In this episode, Samantha Sasaki analyzes three bagpipe performances of “Auld Lang Syne” in Hong Kong in order to uncover why this instrument has retained cultural and political significance in the 27 years post-Handover.

This episode was produced by Jose Garza along with Team Lead John Heilig. Special thanks to peer reviewers Larry Witzleben and Jennifer Weaver. Additional acknowledgements to Anna Yu Wang and Gavin Steingo.

SMT-Pod’s theme music was written by Maria Tartaglia, with closing music by Yike Zhang. For supplementary materials on this episode and more information on our authors and composers, check out our website: https://smt-pod.org/episodes/

[Intro Theme by Maria Tartaglia.]

Welcome to SMT-Pod, the premier audio publication of the Society for Music Theory! In this episode, Samantha Sasaki analyzes three bagpipe performances of “Auld Lang Syne” in Hong Kong in order to uncover why this instrument has retained cultural and political significance in the 27 years post-Handover.

As Hongkongers rang in 2024, the banks of Victoria Harbor sounded a bit like this:

[Recording of “Auld Lang Syne” 2024]

Underlying the roar of fireworks and the murmur of the celebrating crowd is the unmistakable strain of the song, “Auld Lang Syne” on bagpipes. The Hong Kong Police Pipe Band, a pipes and drums subsidiary of the larger Police Band, play this song every year as part of the city New Year’s Eve celebration. There were a few things that intrigued me when I first saw this recording, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the prominent use of bagpipes in this performance.

While I could easily think of historical explanations for the bagpipe’s relocation to Hong Kong (it’s a former British colony with a large number of Highland regiments stationed there under colonial rule), I was intrigued as to why it remained a culturally significant musical instrument in spite of the massive political changes since 1997.

In this podcast, I explore the lasting musical, political, and cultural status of the Great Highland bagpipe in contemporary Hong Kong. While ostensibly a symbol of British colonialism and military might, why has this instrument retained its prominence among the Hong Kong Police, musicians, and pro-democracy protesters alike? How has bagpipe music been recontextualized over the 27 years since the handover from British to Chinese governance and what impact, if any, has this recontextualization had on musicians and listeners alike? Is there an underlying reason, a general impulse, that explains the continuity and change in Hong Kong bagpipe music?

To start addressing these questions, I examine three performances of “Auld Lang Syne” on bagpipe in Hong Kong from 1997-2024 in order to identify what impulse, if any, undergirds this period.

One thing that is crucial to acknowledge is that Hong Kong is not unique as a formerly colonized region to retain a musical and cultural connection to the Great Highland bagpipe. India, for example, modeled its military after the British army and has Highland regiments. Up until last year, pipers played a significant role in ceremonial events and state dinners, akin to their role in the United Kingdom. In addition to having several military pipe bands, South Africa has a vibrant civilian piping community.

However, what makes Hong Kong a particularly fruitful case is the fact that Hong Kong bagpipe music is actively being politically contested. In the years since the passage of the National Security Law, which many critics called the end of “one country, two systems” in Hong Kong, the government has increased its decolonization efforts in the cultural sphere. Hong Kong Police has begun to replace the traditional tartan kilts with more traditional brass band uniforms, remove many of the traditional Scottish folk tunes from their repertoire, and move towards using the People’s Liberation Army’s foot drills during parades and events. Questions of decolonization and national identity are at the heart of the evolving, sometimes conflicting status of the Great Highland bagpipe.

Before I dive into this analysis, I want to situate this case study within the larger project of global music theory and the challenges that this field faces. One crucial tension that undergirds the project of global music theory is how to contend with questions of difference and relationality. After delving into the difficulties and nuances of this tension, I propose a potential methodology for analyzing a truly global musical object – the bagpipe – that addresses the multiplicity of histories, meanings, and emotions associated with its music.

Kofi Agawu lays out a convincing case against a global music practice oriented towards identifying difference between musical cultures in “Contesting Difference,” arguing that this approach invariably perpetuates a system of othering. Ethnomusicology in particular is built on constructing difference, as the knowledge of “other” musical cultures is always defined in relation to Western (and primarily European) structures of knowledge. Crucially, Agawu argues that this difference-making is not simply a methodological issue that can be resolved by moving to a “we” model from an “us versus them” model or by “undercomplicating” Western art music in order to laud another musical tradition. Both still rest on comparisons on the terms of European art music and inherently take Western art music to be the norm. This presumption of difference is a fundamental mindset for ethnomusicologists, and one we need to be aware of when thinking globally with music.

