In Chinatown, Sound of the Future Is Mandarin
Ozier Muhammad/The New York Times
Published: October 21, 2009
He grew up playing in the narrow, crowded streets of Manhattan’s Chinatown. He has lived and worked there for all his 61 years. But as Wee Wong walks the neighborhood these days, he cannot understand half the Chinese conversations he hears.
Cantonese, a dialect from southern China that has dominated the Chinatowns of North America for decades, is being rapidly swept aside by Mandarin, the national language of China and the lingua franca of most of the latest Chinese immigrants.
The change can be heard in the neighborhood’s lively restaurants and solemn church services, in parks, street markets and language schools. It has been accelerated by Chinese-American parents, including many who speak Cantonese at home, as they press their children to learn Mandarin for the advantages it could bring as China’s influence grows in the world.
But the eclipse of Cantonese — in New York, China and around the world — has become a challenge for older people who speak only that dialect and face increasing isolation unless they learn Mandarin or English. Though Cantonese and Mandarin share nearly all the same written characters, the pronunciations are vastly different; when spoken, Mandarin may be incomprehensible to a Cantonese speaker, and vice versa.
Mr. Wong, a retired sign maker who speaks English, can still get by with his Cantonese, which remains the preferred language in his circle of friends and in Chinatown’s historic core. A bit defiantly, he said that if he enters a shop and finds the staff does not speak his dialect, “I go to another store.”
Like many others, however, he is resigned to the likelihood that Cantonese — and the people who speak it — will soon become just another facet of a polyglot neighborhood. “In 10 years,” Mr. Wong said, “it will be totally different.”
With Mandarin’s ascent has come a realignment of power in Chinese-American communities, where the recent immigrants are gaining economic and political clout, said Peter Kwong, a professor of Asian-American studies at Hunter College.
“The fact of the matter is that you have a whole generation switch, with very few people speaking only Cantonese,” he said. The Cantonese-speaking populace, he added, “is not the player anymore.”
The switch mirrors a sea change under way in China, where Mandarin, as the official language, is becoming the default tongue everywhere.
In North America, its rise also reflects a major shift in immigration. For much of the last century, most Chinese living in the United States and Canada traced their ancestry to a region in the Pearl River Delta that included the district of Taishan. They spoke the Taishanese dialect, which is derived from and somewhat similar to Cantonese.
Immigration reform in 1965 opened the door to a huge influx of Cantonese speakers from Hong Kong, and Cantonese became the dominant tongue. But since the 1990s, the vast majority of new Chinese immigrants have come from mainland China, especially Fujian Province, and tend to speak Mandarin along with their regional dialects.
In New York, many Mandarin speakers have flocked to Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and Flushing, Queens, which now rivals Chinatown as a center of Chinese-American business and political might, as well as culture and cuisine. In Chinatown, most of the newer immigrants have settled outside the historic core west of the Bowery, clustering instead around East Broadway.
“I can’t even order food on East Broadway,” said Jan Lee, 44, a furniture designer who has lived all his life in Chinatown and speaks Cantonese. “They don’t speak English; I don’t speak Mandarin. I’m just as lost as everyone else.”
Now Mandarin is pushing into Chinatown’s heart.
For most of the 100 years that the New York Chinese School, on Mott Street, has offered language classes, nearly all have taught Cantonese. Last year, the numbers of Cantonese and Mandarin classes were roughly equal. And this year, Mandarin classes outnumber Cantonese three to one, even though most students are from homes where Cantonese is spoken, said the principal, Kin S. Wong.
Some Cantonese-speaking parents are deciding it is more important to point their children toward the future than the past — their family’s native dialect — even if that leaves them unable to communicate well with relatives in China.
“I figure if they have to acquire a language, I wanted them to have Mandarin because it makes it easier when they go into the workplace,” said Jennifer Ng, whose 5-year-old daughter studies Mandarin at the language school of the Church of the Transfiguration, a Roman Catholic parish on Mott Street where nearly half the classes are devoted to Mandarin. Her 8-year-old son takes Cantonese, but only because there is no English-speaking Mandarin teacher for his age group.
