kai-chun is testing his 3D-printed artificial arm.

Maker Club is a voluntary group of technophiles, operational therapists and programmers. Inspired by the US-based international network, E-nabling the Future, members decided to help customise artificial limbs using 3D printing technology.

Au explains that designing a perfect prosthesis requires making lots of adjustments. “The traditional mould-making for each adjustment can be very expensive, costing more than HK$100,000 in total … 3D printing is cheap so you can experiment and improve continuously,” he says.

A 3D printer works like a normal printing machine. First, users have to scan an object or send a design blueprint to the printer. The needle-shaped printing head then deposits liquid plastic on the base according to the design. Layer upon layer is laid down until the plastic fuses together and the product takes shape.

Mark Li, one of the organisers of Maker Club, says the cost of producing a prosthesis automated by an electric motor is around HK$2,000, whereas a mechanical one would only cost several hundred dollars to make. So far, Maker Club has helped Au kai-chun and an 8-year-old boy by designing tailor-made plastic limbs for them.

The little boy was born with just a thumb and little finger on one hand, which makes it difficult for him to hold a pen and use an eraser. The doctor says he cannot wear an artificial hand as the traditional design does not fit. “We were touched by this case and so hoped to do something to help him,” says Li whose team designed a tailor-made mechanical fist for the boy. With the mechanical fist, he can control the fingers of his prosthesis to grab objects.

3D printing may bring new hope for disabled people and amputees, as any standardised 3D printer can be used to produce a patient-specific design. However, Tse Chi-yung, a professional prosthetist and orthotist collaborating with the Maker Club, still has reservations about this application of the technology and its limitations. “Amputees can actually get hurt if the prosthetic leg breaks when they are walking,” he says, “I’d hesitate if I had to introduce it to my patients because there’s no official recognition. What if it breaks easily? When it comes to medical equipment, certification is very important!”

3D-printed artificial limbs are lighter and less durable than the traditional ones. Though they are cheap to produce, they are only expected to last for one to two years. Lifting heavy objects or accelerating suddenly could overload and break a prosthesis, leading to safety concerns. There is still a long way to go before hospitals can recognise the use of 3D-printed artificial limbs.

Although 3D printing may seem to be new and cutting-edge, the manufacturing industry has been using this technology for years, especially in the production of toys, jewellery and other small components. Compared to using traditional mould-making and die-casting to mass produce identical objects, 3D printing is more flexible, customisable and design-sensitive.

It has become better known among the general public recently because some local artists have used the technology to make sculptures and artwork, while cheaper, consumer-targeted 3D printers have enabled handicraft workshops to let people have a go at printing their own designs. The biomedical application of the technology remains less well-known and understood.

The Weather Chasers

December 10, 2014

No typhoon too terrible for Hong Kong’s storm hunters

By Grace Cheung

It was around 11:00 p.m. on 15 September 2014 and the T8 tropical cyclone signal had been issued for half an hour. Thick, dense clouds gathered in the sky and the raging wind was howling. Suddenly, a deafening bang split the air and tree branches collapsed under the gale. Instead of taking shelter at home, three youngsters in raincoats trudged uphill on a path strewn with fallen branches in the driving rain and then walked up to the roof of an eight-storey building facing Tolo Harbour. They held up their anemometers to measure the wind speed of Typhoon Kalmaegi, which had left chaos and destruction in the Philippines, and was now passing over Hong Kong.

Every summer, from July to September, Hong Kong’s meteorology enthusiasts pursue one of their most popular activities – wind chasing. They gather in the most exposed and wind-stricken areas to experience the power of the typhoons that visit this humid, sub-tropical city with four fairly distinct seasons and a temperate climate.

But tropical cyclones, while particularly fascinating to nearly all Hong Kong’s weather geeks, is just one of the aspects of their hobby. In general, meteorology is the science of the weather, or the study of the weather phenomena within the Earth’s atmosphere.

Calvin Yu cheuk-hei, a second year university student, was one of the young wind chasers experiencing Typhoon Kalmaegi on the Sha Tin rooftop that day. He has been a key committee member of the Hong Kong Meteorological Communication Centre – a group of amateur weather enthusiasts – for five years. Yu points out the differences between meteorology and astronomy, two disciplines that many Hongkongers tend to mix-up. “Phenomena that occur out of the atmosphere and are related to other planets fall under astronomy, such as solar eclipses and lunar eclipses,” he says.

Yu says the misconception is partially caused by the fact that the Hong Kong Observatory (HKO) is the official department for disseminating information concerning both meteorology and astronomy. “The Chinese name of Hong Kong Observatory implies ‘astronomy’, and the HKO is also responsible for reporting the times for eclipses and meteor showers,” he says.