It’s easy to slip into this mindset when thinking about a musical object or tradition that moves between cultures, as it necessitates comparison. In this study, between Scottish folk music/culture and Hong Kong’s. Comparison isn’t inherently problematic; in fact, it’s often incredibly illuminating. But when this comparison is the only method of analysis or relies on proximity to Western art music for legitimacy, it risks oversimplifying and essentializing cultures.

Agawu instead argues for a “presumption of sameness,” a shift of one’s worldview away from searching for (and explaining) difference. In this perspective, the researcher would “unearth the impulses that motivate acts of performance and… seek to interpret them in terms of broader, perhaps even generic cultural impulses” (Agawu 169). By “attending to sameness,” one would be able to look beyond the material – not ignoring the material constraints and affordances but by focusing on how they translate larger (perhaps even global) cultural impulses.

Furthermore, this perspective is future-oriented, exploring how changes in material conditions and affordances could lead to musical/cultural shifts. In terms of relationality, this mindset shift forces us to think about societies in dialogue with each other and more broadly about human trends filtered through specific conditions. Uncovering the general impulse that animates bagpipe music in Hong Kong would help us understand not just what the bagpipe symbolizes in a global context but also why musicians around the world gravitate towards similar symbols.

Agawu suggests in this chapter that there isn’t a specific methodology for identifying these underlying, widespread commonalities, instead contending that this is primarily a mindset shift, a major break from the difference-oriented ethnomusicologist perspective. There are several practical reasons for this – as Agawu acknowledges, it’s easy to dismiss this reorientation as reactionary or essentialist. In establishing a methodology, Agawu risks pigeonholing his intentionally broad theory into a more easily contestable framework.

However, it does, inevitably raise the question of exactly how one can practically implement this theory in their global work. Agawu suggests that the general impulse is translated by material conditions (such as resources, bodily constraints, tools, sociopolitical factors) to shape patterns of behavior. This progression makes logical sense, and suggests that examining the miasma of material affordances is a fruitful place to locate the commonalities that point towards a general impulse and which specific ones animate musical behavior.

However, the method through which to accomplish this is lacking, both in theory and in Agawu’s application in “The Minimalist Impulse,” a chapter in his 2023 book On African Music. In particular, there is little to no acknowledgement of the future orientation, the potential for change, which he underscores is crucial to not just to avoid essentializing but also to understanding the general impulse. One cannot find commonalities without examining these shifts.

It is hard to ignore the resonance between Agawu’s emphasis on the future-oriented nature of attending to sameness and Judith Becker’s theory of a habitus of listening. Becker draws upon Pierre Bourdieu’s term of habitus, which refers to how the social, cultural, political milieu surrounding different classes in mid-20th-century France shaped their cultural taste. While Becker did not replicate Bourdieu’s thorough sociological survey to determine these distinctions, she draws upon his influential conclusions regarding the habitus. Becker argues that how one listens is inherently contextual and learned, deriving from the listener’s positionality (encompassing their location, social class, political influence, lived experiences, and cultural context).

Like with Bourdieu, this habitus of listening is an embodied tendency or pattern of action, not necessitating an action but rather providing a subconscious disposition towards a behavior. Since this habitus is learned, it is constantly evolving and changing as one moves throughout the world. Becker’s work, and her reliance on Bourdieu, suggests that delving into the specific social, political, locational elements of a peoples’ habitus can help us understand musical behavior.

In her chapter, Becker explores the religious, historical, philosophical, social factors that establish different emotional responses to and engagements with music. While her analysis clearly articulates the relationship between habitus and behavior, she, like Agawu, does not properly address how and why a habitus changes, simply saying that it does. To understand why bagpipe music remains integral to Hong Kong’s musical, political, and social life, continuity and change on all levels is crucial to examine and acknowledge.