“Can I tell you the truth?” she said. “They hate it! But it’s important for the future.” Until recently, Sunday Masses at Transfiguration were said in Cantonese. The church now offers two in Mandarin and only one in Cantonese. And as the arrivals from mainland China become old-timers, “we are beginning to have Mandarin funerals,” said the Rev. Raymond Nobiletti, the Cantonese-speaking pastor.
At the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association, which has been the unofficial government of Chinatown for generations and conducts its business in Cantonese, the president, Justin Yu, said he is the first whose mother tongue is Mandarin to lead the 126-year-old organization. Though he has been taking Cantonese lessons in order to keep up at association meetings, his pronunciation is sometimes a source of hilarity for his colleagues, he said.
“No matter what,” he added, laughing, “you have to admire my courage.”
But even his association is being surpassed in influence by Fujianese organizations, said Professor Kwong of Hunter College.
Longtime residents seem less threatened than wistful. Though he is known around Chinatown for what he calls his “legendarily bad” Cantonese, Paul Lee, 59, said it pained him that the dialect was disappearing from the place where his family has lived for more than a century.
“It may be a dying language,” he acknowledged. “I just hate to say that.”
But he pointed out that the changes were a natural part of an evolving immigrant neighborhood: Just as Cantonese sidelined Taishanese, so, too, is Mandarin replacing Cantonese.
Mr. Wong, the principal of the New York Chinese School, said he had tried to adjust to the subtle shifts during his 40 years in Chinatown. When he arrived in 1969, he walked into a coffee shop and placed his order in Cantonese. Other patrons looked at him oddly.
“They said, ‘Where you from?’ “ he recalled. “ ‘Why you speak Cantonese?’ ” They were from Taishan, he said, so he switched to Taishanese and everyone was happy.
“And now I speak Mandarin better than Cantonese,” he added with a chuckle. “So, Chinatown — it’s always changing.”
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Schools a battleground over dueling Chinese scripts
Schools a battleground over dueling Chinese scripts
Los Angeles Times
October 18, 2009
For nine years, Sutoyo Lim's son studied Chinese with private tutors and at language schools. He learned to write in “simplified script,” characters with thinly spread strokes commonly used in mainland China.
But that all changed when Lim's 15-year-old son began taking Chinese classes at Arcadia High School this year. He was given two months to make the transition from “simplified” to the more intricate “traditional” script used in Taiwan.
Once the grace period is over, homework and exam answers written in simplified script will be disqualified -- regardless of accuracy. “To me, it does not seem right,” Lim said. “I'm not happy with being forced to choose the language that's going to be obsolete.”
When Chinese classes were introduced at Arcadia in the mid-1990s, Taiwanese parents pushed administrators to adopt the use of traditional script used in Taiwan and pre-communist China. The traditional form is distinguished by a series of complex and intersecting strokes.
But with the large influx of Chinese immigrants into the San Gabriel Valley over the last decade, there is increasing demand to adopt the simplified form, which Taiwanese parents and others see as a threat to an ancient tradition. The change is occurring at private and public schools in California and across the country.
The language dispute is part of a larger and politically charged debate that stems in part from changing immigration patterns in the United States and China's increasing influence as a world economic power. Schools such as Arcadia High have become a battleground over this issue.
In a 2007 national survey by the Chinese Language Assn. of Secondary-Elementary Schools, nearly half of 263 schools included in the sample taught only the simplified form and 11% only traditional. The remaining taught a mix of the two. In 1994, by comparison, 17% of 139 schools taught simplified and 40% traditional.
“China is opening up a huge market worldwide,” said Yu-Lan Lin, executive director of the association. “It's better to know the customer's language.”
For the last four years, Arcadia High Principal David Vannasdall has been lobbied by both sides of the debate.
