by Chan Ho-Kei
Siu-Man was silent for a few minutes, then pulled herself together and slowly started speaking again. The policewoman wrote everything down. Siu-Man told them how she’d started to panic, then the hand suddenly pulled away. Just as she was breathing a sigh of relief, she felt it lifting the skirt of her school uniform and stroking her thigh. She felt a wave of nausea, as if cockroaches were skittering across her skin, but it was still too crowded for her to move, and all she could do was pray he didn’t reach any higher.
Of course, her prayers weren’t answered.
The perv went back to her ass, squirmed beneath her knickers, and started inching toward her private parts. Too terrified to move, all she could do was frantically pull her skirt back down, trying to keep him from going any farther.
“I—I don’t know how long he was touching me … I just kept begging him in my head to let me go.” Siu-Man trembled as she spoke. Nga-Yee’s heart hurt at the sight. “Then the lady saved me.”
“Lady?” said Nga-Yee.
“Several public-spirited onlookers helped to stop the molester,” explained the policewoman.
As the train pulled into Kowloon Tong, a woman’s loud voice cut through the car. “You! What do you think you’re doing?” It was the middle-aged woman Siu-Man had noticed chatting noisily on her phone.
“When the lady shouted, the hand suddenly went away,” Siu-Man said shakily.
“I’m talking to you! What were you just doing?”
The woman was shouting at a tall man two or three passengers away from Siu-Man. He looked about forty, with waxy yellow skin, protruding cheekbones, a flat nose, and thin lips. There was something shifty in his eyes. He wore a dull blue shirt, which made his pallor even more stark.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, you! I said, what were you just doing?”
“What was I doing?”
The man looked a little anxious. The train came to a halt at Kowloon Tong, and the doors opened on the right-hand side.
“I’m asking you, pervert. Did you touch this girl?” The woman nodded at Siu-Man.
“You’re crazy!” The man shook his head and tried to leave with the departing passengers.
“Not so fast!” The woman pushed through the crowd and caught hold of his arm before he could get away. “Girl, did this man just touch your ass?”
Siu-Man bit her lower lip, her eyes wandering, uncertain whether she ought to tell the truth.
“Don’t be scared, girl. I’ll be your witness! Just tell me!”
Filled with fear, Siu-Man nodded.
“You’re both insane! Let me out!” screamed the man. The other passengers were starting to notice what was going on, and someone pressed the emergency button to let the conductor know.
“I saw it with my own eyes! Don’t deny it! You’re coming with us to the police station!”
“I—I just bumped into her by accident! Look at her. You think I’d bother touching her ass? If you don’t let go of me, I’ll have you charged with illegal detention!” The man shoved the woman aside and tried to leave the train, but among the onlookers was a strapping chap in a muscle shirt who reached out and stopped him.
“Sir, whether you did it or not, you’d better go to the station and clear this up,” he said, a little threateningly.
Amid the commotion, Siu-Man huddled in her corner, feeling the eyes of the other passengers on her, some with pity, others out of curiosity or prurience. The way some of the men looked at her made her uncomfortable—as if they were asking, “So you were groped? What was that like? Are you ashamed? Did you enjoy it?” Her legs wobbled. She crumpled into a heap on the ground and started sobbing.
“Hey, don’t cry, I’ll take care of you,” boomed the woman.
The loud woman, the strapping man, and another lady who looked like an office worker accompanied Siu-Man to the police station to make a statement. According to the first woman, everyone else on the train was busy looking at their phones, so she was the only one who’d noticed Siu-Man seeming flustered. Then at Shek Kip Mei station, as people moved out of the way, she glimpsed the schoolgirl’s skirt being lifted and her ass being groped. As soon as she raised the alarm, quite a few passengers had started filming with their phones. These days, there are literally cameras everywhere.