Furthermore, neither Becker nor Agawu fully acknowledges how recursive these concepts are. Becker suggests that one’s habitus can adjust or be contested within something as local as a single performance but does not take this the next step forward to systematically examine how behavior opens up new material affordances or alters the socio-political conditions of possibility.

What then, is the relationship between these different concepts? This model, the general impulse is the impetus behind the system, as Agawu suggests with his discussion of visual art Minimalism, this impulse is likely found outside of the musical sphere as well. This general impulse is then shaped by local material affordances such as resources, bodily constraints, systems of transmission/trade, location, and geography, translating this general inclination into more particular outcomes.

Similarly, the social, cultural, historical, religious, political miasma that shapes an individual’s habitus of listening helps the situate themselves within musical experiences and locations, relate to them, and respond/react to them. It also seems clear that the habitus of listening and material conditions impact each other by shaping the conditions of possibility for each. The habitus can shape how instruments are used, what types of locations are most apt for performance based on religious or cultural guidelines. The material conditions may also impact the feasibility/actionability of political/identity-based ideologies.

Finally, as Becker and Agawu suggest, musical behavior can similarly shift one’s habitus and the material world around them. These elements are mutually constitutive and point to factors outside of the general impulse where relationality and difference come into play. Commonalities and change could arise in any of these areas, from impulse to behavior. However, this model provides a methodology specifically oriented towards identifying these over a historical period.

Theoretically, the general impulse remains stable over time as it is a larger disposition, meaning that changes in musical behavior would be generated by the habitus of listening, material affordances, or consequences of other behavior. By examining these shifts over time and identifying what (and why) changes have occurred, one can identify what has remained consistent and look for what larger trend underpins them.

In this project, I hope to uncover what general impulse accounts for these moments of commonality and of difference in Hong Kong. Since the relationships between these four concepts are recursive, there are many different avenues for exploration. In order to draw finer points of comparison (and limit the amount of variables), I am examining three different bagpipe music performances of “Auld Lang Syne,” a traditional Scottish folk song, in Hong Kong from 1997 to 2024, the 27 years post-handover.

The performances are the 1997 ceremony itself, a 2019 “soft power” tactic by police to remove protesters from Hong Kong Polytechnic University, and the most recent New Year's Eve performance by the Hong Kong Police Pipe Band. In accordance with the methodology I have outlined, I examine how the habitus of listening and material affordances have evolved over these 27 years. Ultimately, in spite of the political changes that have engulfed Hong Kong, the bagpipes have continuously represented a desire for stability. Crucially, this impulse to create stability and solidarity in the midst of unrest has manifested in a multitude of ways, from representing an “apolitical” constant to forcing order by suppressing dissent.

How did the bagpipe and Auld Lang Syne take root in Hong Kong? When we refer to the bagpipe, we primarily think of the Great Highland bagpipe, which originated in Scotland sometime around or before the 15th century. While an organology of the Great Highland bagpipe is outside the scope of this podcast, I want to briefly discuss the general construction and scale of this instrument. This bagpipe consists of an air bag, three drones, a chanter, a blow pipe, and five stocks.

To play, the piper blows into the blow pipe to fill the air bag. A valve on the pipe prevents air from coming back out, so the piper can take their mouth off the pipe to breathe while maintaining airflow in the bag with their arm. The drones are tuned to the same note (the tonic in the bagpipe scale), though the two tenor drones are an octave above the bass drone. The chanter is a conical pipe with nine finger holes, which the piper plays to create the melody. The stocks stabilize the bagpipe and keep it vertical during performance.

Pipers consider the scale to run from A to A, with an extra low G on the chanter. Musicologist Ewan MacPherson argues that this often aligns with an A mixolydian scale, with A played on the drones, though sheet music usually notates the key of D major. However, bagpipes use just intonation tuning and do not align with concert or orchestral tuning. To the listener, the low A sounds like a Bb. This creates an intriguing disconnect between the performer and the audience.

There are some interesting performance and symbolic affordances inherent in the construction of the bagpipe, which seem to suggest a self-contained nature and emphasize a need for stability. For one, there is a popular misconception that pipers are constantly blowing into the blow pipe, which creates a perception that performance is extremely physically taxing.