Last April, the school held a meeting with parents to discuss the issue. Parents were urged to “focus on interests, not positions.”
Because of what he deemed a “hostile” attitude toward his support of simplified script, Lim didn't want his son's name used for this story.
“The reaction to eliminating traditional has been overwhelming,” Vannasdall said. “It's a really controversial issue.”
Two years ago, when Christine Lee was president of the Arcadia Chinese parents club, some parents pushing for the simplified form tried to draw the group into the debate. But Lee said the club resisted taking sides.
Still, Lee, who came to the U.S. from Taiwan in the 1980s, said she resented Lim's characterization of traditional script as obsolete. “Chinese characters are so beautiful, why would you give that up?” she said. “How could 5,000 years of history go away that easily?”
Simplified characters were introduced in the 1950s by the Chinese communist regime to improve literacy rates among the country's mostly rural population.
At the time, anti-communist politicians and refugees fled and settled in Taiwan, where they continued the use of traditional script.
Before diplomatic relations were established between the United States and China in the 1970s, the traditional form was commonly taught here. To switch to the simplified form says something about Taiwan's place in the world and who speaks on behalf of Chinese culture, said David Lee, past president of the Arcadia Chinese Assn.
“In the heart of Taiwan, it's a crisis because the Taiwanese feel they are so small, there's nothing they can compete with China, not militarily, not with population,” Lee said. “But if there's something they can . . . insist upon, it's culture and the language. And script is part of the culture.”
Others worry that changing school curriculum is only the beginning and that the rest of the community would soon follow with store signs, restaurant menus and newspapers. In August, the Sing Tao Daily newspaper in the Bay Area changed its free weekly publication to simplified script.
“There are more and more Chinese from mainland,” said Tim Lau, chief executive of the paper's San Francisco operation. “We want to tap a different market, the new immigrant market.”
In June, Taiwanese President Ma Ying-jeou caused a stir during a meeting with visiting Taiwanese community leaders from the U.S. when he said students should learn to read in traditional script and write in the simplified form. After he was publicly criticized, he clarified that his statement was directed at mainland China.
“It became a very ideological thing,” David Lee said. “As the Chinese say, 'Save face.' Sometimes save face is more important than anything else.”
When creating its Chinese language curriculum three years ago, Palo Alto High School in the Bay Area considered the practical use of the language before deciding on the simplified form, said Norman Masuda, instructional supervisor for languages. Parents who continue to promote the traditional form are not acting in the best interest of their children, he said.
“For the future, they need to learn something that they can use right away, and most students want to go to China, not Taiwan,” Masuda said. “You have to keep up with the wave.”
Soon after she was hired as principal of Meyerholz Elementary School in San Jose last spring, Anita Alfonso said, parents were complaining about the teaching of the simplified form. The school has an 8-year-old Chinese immersion program taught mostly in the traditional form, but it introduces simplified script in the fourth grade.
Of the 350 students in the program, Alfonso said, about half have parents from Taiwan. “I've already had a lot of parents come talk to me that they don't like the simplified,” she said.
At Westside Chinese School in Mar Vista, the administration was forced into a compromise about five years ago after some Chinese parents took their children out of the school to protest the traditional-only curriculum.
Since its founding in 1967 by Taiwanese immigrants, the parent-run Saturday school had taught only the traditional form until enrollment dipped, and the school began teaching in both Chinese scripts, said Joan Kung, the school's past dean of academic studies.
“We ask the teachers if they can teach both to meet the demands of both parents,” Kung said. “We want to attract these parents from China.”
In classrooms and textbooks at the school, traditional script is presented side by side with simplified, and students are allowed to choose which they prefer. In his classroom at Westside, 10-year-old Jacob Graves writes in simplified form using big, broad pencil strokes. He said he could read traditional script, but he still became flustered when he looked at the school's newsletter.
“I can't read this word and this word and this word,” he said. “Actually, I can't read a lot of these words.”
