The Northern Metropolis is Hong Kong’s latest attempt to colonize its own backyard, a sprawling expanse of bureaucratic flatulence that promises everything and will likely deliver nothing but more concrete and unbreathable air. However, the government has decided that the primary concern for this nascent wasteland isn’t housing the desperate or fixing the crumbling social fabric, but rather ensuring that the city’s elite can poke each other with expensive needles in climate-controlled comfort. Secretary for Culture, Sports and Tourism Rosanna Law Shuk-pui recently confirmed that strategic sites have been earmarked for 'top-tier' fencing training. Because if there is one thing the modern Hong Konger needs while being squeezed into a subdivision of a subdivision, it is a front-row seat to the aristocratic theater of the foil and the sabre.

The announcement came in a written reply to Kenneth Fok Kai-kong, a man whose family name is practically synonymous with the institutionalization of sports as a substitute for a personality. The dialogue between Law and Fok is a masterpiece of sterile, performative governance. It is the sound of two people agreeing that the height of civic achievement is a well-lit gymnasium for a sport that 99% of the population will only ever see on a screen while waiting for a train that is three minutes late. They speak of 'balancing' elite training with public access, a classic lie recycled from the same bin as 'trickle-down economics' and 'affordable luxury.' We all know how this balance works: the 'elite' get the prime hours and the polished floors, while the 'public' gets to use the facility on a rainy Tuesday at 3:00 AM, provided they bring their own equipment and a sense of profound gratitude for being allowed to breathe the air of their betters.

Fencing is the perfect metaphor for the current state of Hong Kong’s urban planning. It is a sport of masks, of rigid rules, and of expensive entry barriers. It is a refined way of pretending to engage in combat without ever actually drawing blood or facing the consequences of a real struggle. By prioritizing fencing venues in the Northern Metropolis, the government is signaling its true priorities. They aren't building a city for people; they are building a stage for optics. The Northern Metropolis is meant to be a 'strategic' link to the mainland, a hub of technology and innovation. Apparently, the most 'innovative' thing they can think of doing with that land is dedicating it to a niche hobby that serves as a status symbol for the upwardly mobile and the already-arrived.

Let us deconstruct the absurdity of the 'strategic site.' In the lexicon of government-speak, 'strategic' usually means 'we have no idea what else to do with this land that won’t offend a developer.' By labeling a fencing hall as strategic, they elevate a minor recreational pursuit to the level of national security. It is a pathetic attempt to manufacture prestige in a place that currently looks like a discarded Lego set in a mud pit. The observers, those faceless entities quoted in every news cycle to provide a veneer of 'balanced' commentary, suggest that the initiative must balance athlete training with resident access. This is the kind of vapid insight that keeps the wheels of mediocrity turning. Of course it should, but it won’t. It will be a gated temple to the cult of 'Elite Performance,' a buzzword used to justify spending public funds on things that benefit a vanishingly small percentage of the public.

The historical irony here is as thick as the smog over the Victoria Harbour. While the city’s youth are told to be 'resilient' and 'entrepreneurial' in the face of a stagnant economy and an impossible housing market, the government’s solution is to offer them the chance to watch a few gifted individuals receive world-class training in a border-zone metropolis. It is bread and circuses, but without the bread and with a very specialized, very expensive kind of circus. The Northern Metropolis was pitched as a visionary project to reshape the city’s future. If that future consists of elite fencing venues standing as lonely monuments in a sea of empty offices and high-end residential towers that no one can afford, then the vision is as blurred as a fencer’s lunge.

Ultimately, this is about the aesthetic of success. The government wants gold medals because medals can be photographed and put on a stamp. They are easier to produce than a functioning social safety net or a city where the 'convenient access' promised to residents actually applies to something useful, like a living wage or a sense of hope. Instead, we get the point of a sword. It is sharp, it is precise, and it is utterly useless for anything other than the performance itself. Buck Valor is not impressed, but then again, why would I be? I’ve seen this play before, and the only thing that changes is the costume of the person holding the blade while the rest of us get stuck with the bill.