The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing (Planning, History and Environment Series)

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing i

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

ii The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Planning, History and the Environment Series Editor: Professor Dennis Hardy, Middlesex University, UK Editorial Board: Professor Arturo Almandoz, Universidad Simón Bolivar, Caracas, Venezuela Professor Nezar AlSayyad, University of California, Berkeley, USA Professor Eugenie L. Birch, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, USA Professor Robert Bruegmann, University of Illinois at Chicago, USA Professor Jeffrey W. Cody, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong Professor Robert Freestone, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia Professor David Gordon, Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada Professor Sir Peter Hall, University College London, UK Dr Peter Larkham, University of Central England, Birmingham, UK Professor Anthony Sutcliffe, Nottingham University, UK Technical Editor Ann Rudkin, Alexandrine Press, Oxford, UK Published titles The Rise of Modern Urban Planning, 1800–1914 edited by Anthony Sutcliffe Shaping an Urban World: Planning in the twentieth century edited by Gordon E. Cherry Planning for Conservation: An international perspective edited by Roger Kain Metropolis 1980–1940 edited by Anthony Sutcliffe Arcadia for All: The legacy of a makeshift landscape by Dennis Hardy and Colin Ward Planning and Urban Growth in Southern Europe edited by Martin Ward Thomas Adams and the Modern Planning Movement: Britain, Canada and the United States by Michael Simpson Holford: A study in architecture, planning and civic design by Gordon E. Cherry and Leith Penny Goodnight Campers! The history of the British holiday camp by Colin Ward and Dennis Hardy Model Housing: From the Great Exhibition to the Festival of Britain by S. Martin Gaskell Two Centuries of American Planning edited by Daniel Schaffer Planning and Urban Growth in the Nordic Countries edited by Thomas Hall From Garden Cities to New Towns: Campaigning for town and country planning, 1899–1946 by Dennis Hardy From New Towns to Green Politics: Campaigning for town and country planning 1946–1990 by Dennis Hardy The Garden City: Past, present and future edited by Stephen V. Ward The Place of Home: English domestic environments by Alison Ravetz with Richard Turkington Prefabs: A history of the UK temporary housing programme by Brenda Vale Planning the Great Metropolis: The 1929 Regional Plan of New York and Its Environs by David A. Johnson

Rural Change and Planning: England and Wales in the twentieth century by Gordon E. Cherry and Alan Rogers Of Planting and Planning: The making of British colonial cities by Robert Home Planning Europe’s Capital Cities: Aspects of nineteenth-century urban development by Thomas Hall Politics and Preservation: A policy history of the built heritage, 1882–1996 by John Delafons Selling Places: The marketing and promotion of towns and cities, 1850–2000 by Stephen V. Ward Changing Suburbs: Foundation, form and function edited by Richard Harris and Peter Larkham The Australian Metropolis: A planning history edited by Stephen Hamnett and Robert Freestone Utopian England: Community experiments 1900–1945 by Dennis Hardy Urban Planning in a Changing World: The twentieth experience edited by Robert Freestone Twentieth-Century Suburbs: A morphological approach by J.W.R. Whitehand and C.M.H. Carr Council Housing and Culture: The history of a social experiment by Alison Ravetz Planning Latin America’s Capital Cities, 1850–1950 edited by Arturo Almandoz Titles published in 2003 Exporting American Architecture, 1870–2000 by Jeffrey W. Cody Planning by Consent: the Origins and Nature of British Development Control by Philip Booth Titles published 2004 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing by AnneMarie Broudehoux Planning Twentieth Century Capital Cities edited by David Gordon Planning Middle Eastern Cities: An urban kaleidoscope in a globalizing world edited by Yasser Elsheshtawy

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing iii

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Anne-Marie Broudehoux

iv The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing First published 2004 by Routledge, 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. © 2004 Anne-Marie Broudehoux This book was commissioned and edited by Alexandrine Press, Oxford All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. The publisher makes no representation, express or implied, with regard to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and cannot accept any legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions that may be made. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Broudehoux, Anne-Marie The making and selling of post-Mao Beijing / Anne-Marie Broudehoux. p. cm. — (Planning, history, and the environment series) Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0–415–32057–7 (HB) 1. Beijing (China). I. Title. II. Series. DS795 .B76 2004 307.1’0951’156—dc22 2003024526 ISBN 0-203-69432-5 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-34515-0 (Adobe eReader Format)

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing v

Contents Acknowledgements

vi

Illustration Credits and Sources

vii

Chapter 1

Introduction

1

Fin de Millénaire Beijing: the making and selling of a world metropolis China in the 1990s The structure of the book Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

1 8 18

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction

25

Place, identity, and the politics of image construction

26

Urban image construction in China

28

The making and selling of post-Mao Beijing

37

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan

42

The politics of heritage, memory, and identity

42

Yuanmingyuan: the rise and fall of the Summer Palace

44

Embattled revival: ruins of memory or memory of ruins

64

Clashing uses, conflicting views

76

Yuanmingyuan: an epilogue

84

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places

94

Market reforms and consumption

94

Wangfujing through history: East meets West Towers, malls, and plazas: Wangfujing in the 1990s

96 108

The hidden price of redevelopment

124

A market economy with Chinese characteristics

141

vi The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Staging the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing

148

Games, rituals, and political spectacle in the selling of places

148

International events and place marketing

149

Selling Beijing to the world

150

China at fifty: national anniversary celebrations, October 1999

161

Epilogue: New Beijing, great games

197

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment

208

Contentious images

208

Civil society and the Chinese public sphere

210

Popular strategies of resistance

214

Architecture as agent of change: the Beijing national theatre

225

The politics of urban redevelopment

234

The Making and Selling of Beijing

239

The post-Mao condition of Chinese modernity

241

Conclusion

244

Bibliography

247

Index

266

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing vii

Acknowledgements Several institutions generously supported my study of Beijing. My doctoral studies at the University of California at Berkeley were funded by a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. My field work in China in 1999 was funded by the National Science Foundation, the Pacific Cultural Foundation, and the Chiang Ching Kuo Foundation. I gratefully thank these institutions and their members for their support. I presented the first version of this work as my doctoral dissertation in architecture at University of California, Berkeley. There, I had the privilege of working with Professor Nezar AlSayyad, my dissertation advisor, to whom I am deeply indebted for years of invaluable guidance and encouragement. I would like to thank the other members of my dissertation committee, Professors Galen Cranz and Nelson Graburn for their unfaltering support and judicious advice. Professor Manuel Castells also deserves my deepest gratitude for his insightful counsel. I would also like to thank Professor Vikram Bhatt at McGill University who first suggested that I work on Beijing. My debts are great to the many in China who had the generosity to help me conduct my research. First, I would like to thank Yang Jie, my research assistant and close friend, for her enthusiasm and continuous hard work in preparing, conducting and analysing countless interviews with me. Her generous smile and social skills opened up a great many doors for me. Tan Quin and Gen Lining also deserve my appreciation for their work assisting me in my research. Several scholars at Tsinghua University in Beijing must be acknowledged for their kind support and helpful advise, including Professor Lu Junhua, my long-time advisor and mentor, as well as Professors Wang Guoyu, Luo Sen, and Fang Ke, and Professor Xia Xueluan at Beijing University. I thank them for taking the time to help me piece together these stories and for providing insights into their significance. I also want to thank the people of Beijing, and the residents of Yuanmingyuan, for their trust and their readiness to communicate their experience with me. I dedicate this work to all of them. Many colleagues and friends around the world also need to be thanked for generously sharing suggestions and information. I especially thank Tan Ying, Johan Nilsson, Daniel Abramson, Heba Farouk Ahmed, and Sofia T. Swayri. My editor at Alexandrine Press, Ann Rudkin, also deserves my gratitude for her hard work. Finally, I would like to thank my partner, Jim Freeman, who helped me explore ideas and was both a critic and an editor of this book, and our two little ones, Gabriella and Thomas, who both entered our lives during the writing of this book. Their love was a true inspiration. Lastly, I would like to thank both my parents JeanPaul Broudehoux and Louisette Bédard for always being there for me. Anne-Marie Broudehoux March 2004