Jacob's mother, Joanna Graves, who grew up in Shanghai, said the traditional form takes up too much study time. “I like simplified because it's a little easier for the children to write,” she said.
Most state and national Chinese groups have avoided promoting one script over the other, said Gay Yuen, a Cal State L.A. language professor.
For academic organizations, debating traditional versus simplified is a no-win situation. It not only distracts from other issues but can also alienate some members.
In June, Yuen met with other academic leaders from across California in a two-day conference held in Burbank to establish state Chinese language standards. They avoided any talk of scripts.
“If that question had come up at the meeting, we wouldn't have been able to get through our agenda,” Yuen said. “It's like politics. Don't talk about it.”
Los Angeles Times
October 18, 2009
For nine years, Sutoyo Lim's son studied Chinese with private tutors and at language schools. He learned to write in “simplified script,” characters with thinly spread strokes commonly used in mainland China.
But that all changed when Lim's 15-year-old son began taking Chinese classes at Arcadia High School this year. He was given two months to make the transition from “simplified” to the more intricate “traditional” script used in Taiwan.
Once the grace period is over, homework and exam answers written in simplified script will be disqualified -- regardless of accuracy. “To me, it does not seem right,” Lim said. “I'm not happy with being forced to choose the language that's going to be obsolete.”
When Chinese classes were introduced at Arcadia in the mid-1990s, Taiwanese parents pushed administrators to adopt the use of traditional script used in Taiwan and pre-communist China. The traditional form is distinguished by a series of complex and intersecting strokes.
But with the large influx of Chinese immigrants into the San Gabriel Valley over the last decade, there is increasing demand to adopt the simplified form, which Taiwanese parents and others see as a threat to an ancient tradition. The change is occurring at private and public schools in California and across the country.
The language dispute is part of a larger and politically charged debate that stems in part from changing immigration patterns in the United States and China's increasing influence as a world economic power. Schools such as Arcadia High have become a battleground over this issue.
In a 2007 national survey by the Chinese Language Assn. of Secondary-Elementary Schools, nearly half of 263 schools included in the sample taught only the simplified form and 11% only traditional. The remaining taught a mix of the two. In 1994, by comparison, 17% of 139 schools taught simplified and 40% traditional.
“China is opening up a huge market worldwide,” said Yu-Lan Lin, executive director of the association. “It's better to know the customer's language.”
For the last four years, Arcadia High Principal David Vannasdall has been lobbied by both sides of the debate.
Last April, the school held a meeting with parents to discuss the issue. Parents were urged to “focus on interests, not positions.”
Because of what he deemed a “hostile” attitude toward his support of simplified script, Lim didn't want his son's name used for this story.
“The reaction to eliminating traditional has been overwhelming,” Vannasdall said. “It's a really controversial issue.”
Two years ago, when Christine Lee was president of the Arcadia Chinese parents club, some parents pushing for the simplified form tried to draw the group into the debate. But Lee said the club resisted taking sides.
Still, Lee, who came to the U.S. from Taiwan in the 1980s, said she resented Lim's characterization of traditional script as obsolete. “Chinese characters are so beautiful, why would you give that up?” she said. “How could 5,000 years of history go away that easily?”
Simplified characters were introduced in the 1950s by the Chinese communist regime to improve literacy rates among the country's mostly rural population.
At the time, anti-communist politicians and refugees fled and settled in Taiwan, where they continued the use of traditional script.
Before diplomatic relations were established between the United States and China in the 1970s, the traditional form was commonly taught here. To switch to the simplified form says something about Taiwan's place in the world and who speaks on behalf of Chinese culture, said David Lee, past president of the Arcadia Chinese Assn.
“In the heart of Taiwan, it's a crisis because the Taiwanese feel they are so small, there's nothing they can compete with China, not militarily, not with population,” Lee said. “But if there's something they can . . . insist upon, it's culture and the language. And script is part of the culture.”