While meterology is a mystery to most ordinary Hongkongers, it has been a lifelong passion for 43-year-old Clarence Fong Chi-kong. Fong launched the website Weather Underground of Hong Kong in June 1995, even before the HKO had a website.

The website is now the city’s most influential unofficial educational platform for sharing information about meteorology. It regularly publishes the latest weather charts, data and satellite maps.

When Fong first started it, he simply shared the statistics and graphs collected from other foreign sources online. “Before the launch of my online data base, HKO hadn’t published any of its weather statistics to the general public,” he says.

Since the launch of the HKO website in 1996, Fong’s site has run alongside it and he now writes blogs on the website to explain weather phenomena in a way laymen can understand. He has also started a Facebook page for Weather Underground of Hong Kong as an instant sharing platform.

Fong once worked at the HKO, joining as experimental officer in 1993, but he was disappointed the job was not a purely scientific one. As he had studied programming at university and had not studied physics at school or in college, he could not become a scientific officer. Besides, what he really enjoyed was conducting his research without any constraints. “I like to see the changes of weather and forecast them. Whether they’re accurate or not is just my business and I don’t need to explain to others…or give them any warning,” he says. So he left the HKO in 1995 and is now working as a web developer.

Fong first got into meteorology because he was fascinated with typhoons. He reminisces about his childhood days when the HKO physically hoisted typhoon signals onto selected towers on high ground. “These metal signals weighed over 40-50 pounds,” he says. “I would raise 3-D typhoon signals made of cardboard at home, and asked my parents to look.”

By the time he was at secondary school, Fong was already writing computer programs for entering tropical cyclone statistics and plotting typhoon tracks using real-time information from radio announcements. He recalls the computer was an Apple II which his father had bought him as a reward for his good academic results. He also regarded libraries as a treasure trove of information and he spent many hours building up his knowledge of meteorology in his university library.

Unlike the young weather fanatics, Fong rarely goes wind chasing as he does not want to take the risk. Instead, he sets up weather stations in secondary schools he collaborates with in Tai Po and Aberdeen, as well as his former home in Prince Edward. These provide him with real-time weather data to share on his website, including temperature, humidity, precipitation, wind speed and so on. “The weather stations are wireless and quite portable,” he says, “And they are accurate as they are the same models that were used at the Beijing Olympics Games.”

It’s a RAP!

December 10, 2014

Ethnic minority rappers break through cultural boundaries

By Antonia Wong

Inside a dimly-lit room in a youth centre in Aberdeen, an excited crowd of around 20 people stand in front of a small stage, waiting for the next act to appear in a line-up of local indie bands, rappers and beat-box artists. When the DJ starts to spin the decks, and three non-Chinese hip-hop artists take to the stage, the response is at first hushed – as if the audience is not ready to process the English language rhymes. But they soon warm to the trio and groove along to the beats.

The three rappers are members of Dope Boy, an ethnically diverse Hong Kong hip-hop ensemble made up of seven rappers from India, the Philippines, Britain and Brazil. While Cantonese is the dominant language of the underground hip-hop scene in Hong Kong, local audiences can still enjoy and relate to their music.

Dope Boy sees rap as an effective means to express their feelings and connect with the local community. The group’s vision is to merge with the local underground hip-hop scene and create what they believe hip-hop is really about – respect and unity. It is a vision they have embraced since becoming hooked on hip-hop during their secondary school years.

Hector Telmo, also known as SCF-SAiNT, 23, is a Hong Kong born and raised Filipino member of Dope Boy. As his parents are both professional musicians, Telmo has been exposed to different genres of music since he was a child. But he found himself the most drawn to hip-hop, which was wildly popular among the ethnic minority students in Delia Memorial School (Hip Wo) in Kwun Tong, a “designated school” for non-Chinese students.

Dope Boy members Hector Telmo (Left) and Mohit Kaliandasani

Telmo recalls that at the school, students would rap and write lyrics in class. He himself started to write his own songs when he was in Form Three. He loved rap because of the strong rhythm, poetic quality and the rhyming syllables, but he was also attracted to it because it was a channel to vent his emotions as he struggled against bullying at school. It was through writing lyrics and performing that he built up a sense of identity. “When you start creating your identity, people see you just like, ‘oh he can do that? That’s so cool’,” Telmo says.

