At 6:00 AM sharp, ten foundation workers gathered near the prefab site office on the outskirts of Hong Kong’s Tseung Kwan O district. The air still tasted of burned plastic—a reminder of the high-rise apartment fire in North Point that had dominated the news for the past three days. Everyone had an opinion about it: the sprinkler failure, the delayed evacuation, the fact that an entire block was still without power.
A few meters away, the electrical wiring team crouched beside their cable reels, calibrating testers and updating inspection logs on their tablets. Ever since Hong Kong’s Labour Department rolled out the Digital Safety Ledger in late 2024, all wiring teams needed to submit pre-work checks electronically before touching live circuits.
Further back, under a half-assembled temporary shed, the interior finishing crew sorted through tile boxes and aerated blocks scheduled for mock-up installation. They spoke quietly, their eyes occasionally drifting toward the site office.
A long, deep-blue trailer truck idled near the main entrance. Its cargo—an eight-ton prefabricated steel frame imported from Guangdong—was scheduled for hoisting at 9:00 AM. The driver reclined in his seat, cap pulled low. He was waiting for the crane team, whose arrival depended on clearance from the Building Department’s revised high-risk lifting protocol, implemented after a fatal accident in 2025.
At 7:00 AM, the office door swung open. Out came the client representative, three executives from the construction company, and the site supervisor. They all looked as though they had slept inside the office. In fact, they had. Since last night, they had been wrestling with a single thorny topic:
What to do about the scaffolding work in the aftermath of the fire.
The various crews gathered—foundation, electrical, interior finishing, steel frame—forming a half circle in front of the office.
The construction executive cleared his throat.
“Everyone already knows about the fire in North Point. The government is reviewing compliance on bamboo scaffolding, especially where it intersects with external wall insulation. For now, we continue with our existing safety procedures. No shortcuts.”
The site supervisor added, “Same rules: helmets on at all times, jackets fully fastened, and constant comms on the new channel. We’re running a site-wide radio check in ten minutes.”
Just then, the leader of the steel frame team raised his voice.
“Oi! Where are the scaffolding guys? How’re we supposed to rig the hoist guides without them? We’re losing daylight.”
“They’ll be here tomorrow,” the supervisor replied. “Today, stick to your assigned prep work.”
One of the interior finishing workers muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Tomorrow? Isn’t their foreman in the office? Why doesn’t he come out? Don’t tell me they’re all on leave after the fire.”
Everyone knew what he was really implying:
Ever since the fire, any team responsible for vertical access, temporary works, or the external envelope was under enormous pressure. Rumors swirled that the scaffolding subcontractor’s insurance review hadn’t cleared yet.
Inside the office last night, discussions had dragged on until nearly 4 AM. Fire-break spacing on bamboo scaffold ties. The new heat-stress regulations that required mandatory rest cycles after the temperature crossed 32°C. The morale of the scaffolders, some of whom had worked on the fire-damaged North Point tower and were rattled by media scrutiny.
The electrical wiring worker stepped forward.
“Look, none of us are blaming the scaffold team. We’re all doing dangerous jobs. But at least give us a word from their foreman. Nobody’s asking for new procedures—just some clarity. After a big incident like this, we need to know everyone’s still committed.”
A foundation worker nodded vigorously.
“Exactly. We’re all brothers out here—sweating in summer, freezing in winter. Now’s not the time for silence. We stick together or we don’t finish this building.”
The supervisor hesitated. Then, finally, the scaffolding foreman emerged from the office. His face was tight, but his voice was steady.
“Sorry for making you wait. We’ve been negotiating with the insurer and reviewing the Building Department’s emergency directive on temporary works. My team is not avoiding anything. But before we climb a single pole, we need to make sure what we’re building won’t put any of you—or the people who will eventually live here—at risk.”
He paused, looking around at every crew.
“Tomorrow, we start again. With proper permits, proper reinforcement spacing, and a proper mindset. And today—thank you for having our backs.”
For a moment, the workers stood silent. Then the electrical wiring worker gave a short nod, followed by the steel frame leader, followed by everyone else.
It wasn’t loud, but it was unity.
And on construction sites—especially in Hong Kong, especially after a disaster—unity was the real foundation they all depended on.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
Hong Kong’s deadliest fire in a century: What we know and how it spread
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