Others worry that changing school curriculum is only the beginning and that the rest of the community would soon follow with store signs, restaurant menus and newspapers. In August, the Sing Tao Daily newspaper in the Bay Area changed its free weekly publication to simplified script.
“There are more and more Chinese from mainland,” said Tim Lau, chief executive of the paper's San Francisco operation. “We want to tap a different market, the new immigrant market.”
In June, Taiwanese President Ma Ying-jeou caused a stir during a meeting with visiting Taiwanese community leaders from the U.S. when he said students should learn to read in traditional script and write in the simplified form. After he was publicly criticized, he clarified that his statement was directed at mainland China.
“It became a very ideological thing,” David Lee said. “As the Chinese say, 'Save face.' Sometimes save face is more important than anything else.”
When creating its Chinese language curriculum three years ago, Palo Alto High School in the Bay Area considered the practical use of the language before deciding on the simplified form, said Norman Masuda, instructional supervisor for languages. Parents who continue to promote the traditional form are not acting in the best interest of their children, he said.
“For the future, they need to learn something that they can use right away, and most students want to go to China, not Taiwan,” Masuda said. “You have to keep up with the wave.”
Soon after she was hired as principal of Meyerholz Elementary School in San Jose last spring, Anita Alfonso said, parents were complaining about the teaching of the simplified form. The school has an 8-year-old Chinese immersion program taught mostly in the traditional form, but it introduces simplified script in the fourth grade.
Of the 350 students in the program, Alfonso said, about half have parents from Taiwan. “I've already had a lot of parents come talk to me that they don't like the simplified,” she said.
At Westside Chinese School in Mar Vista, the administration was forced into a compromise about five years ago after some Chinese parents took their children out of the school to protest the traditional-only curriculum.
Since its founding in 1967 by Taiwanese immigrants, the parent-run Saturday school had taught only the traditional form until enrollment dipped, and the school began teaching in both Chinese scripts, said Joan Kung, the school's past dean of academic studies.
“We ask the teachers if they can teach both to meet the demands of both parents,” Kung said. “We want to attract these parents from China.”
In classrooms and textbooks at the school, traditional script is presented side by side with simplified, and students are allowed to choose which they prefer. In his classroom at Westside, 10-year-old Jacob Graves writes in simplified form using big, broad pencil strokes. He said he could read traditional script, but he still became flustered when he looked at the school's newsletter.
“I can't read this word and this word and this word,” he said. “Actually, I can't read a lot of these words.”
Jacob's mother, Joanna Graves, who grew up in Shanghai, said the traditional form takes up too much study time. “I like simplified because it's a little easier for the children to write,” she said.
Most state and national Chinese groups have avoided promoting one script over the other, said Gay Yuen, a Cal State L.A. language professor.
For academic organizations, debating traditional versus simplified is a no-win situation. It not only distracts from other issues but can also alienate some members.
In June, Yuen met with other academic leaders from across California in a two-day conference held in Burbank to establish state Chinese language standards. They avoided any talk of scripts.
“If that question had come up at the meeting, we wouldn't have been able to get through our agenda,” Yuen said. “It's like politics. Don't talk about it.”
Monday, October 12, 2009
Girls sell sex in Hong Kong to earn shopping money
Girls sell sex in Hong Kong to earn shopping money
October 13, 2009 By Pauline Chiou
CNN
HONG KONG, China (CNN) -- She doesn't want to be identified, except by her nickname "Sze," and she has a secret past. Her father doesn't know what she did as a 16-year-old, and she hopes he never finds out. But Sze, now 19, wants young girls to hear her story so they never make the same mistake.
"My first customer was an ordinary man in his 40s. We skipped the dinner part and went straight to the guest house for sex," Sze recalled. "Actually, I was a bit scared, but I knew this was the only way I could get money. This customer wasn't bad, though. We just had sex, he paid, and then he left. I thought this was easy money, and that's why I continued doing this kind of thing."