viii The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Illustration Credits and Sources The author and publisher would like to thank all those who have granted permission to reproduce illustrations. We have made every effort to contact and acknowledge copyright holders, but if any errors have been made we would be happy to correct them at a later printing. Chapter 1 1.1. Source: Beijing Tourism Administration. Welcome to Beijing magazine cover 1999. Chapter 2 2.1. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux – photograph taken in March 1999. Chapter 3 3.1. Source: Susan Naquin and Chun-fang Yu (2000) Peking, Temples and City Life, figure 132, p. 468. 3.2. Source: Drawing by Sylvia Wong in Young-tsu Wong (2000) A Paradise Lost, p. 2, reproduced with the artist’s permission. 3.3. Source: Yuanmingyuan Landscape Gardens. Information pamphlet distributed by the Yuanmingyuan Administration. 3.4. Source: Yuanmingyuan Landscape Gardens. Information pamphlet distributed by the Yuanmingyuan Administration. 3.5. Source: Caroll B. Malone (1932) History of the Peking Summer Palaces, p. 95. 3.6. Source: Wang Jingshi and Zhang Dexiang (1990) The Pictorial Yuan Ming Yuan. 3.7. Source: Caroll B. Malone (1932) History of the Peking Summer Palaces, p. 72. 3.8. Source: Caroll B. Malone (1932) History of the Peking Summer Palaces, p. 146. 3.9. Source: Caroll B. Malone (1932) History of the Peking Summer Palaces, p. 149. 3.10. Source: A. Favier (1897). Péking, reprinted in Caroll B. Malone (1932) History of the Peking Summer Palaces, p. 142. 3.11. Source: Caroll B. Malone (1932) History of the Peking Summer Palaces, p.156. 3.12–3.17. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 3.18. Source: Beijing Youth Daily, May, 1999. Chapter 4 4.1. Source: Drawn by Anne-Marie Broudehoux from diverse sources. 4.2. Fu Gongyue (1991) Old Beijing in Panorama, p. 82. 4.3. Source Mennie, Donald (1920) The Pageant of Peking, Peking, plate XXIX. 4.4. Zhengyangmen Administration Department of the Beijing Municipality (ZADBM) (1995) Historical Photos of Old Beijing, p. 240. 4.5. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 4.6. Fu Gongyue (1991) Old Beijing in Panorama, p.243. 4.7. Source: Dong An Group. Promotional pamphlet. 4.8–4.9. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux.

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing ix 4.10. Left: © Anne Marie-Broudehoux; right: Dong An Group, promotional pamphlet. 4.11. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 4.12. Source: Promotional Pamphlet, Wangfujing Commercial District. 1999. 4.13. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 4.14–4.17. © P & T Architects & Engineers Ltd. 4.18. © Johan Nilsson. 4.19–4.21. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 4.22. Source: China Daily, May 19, 1999, p.1. Chapter 5 5.1–5.3. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 5.4. Source: Beijing Jeep advertising in China Daily, March 10, 1999. 5.5–5.11. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 5.12–5.13 © Johan Nilsson. Chapter 6 6.1. © Mr San. 6.2. © Construction Herald Newspaper (Jianzhu bao, Zhu zhoukan). 6.3–6.6. © Anne Marie-Broudehoux. 6.7. © Paul Andreu.

x The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Introduction 1

Chapter One

Introduction Today, no one need starve in Peking. Plenty of near-slum housing remains, but there are virtually no beggars or prostitutes and almost certainly no drug peddlers on the streets, and I personally do not know of a single bordello or gaming house in town. This absence of vice in itself makes Peking an unusual twentieth century city. More extraordinarily, it is a city without privately owned cars, without churches . . . without commercial advertising and without any night life . . . David Bonavia, 1978, Peking You want to know what it’s like here? I’ll give you a list and you’ll know: skyscrapers, fancy hotels, supermarkets, fast-food joints, joint ventures, new policies, epidemics, nepotism, nude art shows, superstars, door-to-door salesmen, export permits, arranged marriages, perfect couples, rock’n roll, elopement, prostitution, black market fiction, modernism, human-meat dumplings, private cars, female infanticide, prophylactic dentistry, tourists, money changers, black market US dollars, TV ads, firearms, factories, wars, henpecked husbands, abduction and sale of women, female professors, female authors, single parent families, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Coca-Cola, fashion, consumer durables, prize winning movies, getting rich quick, tours, holidays . . . Liu Sola, 1994, Chaos and All That

Fin-de-Millénaire Beijing: The Making and Selling of a World Metropolis The two passages above depict very different realities. The first describes the sleepy Chinese capital of the late Mao era, the second, the modern world metropolis of fin-de-siècle Beijing. Only two decades separate the two excerpts, but one can hardly believe they describe the same city. In 1978, London Times correspondent David Bonavia pictured Beijing as a monotonous socialist city, lacking in vice and urban life.1 Twenty-six years later, Chinese blues singer and writer Liu Sola paints the chaotic landscape of an alienated megalopolis, caught up in the swirl of global consumerism.2

2 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing The last two decades of the twentieth century were a period of unprecedented change for China. Nowhere is this more visible than on the streets of the 600 year old Chinese national capital, Beijing, now undergoing a process of radical and at times traumatic transformation. The austere landscape of the socialist era with its quiet vernacular neighbourhoods, starkly utilitarian apartment blocks, and horizontal skyline punctuated by fuming smokestacks was turned into a bustling metropolis, teeming with sleek corporate towers, sparkling shopping malls, and notorious traffic jams. On street corners, busy entrepreneurs clutching cell phones have replaced unhurried model workers gripping the once ubiquitous ‘little red book’. Beijing in the 1990s was a forest of giant construction cranes at work twenty-four hours a day in an endless cycle of creative destruction and reconstruction. In the name of progress and modernization, acres of working-class neighbourhoods were levelled, making way for skyscrapers, luxury hotels, and motorways. Thousands of residents were forcibly relocated and only 2 per cent of the city’s original urban fabric was spared. Nineteen-nineties Beijing echoed with the ever present roaring sounds of bulldozers and collapsing buildings, a constant reminder that the unstoppable forces of capitalism were at work and there to stay. This metamorphosis of Beijing’s material landscape, unprecedented in both pace and scale, marked the beginning of a new era for China. It epitomized the major transformation experienced by Chinese society which had followed the country’s opening up to the world less than two decades earlier, and its implementation of major reforms. As new government policies introduced market mechanisms and allowed foreign goods, capital, and economic institutions to permeate China’s borders, key urban centres like Beijing became part of a global nexus of cities competing for overseas investment. Beijing’s transformation was thus a response to rising pressures for the city to bolster its reputation in order to sell itself on the world market and attract global attention and international capital. This book examines the important changes which affected the social and material landscapes of Beijing at the end of the twentieth century and uses the changing image of the city as a medium through which to understand the making of Chinese modernity and the transformation of Chinese identity in the midst of the country’s transition to capitalism. By exploring recent modernization projects, city marketing techniques, and image construction initiatives, this study shows how state aspirations, market appetites, global expectations, and popular ambitions are articulated in the creation of a world image of Beijing as both a place – lived and experienced on a daily basis – and as a political entity – a space of control and coercion, but also of dissidence and contestation. The book also seeks to understand the complex and often antagonistic relationship between space, power, and social justice in a society increasingly dominated by free-market ideology, and thus

Introduction 3 explores the way urban image construction has been negotiated locally – either manipulated for economic and ideological purposes or contested and reworked by those it excludes.

The Fin de Millénaire in Perspective The changes that are taking place in Beijing cannot be isolated from the global movements that marked the end of the second millennium and impacted societies around the world. Like the end of the nineteenth century, the turn of the twentieth century was an extremely volatile period that perfectly embodied the deep ‘ambivalence of modernity’.3 Marked by the acceleration of time, the simultaneous shrinking of space, and by a sense of historical discontinuity, it was experienced as both a beginning and an end. Despite the arbitrariness of their periodization, both fins de siècle were felt as important transitional moments. They were eras of extraordinary technological advance, of intense transformation, and of new social formations, which were also filled with optimism and cynicism, and marked by an exhilarating sense of possibility. Like the Victorian era in the West and the dawning of the Qing dynasty in China, the recent fin de siècle was marked by profound anxieties, and carried many fears and doubts concerning modernity.4 For many observers, the closing of the twentieth century constituted the end of an era.5 Some saw in it the end of history, of ideology, even of civilization; for others, it heralded the death of the nation state, and, by association, of the modern project as a whole.6 There was, however, little agreement on the geopolitical consequences of this series of endings. While Fukuyama claimed that the end of history signified the triumph of the West, others foresaw the end of Europe’s political supremacy and hegemony.7 Despite the absence of a consensus on the characterization of this moment of rare intensity, at least one point was unanimously supported. The closing of the twentieth century had brought the triumph of capitalism, accompanied by the rise of consumption as the new world ideology. Indeed, major global restructuring at the end of the twentieth century brought the creation of a unified and predominantly capitalist world economy organized around the ability to communicate and process information. Moving away from manufacturing and the production of goods, this new, more flexible regime of capital accumulation was reoriented towards the service industry. The increased mobility of capital investment also promoted the reorganization and geographical dispersion of industrial production and the development of a new international division of labour.8 Deindustrialization and tertiarization triggered major societal changes around the globe. They caused the intensification of flows of commodities, money, images, information, and technology, enabled in part by the invasion of trans-national