Telmo’s view is shared by his fellow Delia Memorial School alumnus and Dope Boy member, 20-year-old Mohit Kaliandasani. Kaliandasani’s family originally came from India, but like Telmo he was born in Hong Kong. He says his primary school teachers used to dislike him but everything changed for him at secondary school once he started to perform. Rapping earned him respect from schoolmates and teachers. “The passion for music has brought us in front of the crowd and that feeling is very appealing to us,” he says.

But making music is also about expressing emotions and opinions. Kaliandasani and Telmo say they have written about such diverse subjects as breaking up with their girlfriends, the importance of individuality, and about how the world is not such a nice place.

My City, a track written by Dope Boy three years ago tells stories from an ethnic minority perspective, with each member contributing his own fearless verse about what they think of Hong Kong.

The track highlights the importance of diversity and criticises the flaws in Hong Kong’s social system, including how the opinions of ordinary people are not treasured and artists are not given the attention they deserve. Lines include: “Born in an underdog city where the industry is tasteless … Overwork myself each day – CALL IT ENDLESS! Some say MONEY AIN’T EVERYTHING but if you TRYNNA LIVE, IT IS!” and “from the city of lights – Where the officials decide? A lot are underrated – loaded with ego and pride!”

From Sweetheart to Survivor

December 10, 2014

Former screen and singing star Gloria Yip makes her mark as an artist and mother

By Angel Liu

In a quiet corner of a trendy shopping mall in crowded, bustling Tsim Sha Tsui, Gloria Yip Wan-yee walks gracefully into her arts and crafts workshop, Art Around. Still fresh-faced and youthful, the 41-year-old actress, artist and mother talks calmly and wisely about her past, her ups and downs in life and her future plans.

Twenty years after she quit show business, Yip made a comeback with a brand new image by playing the role of a ditzy but kind-hearted woman known as Chubby Akina in the TVB drama Never Dance Alone. The series is about the travails of a group of girlhood friends who reunite after many years, husbands, children, divorces and career struggles. The programme and the show have put Yip back in the limelight.

What has also captured attention is Yip’s unfussy and unswerving public support for the Umbrella Movement. She posts strong messages of support for the students and other occupiers on her Facebook page and pays frequent visits to Admiralty. She spent one night walking from Admiralty to Causeway Bay, tying yellow ribbons on street railings and signposts.

She has come a long way from the cutesy teenager who captured hearts in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan and Korea in the 1980s and 1990s.

Yip never set out to be a star. When she was 13, she was discovered by a talent scout while out shopping with her mum in Causeway Bay. This chance encounter set her on an unexpected and extraordinary path.

She started her journey in the entertainment industry by shooting commercials, and became the face of Vitasoy. At that time, posters featuring Yip drinking soy milk were plastered everywhere.

Still, she tried to live the normal life of a schoolgirl away from work. “I tried my best not to let it affect learning.” Yip says. “I told myself that at least I have to finish my studies till form five.” She continued to attend school, and only worked during weekends and long semester breaks. If she had to be on shoots, she brought her homework with her so she could revise when she was not needed.

But her acting career took off quicker than she could have imagined. In 1988, Yip received a phone call from a producer asking her to take a role in the Hong Kong-Japan collaboration movie, Peacock King, an action fantasy based on a Japanese manga. She was just 14 when she made her big screen debut as Ashura the Hell Virgin.

The movie turned out to be a great success both in Hong Kong and Japan after its release in 1989. Yip was named the most popular foreign female actress in Japan that year. One year later, she received the same title in Korea. Her sweet and innocent image gained her a lot of fans overseas. This opened the door to a singing career.

In 1990, Yip released her first album in Japan, becoming the third Chinese female artist to break into show business in Japan after Teresa Teng Li-chun and Agnes Chan Mei-ling. Soon, Yip’s career spanned Hong Kong, Japan, Korea and Taiwan.

So it came as shock when she suddenly announced her retirement from show business to marry toy manufacturer and businessman Chen Pak Ho in 1995. She was just 22 and her star was ascending.

Although people were stunned, Yip says she herself had long planned to quit. “When I started my work in the entertainment business, I made myself a promise that after five years, I would stop everything and go back to school,” Yip says. “I hope I can be trying out different things in different stages of life,” she adds.

Fermi Wong stands against racism, for Hong Kong

December 10, 2014

Campaigner steps down from Unison after serving ethnic minority communities for 16 years

By Agnes Ng

Sometimes, the surest sign of love is knowing when to let go. For Fermi Wong Wai-fun, setting up and running Unison, Hong Kong’s foremost non-governmental organisation (NGO) advocating for the rights of ethnic minorities, has been a labour of love. Now, after 16 years, Wong has left the organisation in the hope that it can be more effective without her at the helm.

