It has been fashionable in post-Handover Hong Kong to play down the territory’s colonial past. The Chief Executive rarely trumpets his knighthood. Queen’s Pier has been unceremoniously demolished. The secondary and tertiary education systems have changed from the British model to the North American model. Even the postboxes have changed their stripes.
However, all of these changes have not completely eradicated the remnants of British rule. There are as yet no calls for Pottinger Street, Robinson Road or Nathan Road (all named after former Governors) to be renamed. More fundamentally, the aggressive mercantilism of Hong Kong owes much, in spirit at least, to Lord Palmerston, the original “gunboat diplomat”.
Palmerston’s strongly interventionist views on foreign policy were matched only by his abrasive manner (he was nicknamed “Lord Pumice Stone” by an unfavourably disposed Tory press) - perhaps the closest equivalent in modern politics would be former US-UN Ambassador John Bolton. Moreover, Palmerston’s brinksmanship and cavalier approach to government are not traits which would meet with popular approval in today’s electorate.
But what is undoubtedly the most damning aspect of Palmerston’s biography to modern eyes is the extent of Palmerston’s involvement in the First and Second Opium Wars, ultimately leading to the Treaty of Nanking (1842) and First Peking Convention (1860). It was under these instruments that Hong Kong Island and the Kowloon Peninsula were ceded to the British Empire.
For all the revulsion expressed towards Palmerston and his views, however, it is impossible to deny his impact on Hong Kong’s history. Had a more conciliatory hand been at the foreign policy helm, the development of Hong Kong as an enclave (relatively) free from the political contortions of its Northern neighbour over the 20th Century - and the forces which necessitated its return in 1997 - would never have been possible.
Adopting Palmerston as a nom de plume does not connote approval of his foreign policies, or indeed of his numerous personal peccadilloes. His substantive views on foreign policy, as well as their delivery, met with strenuous objections even in the Parliament of the day. But few other figures from Hong Kong’s colonial history have had an impact which is still being felt, a century and a half after the guns fell silent.
Palmerston is preparing to enter a profession once described as “serving coffee for the rich and powerful”, and therefore writes behind a pseudonym. Despite his choice of occupation, he is incapable of operating a coffee machine.