4 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing corporations selling their products through a worldwide market. They also brought the increasing cross-boundary movement of people – tourists, businessmen, and migrant workers – and the compression of time and space, enabling distant places to become familiar, accelerating the pace of life, and making fashion, products, values, and established practices increasingly ephemeral.9 The rise of this new post-industrial regime of flexible accumulation engendered a new type of society, with a distinctive cultural logic based on what David Harvey calls an ‘aestheticized economic of consumption’.10 Known under a host of labels – ranging from postmodern, network or information society, to semiotic or media society (la société du spectacle) – this new social culture has been characterized as saturated with reproduced images and information, dominated by simulation and hyper-reality, and obsessed with mass consumerism.11 A dominant characteristic of this emerging society has been the gradual disappearance of the traditional distinction between economic and cultural activity, where culture and cultural activities are reduced to mere commodities sold on the market. Concomitant with this process of cultural commodification is a process of aestheticization, where everything, including commodities, places, even politics, is transferred into an aesthetic realm.12 The main purpose of this beautification process is to help legitimize consumerism and the social acceptance of the imperatives of capitalism. Commodification – of images, cultures and places – is thus threatening to become the dominant cultural condition in this late capitalist age, as everyday life is increasingly mediated and shaped by the mass consumption of both the material and the representational.13

The Post-Fordist Urban Condition The changing geometry of the global order has forced cities throughout the world to undergo a major reorganization, and to shift their approach to urban governance from a managerial to a more entrepreneurial one. While cities are increasingly run as businesses, de-industrialization and the rise of the service economy have also made them increasingly dependent upon consumption rather than production as their primary source of profit and tax revenue.14 The rise of the entrepreneurial city prompted the development of a new urban culture, as the city was gradually turned into an immense urban spectacle, centred upon commodity display and symbolic consumption. With the proliferation of thematic shopping complexes, festival marketplaces, convention centres, theme parks, and downtown consumer paradises, urbanity itself was redefined as a consumption experience. In today’s intensely competitive world, cities are growing more aware of the role their image can play in attracting investors and boosting the local economy. Many local governments are investing and innovating to make their cities more

Introduction 5 attractive as business, consumer, and cultural centres. An important part of this is the exploitation of local heritage – even spuriously appropriated – as part of the creation of a unique identity. In the process, local culture and history are repackaged and put on display to be consumed by paying tourists. 15 The transformation of cities into centres of consumption similarly resulted in the aestheticization of the urban fabric, with a rising concern for appearance over substance, and the proliferation of urban projects set on creating elaborate urbane disguises which threatened to reduce the city itself to a landscape of visual consumption.16 The centrality of consumption to the contemporary urban experience has resulted in the neglect of other aspects of city life in urban governance, including the role of the city as a home, a place for self- and collective representation, and a public sphere where local politics are debated. Concerned with the creation of a ‘favourable business climate’ and pressured to maintain a positive image to attract economic development, many urban governments have adopted a host of new measures for the control and regulation of human behaviour. Neo-liberal ideology, coupled with declining tax revenues in inner cities have resulted in the privatization of many of the city’s public spaces, and the growing involvement of the private sector in service provision and management.17 Scarce public funds are increasingly used to prevent the flight of the rich and powerful by providing diverse benefits and beautifying the urban environment. While civic improvement creates private reserves for the wealthy, less affluent populations are increasingly impoverished and are forced to become more entrepreneurial and to adopt informal economic means to survive.18 According to many observers, the displacement of social life from outdoor public streets and plazas to protected indoor malls, clubs, homes, and cars, threatens the survival of the urban arena as a place of encounter and a democratic public sphere.19 The gradual interiorization of urban life has provided a new order of urban experience which blurs the distinction between public and private and promotes social and cultural homogeneity.20 As city spaces become privatized spaces of consumption accessible only to those valued as consumers or producers, marginalized sections of society are pushed out of the public eye. These recent changes in the post-Fordist modern city carried serious social implications. De-industrialization and the emergence of the flexibly organized economy has resulted in the simultaneous growth of both wealth and poverty, and the emergence of greater social polarization. In addition, the intensification of trans-national flows of people across boundaries has greatly altered the social composition of many relatively homogenous societies, often creating ethnic and religious divisions.21 The de-industrialization of inner-city areas and urban improvement strategies to revitalize central districts led to the emergence of new forms of inequality and a

6 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing return to ghettoization and spatial segregation. The state-sponsored development of sites of cultural consumption clearly favoured middle- and high-income groups and helped promote the creation of leisure enclaves for the elite. Innercity redevelopment also helped speed up the gentrification process, resulting in the increasing exclusion of a vast underclass from areas of the city embellished for more affluent members of society. Further exclusion has come from the publicly sanctioned construction of exclusive communities which allow elites to isolate themselves behind the barrier of real estate pricing. Through their economic control of space, entrepreneurs and property investors have the power to determine who will dominate, use, live in and profit from city spaces.22 They use diverse spatial strategies to sanction some actors as participants in urban life while separating, isolating, and marginalizing others. Further exclusion has come from the orientation of local politics towards the defence of communities of self-interest which allows elites to isolate themselves, protected behind the barrier of real estate pricing. The dual city, with its close juxtaposition of conspicuous consumption and social degradation, has thus been presented as the emerging spatial form of post-industrial society.23 Of course, such movements of exclusion are not met passively, nor do they go unchallenged. They are increasingly contested by grassroots organizations mobilized to fight growing inequity, reclaim their right to representation, and redefine those conditions of belonging to society. Contestation over the use and meaning of space is often carried out through popular reworking and everyday practices which parody, derail or subvert the agendas of the dominant groups. Such acts of ‘symbolic discontent’ occur on the city streets through renaming practices, appropriation, subversive uses, ironic artistry, symbolic boycott, or unruly behaviour such as graffiti and vandalism. Marginalized groups also subvert the representations of the dominant culture by creating their own landscapes of empowerment that serve as locations of resistance to a system of inequity and domination.24

Globalization, Place, and the Politics of Identity The politics of identity is undeniably also a politics of place. But this is not the proper place of bounded, pre-given essences, it is an unbounded geography of difference and contest. Jane M. Jacobs, Edge of Empire [M]odern ethnographic histories are perhaps condemned to oscillate between two metanarratives: one of homogenization, the other of emergence; one of loss, the other of invention. James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture An important aspect of the condition of post-industrial societies has been the

Introduction 7 resurgence of expressions of collective identity.25 Globalized society is characterized by a degree of interdependence not found in earlier times and by an increased exposure to alternative modes of living and ideas through the media, the spread of consumer culture, and through direct contact with ‘others’ at home or abroad. In many parts of the world, globalization has given rise to disturbing feelings of insecurity, immersion, and destabilization, which have exacerbated societal and ethnic self-consciousness and have triggered a revalorization of individual and collective distinctiveness.26 Globalization’s impact on local identities has been widely debated. Denounced as a Eurocentric vision, it is often equated with Westernization, and blamed for erasing local individuality and creating cultural homogenization.27 However, this vision of globalization has been dispelled for resting on a false dichotomy between the ‘local’ and the ‘global’, presented as two opposite forces while they are in fact inalienable parts of the same process. Arguments about homogenization have been refuted for overlooking the fact that all local cultures have historically been constructed by the incorporation of outside influences and have in turn affected other cultures beyond their own boundaries. Cultural globalization would thus be much more a matter of the interfusion of diverse particularities than of the diffusion of a single form.28 Homogenization theory is thus criticized for its erroneous conceptualization of identity, presented as a stable, permanent and coherent entity. In reality, identity is not something fixed or inherited; it is highly unstable, symbolically constructed, and constantly reinvented. By failing to acknowledge the increasingly hybrid quality of all identities, homogenization theorists deny local agents a role in resisting, reinterpreting or internalizing outside influences to serve their own interests. Critics of homogenization theory contend that globalization may actually foster heterogeneity and diversity, by triggering renewed interest in local distinctiveness and invigorating the expression of local identity.29 However, they also warn that increased exposure to other cultures may not necessarily induce a greater tolerance for cosmopolitanism, but that it may rather lead to a retreat into the security of ethnicity, nationalism, and fundamentalism.30 A similar debate has developed over the impact of globalization on the spatial organization of social relations and their manifestation in the built environment. Since the late 1970s, it has become common to suggest that the identity and cultural distinctiveness of local places are being eroded by the forces of capitalism, and that post-industrial cities are increasingly characterized by sameness and placelessness.31 In his theory of urban convergence, Michael Cohen argues that cities in both the North and the South are becoming increasingly similar, plagued by a common set of critical economic, social, infrastructural, environmental and institutional problems.32 More cautiously, Manuel Castells claims that homogenization and