“I have been working non-stop in Unison for 16 years. I am really tired,” Wong says, then stops and tries to mask the hardship with a smile. “I think it is the time for me to let go.”

Wong started her career as a social worker specialising in community work in 1995. In the course of her work, she saw a pressing need for ethnic minorities to get out of poverty and segregation, particularly in schools. “Serving ethnic minorities is not a choice, [it’s that] at that moment you see the need and then you naturally respond,” Wong says.

Wong strongly believes everyone is entitled to dignity regardless of his or her race. “Under everyone’s skin, our bones are white and our blood is red. I cannot see that they [ethnic minorities] are inferior compared with the Chinese-speaking people,” Wong says resolutely.

Wong founded Unison in 2001 with two other partners. “There was not even a single organisation helping the ethnic minorities, so I did it myself,” Wong says.

P1090736 — Wong with members of ethnic minority communities.

It was an uphill struggle. For the first three years, there was no funding and the organisation ran on donations. Wong herself depended on handouts. “My sister gave me cash. I cannot remember whether it was $3,000 or $5,000,” Wong says with gratitude. “But I spent most of it on Unison. I did not use much, only for dining and transportation,” she adds.

Apart from the lack of money, Unison also had no office. Wong says she used to meet her clients in neighbourhood cha chaan teng diners. She soon realised this did not work since the diners would charge double if customers only ordered drinks and Wong did not have the money to pay for food every time. Neither was it appropriate to go to parks because they were too exposed for private emotions; sometimes her clients wept when talking about their suffering.

Wong went as far as asking her then boyfriend, now husband, if he could lend her his home in Yuen Long where many ethnic minorities live. Fortunately, her teacher’s friend lent Wong an office space in Mong Kok after hearing about her plight. Once she had an office, she furnished it with items she picked up near a refuse collection point.

“Our lack of resources might affect the scale of our services but it could be overcome,” Wong says. She then “found” clients by doing outreach work among the ethnic minorities. She would start random conversations in parks and offer to help members of the ethnic minorities to find schools and jobs. When they were in trouble with the law, she sometimes bailed them out. Gradually, she built up friendship and trust. Sometimes she even gave the key of her office to teenagers who had nowhere to sleep at night.

Before drug rehabilitation centres started to accept drug users from Nepal, some of them would seek Wong out. “I helped them to quit,” she says. “Actually it was very dangerous and luckily they did not die,” Wong says, describing scenes where drug users would be writhing on the floor suffering from withdrawal symptoms, while she worked at her desk and tried to distract them by chanting sutras.

The Storyteller’s Tale

December 10, 2014

How telling stories healed activist Yuen Che-hung’s soul

By Donna Shiu

A small, slight man with a mop of grey hair is walking along a running track as a train in the middle distance approaches fast. He feels the onrush of the locomotive and, when it surges past, it seems as if it is taking his wrinkles away as it speeds off into the night. The man is 62-year-old storyteller Yuen Che-hung, better known as Uncle Hung, and he is describing a scene and an emotion he experienced on his way to his interview with Varsity. It may very well appear later in one of Yuen’s stories, if it has not done so already.

“My innate ability is to find stories,” Yuen says. He has felt a strong urge to express himself since he was a child but was not always brave enough to speak his mind. The first stories were told under his blanket, where he played multiple roles in his heroic tales. But he never expected he could turn his storytelling talent into a career that has lasted for more than two decades.

Before becoming a full-time storyteller, Yuen had a number of different jobs. He taught English at a secondary school, worked in the publishing unit of a kindergarten and for the theatre education team of the Chung Ying Theatre Company. It was while working for the theatre company that he discovered his interest in storytelling.

As a storyteller, Yuen goes to different schools to tell stories on request. In his work, he comes across many children and parents. Some of these parents insist the value of storytelling lies in how much the stories can teach children. Yuen believes this is a misconception. He responds by asking them when children start to read. “Babies start to read from birth,” Yuen says. “When they open their eyes, the world is a book … Kids saying they know nothing actually know more than adults.”

Yuen thinks stories help children to learn about the world through stimulating and stirring up their curiosity. He refuses to tell stories that urge children to act in a certain way which are very popular in Chinese societies. “When you want to exhort children [to behave] with a story, the story is fading. Children can only remember the exhortation,” he says.

Yuen’s educational philosophy is to let the world speak for itself. It is a parenting style he learnt from his father. Yuen’s father always supported his choices, something that allowed his son to be a life-long dreamer. When Yuen was in Secondary Six in 1971, he was swept up in the active student movement of the time – enlightened by books of existentialist philosophy and listening to the songs of Bob Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel.

Hard To Say Goodbye

December 10, 2014