The man they detained was named Shiu Tak-Ping. He was forty-three, the owner of a stationery shop in Lower Wong Tai Sin. He denied the charge, insisting that he’d bumped into Siu-Man by accident, that she was making a big thing out of it because they’d had a small argument earlier. His version of events was that Siu-Man had visited the station kiosk at Yau Ma Tei and taken such a long time to pay that a line started to form. Shiu Tak-Ping had been right behind her and snapped at her to hurry up. She’d been angry with him for that, and when she saw him again on the train, she decided to get her revenge with a false accusation.
The police questioned the convenience store cashier and confirmed that there had been an unpleasant encounter. The cashier recalled that Shiu Tak-Ping had lost his temper badly and, even after Siu-Man left, had gone on grumbling, “Young people today are all wasters. They’ll ruin Hong Kong, causing trouble for no reason.” This didn’t prove that Siu-Man had a grudge against him, however, and Shiu Tak-Ping’s actions certainly seemed to indicate guilt: he’d spat out insults and then tried to flee the scene, and Kowloon Tong wasn’t even his stop—his home and his shop were in Wong Tai Sin.
“Miss, please read this over and make sure there isn’t anything you don’t agree with,” said the policewoman, placing the statement in front of Siu-Man. “If there are no problems, sign at the bottom.”
Siu-Man picked up the ballpoint pen and signed her name uneasily. This was Nga-Yee’s first sight of a police witness statement. Above the signature line was the declaration “I understand that knowingly making a false statement to the police is a crime, and I am liable to prosecution if I do so.” This sounded serious. Nga-Yee hardly ever had to sign any legal documents, and here was Siu-Man, still a child, taking on the responsibility of putting her name to such a hefty document.
As the case worked its way through the legal system, a few small news items showed up, referring to Siu-Man only as “Miss A.” One reporter tried to cause a splash by revealing that Shiu’s stationery store carried racy magazines, some of which centered around Japanese schoolgirls, and that Shiu was a photography enthusiast; sometimes he and his fellow shutterbugs would book a model for a shoot, and the article hinted that he had a particular interest in underage girls. A public indecency case like this wasn’t given a great deal of space, however, and hardly any readers would have paid attention. After all, such incidents happened every day, and at that point, all the newspapers and magazines were focused on the Occupy movement and other political news.
On February 9, the first hearing was held, and Shiu Tak-Ping was formally charged with indecent assault. He pleaded not guilty, and his lawyer requested an adjournment, arguing that the “widespread media coverage” had made it impossible for him to receive a fair trial, but this was denied. The judge scheduled a trial to begin at the end of the month, and Nga-Yee received a notification summoning Siu-Man to the court, where she would be permitted to testify by video link or from behind a screen. Nga-Yee was anxious for her sister, who would have to stand there all alone being questioned by Shiu’s lawyer, who was sure to be ruthless in asking her about every little detail of the crime and her personal life.
As it turned out, Nga-Yee needn’t have worried.
When the trial began on February 26, Shiu Tak-Ping abruptly changed his plea to guilty, which meant that no one would be called on to testify. All that remained was for the judge to read through the psychiatric evaluation and other materials in order to pass sentence. On March 16, Shiu was sent to prison for three months, although taking his guilty plea and remorse into account, he would serve only two months, starting immediately.
Nga-Yee thought this would be the end of the matter, so Siu-Man could forge
t about this awful event and slowly go back to normal. Instead, a month after Shiu began his sentence, a nightmare began that would eventually bring her sister to the end of the line.
On Friday, April 10, a week before Siu-Man’s fifteenth birthday, a post appeared on Popcorn, a local chatboard:
POSTED BY kidkit727 ON 10-04-2015, 22:18
Fourteen-Year-Old Slut Sent My Uncle to Prison!!
I can’t take it anymore. I have to stand up for my uncle.
My uncle’s 43. He lives with my aunt in Wong Tai Sin and owns a stationery shop. He works so hard every day, just to earn a living for his family. He doesn’t have much education—he quit school after Secondary Three—but he’s an upright guy. He used to be a cashier at the shop, and he was so honest and polite, the previous boss let him take over when he retired. I’ve never heard my uncle tell a lie, his prices are fair, and all the neighbors would tell you the same. But a fourteen-year-old slut said he did something he didn’t, and now he’s in prison.
