Renowned photojournalist Mr. Chan Kiu (1927-2024), a former colleague of the South China Morning Post, bid farewell from afar by a group of photojournalists and old friends from the news industry who organized to send wreaths. The wreath, sent by commentators, photojournalists, and the “Disappearing Records” team, was marked with “Sincerely mourning the late Mr. Chan Kiu, the doyen of the Hong Kong news photography industry.” Having worked at the South China Morning Post for 28 years, Mr. Chan captured forty thousand rolls of film with exceptional skills and bravery that Hong Kong people fondly remember him for. He left important visual records of various significant moments in Hong Kong’s history, such as the Great Exodus, the 1967 riots, images of natural disasters ravaging the city. His photo collection, “History Through the Lens” by Chan Kiu (published by the Vancouver Chinese Community Centre in 2006), selected 280 images to leave lasting imprints on history.
From the fall of 2012, the author started producing the documentary “Disappearing Records,” interviewing participants of the 1967 riots, listening to testimonies, and verifying information at the Hong Kong government archives and the History Museum. Shocked by finding that despite entering over a hundred keywords, the History Museum only stored 21 seconds of leftist riot footage, scattered across nine DVDs showing protesters chanting slogans in Central in May 1967. The riot footage shot day and night by the Government Information Services under the then-Director of External Affairs, Peter Moss, had all vanished.
What about the written records? Most of the documents concerning the state of affairs sent to the British government by the Hong Kong colonial government have disappeared. Thick folders preserved only a few yellowed pages with trivial details like the cost of repairing street vending machines destroyed by rioters. Searching for keywords like “prison” or “prisoners” would yield records of vacation schedules of various wardens, the case process of certain South Asian offenders, family investigations of certain murderers, and plea letters, ironic as these data were unrelated to the 1967 riots, merely events from that year.
In the summer of 1987, the author interned at the South China Morning Post, where he got to know Mr. Chan Kiu, the head of photography at the time. Mr. Chan, who entered the field in 1956 and joined the South China Morning Post three years later, had already faced countless battles, yet he managed the manpower every day with precision, showing kindness and friendliness to us newcomers, always willing to answer questions. During the 1962 Great Exodus, with numerous mainland refugees pouring into Hong Kong, Mr. Chan captured a couple bidding tearful farewells. The image of Mr. Yip, who worked in Hong Kong while his wife and two children came to reunite but were arrested immediately, became iconic and was later turned into a poster displayed outside the Hong Kong Museum of History on Chatham Road.
The Great Exodus, known as the “smuggling wave” in Hong Kong, endured four times after the Communist Party took power, with the three years of severe famine in 1962 being the most challenging, seeing over two million migrants from Guangdong province. The Communist Party rebranded the famine as the “three years of difficulty period” or the “three years of natural disasters” to absolve themselves of the responsibility for the deaths caused by the famine. It forced masses to become “river-crossers,” displaying the spirit of taking drastic measures when there was no other choice.
Hailing from humble beginnings, Mr. Chan had great empathy for refugees. After putting together enough news photos to fill the pages, he once threw away the negatives of refugees hiding in the woods that he shot, refusing to submit them to the newspaper. He said, “I felt they were very lonely, so in terms of professional ethics, I broke the rules (by not submitting the photos to the newspaper). But in that situation, people are kind-hearted. Once the stowaways were caught by the police, there was no way out. Sometimes the police would even sympathize with them, and if they couldn’t catch up with them, they would let them go.”
In May 2013, the author flew from Hong Kong to Vancouver to interview Mr. Chan Kiu. Before departing, he pondered that at the age of 86, would Mr. Chan’s mind still be clear? Would he remember the details of the 1967 riots? To his surprise, from interview experiences, shooting insights, growing memories, Mr. Chan could recount them all.
Mr. Chan covered the entire leftist riot process, describing it as a minefield in front-line reporting, with agitators in the crowd often calling out, “Beat the journalist!” The riot lasted for eight months, evolving from strikes, demonstrations, and processions, with strikes spreading to markets and streets with homemade pineapple bombs, threatening the lives of citizens and targeting journalists. “Our photography was opportunistic; we took a few shots and immediately left, not lingering, as it was too dangerous at the time.”
Formerly amicable relationships between Mr. Chan and leftist newspaper reporters turned cold during those days. Working at the South China Morning Post, which was seen as the voice of the colonial government, Chinese staff were labeled as “yellow-skinned dogs,” and foreign colleagues as “white-skinned pigs,” making joint dangerous coverage even more challenging.
Once, Mr. Chan and foreign colleagues were stopped while traveling in a reporting vehicle on Nathan Road. Leftists immediately called for violence upon seeing a foreigner, but Mr. Chan argued that the colleague was Chinese and demanded passage. With some space left on the road, the driver swiftly accelerated through the blockade, narrowly escaping a dangerous situation.
