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The political education of Lee actually began long before that. His father was a general with the Kuomintang who grew disenchanted with the nationalists' greed during the civil war, refused to follow them to Taiwan and wound up penniless in Hong Kong. Every year Mao's men would dispatch an emissary to persuade General Li Yin-Wo to join their cause. Every year the general refused. The father's meager wages as a teacher of Chinese and his Roman Catholic connections earned Martin a Jesuit education, a diploma from the University of Hong Kong and a law degree in London. A formidable debater who hated desk work but loved the good life, he soon rose to the top of the Hong Kong bar as one of the colony's highest-paid barristers, known for his good guanxi (connections) on the mainland and his ice blue Jaguar.
Britain's decision to negotiate Hong Kong's return to China changed his life. "When I looked ahead," says Lee, "I asked myself what would be the most important thing Hong Kong must have when we became part of China. I soon found the answer: the rule of law, the one thing they don't have in China." His British accent, legalistic mind and prim, stilted manner belie a true believer's devotion to an uncompromising position. He became a politician, though, not a revolutionary, setting himself up as the by-the-book protector of human rights.
Everything that has happened since has only intensified his distrust for the men in Beijing. As a member of the committee appointed to draft Hong Kong's Basic Law, he recalls its first meeting with Deng Xiaoping. The architect of the one-country, two-systems policy spontaneously suggested that while the original agreement stipulated Hong Kong would keep its capitalist system for 50 years, that provision could be extended to 100 years. While others applauded, Lee registered a fuming dissent at the whimsical nature of policy decisions in a country governed by the rule of men.
His leadership of Hong Kong's democracy movement flowered during the spring of 1989. As the students took over Tiananmen Square, Lee joined the Hong Kong throngs marching in solidarity. When the bloody crackdown came, he resigned from the Basic Law committee and launched an organization aimed at overthrowing the communist regime. Beijing branded him a subversive and forbade travel to the mainland. Lee began mobilizing people to pursue the only peaceful alternative left: "to make sure there will be democracy in Hong Kong so that we ourselves will be running this place."
He came away from the British-sponsored elections with an international reputation as Hong Kong's No. 1 democrat. "He convinces people with his reasoning and his principles," says Andrew Cheng, a young Democratic Party legislator who accompanied Lee on his recent U.S. trip. "As a lawyer, he believes you don't need to shout loud when you are trying to change someone's mind. All you need is the evidence." He has been unsparing in his charge that the Provisional Legislature named by Beijing to replace the elected council is illegal, and is successfully portraying Tung's proposed limits on political activities as proof that freedom in Hong Kong is about to be stifled. While Lee has always operated rigorously within the law, the danger is that his passionate rhetoric will inspire younger supporters to acts that push Beijing's leaders beyond the limits of their patience.