In reality, many pipers find the task of controlling air flow with their bagpipe arm to be the most challenging. An increase of pressure changes pitch, not volume, and maintaining pressure while breathing takes immense skill. This dialectic requires the performer to be incredibly stable in their performance.

Additionally, the just intonation tuning means that the drones often sound out of tune until the chanter is played and that the bagpipe can easily sound out of tune when played with equal temperament instruments. The bagpipe, in and of itself, creates and reinforces its tuning and musicality. Finally, the drone/chanter construction means there is always a pedal grounding the melody. Bagpipes both require and perform stability.

“Auld Lang Syne” is a traditional Scottish folk song, with lyrics penned by the famed Scottish poet, Robert Burns. Burns’ “Auld Lang Syne,” wasn’t the first version; a few other poets (most prominently, Allen Ramsay) had written similar lyrics set to different (apparently more complex) folk tunes throughout the 18th century. After its publication in George Thompson’s Select Songs of Scotland in 1799, this song quickly became popular throughout Scotland (gaining a prominence akin to the unofficial anthem, Scots Wa Hae) and then across the English-speaking world. Today, it’s sung at New Year’s Eve celebrations around the world.

The lyrics of the first verse are as follows: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And the days of auld lang syne!

The lyrics reflect on the nature of relationships over time, what may change (and what might stay the same). It is at the same time hopeful and bittersweet, akin to how New Year’s feels. Musicologist MJ Grant argues that the song promotes collective singing, through its relatively simple melody, repetitive nature, and its universal sentiment. Even if you’ve never heard the song before, by the tenth iteration of the melody, you can likely hum along. Crucially, Grant points out that in spite of its wide recognition, its lyrics are often forgotten or incorrectly sung in casual performance. For Grant, this suggests that the emotional association linked to “Auld Lang Syne” exists without the lyrics – the tune itself evokes the nostalgia, hopefulness, and regret.

While many different types of pipes exist (primarily originating from Europe, South and West Asia, and North Africa), the Great Highland bagpipe is used worldwide, due in large part to its connection to British colonialism. The British army included Highland regiments so even though Scotland was never officially an occupying force in the British colonies, the Great Highland Bagpipe and Scottish folk music reached Hong Kong in the early 20th century.

According to Anthony Ho, one of the first scholars to write about bagpipe music in Hong Kong, bagpipe music was fairly ubiquitous during the colonial period, as pipers performed during military parades and festivals, in addition to their daily job of calling soldiers to their duties. The first all-Hongkonger pipe band, the Pipes and Drums of the Royal Hong Kong Police, was established in 1954.

This band, which was run by the colonial government, performed at a myriad of public and private events, from graduation ceremonies to house parties to official government receptions to New Year’s Eve celebrations. The popularity and success of this band sparked the creation of many other government-organized or privately-run pipe bands. Crucially, these bands (including the police pipe band) adopted marching styles, outfitting, and music of the Highland regiments.

Andrew Yu, a piper and ethnomusicologist, argues that there was also an intentional, targeted attempt by these colonial pipers to promote piping among Hongkongers in the mid 1960s as a form of social control. In 1967, a series of anti-government riots swept through Hong Kong, initially over a labor dispute in the Hong Kong Artificial Flower Works factory that grew into large-scale protests, strikes, and eventually more violent unrest.

These riots were deeply influenced by the simultaneous Cultural Revolution in China, and historian Steven Tsang argues that a local branch of the Chinese Communist Party played a crucial role in organizing the protests. After quelling the unrest through political reforms, the colonial government published a report “Kowloon Disturbances 1966: Report of Commission of Inquiry” on the anti-government disputes, advocating for the government to find ways to divert “excess energy as one of the ways to prevent social unrest.”

Yu contends that this attitude led to a government-sponsored promotion of piping among Hong Kong youths. The Royal Hong Kong Police Pipe Band became involved with the privately-run Scout Band, bringing in Scottish pipers for lessons, allowing the band to wear the police tartan, and establishing rehearsal space near one of the Highland regiment’s training grounds.