For a year and a half, Sze was part of a growing social phenomenon among teens in Hong Kong called "compensated dating," a practice in which a young woman agrees to go on a date with a man for a fee. More often than not, the date involves sex.
Sze said she started compensated dating because many of her classmates at an all-girls school were doing it. She says she became jealous when she saw the designer clothes, bags and cosmetics they bought with the money they earned through compensated dating. Sze wanted the same for herself, so her classmates introduced her to Internet chat forums where she met male customers.
The practice can have deadly consequences. Last year, a 16-year-old Hong Kong girl was killed in a gruesome murder after she went to a 24-year-old man's apartment for a compensated date. The man, Ting Kai-Tai, killed the teenager, dismembered her body and flushed the remains down the toilet. A jury convicted him of murder and sentenced him to life in prison.
Sze told CNN she knew a compensated date could go horribly wrong. She would set ground rules with clients on the phone first. She charged them $350 for a date and clarified how many times she would have sex with them.
She said sometimes the customers would stray from the rules, asking for more sex or refusing to wear a condom.
"Sometimes, I did feel shame. I kept asking myself why I had to do this kind of thing to make money. But the feeling didn't stay long. I would relax when I wanted to buy something. I just thought I could always quit after a short time or whenever I wanted," Sze said.
Most girls who engage in compensated dating don't view themselves as prostitutes, said social worker Chiu Tak-Choi.
"For the girls, they don't think so because they think they can quit anytime. The girls -- even though they post their details on the Internet -- they think they can quit. Even if they encounter the guys, if he is not good-looking, she can quit and say 'I don't do it.' They think they have a lot of power to control whether they do it or not, so they think of it very differently from prostitution."
Chiu, the social worker, is currently working with about 20 girls who are trying to leave the world of compensated dating. It is hard to quantify how big the problem is in Hong Kong because the business is conducted under the radar, he said.
Chiu believes the problem is getting worse because his caseload has doubled in the past two years.
Prostitution is illegal in Hong Kong, and legal experts say that compensated dating is a form of prostitution. "The law prohibits soliciting for immoral purpose," said Stephen Hung, a criminal litigator with Pang, Wan & Choi. "When a court looks at sentencing, the greater the age difference, the more serious it (the sentence) is."
Why do young girls get involved in compensated dating? The reasons vary from an unstable home life to a desire for material goods, Chiu said.
One 14-year-old girl told him she started compensated dating when she lost her cell phone. She said her parents wouldn't buy her a new one, so she thought she could earn some fast money with paid sex. She had her eye on an expensive cell phone. When the money from the first compensated date didn't cover the cost for the new phone, she went on a second paid date.
Girls involved in compensated dating don't necessarily come from poor families, Chiu said. They are from all levels of socioeconomic classes, he said. Improved family communication is one solution to preventing girls from becoming involved in compensated dating, Chiu said.
"The family has to do its part. I think caring for children is very important. Whenever they have problems, they can ask someone for help."
Sze said she was saved by a social worker who stepped in on her behalf. After a pregnancy scare and a number of unpredictable customers, Sze said her self-esteem plummeted. The social worker helped her get back on track.
"She helped me understand that making money respectably is actually not that hard in Hong Kong. I finally realized that it was wrong to make money by selling my body. It just wasn't worth it."
Sze now works at a hair salon to earn a living. She has tried to talk her old friends out of compensated dating, but they are not listening, she said.
"They felt annoyed when I talked to them about this. I'm now reluctant to get in touch with them. They just tell me they're different. Maybe they have more serious family problems or some other burdens. I know I can't control their thinking, so I just stopped trying to help them."
October 13, 2009 By Pauline Chiou
CNN
HONG KONG, China (CNN) -- She doesn't want to be identified, except by her nickname "Sze," and she has a secret past. Her father doesn't know what she did as a 16-year-old, and she hopes he never finds out. But Sze, now 19, wants young girls to hear her story so they never make the same mistake.
