In the permanently smoky atmosphere of a nearly deserted Foreign Correspondents' Club, three friends conduct a reluctant analysis of the steady progress of the government's internal security bill. Clause by clause, they dissect the legal intricacies they fear will erode Hong Kong's freedoms. Each has dedicated large parts of their careers to fostering democracy in Hong Kong. The atmosphere is sombre. There is little doubt that the government's version of the bill, required by Article 23 of the Basic Law, will move swiftly through the committee process that begins after July 9. Despite demonstrations, ardent protests in Legco and hundreds of conversations much like this one, ready or not, Hong Kong will shortly enter a different phase of its relationship with the mainland. Across town, at other tables, other people are likely to be celebrating in support of the bill as a natural progression. They see it as a testament of faith in Hong Kong's rule of law as well as its future under Chinese sovereignty. The one thing these groups have in common is that neither side talks to the other. Politically, economically and socially, post-1997 Hong Kong is divided - pro-Beijing and anti-Beijing, both passionately attached to causes they believe are fundamentally incompatible. This is unfortunate. Such polarisation gives to Hong Kong's politics a parochial, village-like quality, where there are no such things as ideas, only agendas, whether mounted by those friendly to the central government or by its critics. At times, Hong Kong may be the best kind of global village. In the traumatic brush with Sars, people showed their concern for each other through campaigns, phone calls and e-mails. In politics, however, such bonding is nonexistent. But if Hong Kong is a village, like every village it has its elders. Several times in recent months, I have visited one of my favourite sages, Ronald Arculli, chairman of the Hong Kong Jockey Club, former legislator and owner of River Verdon, one of Hong Kong's most famous racehorses, now retired. Mr Arculli describes himself as 'old Hong Kong', and with his cigars, shy wit and cultivated city accent, he is himself a paradigm of a generation that came of age under British rule but looked beyond. While studying law in London in the late 1950s, his friends called him 'Mr Neutral', because he refused to take sides over who should rule South Africa in a debate that posed a united front of blacks and Asians against white South Africans. Today, he occupies a similar middle ground between Hong Kong's opposing political perspectives, looking for constructive ways to move the debate forward, leaning towards democracy and rule of law, but cognisant of practical barriers. His answer to Hong Kong's economic and political problems is to take things one day at a time, to look at Hong Kong's glass as half full, rather than half empty. On Article 23, he would have preferred to see a more prolonged public consultation process and a white bill, yet says: 'If you look at the history of British rule, I don't think anyone enacted more draconian laws. We can't sweep it under the carpet, and you don't wait for a national security crisis to enact a national security law. I have almost a blind faith in the success of Hong Kong as a city. But I think people need to be told in no uncertain terms the hard facts of life. You've heard criticism of the lack of leadership in the government. I would say it's not just the government, it has to be the people.' In order for Hong Kong to evolve beyond schism and paralysis, the city and its people should take a cue from Mr Arculli and others like him, and approach Hong Kong's future with more optimism. The first step may well be to begin talking to each other. Edith Terry is editor of the Post's opinion pages Chris Yeung is on holiday