8 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing deterritorialization are limited to the ‘space of flows’, made of those exclusive global sites used by corporate jet-setters around the world, which have more in common with each other than with their own localities. International airports, corporate buildings, and world class hotels across the world are said to share uniformly the same ‘global’ image, deprived of any references to place.33 Visions of globalization as place absorbing and deterritorializing have also been challenged by scholars, arguing for the persistence of place. According to John Agnew, place identities continue to characterize localities because of the physical uniqueness of individuals’ paths which constantly build and transform places.34 Doreen Massey similarly demonstrates how most people still live their lives locally and that their consciousness is formed in a distinct geographical place.35 Castells himself maintains that areas which are not connected with, or relevant to, the space of flows retain their quality and distinctiveness. As a result, he claims, most people still live in the space of places.36Allegations of placelessness and fears of homogenization and deterritorialization can be blamed on a misconception of the nature of space. Conceptualizations of space as a simple container for human action, and as static, abstract and undialectical, lead to a notion of place as predetermined and unchanging, and whose identity can be altered by external forces. If, on the other hand, space is conceptualized as a social process, an ‘ever-changing geometry of power and signification’37 – constantly produced and transformed through everyday practices – the impossibility of places becoming uniform and losing their uniqueness becomes obvious.38 Globalization can then be understood not as erasing local difference but, on the contrary, as stimulating the revalidation and reconstitution of place, locality and difference and leading to new forms of resistance.39

China in the 1990s Market Socialism and the Politics of Consumerism As a nation caught up in the wind of unprecedented change, simultaneously rising as a new world power and going through a great societal crisis, China provides a unique case with which to study the impacts of the transformations that have marked the end of the twentieth century. After decades of international isolation, economic hardship, and ideological struggle, Chinese society was suddenly thrown into the maelstrom of world capitalism and exposed to new technologies, novel forms of consumption, fresh flows of ideas, and unique hopes and possibilities. Fin de millénaire China was a society in metamorphosis, extremely unstable and volatile, confronted by the ‘shock of the new’ and the profound alienation that long characterized the experience of modernity. Deeply engaged in the creation of

Introduction 9 a market economy (shichanghua) while remaining under the control of an absolutist socialist regime, 1990s China embodied many of the promises and contradictions that the reforms initiated in the late 1970s had engendered. In the early years of the reforms, China’s economic system faced major problems inherited from more than three decades of Maoist socialism. As the country emerged from the dark years of the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), it became critical to develop a workable economic system; one which could bring national prosperity without undermining the Party’s political legitimacy or compromising the internal consistency of its official ideology. By selectively incorporating freemarket policies into the official economic system under the umbrella concepts of ‘socialist market economy’ – often under the more subtle slogan of ‘socialism with Chinese characteristics’ – the Chinese leadership created a grey terrain in which the distinction between socialism and capitalism blurred.40 The result was a form of authoritarian developmentalism inspired by the experience of the newly industrialized countries of East Asia which rely on centralized bureaucratic states committed to managing national economic growth. But unlike East Asian authoritarian states, which have the leisure to define growth, productivity and competitiveness as foremost priorities, without having to wrestle with ideological commitments, the Chinese state’s legitimacy continued to rest on revolutionary and socialist values. Irreconcilable tensions inevitably arose from the paradox which stood at the heart of the new economic system that justified capitalist economic policies as a means of ‘enhancing’ socialism. As economic imperatives gradually required the state to give up some of its commitment to social welfare issues, the Chinese Communist Party – one of the last major world institutions formally to claim its commitment to communist ideology – eventually faced a new legitimacy crisis.41 Major changes took place as the century neared its end. The 1990s saw the emergence of a new social, cultural and economic revolution in China, which promoted the adoption of consumerism as part of the official ideology. The 1980s had witnessed the rise of ‘marketization’ (shichanghua), a transition from a bureaucratic mode of allocating, distributing, and exchanging factors of production and economic goods, to a market-based economy. By the 1990s, the leadership based much of its claim to rule on its success at increasing the quality and availability of consumer goods. Marketization contributed to an important change in values and expectations. Materialism, self-enrichment, competitiveness, and individualism gradually replaced the Maoist principles of egalitarianism, collectivism, altruism, and cooperation. Following Deng Xiaoping’s declaration that ‘it is glorious to be rich’, China’s emerging economic elites began to flaunt their new found wealth through the conspicuous consumption of designer clothes, electronic gadgets, luxury cars,

10 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing and travel abroad. Within less than a decade, millions of people gained access to new forms of communication, new consumer goods, and novel forms of leisure, in a true ‘revolution of consumption’.42 The growing commodification of goods and labour dramatically altered the Chinese urban landscape, making more obvious the growing disparities that resulted from the breakdown of the socialist welfare system and creating feelings of insecurity among the more vulnerable sections of the population. Chinese society in the last decade of the century was therefore characterized by rising income differentials and growing class polarization, which embarrassed the Party in its official commitment to socialism. Paradoxically, consumerism served an important political purpose in limiting potential threats to state legitimacy and curbing social unrest and potential sources of conflict. By fostering a fascination for both selfenrichment and consumption, the new ideology seduced people away from state politics and demands for democratic change. People’s conviction that consumption could satisfy their growing desires for freedom and happiness effectively diverted their attention from more political issues. However, the 1990s were marked by an increasing disillusion with the legacy of the Party and the promise of the reform. Bearing the indelible mark of the violent events of 1989, China’s fin-de-siècle was a period of great political instability, tarnished by one of the greatest legitimacy crises in the history of the Party. Pervasive official corruption also contributed to a widely perceived decline in the moral authority of state institutions and raised questions about the ‘riches for some today, for all later’ principle upon which the doctrine of the ‘market economy with Chinese characteristics’ rested. As the population began to feel that the People’s Republic no longer cared for the people, growing cynicism about China’s national destiny filtered into urbanized society.

The Search for a Modern Chinese Identity The 1990s were thus characterized by an intense search for a new Chinese sense of identity, accompanied by sustained efforts to renew the nationalist fervour. Keenly aware that it might be losing the hearts and minds of its people with the fading of doctrinaire ideology, the state sought to regain public support and hold the country together during this turbulent period by nurturing a nationalist revival, thereby substituting patriotism for Marxism. Following 1989, the increasingly unpopular Communist Party began redefining itself as a national socialist party, with growing emphasis on the first adjective at the expense of the second. Having all but given up on socialism and the rhetoric of class struggle, the appeal to nationalism took on a special significance. In the same way consumerism had distanced people from political involvement, nationalism would appease the masses by distracting them

Introduction 11 from the leadership’s blatant immorality. ‘Nationalism is the opiate of the masses’, a former Beijing-based diplomat once said, ‘It makes people apolitical.’43 The regime also started paying more attention to competing expressions of identity among the country’s numerous nationalities. Backed by archaeological evidence, the state tried to unite different ethnicities in the construction of a grand overarching Chinese or Zhonghua race, thereby promoting a new form of nationalism with racial overtones.44 Since Mao’s death in 1976, a key term in the socialist lexicon, ‘the Chinese People’ (zhongguo renmin), has been gradually replaced by a new expression, ‘the Chinese nation’ (zhonghua minzu), with the critical substitution of the term renmin – a neutral reference to the inhabitants of China as a country and a state – by the term minzu, which refers more directly to ethnicity. The fact that minzu has now effectively replaced renmin in much official discourse confirms the rising importance of local identity politics in the contemporary construction of Chinese nationalism.45 Paradoxically, the renewed patriotic ardour of the 1990s posed a threat to China’s aspirations as a world power. The fiery rhetoric of nationalism, which was laced with both rising pride and lingering insecurity, occasionally verged on a xenophobia that alarmed the world community. In its efforts to restore allegiance to the regime, the state fostered a deep distrust of the West, especially the United States. Western ideas such as democracy and human rights were denounced for their potential to bring disunity and disorder to China and to open the door to foreign aggression and imperialism.46 Expressions of sectarian nationalism, such as those which followed the 1999 NATO bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade, did not go unnoticed outside China at a time when its leadership strove to forge trade alliances within the country and to re-establish diplomatic ties with the world. One of the reasons why all classes of Chinese society so readily embraced nationalism in the 1990s was that this patriotic frenzy was nourished by memories of China’s difficult transition to modernity in the early twentieth century, as a nation raped by imperial powers and shamed by decades of foreign oppression. The Chinese leadership seized every opportunity to capitalize upon China’s past humiliations and present glory in promoting patriotic sentiments. From the political ritual to popular culture, efforts were made to define modern Chinese identity as distinct from the West. Hong Kong’s return to the motherland in 1997 provided a great opportunity to fan the patriotic flame, with the broadcast of special television shows, the publication of several patriotic works, including an encyclopaedia of historical abuses by foreign powers, and the commemoration of events associated with China’s painful encounter with Western imperialism.47 The 1990s closed with a year rich in historical resonance and remembrance, a year of grand nationalist deployment intended to invigorate patriotic sentiments. Indeed, 1999 was an occasion for summing up history and pondering the meaning

