Writing 25 years ago in an American think-tank publication launched to chronicle the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region’s birth, I penned a report on its first month and noted that the Post had, on July 28, published the findings of an opinion survey in which confidence in the city’s economic and political future had risen by five points, to 98, since April 1997.

That optimism contrasted with the alarmist warnings being sounded by the Western media in the run-up to the handover.

The optimism proved justified. In the first five years and more, the Communist Party and Chinese government bent over backwards to give then chief executive Tung Chee-hwa, a man they trusted, a free hand in running the SAR.

But when Tung failed to enact national security legislation as Beijing expected (and as many in Hong Kong dreaded) in 2003, Beijing adopted a more hands-on approach, eventually including involvement in local politics.

Meanwhile, pro-democracy politicians demanded the introduction of universal suffrage elections. Before 1997, Lu Ping, director of the State Council’s Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office, had repeatedly pledged that Hong Kong people, not Beijing, would decide when the Legislative Council would be elected by universal suffrage.

However, when the request for universal suffrage was raised in 2004, Beijing reneged. The National People’s Congress Standing Committee made it clear that its approval was required before Hong Kong could initiate any change.

The degree of autonomy had narrowed, most likely because of the Article 23 fiasco.

From 2003-2004 onwards, Hong Kong-Beijing ties were increasingly brittle, with Hong Kong democrats demanding universal suffrage and Beijing adamantly insisting the time was not ripe. The SAR government, caught in the middle, tried not to offend either side.

Opinion surveys were a case in point. The central government’s liaison office put pressure on Robert Chung Ting-yiu, then director of the public opinion programme of the University of Hong Kong, to stop asking people about their sense of identity. Such surveys showed that, increasingly, more thought of themselves as Hongkongers than as Chinese.

The Legislative Council asked the SAR administration if there was any measure in place “to ensure that academic freedom in Hong Kong is free from political interference”.

In January 2012, Raymond Tam, the secretary for constitutional and mainland affairs, responded by endorsing academic freedom, specifically including the right to conduct surveys. But he also upheld the right of mainland officials to say whatever they liked because “freedom of speech and freedom of expression are Hong Kong’s core values”.

This attempt at an even-handed approach did not please either side. A turning point was reached in 2014 when Beijing issued a white paper on “one country, two systems” in which it claimed “comprehensive jurisdiction” over Hong Kong, even while asserting that the SAR exercised “a high degree of autonomy”.

Not surprisingly, when the NPC Standing Committee on August 31 that year issued a decision that allowed the election of the chief executive by universal suffrage in 2017, it included a condition that candidates needed approval by a pro-Beijing nominating committee. Legco rejected this measure because of opposition by pan-democratic lawmakers.

When Carrie Lam Cheng Yuet-ngor assumed office in 2017, political polarisation was deeply entrenched. She further plunged the city into chaos in 2019 by proposing extradition legislation that would allow fugitives to be sent to the mainland for trial, an issue deadlocked for years.

The Lam administration tried to bulldoze the bill through Legco. On June 9, 1 million people marched in protest – twice the 2003 turnout – but Lam persisted. After violence broke out, she eventually withdrew the bill, but the protests and riots continued into 2020 until Covid-19 arrived.

In the interim, Lam was impotent. Legco, the police headquarters and even the liaison office were attacked.

In April 2020, the Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office and the liaison office asserted their right to “supervise” how the one country, two systems policy was being implemented. The Lam administration quickly acknowledged the agencies’ authority.

On June 30, Beijing imposed a national security law on Hong Kong without going through the local legislature. This was followed by the setting up in Hong Kong of an Office for Safeguarding National Security, empowered to “supervise, guide, coordinate with and support” the Hong Kong SAR in performing its national security duties.

In 2021, the electoral system was overhauled and replaced by a “patriots only” system. In May this year, the 1,461-member Election Committee was given the task of electing the next chief executive. Their choice was easy: John Lee Ka-chiu, the lone candidate.

Critics say one country, two systems is finished. But the SAR, with its own currency, passport and membership in the World Trade Organization isn’t just another Chinese city. Still, the national security law has definitely changed Hong Kong. There’s no gainsaying the fact that rights and freedoms are affected.

Lee disputes that. He attributes the widespread concern to fearmongering and plans to convince the world that such fears are unwarranted. But propaganda is not the answer. Lee can only change minds through action.

It would be wonderful if the new chief executive turns into a champion of freedom. This is no joke. Lee is trusted by Beijing, just as Tung was. If Lee demonstrates through deeds that freedom continues, aside for narrow exceptions, he can reassure not only foreign businessmen but also the local population.

Of course, he will need Beijing’s backing. China’s agencies in the SAR must similarly respect freedoms, now that they can wield power directly in Hong Kong.

It is a tall order. But if Lee wants to revive Hong Kong with a reset that lures back foreigners, he needs to keep locals happy as well. Freedom is the bottom line. Democracy can be set as a future target but the requirement for freedom is immediate.