This was last November, on the Kwun Tong MTR. A fourteen-year-old schoolgirl accused my uncle of grabbing her ass. He didn’t! This girl just wanted revenge! Earlier, my uncle stopped at the Yau Ma Tei convenience store for cigarettes. He was standing behind this girl, I think she was buying a phone top-up card, but when she tried to pay, she didn’t have enough money. She took forever scrabbling around in her bag for change, while the line behind her grew longer and longer. Finally, my uncle shouted, “Hurry up, all these people are waiting for you. Just move aside if you can’t afford it.” She swung around and started screaming, so of course my uncle said something like she must be badly brought up, and who knows what kind of parents she had. She just blanked him. People say barking dogs don’t bite, and this bitch is an excellent example. She didn’t say a word the whole time my uncle was scolding her, but got her revenge later on when she falsely accused him.
He didn’t do anything, so of course he couldn’t confess, but all the newspaper reports were biased against him. My uncle and aunt got a rough ride. My uncle likes taking photographs—his only hobby. They don’t have much money, so he only has cheap or secondhand equipment. He stocks photography magazines in his shop, and sometimes he gets together with like-minded friends to take pictures of landscapes or figures. The papers made it sound like he was a pedo shooting naked girls. Oh, please! There are dozens of photo books in my uncle’s shop. The reporters found the one or two that had girls in school uniforms, and made that into a big thing. Those photo sessions only took place once or twice a year, but they made it sound like some monthly orgy.
My uncle was worried these stories would influence the judge. He knew it was stupid of him to run away when that slut accused him. The lawyer told him because he’d tried to flee, and the plaintiff was under sixteen, it was less likely the court would believe him. At least if he pleaded guilty, they might reduce his sentence. Otherwise, he’d “force” the girl to relive the whole experience on the stand, the judge would think he had no remorse, and he’d end up spending even longer in jail. My uncle stood firm for a while, but finally gave in. My aunt isn’t well, and he was worried she’d find it hard being all alone. He thought it was better to get it over with quickly. Ever since those nonsense stories in the papers, people came to the shop every day to point and whisper at my aunt. My uncle loves her so much, he decided to bow in the face of injustice and go to prison.
How could such a good and loving man have ever touched a girl on the MTR?
There are quite a few holes in this case:
(1) My uncle is five foot ten, and that girl is barely five foot three. That’s a whole seven inches difference. She said my uncle lifted her skirt to touch her ass. Wouldn’t he have to reach down quite far to do that? Yet no one else noticed?
(2) Of course my uncle wanted to get away. Wouldn’t you? Imagine some weird, nasty-looking person accuses you of something you didn’t do, would you just stand there and take it? Everything in Hong Kong is upside down and back to front these days—there’s power, but no justice. The law doesn’t mean anything anymore, you can say that black is white and people agree. How could he be sure anyone would believe him?
(3) The police said this was a serious case because the victim was under sixteen. So why not collect evidence right away? If what she said was true, there’d be cloth fibers under his fingernails, and sweat from his fingers on the underpants. Did they test for DNA?
Most importantly, my uncle isn’t stupid enough to take this kind of risk. He could lose his family, his career and his whole life, and for what? Some plain-looking underage girl?
My uncle pleaded guilty to put an end to the whole thing. I was going to go along with it and let this blow over, then today I got some news that made me angry all over again.
A friend of mine dug up some dirt about this fourteen-year-old girl. It seems everyone at her school knows she’s a bitch who likes to make trouble. She might seem all nice on the surface, but actually she’s scheming behind everyone’s back. She stole someone’s boyfriend, then dumped him when she got bored. That’s why she has no friends. None of her classmates want anything to do with her. Outside of school, she was hanging out with scumbags and drinking, maybe even taking drugs and sleeping around, who knows.