12 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing of the past. The year began with the celebration of twenty years of Deng Xiaoping’s reform and opening policy, quickly followed by the fiftieth anniversary of the arrival of the Communist’s People’s Liberation Army in Beijing on January 31, 1949. In May 1999, China commemorated the eightieth anniversary of the May 4 Movement, initiated in 1919 by Beijing students calling for reform and modernization. October 1 marked the fiftieth anniversary of the Peoples’ Republic of China whose grandiose celebrations are analysed in detail in chapter 4, while the much anticipated ceremony for the return of Macau to the Motherland – one of the final pieces in the reunification puzzle – was celebrated on December 20. However, other great historical anniversaries were left out of public reminiscence, seemingly the victims of a strange case of collective amnesia. In March, the fortieth anniversary of an abortive Tibetan uprising passed uneventfully, while in June, the tenth anniversary of the student protests at Tiananmen that led to the military crackdown and massacre went similarly unnoticed.48 As the twentieth century closed, China struggled to redefine itself, torn between a boundless attraction for global consumerism and a resentment towards the West, and divided between a sincere love for the nation and ambivalent feelings towards its leadership. For China, the 1990s were a moment of vivid social transformation, and triggered the formulation of new hopes and desires. They were also a period characterized by great fears and frustrations, and by the disturbing sense of disarray and alienation that have marked many nations’ tumultuous passage to modernity.

Modernity with Chinese Characteristics What is modernity? It is, first of all, an ambiguous term; there are as many types of modernity as there are societies. Each society has its own. Octavio Paz,1990, In Search of the Present The unsettling social change and intense economic transformation that characterized fin de millénaire China can be conceptualized as a passage into a new phase in the Chinese experience of modernity. Nineteenth-century commentators on modern existence such as Walter Benjamin and Georg Simmel describe the experience of modernity as a condition in which the inexhaustible cornucopia of novelty, the swift and continuous shift of external and internal stimuli, and the rapid telescoping of changing images lead to an intensification of emotional life and engender a new mental condition, often called the ‘shock of the modern’. For them, the modern world is a world where new technology creates an environment fundamentally different from any previous era, which can be both liberating and highly destabilizing.49 The idea of modernity was born out of the European Enlightenment project which assumed a break with the irrationalities of tradition and superstition and

Introduction 13 rested on ideals of freedom, democracy and equality. The tenets of the modern project included the secularization of society, the triumph of rational thought, and a sincere belief in progress – defined as the constant need to overcome and surpass that which came before. These principles would later guide theories of modernization which assumed that by rationalizing the physical environment and imposing order onto urban chaos, one could transform citizens into modern and civilized subjects. Although modernity emerged out of circumstances culturally and historically specific to sixteenth-century Europe, it was long assumed to be a universal project which could liberate all societies which embraced its principles. This unifying vision of modernity as global, continuous, and inescapable remains highly Eurocentric. By implying a linear evolution from the pre-modern to the modern, this vision presents modern Western society as a model to be emulated, and suggests that non-Western nations must mimic practices established in the West if they want to see their societies modernize along the same lines. In this perspective, non-Western modernities are inevitably warped imitations of the universal model, bearing its apparent form while lacking its intrinsic qualities and possibilities.50 The normalizing premises and the assumed universality on which the modern project was based have been challenged on claims that fragmented and multiple experiences of modernity cannot be reduced to a single, encompassing experience.51 Recent ethnographies of modernity have demonstrated the great heterogeneity that characterizes both the expression and the experience of modernity worldwide. 52 By investigating the existence of ‘other’, ‘alter-native’ or ‘multiple’ modernities, these studies have demonstrated the possibility of multiple paths of development which diverge from the universalist European model.53 However, they have also warned that alternate visions of modernity can themselves become as hegemonic and normative as the Western model.54 Today, as we enter a new stage of modernity which some have called hypermodernity or post-modernity, modernity remains an everyday reality, with which the whole world is confronted. More than an ethnocentric ideology, it is both an attitude and a state of mind, a way of thinking and feeling, of acting and behaving, as Foucault once said.55 It is a reflection on today, a mode of relating to contemporary reality, or, to quote Foucault once more, an ‘ironic heroisation of the present’, which every society must face in its own way.56 In contemporary China, the experience of late modernity was shaped by diverse influences, including the legacies of imperialism, colonialism, and orientalism; of decades of socialist experimentation; and by the rising influence of Asian conceptualizations of modernity. A defining factor in dictating the way modernity has been conceived, constructed, and experienced in the Chinese collective imaginary has its roots in China’s century-long encounter with semi-colonialism

14 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing and Western domination. For anthropologist Lisa Rofel, the persistence with which China has been pursuing modernity stems from its perceived exclusion from the Eurocentric model of universal modernity.57 Ever since China’s nineteenth-century confrontation with the West brought the shameful realization of the country’s technological backwardness and the humiliating experience of foreign occupation, the country has vowed to catch up with the West, demonstrate its superiority, and regain its rightful status as a world power. Rofel explains Chinese modernity as a ‘deferred desire’ in the Chinese collective imaginary for China to become more than the mere ‘constitutive other’ of Western civilization. Throughout its turbulent modern history, China has craved for the wealth and power that could transform it from a subaltern nation into a major world player. Today, Chinese people worldwide rally in support of China’s efforts to pull the nation out of the Maoist era and into the position of leadership they think it deserves. China’s historical experiment with socialism represents another formative element in the construction of a Chinese vision of modernity. Much like the Soviet Union, Communist China was an experiment with an alternative and oppositional vision of modernity which sought to challenge the Western interpretation of modernity as an essentially capitalist endeavour, and vowed to achieve the promises of the enlightenment without capitalism. Mao’s radical transformation of Chinese society was also driven by the deep sense of humiliation at China’s felt backwardness and second-level status in the world system, and was a desperate attempt to heal the deep wounds inflicted by China’s early encounter with Western imperialism. Since its inception, modern socialism has been the counter-culture of modernity. Its own programme was a sharper and radicalized version of the modern project, which it sought to push to its absolute limits. Socialist ideology, its institutions, factories, collectivization, and its ‘realist’ architectural expression and artistic movements, all aimed to create a vision of the future and a path to development that were both modern and essentially different from the capitalist West. Modern society was to be artificially designed, rationally organized, carefully managed and thoroughly industrialized, with the help of grand designs, unlimited social engineering, science and technology, and control over nature.58 The recent fall of the Soviet Union and the much heralded end of history and triumph of capitalism have forced the Chinese leadership to rethink the communist model of modernization. However, China’s historical experiment with socialism continues to permeate Chinese society deeply and to shape its vision of modernity. Contemporary conceptualizations of Chinese modernity are also very much influenced by notions of modernity as defined by other Asian nations and those of the Chinese diaspora. Members of an emerging Chinese intelligentsia from North American and South East Asian Chinese diasporic communities have been critical

Introduction 15 agents in shaping notions of ‘Chineseness’ and presenting cultural models in the definition of Chinese modernity.59 Their conceptualization of modernity rests on a set of broadly defined ‘Asian values’ that are clearly shaped by the Confucian vision of a well-ordered and strongly patriarchal society. These values consist of a reverence for the family, education, frugality, discipline, respect for social hierarchy, loyalty to elders, solidarity, and the reliance on guanxi networks.60 These values are thought to embody the cultural logic of an inherently Chinese vision of capitalism, which rests upon a powerful state and a well-structured network organization. Inevitably, in their desire to challenge the basic assumption of an inescapable Western domination and in their hope of challenging Western hegemony in the global arena, many South-east Asian nations have forged an emergent Chinese modernity that is itself becoming hegemonic and universalizing. As Aihwa Ong demonstrates, the triumphalist cultural discourse of Asian modernity reduces a complex and heterogeneous Asian experience into a stable and coherent set of shared values and goals. While reifying Western concepts of guanxi networks and Confucianism, this vision of Chinese culture also ‘orientalizes’ Asian traditions as timeless and uniformly embraced by all Asians. Ong denounces such homogenizing discourse about Asian values as an instrument of state power which allows Asian governments to recast their leadership and capitalism as timeless cultural practices, thereby legitimizing state policies of capital accumulation, labour, and social control. The post-Mao vision of modernity can thus be said to be a global project, where historical social conditions, local world views, and trans-national cultural practices combine with Western modernist discourses in imagining an alternative approach to modernity that challenges the West’s universalizing project. Today, despite sustained attempts to construct a parallel vision of Chinese modernity, the modern project continues to be conceived and experienced in China – and in many other Third World societies which have been marginalized as being outside of modernity – as an essentially Euro-American project, which must be borrowed and adapted to a local reality. The post-Mao China discourse of modernity remains marked by a sense of deficiency, where China’s failure to conform to the universal model of modernity is experienced as a felt backwardness and a perceived time-lag between itself and the West. Even if the models for modernization are increasingly drawn from Japan and Singapore, Western-style modernity remains an important object of desire in the Chinese consciousness, and Chinese modernization is still measured against the yardstick of international achievements. In its efforts to forge a modern identity ‘with Chinese characteristics’, China thus remains divided between its desire to set itself apart by developing its own brand of modernity – one that distinctly differs from that of the liberal capitalist democracies of the West – and the pressure to conform to international ideas about modernity.

