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At the end of the line

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The coroner's report of 1998 is an admirably researched document, particularly in those pages of statistics devoted to suicide. It informs the reader of where in the SAR people have died (Hong Kong island, Kowloon, New Territories), how they choose to take their lives ('Jumping from a height' and 'Hanging' were by far the most favoured methods) and whether the deceased was male or female (about a third more men than women kill themselves).

The coroner's report of 1997 was an equally thorough publication and it is simple arithmetic, therefore, to calculate what a difference a year makes. In 1997, 597 people decided they no longer wanted to continue with their lives; in 1998, the same choice was made by 868 people. That's an increase of about 45 per cent. The figures for 1999 haven't been compiled yet but a cursory glance at news reports indicates the numbers certainly aren't on the decrease. The 1999 figures will also show a statistical shift in the way people prefer to die. Carbon-monoxide poisoning, as a result of burning charcoal in an enclosed room, is now often cited in newspapers as a cause of death.

'This charcoal business is so worrying because it's so easy,' says Geraldine Wilson, director of the Samaritans. 'It costs about $15 to buy a bag of charcoal. It tends to be the method of choice for older people. And I don't have an answer to that problem - maybe a little card inside the bag with our number on it? I don't know.' She sighs, uncharacteristically, because she is a positive woman who tries to see what the Samaritans have achieved, not where they are failing.

The past year has not been an easy one in Hong Kong, however, and the Samaritans know it. The number of calls received in the first six months of this year increased by about 30 per cent. You could, of course, take that as a sign of success: the Samaritans, after all, is a 'Suicide Prevention Hotline' and you cannot attempt to prevent a suicide unless someone at least makes contact and tells you what is on his or her mind.

'But the calls have been more despairing,' says Wilson. 'The financial downturn hit this community hard, unemployment hit this community hard. It's like throwing a pebble in a pool. The main breadwinner is facing possible unemployment but he doesn't want to tell his wife. She knows there's something wrong, she jumps to all kinds of conclusions, and so we often get the wives on the phone. And you think, 'This is a relationship problem.' But it isn't. Then the tension rubs off on the kids. Their grades drop at school, the kid rings up and says, 'The teacher is horrible to me.' But it isn't a kid-teacher problem, it's an unemployment problem.' Wilson pauses for a moment. 'I'd like to do a research project about the time of day when people kill themselves. Everyone talks about the small hours of the morning but I have a feeling it's the middle of the afternoon. People who don't have a formal job, like housewives, or people who are unemployed ... that's when they're alone. I want to find out if my feeling is correct, to check with the coroner's office about the times of death.' THE SAMARITANS are currently in the process of marking 25 years in Hong Kong. They are planning various fund-raising events, looking for long-term sponsors, and organising an event at Government House next May under the auspices of patron Betty Tung. But if they could be granted one practical birthday wish it would probably be that when you have finished reading this article, you pick up the phone and offer your services as a volunteer. At the moment, they have about 100 volunteers, of whom slightly more than half are Chinese, and it isn't enough. The transient, pressurised nature of life in Hong Kong makes commitment hard, and sometimes 'Sams' (as they refer to themselves) have to move on. 'We do recognise that you have a life,' observes Wilson wryly. 'The idea of being a Samaritan isn't to give trouble to your family or partner.' Three times a year, the Samaritans hold a selection process. The last one was in September. The next one will be in November: there will be an introductory evening talk on Monday, November 8, which is not compulsory, and a session from about 10am until 3pm on Saturday, November 13, which is. Those who are chosen from that stage will be required to attend eight evening training sessions in the following month. This is strictly enforced: if you are selected but for some reason cannot be present at all eight sessions, you must wait until the next cycle of training, which will be early next year.

If you get through that process (and not everyone does, partly because applicants themselves realise they are not suitable Sams) you will be slotted into the duty time which you have specified on your initial application form. That's a once-a-week commitment of about three hours. Then there's one overnight a month: the night is split into two shifts, from 10pm to 3am and from 3am to 8am, but volunteers spend the whole night on the Samaritan premises as potential back-up. Every six weeks, there's a Sunday duty; public holidays are also covered. The Samaritans are a 24-hour service which means someone always has to be there, listening.

All this activity takes place in a flat supplied by the Pamela Youde Nethersole Eastern Hospital in Chai Wan. It is, frankly, not the most convenient spot to get to (one of the questions asked during the September introductory talk was why the Sams had to base themselves so far away) but it is spacious, it has two bathrooms - a godsend for those overnighters who have to go straight to the office - and plenty of sofabeds. Until three years ago, the Samaritans were based in Wan Chai MTR station and, while they were grateful for the generosity of the MTR Corporation, they have settled into their bright eyrie with relief. They are 18 floors above the typhoon-scorched trees of a temperamental summer; when, as sometimes happens, callers make an appointment to speak to a Sam face-to-face, the balcony doors are kept locked.

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