警隊與治安：由二十八人到廉政公署

1. 1843–1845: officers before ordinances

In 1843 Chief Magistrate William Caine recruited Hong Kong’s first 28 police officers. The scale was almost experimental: a newly opened port kept order with a small, hastily recruited group of mixed backgrounds. A real system needed an ordinance.

On 1 May 1844 the legislature concluded its deliberation and passed the Police Ordinance 1844, establishing the Hong Kong Police Force and laying down rules on recruitment, welfare and organisation. A year later, on 7 June 1845, the Government legislated to meet the force’s daily expenses, providing for rates collected quarterly at a fixed proportion of the annual assessed value of land and property. That step mattered: the police moved from a headcount to a stable income, making public order a service that could be budgeted every year.

2. A force of many origins

The early force reflects colonial manpower choices. In 1867 the Government recruited another 108 Indian officers; the force numbered about 600 that year, two-thirds Indian. The proportion shows that local Chinese officers were not the mainstay early on: order was kept largely by men recruited from elsewhere.

The twentieth century changed the source. On 20 March 1923 the first recruits from Weihaiwei in Shandong arrived aboard the steamer Kweichow, designated the “Weihaiwei Police” with the letter D as prefix. By 1939 the force had 296 Shandong policemen and 34 Russian policemen, 13.3 and 1.5 per cent respectively. One force, successively Indian, Shandong and Russian, changed its languages and its community ties along the way.

3. Professionalisation: a school, auxiliaries, an emergency unit

On 1 October 1869 Hong Kong’s first school dedicated to police training began operation. It separated entry from training: officers no longer learned only by following a senior, and discipline became a repeatable curriculum rather than a personal style.

In 1871, Hong Kong enacted the Auxiliary Police Ordinance. Auxiliaries filled gaps when the regular force was short-handed, at the cost of two identities and two training standards inside one command. In 1927 the force formed Hong Kong’s first Emergency Unit on the island, dealing with minor disturbances and serious crime — a division of labour between routine patrol and sudden incident.

4. The tools of order and their cost

The most direct form of police power is restricting movement. On 7 January 1857 the Government introduced an ordinance for colonial peace requiring Chinese to carry a police-issued night pass, known as a “night paper”, when out between 8 p.m. and daybreak. The paper was a list of who could appear at night: policing became population management, not just catching thieves.

The second tool was presence. By 1911 the Government had built 17 police stations in the New Territories and stationed 164 officers, creating a surveillance network across the territory — a dense grid relative to the population then.

The third cost was lives. On 22 January 1918, while police searched a building on Gresson Street in Wan Chai, robbers returned fire and a gun battle broke out; British troops were mobilised, and Governor Francis Henry May went to the scene to direct operations and call for surrender. Eight people died, five of them police officers. That day explains later emergency units and heavier equipment: the response was to a specific gunfight, not an abstract “need for order”.

5. Corruption: from an anti-corruption branch to Godber

Corruption in the force was recorded as early as the nineteenth century. On 21 June 1897 the police uncovered a case involving officers in illegal gambling and corruption: 128 people implicated, including one European Acting Assistant Superintendent, 13 European, 37 Indian and 76 Chinese officers; one was imprisoned and 77 others left by resignation, retirement, dismissal or non-renewal. The pattern is clear: many implicated, few convicted, the rest removed by departure.

The post-war approach added a layer inside the force. In 1946 the Police established an Anti-Corruption Branch; on 30 July 1948 an anti-corruption ordinance provided that, under special written authorisation from the Attorney General, officers of Assistant Superintendent rank or above could investigate corruption. Both steps shared one logic: investigation stayed within the police, with an extra authorisation.

In 1973 that logic collapsed. Senior Superintendent Godber fled while under suspicion of corruption, provoking a public outcry; on 2 September 1973, 13 organisations held an “anti-corruption, catch Godber” rally and about 300 people braved rain at Morse Park in Kowloon. The event was not approved by the police, and the police dispersed no one. Its significance was turning anti-corruption from an internal disciplinary matter into a public demand.

6. The ICAC and the amnesty

On 15 February 1974 the Government enacted an ordinance establishing the Independent Commission Against Corruption, appointing Jack Cater, then Secretary for Home Affairs, as first Commissioner. The key was not another department but investigation leaving the police: corruption moved from “our own people investigating our own” to an independent body.

A system must prove itself with a case. On 7 January 1975 ICAC officers brought Godber back from Britain; on 25 February 1975 he was convicted on two counts of corruption, four years on each to run concurrently, and ordered to repay $25,000 in bribes. The judgment turned “integrity” from a slogan into a legal outcome.

Independence also brought conflict. The amnesty of 5 November 1977 provided that corruption offences by police before 1 January 1977 would not be investigated if cases had not reached prosecution and were not especially serious. The concession bought stability at the price of cases never investigated. Part of that was later recovered: on 21 January 1986 Governor Youde authorised a full ICAC investigation into corruption involving 26 problem public housing blocks, exempting it from the 1977 amnesty.

From 28 officers to an independent commission took more than a century. Each step was pushed by an event: a gunfight, a large corruption case, a superintendent who fled. That order is closer to reality than any story of pure institutional design.