"My first customer was an ordinary man in his 40s. We skipped the dinner part and went straight to the guest house for sex," Sze recalled. "Actually, I was a bit scared, but I knew this was the only way I could get money. This customer wasn't bad, though. We just had sex, he paid, and then he left. I thought this was easy money, and that's why I continued doing this kind of thing."
For a year and a half, Sze was part of a growing social phenomenon among teens in Hong Kong called "compensated dating," a practice in which a young woman agrees to go on a date with a man for a fee. More often than not, the date involves sex.
Sze said she started compensated dating because many of her classmates at an all-girls school were doing it. She says she became jealous when she saw the designer clothes, bags and cosmetics they bought with the money they earned through compensated dating. Sze wanted the same for herself, so her classmates introduced her to Internet chat forums where she met male customers.
The practice can have deadly consequences. Last year, a 16-year-old Hong Kong girl was killed in a gruesome murder after she went to a 24-year-old man's apartment for a compensated date. The man, Ting Kai-Tai, killed the teenager, dismembered her body and flushed the remains down the toilet. A jury convicted him of murder and sentenced him to life in prison.
Sze told CNN she knew a compensated date could go horribly wrong. She would set ground rules with clients on the phone first. She charged them $350 for a date and clarified how many times she would have sex with them.
She said sometimes the customers would stray from the rules, asking for more sex or refusing to wear a condom.
"Sometimes, I did feel shame. I kept asking myself why I had to do this kind of thing to make money. But the feeling didn't stay long. I would relax when I wanted to buy something. I just thought I could always quit after a short time or whenever I wanted," Sze said.
Most girls who engage in compensated dating don't view themselves as prostitutes, said social worker Chiu Tak-Choi.
"For the girls, they don't think so because they think they can quit anytime. The girls -- even though they post their details on the Internet -- they think they can quit. Even if they encounter the guys, if he is not good-looking, she can quit and say 'I don't do it.' They think they have a lot of power to control whether they do it or not, so they think of it very differently from prostitution."
Chiu, the social worker, is currently working with about 20 girls who are trying to leave the world of compensated dating. It is hard to quantify how big the problem is in Hong Kong because the business is conducted under the radar, he said.
Chiu believes the problem is getting worse because his caseload has doubled in the past two years.
Prostitution is illegal in Hong Kong, and legal experts say that compensated dating is a form of prostitution. "The law prohibits soliciting for immoral purpose," said Stephen Hung, a criminal litigator with Pang, Wan & Choi. "When a court looks at sentencing, the greater the age difference, the more serious it (the sentence) is."
Why do young girls get involved in compensated dating? The reasons vary from an unstable home life to a desire for material goods, Chiu said.
One 14-year-old girl told him she started compensated dating when she lost her cell phone. She said her parents wouldn't buy her a new one, so she thought she could earn some fast money with paid sex. She had her eye on an expensive cell phone. When the money from the first compensated date didn't cover the cost for the new phone, she went on a second paid date.
Girls involved in compensated dating don't necessarily come from poor families, Chiu said. They are from all levels of socioeconomic classes, he said. Improved family communication is one solution to preventing girls from becoming involved in compensated dating, Chiu said.
"The family has to do its part. I think caring for children is very important. Whenever they have problems, they can ask someone for help."
Sze said she was saved by a social worker who stepped in on her behalf. After a pregnancy scare and a number of unpredictable customers, Sze said her self-esteem plummeted. The social worker helped her get back on track.
"She helped me understand that making money respectably is actually not that hard in Hong Kong. I finally realized that it was wrong to make money by selling my body. It just wasn't worth it."
Sze now works at a hair salon to earn a living. She has tried to talk her old friends out of compensated dating, but they are not listening, she said.
"They felt annoyed when I talked to them about this. I'm now reluctant to get in touch with them. They just tell me they're different. Maybe they have more serious family problems or some other burdens. I know I can't control their thinking, so I just stopped trying to help them."
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