16 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing A clear sense of urgency permeates China’s relentless – if not obsessive – search for a modern sense of identity. In the Chinese political rhetoric, modernity is often presented as a goal to be achieved at all costs, where any action towards its realization becomes a patriotic gesture. China’s desire to catch the last train of global modernity is summed up by a popular contemporary expression, yu shijie jiegui, ‘linking up with the [rail] tracks of the world’.61 This expression communicates the collective desire to achieve moral and material parity with the West and translates the shared sense that China is running out of time.

Beijing: Between Tradition and Modernity The city has always stood not only for the vanities, the squalor and the injustice of human society, but also for the aspiration to civilized sociation.62 The city represents a privileged site to study social change, especially the experience of modernity. For Georg Simmel, the city was both the location and the embodiment of modernity.63 Walter Benjamin similarly located the concrete manifestations of the changed nature of nineteenth-century time and space on the street of the city, in the experience of the new technologies of gas lamps, arcades, trains, telephones, telegraph, and new forms of mass spectacle and entertainment. In today’s late capitalist system where cities serve more than ever as the nexus nodes of global society, the transformation of urban space still reflects wider changes taking place within society. This is especially true when studying postsocialist cities, whose transformation constitutes an important part of the global restructuring of late modernity.64 Contemporary Beijing represents a particularly rich case for studying the construction of post-socialist modernity, because of the city’s long association – in the minds of both Chinese and foreign commentators – with tradition, the ‘other’ of modernity. While China has long been seen as an example of a country which has not quite reached modernity – against whose backwardness Western ‘progress’ could be measured – Beijing itself has been immortalized as an ‘ancient capital’ sheltered from the eroding forces of time and forever frozen in the past. This attitude was both self-inflicted and artificially constructed. Never forcibly confronted with Western culture in the way that Shanghai and other Treaty ports were, Beijing was long sheltered from the debates about nation identity and modernity that dominated in other urban centres in the late nineteenth century. As Beijing lost its status of imperial capital under the Republic of China (after 1911), the city looked to its past to redefine itself. According to Susan Naquin, between the 1910s and the 1930s, the city was said to be the quintessential Old Capital, and urban life was turned into sentimental emblems of Chinese tradition.65

Introduction 17 In China, Beijing was portrayed as a stronghold of tradition and antiquity, in contrast to which the rest of China was to distinguish itself as modern. As early as the turn of the twentieth century, Beijing was described in the Chinese literature as a place that rejected both modernism and radicalism.66 The city began to be referred to not only as the former capital (jiu jing), but also as the old or ancient capital (gu du). This new appellation connoted a venerable and enduring antiquity, whose transcendent spirit survived in the present. By focusing on aspects that were associated with the city’s past, Chinese writers not only helped Beijing retrieve part of the prestige it had lost with the fall of the Qing in 1911, but also helped it distinguish itself from other rival cities in the nation, including industrial port cities such as Tianjin and Shanghai, or Nanjing, the capital of the new republic.67 In the first half of the twentieth century, Beijing also came to have a special appeal to a series of Western aesthetes, including Victor Ségalen, Pierre Loti, Georges Kates, Osbert Sitwell, and John Blofeld, whose numerous romantic accounts of expatriate life in the city betrayed a stubborn resistance to the idea of a ‘modern’ Beijing.68 The broadening of resources on the city’s history, with the growing number of photographic records and surveys of the city’s monuments that came out of research conducted in the 1920s, 1930s and early 1940s, sustained popular and academic interest in the city’s past.69 The tourist literature, both local and foreign, also portrayed a passionate and romantic vision of the city, and emphasized Beijing’s unchanging quality.70 However, these twentieth-century visions of Old Peking as the quintessential imperial capital remained distorted and misleading portrayals of reality.71 As several of the coming chapters will demonstrate, from the beginning of the twentieth century Beijing was a place where tradition was everywhere confronted with modernity. With their systematic social enterprise of modernization and an ideology that regarded the past as an obstacle to progress, Chinese communists would strive to change this perception of the old capital. Paradoxically, they also exploited the city’s reputation as the timeless centre of the empire for their own interests and to reinforce their legitimacy claims. Enduring notions of Beijing as a marker of permanence continue to permeate contemporary accounts of the city, not only in the tourism literature and the mass media but in much academic writing as well, which persists in portraying Beijing as the quintessential ‘traditional city’.72 Although tales of Beijing’s ongoing transformation abound, discussions of modernization generally serve to deplore the ‘loss’ of the historical urban fabric and its vernacular architecture. As Susan Naquin notes, remembering and rediscovering lao Beijing (Old Peking) has become a lucrative industry.73 This refusal to see Beijing as part of the ever-changing present – often, ironically, by those pushing for political reforms and democratization – is exemplified in the worldwide outcry at recent attempts to turn the city into a ‘world

18 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing metropolis’ as exemplified in the frequent articles in leading world newspapers decrying the speed of transformation of the city. Today, a similarly narrow vision of Beijing’s history is being exploited by city marketers striving to sell the city to foreign entrepreneurs and attract overseas visitors. Beijing’s ancient charms and past imperial grandeur are sold as assets in city advertising campaigns. Alongside, the city’s emergent modernity is also advertised, not however as the city’s chief characteristic but more as a necessary convenience. The carefully constructed image of modernity that is cultivated and marketed to foreign entrepreneurs is, however, one that cautiously distances itself from the earlier project of socialist modernity. Conspicuously absent from both marketing brochures and tourist literature and left out of most contemporary representations of the city are the modernization efforts carried out during three decades of Maoism. As if, Lisa Rofel suggests, remembering the socialist past could unsettle post-socialist allegories of modernity.74

The Structure of the Book The study on which this book is based is rooted in a belief that a close examination of socio-spatial practices can reveal the overt and covert values that dominate a society. It thus uses urban image construction as a medium through which to understand the deep transformations that are affecting contemporary Chinese society. By investigating the complex politics of the production of urban space in post-Mao Beijing, it is possible to further current understanding of the dialectical relationship that exists between space and society, and to examine the role that space and its representation play in contemporary imaginings of modernity. The approach is multidisciplinary, integrating the study of social and spatial phenomena, in an attempt to capture the rich details and complexities of people’s daily lives, and let them inform our understanding of the implications of spatial transformations upon society. Dozens of detailed interviews were conducted in Beijing with people across the social spectrum to elicit personal life histories on the changing experience of the city. University professors, construction workers, professionals, students, housewives, taxi drivers, shop attendants, migrant workers, retired citizens, artists, tourists, government officials, and foreign residents of the city commented on diverse aspects of Beijing’s transformation, and their impact upon their lives. Newspapers, official documents, archival sources, visual records and a close study of extant settings also helped reconstruct the history of recent projects or events. Such a multidisciplinary approach, which attempts to root the study of social processes in a more material construct of space, provides a deeper, more complete understanding of the impact of recent urban restructuring in China. A central

Introduction 19 problem with the recent literature on urban China has been the separation of the spatial from the social and political. Recent scholarship on Chinese urbanization has focused on morphological, structural and functional urban transformations at the macro level, without linking spatial transformations to social change by

Figure 1.1. Selling Beijing to the world. Advertisement from a Beijing tourist magazine paid for by the Beijing Tourism Administration. This presents an image of the city that is a mix of both antiquity and modernity, while carefully avoiding all references to the socialist era. In fact, among all the propaganda material produced for tourist consumption – whether Chinese or foreign – very few references are ever made to the city’s socialist history, either in pictorial or rhetorical form.