In the years preceding the 1997 handover of Hong Kong from the United Kingdom to China, the Great Highland bagpipe was invariably associated with symbols of British colonialism and attempts at social control. The relationship between militarization and the bagpipe was not just theoretical but literal, as the music was either performed by the police or army or by bands emulating their organization and style. At the same time, many pipers who grew up before the handover speak fondly of the bagpipe music they heard and played during this time.

One piper interviewed by Anthony Ho for his master’s thesis research lamented the decrease in bagpipe performances since the handover. Andrew Yu describes this music as a “tool by the colonial power to comfort people.” These accounts suggest that there a significant ambivalence surrounding the status of Hong Kong and its relationship to its colonial past. Even in the midst of social and political unrest, the bagpipe was a symbol of stability (for the colonial government and musicians alike), albeit a forced one for the latter.

With this social, political, and musical background in mind, I will now turn to my first case study – the performance of “Auld Lang Syne” at the 1997 handover ceremony.

At midnight on July 1, 1997, Hong Kong sovereignty was transferred from the United Kingdom to mainland China, marking the end of a 13-year transition from a British colony to a special administrative region in China. While the “one country, two systems” framework established by the 1984 Sino-British Joint Declaration purportedly ensured that Hong Kong would retain much its social, economic, and political autonomy until 2047, many were doubtful that it would hold.

Political scientist Melanie Manion saw that emigration from Hong Kong averaged 48,000 a year from 1987-1997, around 17,000 more than in the previous ten-year period. Polls conducted by the Hong Kong Transition Project in June 1997 showed an almost perfect divide between “worried” and “not worried” respondents. J. Lawrence Witzleben, an ethnomusicologist, argues that the ceremony both reflected this ambivalence while at the same time tried to construct a unified cultural and political image of what Hong Kong could be through musical performances and rituals.

The bagpipes featured prominently into the evening ceremony. Right after the Union Jack and colonial Hong Kong flag were lowered, Pipe Sergeant Steven Small played the song “Immortal Memory” on the bagpipes to signal the British troops’ retreat. The last song of the handover ceremony (and relatedly, the first one to occur after Hong Kong) was “Auld Lang Syne,” which was performed by the Hong Kong Police’s combined brass and pipe band as the British Army exited the arena.

[Recording of “Auld Lang Syne” 1997]

The choice to make “Auld Lang Syne” the first song performed under Chinese governance may seem odd at first. Despite its global reach, the song is inextricably linked to British colonialism and the bagpipe only serves to bolster this association. The outgoing colonial government organized the evening ceremony, which could indicate that this song was intentionally chosen to remind the global audience (including the new Hong Kong administration) that the region’s connection to the United Kingdom would never truly go away.

While I don’t disagree that this was an impact of performing “Auld Lang Syne,” I would argue that it is a consequence of another phenomenon. Witzleben contends that the British-organized ceremony emphasized internationalization and multiculturalism, attempting to imagine Hong Kong’s future as one of global connectedness and harmony. He further argues that military bands, such as those that played “Auld Lang Syne” during the handover ceremony, are a “international musical language.”

This perception of the ceremony suggests that the organizers intentionally avoided characterizing Hong Kong through national identity. In this perspective, “Auld Lang Syne” is an apt choice. For almost two centuries, “Auld Lang Syne” had been sung at New Year’s, a holiday which seems (at least on its face) to be apolitical. Of course, the song’s worldwide reach is due to the British Empire and any effort to claim that this song is apolitical is politically charged.

As a result, by positioning “Auld Lang Syne” as a politically neutral tune, the organizers attempted to reflect the audience’s ambivalence towards Hong Kong’s future under Chinese sovereignty while at the same time aimed to create a type of solidarity through this shared experience. This goal of creating a unified Hong Kong and “Auld Lang Syne’s” supposed neutrality masks the colonial underpinnings. This complicated relationship is also symbolized in the bagpipe itself, as it is both an unmistakable reminder of colonialism and an instrument with local and international significance.

How might the socio-political context of the ceremony and the historical and emotional associations to “Auld Lang Syne,” have shaped the audience’s response? During the second refrain, the crowd begins singing along though not on words. They don’t sing the entire time, only for a few repetitions, but it is a crucial moment of participation during an otherwise formal ceremony. The crowd’s participation in singing “Auld Lang Syne” indicates a level of familiarity with the tune, which is likely due to New Year’s Eve performances.

