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Kevin Kwong

LIKE Janus the Roman god of gateways, the solemn face of Hongkong Telecom chief executive Linus Cheung Wing-lam has been turning.

 One day he is a ruthless human chainsaw who kept workers in the dark over the company's plan to slash the wages of 13,800 staff by 10 per cent and sack those who did not comply by November 1.

 Then, he is the epitome of new age business compassion, carefully explaining his decision and justifying it as necessary in times of recession.

 'In my view, management and staff are not on opposite sides of the fence, rather, we are in the same boat,' he wrote in a letter to Telecom employees.

 Later, he is unmasked again as Mr Nasty with news of his bonuses worth $5 million, just six months before he decided to lop the pay of his staff. The mammoth handout was on top of his $4.21 million salary and other perks, which made his package worth $14 million - or $1.2 million a month - for the previous financial year.

 But it was Mr Nice who ordered a suspension of the pay cut last Tuesday and apologised for the 'shock and unease' that the proposal had caused.

 However, he continues to insist that cost-cutting is unavoidable - despite the company's net profit of $17 billion for the year ended March 31, a rise of 52 per cent that was boosted by a $6.7 billion payout from the Government for the early termination of its international service monopoly.

 There goes Mr Nasty again.

 Mr Nice. Mr Nasty. Can the real Mr Cheung please step forward? Those who have seen him speak at functions agree the 50-year-old chief has a charming, charismatic public persona. Brand-conscious, he sports conspicuously expensive Italian labels with relish, taking obvious pride in wearing the best that money can buy.

 It is an image far removed from the one he grew up with in a humble Hong Kong family. He went to Raimondi College before studying social sciences at the University of Hong Kong. After graduating in 1971, he joined Cathay Pacific Airways as a management trainee.

 There, his career advanced rapidly. He was made deputy managing director responsible for the airline's global commercial activities before being appointed a board director in 1992. At the time, he was one of two Chinese to sit on the board.

 His influence, however, was not confined to the aviation industry. In May 1989, he joined the Government's newly created Central Policy Unit - also known as the 'think-tank' - as one of its four core members on a two-year secondment.

 During his tenure he assisted in the preparation of policy advice for former Governor Chris Patten, the Chief Secretary and the Financial Secretary, and represented the Government on foreign duty visits.

 But Mr Cheung first captured the mass media's attention when he left Cathay Pacific after 23 years and became the first Chinese chief executive of Hongkong Telecom.

 'It was a painful choice. I spent several weeks considering the offer that would make me leave a company I had stuck with for 23 years,' Mr Cheung said at the time of his new appointment.

 Others saw his career move as sensible and logical. 'Instead of waiting for the top post at Cathay, the offer from Hongkong Telecom meant an immediate prospect,' a former airline colleague said.

 'Besides, the airline industry is ailing, while the telecom industry is full of growth potential.' It was clear Mr Cheung wanted to impress his team at Telecom from day one.

 'When he first joined, the general consensus, especially among the local staff, was positive,' recalls a Telecom employee who has served the company for a decade.

 'He is someone from Hong Kong, a Chinese and not someone from London. The staff were, therefore, enthusiastic about his appointment.

 'And he made an effort to make his presence felt and to show how he cared about the workers.'  Mr Cheung liked to emphasise the fact that he was educated locally and that his fluent spoken English was self-taught. 'If you put him in a crowd, he can project his charisma,' the employee says.

 'In that respect, you have to give him his due, he can really talk off the cuff.

 'You can sit there and be mesmerised by the man.'  His critics, however, charge Mr Cheung with doing little more than talking. And that has been illustrated in the present dispute.

 'He's got catchphrases . . . if you press a button all of them will come out. All this about being caring . . . it is just empty talk,' another employee says.

 'Maybe it is not his fault. It's partly the workers' fault too because they have expected too much from him. They thought: 'Here is a Chinese to stand in their camp'.' But, say insiders, he turned out to be a Cable & Wireless (Telecom's parent company) man.

 'If times are so hard, why doesn't he give up his bonus? Imagine the number of jobs he could save.'  Married with two daughters, Mr Cheung lives in Mid-Levels with his wife Amanda Au Po-ngor, a former civil servant. He neither smokes nor drinks.

 He enjoys Chinese and Japanese cuisine rather than Western food. Valuable Chinese paintings hang in his home and office. He is a keen golfer.

 'He appreciates the finer things in life but he is not extravagant. For a person in his position he does not entertain excessively,' the employee says.

 'He wants to be popular. . .a people's hero.'  To this end, Mr Cheung laps up publicity. However, the humiliating, negative and deeply personal reports that have been served up over the past fortnight will not lead his clippings folder.



Linus Cheung, the man behind the unpopular decision, is a puzzle to most