20 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing exploring the experience of the city at the micro level.75 Likewise, many studies of social change in contemporary urban China fail to provide a spatial framework for their research, and use space as a container for social processes.76 Rare are the comprehensive works which integrate studies of both the cultural and material world and provide a socio-spatial analysis of the city, especially of Beijing. Recent publications on contemporary urban China concentrate primarily on the newly developing coastal areas as part of the Special Economic Zones such as Shenzhen, Pudong and Hainan, with few in depth studies of the capital city.77 This book therefore adds a new perspective to the scholarship on China’s contemporary urban society while contributing new knowledge on modern Beijing. The core of the book is a series of three case studies which illustrate different strategies of urban image construction and city marketing in the context of contemporary Beijing. Through detailed accounts of specific sites of recent urban transformation, these three case studies provide a framework for the study of modern Chinese society. Each of the case-based chapters focuses on a particular mode of urban restructuring meant to attract world attention and capital to the city, namely the exploitation of cultural heritage and the careful manipulation of the past in the selling of place; the commodification and aestheticization of places to serve business, shopping, and leisure functions; and the spectacular transformation of the city into a stage set for the hosting of international media events and the performance of political rituals. Each chapter thus discusses specific issues through which a politics of identity is articulated, and helps draw attention to important social contradictions. While the chapters stand somewhat independently of each other, they are nonetheless connected; they work together to show different approaches in the making of Beijing’s new image and diversity in the experience of Chinese modernity. Although my main concern is with the contemporary period, the past plays an important role in our understanding of the present. It is through a study of both the past and conceptualization of the past that the historical development of Beijing’s modern image and its evolution over time can best be traced. Chapter Two provides a general discussion of the theories and practice of making and selling places in the late twentieth century. This chapter develops specific points which provide the foundations upon which the following three casebased chapters can rest. The first case study presented in Chapter Three explores the exploitation of the past in the competitive selling of places, and the dual role of this exploitation, both politically self-serving and economically sustaining. It examines diverse uses of heritage and other historical resources in the constitution of national identity and in the commodification of place for the benefit of investors and tourists. In the context of contemporary debates over the restoration and commodification of the ruins of Yuanmingyuan, the Old Summer Palace, this

Introduction 21 chapter reveals the deep contradictions within the projects of heritage and nationmaking, and the paradox of using heritage for both political and economic ends. By presenting Yuanmingyuan as an important site of patriotic construction, this chapter points to the importance of both memory and forgetting in the constitution of a modern Chinese identity. Chapter Four examines the way places are being commodified and sold on the world market by focusing on recent commercial redevelopment of Wangfujing Street, Beijing’s most famous commercial avenue. This chapter discusses how world capitalism and global consumerism are reshaping contemporary Beijing society and assesses the socio-cultural impacts of the new consumption revolution in Beijing through a close look at a novel spatial form: the shopping mall, which has been gaining primacy on the urban landscape as a symbolic site of modernity. Finally, the chapter also provides insights into the new role played by the Chinese diaspora, especially from Hong Kong, in giving shape to a characteristically Chinese experience of modernity. Chapter Five looks at the way the city is advertising itself on the world market by turning itself into a scenographic venue for the hosting of world class media events and the staging of grand urban spectacles. It examines in detail the socio-spatial transformations that prepared Beijing to host international mega-events in the 1990s, including the Eleventh Asian Games in 1990 and Beijing’s unsuccessful bid for the 2000 Olympics. This last case study identifies many of the mechanisms used by power holders to impose their vision by manipulating the social and physical environment of the city. The second part of the chapter provides an analysis of the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic in Beijing in October 1999, and discusses the semiotics of carefully orchestrated political spectacles and state rituals and their use in nation building and global representation. The chapter closes with a discussion of the possible impacts of Beijing’s successful bid to host the 2008 Olympic Games. Chapter Six looks at popular reactions to Beijing’s image construction efforts and the many ways in which the post-Mao vision of modernity has been challenged and reinterpreted by counter-hegemonic groups excluded from this vision, including open contestation and more subdued forms of passive resistance and symbolic discontent. It shows that exclusionary practices of urban image construction have not been met passively in Beijing, but are increasingly contested by insurgent groups and individuals who have mobilized to fight growing inequity, reclaim their right to representation, and redefine the meaning of belonging to society. This chapter illustrates the use of the built environment and everyday practices to parody, derail, and subvert the agendas of the power holders. Finally, Chapter Seven ends the book with a discussion of the socio-political condition of Beijing at beginning of the twenty-first century and of the impacts of urban image construction.

22 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

Bonavia, 1978, pp. 5–7. Liu Sola, 1994, pp. 123–124. Bauman, 1991; Ledger and Luckhurst, 2000; Maier, 1996. Danchev, 1995. Polanyi, 1944; Bell, 1960; Fukuyama, 1989. Toulmin (1990) contends that if the central topics of the debate about modernity are the political claims of the modern nation-state, the eclipse of national sovereignty will therefore mark the end of modernity. Fukuyama, 1989. Castells, 1996; Harvey, 1989a; Amin, 1994. Harvey, 1989a; Castells, 1997; Featherstone, 1992. Harvey, 1994. Jameson, 1991; Castells, 1996; Debord, 1971. Guy Debord (1971)was one of the first to recognize this emerging cult of the commodity and obsession with the image. He offers an insightful critique of late capitalism and of a society where the image is increasingly supplanting reality while everyday life is being turned into a total spectacle. Following Debord, Baudrillard (1981) also criticizes the hijacking of reality by multinational conglomerates who turn everything – even politics – into superficial images and commodities. Jameson, 1991. Harvey, 1989b. Boyer, 1994; Urry, 1995; Urry, 1990. Jacobs, 1996; Zukin, 1995; Urry, 1990; Sorkin, 1992. Watts, 1994. Fainstein, Gordon, and Harloe, 1992; Zukin, 1991. Davis, 1990; Sennett, 1977; Habermas, 1991. This narrative of loss has, however, been contested by those who point out that, historically, the city never really enjoyed a public sphere accessible to all, which rather rested on significant exclusions based on gender, ethnicity, and class. They claim that there has always been a plurality of publics competing for access to urban spaces, and that public values have never been everyone’s values, but have been defined by self-interested groups. See Calhoun, 1992; Crawford, 1992, pp. 4–9. Christopherson, 1994. King, 1990; Featherstone, 1990. Sassen, 1996. Mollenkopf and Castells, 1992; Fainstein, Gordon and Harloe, 1992; Sassen, 1991. Sciorra, 1996; Holston, 1995; Pred and Watts, 1992. Castells, 1997b; Robertson, 1990. Hall and Du Gay, 1996; Yaeger, 1996. Giddens, 1990; Jameson, 1991. Massey, 1994; Pred and Watts, 1995. Bhabha, 1997; Watts, 1991. Featherstone, 1992. Relph, 1976; Jameson, 1991. Cohen, 1996. Castells, 1996. Agnew and Duncan, 1989. Massey, 1994. Castells, 1996. Massey, 1994, p. 3 Lefebvre, 1986. AlSayyad, 2001b; Watts, 1996. The notion of a ‘socialist market economy’ was put forward by Jiang Zemin in his report to the Fourteenth Party Congress of 1993 and was praised as an unprecedented innovation. Feng Chen, 1995.

Introduction 23 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47.

48. 49. 50. 51.

52. 53.

54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72.

Ibid. Davis, 2000. Chanda and Huus, 1995. Jenner, 2001. Ibid. For example, in the aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests, Beijing launched a relentless campaign against ‘counter-revolutionary rebellion,’ asserting that a few ‘black hands’ had nearly succeeded in splitting the country and destroying gains made by economic reforms. The campaign quickly widened to target the countries that were isolating Beijing for its bloody crushing of the pro-democracy protests, especially the U.S. In addition, a series of ‘official’ video games with patriotic themes was released on July 1, 1997 – the day that marked the end of British rule in Hong Kong – allegedly in an attempt to rescue Chinese youth from the ‘cultural invasion’ resulting from the foreign domination of the video game market. One of the three games produced by Beijing’s Tsinghua University was called Opium War and simulated battles between Britain and China. The other two Tsinghua-produced games recreate the Chinese Communist Party’s celebrated 1930s Long March and the Chinese ‘Volunteer Army’s’ effort during the (1950–53) Korean War. See ‘Patriot Games’ Beijing Scene, Vol. 2, No. 1, March 14–20 1997. O’Neill, 1999b; Jones, 1999; ‘Fast Forward Beijing’ Business Beijing, 4(30), November 1998; pp.10–12. Frisby, 1985. Benjamin, 1968. Berman, 1982. This is what Homi Bhabha refers to as the ‘denied hybridity’ of modernity. Bhabha, 1997. Mike Featherstone similarly states that: ‘[t]here is an important spatial and relational dimension to modernity which is lost when we conceive it as coming out of one particular time and place with all others condemned to follow the same route’. Featherstone, 1995, p. 2. Holston, 1989; Pred and Watts, 1992. Authors such as Aihwa Ong support the existence of parallel modernities, shaped by locally-specific historical circumstances and cultural realities, and based on a reinterpretation of global practices. Ong and Nonini, 1997. An entire issue of Public Culture was also devoted to the theme of Alternate Modernities. See Ong,1999; Rofel, 1999. Ong and Nonini, 1997. Foucault, Michel, 1984, pp. 38–39. Ibid. Rofel, 1999. Bauman, 1991. Ong, 1999, p. 52 The term guanxi can be translated as ‘connections’ or ‘relationships’ and refers to the reciprocity networks that exist between members of a clan, trade or a nation, and which constitute a form of social capital that is widely used in economic and business transactions. Zhang Zhen (2000). Donald, 1999. Frisby, 1985. Bodnár, 2001. Naquin and Yu, 2000. Lin Yutang, 1939. Naquin and Yu, 2000. Blofeld, 1961, 1989; Ségalen, 1922; Loti, 1902; Kates, 1952; Sitwell, 1939. See for example the work of Sirèn, 1909, 1926, and later of Liang Sicheng. Arlington, 1935, 1967; Bredon, 1919; Scidmore, 1900; Kidd, 1988. Naquin and Yu, 2000. For example, Ash and Kueh (1996, p. 177) write: ‘If you want to see the China of the past,