Regardless of each individual’s specific feelings towards Hong Kong’s future, for a few seconds, they came together in a shared musical experience that acknowledged this uncertainty. The bagpipe and “Auld Lang Syne’s” symbolic ambiguity provided a type of stability for organizers and audience members alike. It validated and performed the complicated emotions surrounding the event. Furthermore, the attempt to position both as politically neutral provided another possibility – perhaps in spite of the political uncertainty, bagpipe music would still be a constant.

Let’s now jump ahead to November 2019, during the height of another period of social and political unrest in Hong Kong – the anti-extradition bill protests of 2019 and 2020. On November 17th, student protesters occupied the Hong Kong Polytechnic University and blocked the Cross-Harbor Tunnel, a major road into the city. In response, the Hong Kong Police Force laid siege on the university, using teargas, water cannons, and non-lethal rounds to prevent students from escaping. Despite protesters’ efforts (which included throwing bricks and petrol bombs at the police), the campus was overtaken on November 29th with approximately 1,300 arrests. On November 18th, the second day of the siege, police took a less violent tactic to try and break the occupation – they broadcast “Auld Lang Syne” on loudspeakers around the campus. Photojournalist Lok Lee, who was in Hong Kong Polytechnic University during the occupation, took this recording.

[Recording of “Auld Lang Syne” 2019]

While not a live performance, the use of a bagpipe recording of “Auld Lang Syne” against besieged protesters highlights the stark changes that have occurred in Hong Kong since 1997. In February 2019, the Hong Kong government proposed an amendement to the existing fugitive extradition law, allowing for extradition from countries without a formal extradition treaty. Critics feared this amendment would make it easier for mainland China to silence political dissent, and would lead to a further erosion of Hong Kong’s autonomy.

In practice, The CCP selected every "preferred Chief Executive" beginning in 1997: the "elections" were conducted by appointed "Selection Committees," and everyone knew which candidates were the chosen ones. The Basic Law dictated that the Chief Executive would eventually be elected through universal suffrage; the "reforms" proposed in the 2010s ensured that direct elections would be postponed indefinitely. This led to the Umbrella Revolution, a 77-day occupation of major Hong Kong intersections and calls for democratic reforms. These calls would ultimately go unanswered and the arrests of three prominent pro-democracy activists in 2017 would further dissent. The months-long protests against the 2019 bill were in many ways a culmination of this simmering unrest.

Even after Chief Executive Carrie Lam withdrew the bill in September 2019, protests continued. Many of the continued grievances of protesters revolved around the police, who classified the protests as riots and were accused of excessive brutality. From 1997 until 2011, the Hong Kong Police Force had an approval rating of between 50% and 75% but plummeted to 21% during the 2014 protests and never recovered. The police represented a very different entity to Hongkongers in 2019 than they did in 1997, a source of fear and instability instead of security.

With this political context in mind, let’s now return to this recording. There are limitless songs that the police could have used for their counter-protest action. They specifically chose a bagpipe version of “Auld Lang Syne.” While I doubt broadcasting “Auld Lang Syne” at besieged protesters was an intentional reference to the handover ceremony, this recording does seem to starkly contrast with the 1997 performance. Crucially, the audience at the handover ceremony were there by choice and were moved, likely due to the song’s familiarity and emotional solidarity, to sing along.

In contrast, the 2019 protesters were forced to listen to this song, with no escape. In the recording, there is no singing along, no musical response from the protesters. They do not embrace the song like how the 1997 audience did. In this sense, the song is more of a demonstration of police might than a reflection of public uncertainty and hope for the future. It is an effort to control the protesters and force them into submission. The colonial and military implications of the bagpipe are no longer hidden under a mask of political neutrality; instead, it is an explicit reminder of the relationship between bagpipe music and the Hong Kong Police.

For both the protesters and the police, bagpipe music became a way to force order into a politically turbulent situation. While it is a stability of a different kind than in 1997, it speaks to the same impulse. However, in contrast, the audience of this bagpipe performance don’t want this stability – they see it as dangerous and coercive, a symbol of state power. These dimensions to the bagpipe were always there; they just came to the fore. I don’t think this is a bell that can ever be unrung. This performance altered the conditions of possibility for the bagpipe in Hong Kong, a constant reminder that its existence is political.