According to a classmate, she was brought up without a dad. When her mom died last year and there was no one to keep her under control, she got even worse. The way I see it, she’s taking out her unhappiness on everyone around her. After her stunt on the MTR, she gets to play the pitiful little victim and get everyone’s sympathy. But what did my uncle ever do wrong? So he has to sacrifice his and his family’s happiness for her selfish desires?
I’m sorry, uncle. I know you want this whole thing to go away, but I can’t keep quiet any longer!
Less than a day after this rant was posted, it became the most popular item on the site, and soon it was going viral on Facebook and other social media. The Umbrella Movement was making many people suspect that the police were abusing their powers and using too much force, or even that they were in cahoots with the triads. When they tried to keep order, the protesters said they were totalitarians suppressing the people’s rights. In this atmosphere, many people on Popcorn took the side of the anonymous poster. It fitted their narrative: justice hadn’t been served, the police had been lax in their duties, which meant that Shiu Tak-Ping must be innocent. They threatened “Miss A” and said they would expose her. A few days later someone posted a picture of Siu-Man on that thread, along with her full name, school, and address. It’s illegal to reveal information about an underage victim, so the mods swiftly deleted the post, but not before many people had screenshotted the photo and info, deleting a word or two to get around the law: “this slut Au ___Man from E___ School in Yau Ma Tei” or “a fourteen-year-old whore from Lok ___ Estate __ Siu-Man.” They posted awful things about her and even photoshopped her face onto all sorts of humiliating pictures.
Nga-Yee loved reading books, but she was practically illiterate when it came to the internet. She didn’t have any friends, so social media and chatboards were like foreign countries to her. She had to learn how to use email because of her job at the library, but that was about it. That’s why she hadn’t heard about the post until three days after it appeared, when one of her colleagues told her on the Monday. Only then did she realize why Siu-Man had spent all weekend at home, looking distracted. Their dusty home computer was a low-cost model, installed along with the internet. There were a lot of residents in their estate, so the providers offered a cheap monthly internet fee. This happened a couple of years after Nga-Yee started work, when their finances weren’t as tight, and Yee-Chin hadn’t been able to resist the salesman’s urging that this would “help your daughter do even better at her studies.” In fact, the black desktop hardly ever got used. Instead, when Siu-Man started secondary school, she bought herself a cheap smartphone and used their home Wi-Fi.
By the time Nga-Yee had read through the whole thing on her colleague’s
tablet, she was fuming. Those slanderous words “taking drugs” and “sleeping around” were awful enough, but when she calmed down, she realized how serious this was. Beginning to panic, she had no idea what to do. Should she call her sister? But Siu-Man would be in class. She phoned the school and asked to speak to Siu-Man’s form teacher, Miss Yuen. As it turned out, Miss Yuen had been told about the rumors by the other teachers, and they’d set up a committee to deal with the problem.
“Don’t worry, Miss Au. Siu-Man seemed fine in class today. I’ll keep an eye on her, and we’ll arrange for her to speak with a social worker,” said Miss Yuen.
After work, Nga-Yee went home prepared to comfort her sister—even if she wasn’t sure exactly what to say—but Siu-Man’s response surprised her.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Sis,” she said expressionlessly.
“But—”
“I’m exhausted from today. All those teachers talking at me. I’ve had enough.”
“Siu-Man, I just want to—”
“No! I don’t want to talk about it! Don’t bring it up again!”
Siu-Man’s attitude shocked Nga-Yee. She couldn’t remember the last time her sister had lost her temper.
After reading the post, Nga-Yee was certain that Shiu Tak-Ping’s nephew was telling a pack of lies. He must be trying to cover up his uncle’s behavior, and he didn’t care how many falsehoods that took or how he had to harp on those weak arguments to make Mr. Shiu look innocent. He was even happy to trash Siu-Man to make his uncle look better. To borrow a line from his post, wasn’t he sacrificing Siu-Man’s happiness for his uncle’s selfish desires? Yet when Nga-Yee got home and faced Siu-Man’s strange behavior, she couldn’t help having her faith shaken a little. Of course she didn’t think her little sister was capable of making up lies to hurt someone, but those other things he said about her—might they be even one percent true?