“This photo was taken at Tung Tau Estate in San Po Kong. It wasn’t a good angle behind the police at the time. My colleague from Sing Tao Daily and I were trying to get good shots from a distance from the police. But when retreating, we were surrounded and assaulted. Our films and watches were stolen, and we were punched repeatedly, to the point where I felt like shouting for help. Luckily, a young man in white, possibly staff, emerged from a bank to save me.”
Mr. Chan still shudders when pointing out the spot where he stood in the photo. Despite losing what he previously shot, he endured the pain, returned behind the police, retrieved the films from his colleague, and reshot the scene, resulting in this photo. “The police didn’t dare provoke them; they just scolded from a distance. The situation escalated, with the police displaying warning signs. When they crossed the line, tear gas canisters were launched loudly. I was behind, filming, and the troublemakers fled.”
The “Committee against the Persecution of Dr. Dawkins’s Hong Kong,” was formed on May 16 in 1967, with the General Secretary being the Chairman of the Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions, Yang Guang. The Director of the Department, Social of the Dagong Newspaper, non-governmental organizations such as some auxiliary organizations attacked the Governor’s Office in rotation. From May 18 to 21, over a thousand people gathered outside the Governor’s Office every day, singing revolutionary songs, and even made the Junior Officials who were sent to stand there recite Mao’s quotes.
While reporting at the Tung Tau Estate, Mr. Chan was beaten, but this did not diminish his determination to record history. On May 21, outside the Governor’s Office, he faced insults and attacks again with other foreign media reporters. “This photo was taken three days after I was injured, when I went back to the Governor’s Office. They held Little Red Books (Mao’s quotes) and had posters to protest the Governor’s Office. It was the first time in Hong Kong’s history, with the government showing considerable tolerance, but they kept protesting. We shot, TV stations, even overseas stations came to film… and as they engaged in arguments here.”
The private assistant of Governor David Wilson, Hilda, held daily morning meetings with Wilson to discuss the latest developments. Hilda mentioned that the leftist leaders had promised peaceful protests and not to cause trouble. “We even let them close the gates and post some things. Of course, when someone poked a policeman in the eye, there was trouble.”
As the leftist actions escalated, demanding to meet with the Governor and shouting his name outside the Governor’s Office, leftist newspapers used slogans such as “Hang David Wilson” and “English imperial henchmen,” adding pressure on Wilson, whose ordeal lasted until the end of June when he took a leave and returned to the UK due to health reasons.
The 1967 riots brought turmoil, leading economically privileged citizens to sell assets and immigrate, marking Hong Kong’s first wave of emigration. Mr. Chan, a witness to the leftist riots, recalled a time when trams, buses, and even rickshaws stopped running, forcing citizens to take trucks to work, causing complaints. His experiences and the photos he captured are invaluable witnesses to this period in Hong Kong’s history.
With six children, Mr. Chan bore a heavy responsibility for their education. He loved news photography and Hong Kong dearly, serving as the Chief Photography Director at the South China Morning Post until retirement. Mr. Chan believed that photojournalists must have keen interests, immense courage, extraordinary daring, agility, and a heightened sense of photographic artistry. Capturing news photos necessitates precise judgment, mental preparation before the job, and the ability to capture the movement and expressions of individuals.
Mr. Chan Kiu (1927-2024) accompanied Hong Kong through turbulent times, showcasing exceptional skills and profound empathy. He received over 30 Hong Kong and international awards, and in 1985, he was awarded the Order of the British Empire, making him the only Chinese photojournalist to receive such an honor. During his final days, Mr. Chan received treatment multiple times at Richmond Hospital, where the medical staff care for him attentively. His passing deeply saddens people across the news industry worldwide, with his former colleagues at the South China Morning Post expressing their condolences with wreaths. The Proline Floral & Décor team prepared the most splendid flowers to honor Mr. Chan’s illustrious life.
Mr. Chan Kiu peacefully passed away on April 19, 2024, at Parkview PH3#1806, Coquitlam Cemetery in Burnaby, British Columbia. All are welcome to leave condolences on the Mr. Chan Kiu memorial page, and his family sincerely appreciates the outpouring of support. The article uses illustrations of classic photos of Mr. Chan, with permission from the South China Morning Post for this tribute.
1. Mr. Chan Kiu Memorial Page (https://www.dignitymemorial.com/en-ca/obituaries/burnaby-bc/kiu-chan-11758998)
2. Richmond Hospital Foundation (https://www.richmondhospitalfoundation.com/)
3. Proline Trading International (https://www.prolineevent.ca/)
About the author, Ron Hui:
Ron Hui: Investigative journalist, documentary filmmaker. Ron has worked in news departments at Radio Television Hong Kong, ATV, Vancouver New Era Television, and TVB Sunday File, producing news documentaries. His previous work, “Disappearing Records” (2017), unveiled the obscured history of the 1967 riots in Hong Kong.
Note: This article was submitted by director Ron Hui to The Epoch Times and does not represent the stance of The Epoch Times.