I want to conclude where I began, with the most recent New Year’s Eve performance of “Auld Lang Syne” by the Hong Kong Police Pipe Band. This performance took place at Victoria Harbor, as part of the city’s larger New Year’s Eve celebration. In a purported break from past years, this performance was apparently not broadcast on television. As a result, its existence is only evidenced through videos taken by attendees.

[Recording of “Auld Lang Syne” 2024]

The start of the New Year begets complex emotions. It is a time of new beginnings, fresh starts, and hope for better things to come. But it is also a time to reflect on what was lost throughout the year – opportunities, relationships, loved ones, and time itself. In Hong Kong, this loss is its autonomy. In 2020, a National Security Law was passed that essentially ended “one country, two systems” in Hong Kong, criminalizing many forms of protest and dissent.

Many independent new organizations, such as Apple Daily, have permanently shuttered. Dozens of activists and protesters from the 2019 anti-extradition bill protests have been arrested and face decades in prison. Despite pro-democracy candidates gaining a vast majority in Hong Kong’s Legislative Council in 2019, arrests and an electoral overhaul to exclude those not considered “patriots” has resulted in the current legislature being primarily pro-Beijing. From a musical perspective, decolonization efforts have led to the removal of many Scottish folk songs from the Hong Kong Police Pipe Band’s repertoire, “Auld Lang Syne” notwithstanding.

What allowed this song to survive? Likely tradition. As MJ Grant writes, the categories of “folk” and “tradition” often seem ideologically neutral, even as they are deeply politicized. The tradition of pipe bands playing “Auld Lang Syne” at midnight on New Year’s is a worldwide ritual. This annual performance may be a way for the government to signal normalcy, that things will be business as usual despite its concentrated efforts to strip Hongkongers of their rights. Once again, the bagpipe has become a symbol of neutrality. And, as before, it masks a forceful coercion to ensure stability.

In Andrew Yu’s research on the impacts of the National Security Law on bagpiping in Hong Kong, he interviewed many pipers who did not want bagpipe music to be considered political. I understand where this impulse comes from – it’s a desire to have the bagpipe survive as a constant, stable reference in the midst of political change. But I can’t help but think that this is an ideal that only a privileged few can aspire for.

For the 69-year-old busker who was arrested in 2023 for playing “Glory to Hong Kong” on the erhu and charged with four counts of playing a musical instrument in public without a permit, can the instrument and the politics be so easily disentangled? For the students and protesters forced to listen to “Auld Lang Syne” while trapped in PolyU, does the New Year’s Eve performance still seem like an apolitical event? I don’t have answers to these questions, but I bring them up to highlight the recursive nature of musical behavior and experience on the habitus of listening and musical material affordances.

In Hong Kong, a desire for stability has underpinned the continued use of the bagpipe in important political and cultural contexts. What exactly this stability is, and who is aspiring to create it, has fluctuated over time, but it is an impulse reflected not just in the bagpipe’s historical role but also in its construction. The bagpipe also illustrates how claims of its political neutrality are, in and of themselves, fraught with questions of privilege, dominion, and control. The future of the Great Highland Bagpipe in Hong Kong is uncertain, as many of the traditions accompanying its performance have disappeared as a result of the government’s decolonization efforts. But I suspect that the instrument’s attunement towards stability will give it a bit more longevity.

[Recording of “Auld Lang Syne” 1997]

I would like to thank my peer reviewers, Larry Witzleben and Jennifer Weaver, for their insightful feedback on this project. I would also like to thank my team lead, John Heilig, and my audio producer, Jose Garza, for their support. A massive thank you to Anna Yu Wang for encouraging me to submit my work to SMT-Pod, and to my advisor, Gavin Steingo, for all of his invaluable advice and support. Thank you all so much!

[Outro Theme by Yike Zhang.]

Visit our website, smt-pod.org, for supplemental materials related to this episode and to learn how to submit an episode proposal. You can join in the conversation by tweeting us your questions and comments @SMT_Pod. SMT-Pod’s theme music was written by Maria Tartaglia, with closing music by Yike Zhang.