24 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

look at Beijing; the China of the present is in Shanghai, but Shenzhen is the China of the future’. Naquin and Yu, 2000, p. 699. Rofel, 1999. Gaubatz, 1995a; ‘Changing Beijing’. Geographical Review, 85 (1) January 1995, pp. 79–98. Hsueh Feng-hsuan, 1995; Kirkby, 1985; Kojima, 1987. Davis, 2000; Wenfang Tang and Parish, 2000; Perry and Selden, 2000; Solinger,1999; Chen, 2001; Logan, 2002; Whyte and Parish, 1984; Guldin and Southall, 1993; Dutton, 1998. See, for example, the 1995 issue of Urban Geography (volume 16), entirely devoted to urban China.

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 25

Chapter Two

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction City marketing and image making have become central aspects of urban governance. In the course of the last few decades, the changing configuration of the global political and economic order forced cities throughout the world to undergo major restructuring and reinvent themselves in order to attract new sources of employment and compete with one another for both capital and visitors. Worried about their city’s marketability on the international stage, city managers, working collaboratively with local entrepreneurs, seek to create a distinctive image for their city by using different strategies of urban beautification, visual and social rehabilitation, and promotional activities to boost local distinctiveness and advertise their locality abroad.1 Urban image construction activities obey an economic logic by luring capital into the city, either by encouraging economic enterprises and their workforces to locate there, or by enticing up-market tourists and conference organizers to visit the place in large numbers and consume what it has to offer. If their chief ambition is local economic regeneration by securing inward capital investment and a degree of local job creation, they also serve as a means of manipulating public opinion and controlling social behaviour to serve particular social, political or economic interests. A close examination of the way the city is purposely shaped and transformed can therefore give insights into the power struggles that define its society.2 This chapter examines the creation of the material and imaginary landscapes of the city. It explores both the theory and practice of selling places, and investigates the different strategies historically developed in the construction of urban images for economic, social and ideological purposes. The first part discusses the theoretical

26 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing underpinnings and socio-political implications of urban image construction in today’s city. The second part then investigates diverse city marketing and image construction strategies used by the Chinese national government to serve social, economic, and ideological purposes. It examines the recent efforts undertaken by the Beijing city government at both the national and international levels to transform the image of the Chinese national capital and its government, and identifies some of the main mechanisms used to give shape to the ‘idea of Beijing’ as both a mental construct and as a built form.

Place, Identity, and the Politics of Urban Image Construction The image of the city is a major asset in the selling of places, and its construction and transformation stand at the heart of city marketing practices. The image of the city can be conceptualized as a ‘fusion of the physical and imaginative structures that all inhabitants use in constructing and construing it’.3 This definition rests upon Henri Lefebvre’s categorization of space, which distinguishes between the representation of space (conceived space) and the spaces of representation (lived spaces).4 The image of the city therefore comprises two main components: the physical image of the city – the actual city itself, as it is produced, lived in and experienced by people on an everyday basis and represented in a series of visual symbols, physical places, and social characteristics – as well as the rhetorical image of the city – the ‘idea’ or conceptual image of the city as it is imagined and represented in collective consciousness. Urban images are both visual and mental constructs, constituted through discourse – as found in city marketing campaigns, promotional brochures and tourism advertising – and through more concrete transformations of the built environment including public works, preservation of historic sites, and urban redevelopment. Urban image construction is a highly selective process that imposes singlestranded images onto urban diversity and reduces place identity to a constricted and easily packaged urban ‘product’. The image of the city that is constructed and promoted in the process of selling places is often based not on the local reality but on stereotyped notions and exaggerated representations, which seek to enhance the marketability of the locale. The ready-made identities assigned by city boosters and disseminated through the mass media often reduce several different visions of local culture into a single vision that reflects the aspirations of a powerful elite and the values, lifestyles, and expectations of potential investors and tourists. These practices are thus highly elitist and exclusionary, and often signify to more disadvantaged segments of the population that they have no place in this revitalized and gentrified urban spectacle.5 Image construction is also a highly sensitive issue because of the way it alters the meaning and identity of a place. Places play a central role in the formation

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 27 of collective consciousness and self-perception and are intimately related to the social construction of meaning and thus of identity.6 People’s association with and consciousness of the places where they live and work have long constituted vital elements of their identity that help shape who they are by virtue of where they are. Similarly, people’s awareness of their position within both space and society is fundamental to their self-definition, and represents a point of departure from where they orient themselves in the world.7 In its packaging and showcasing of culture, history, and place-identity, image construction alters the collective memory embodied in the walls and streets of the city, thereby affecting representation and the social construction of meaning. However, because the city’s cultural capital can never be manipulated as consensually as place marketers would like, the exploitation and transformation of place-identity in the process of image construction often gives rise to tensions and potential conflicts. The politics produced by places in the process of being transformed or made anew is thus also a politics of identity. Urban environments are particularly important in the constitution of self and collective identities. Long seen as the mirror of society, the city acts as both a privileged space of representation and the physical embodiment of the competing forces that make up the urban sphere. Major alterations to the urban environment, either through sudden and planned remodelling or through more rhetorical interventions, are arenas in which various groups express their sense of self and their attachment for the spaces they call home. They represent important expressions of identity politics, and are challenged, resisted and reworked. Apart from the more obvious economic function, urban image construction and city marketing also serve ideological purposes. Urban image construction has long fulfilled political ends, serving as a tool of social control, as a means of popular pacification, and as an instrument of state legitimatization. Decision-makers use the built environment to manipulate consciousness, and disguise this manipulation in order to reproduce their political ideology and naturalize their power. Urban images must therefore be read as ideology and as historical products, behind whose unified appearance lie struggles between various organized groups and contestation over use and design.8 Throughout history, city leaders have manipulated cultural forms and symbols to engineer consensus among city residents, foster local pride, and promote a shared sense of identity in order to secure social stability and unity, and boost confidence in the ruling party. Urban beautification also has a depoliticizing effect, and distracts attention from social and economic inequities by reducing the city to a surface assumed to be transparent and unproblematic. Through the conscious manipulation of the culture, history, and spatial configurations of local places, urban managers and local entrepreneurs recreate the semblance of a familiar image, thereby appeasing popular opposition by giving an accommodating face to large-

28 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing scale redevelopment schemes and convincing people that good things are done on their behalf.9

Imaging the Third World City Current literature on the social and political dimensions of image making and city marketing refers predominantly to the experience of First World cities.10 However, the impact of such practices is being felt even more in cities of the developing world where scarce public funds must be stretched to respond to acute urban problems. In most Third World cities, recent global restructuring has contributed to a widening of income disparities and growing social conflicts. In desperate need of foreign investment, these developing economies strive to distinguish themselves by building an image that asserts their stability and glorifies their cultural character, be it real or imagined. In addition, worldwide concerns for idealized visions of modernity and prosperity have brought a considerable burden on developing economies which are trying to ‘fit’ in the world system. This often results in greater hardship for the local population, including social exclusion and repression. In their attempt to boost their self-confidence and secure global trust in their economic potential, local governments use their limited funds to improve urban infrastructure in areas most visible to outsiders, or where foreign investments are concentrated. As a result, modest budgets are often squandered to serve the needs and expectations of potential investors and visitors, rather than those of the more needy local population. In addition, recent studies have demonstrated that foreign investments in the tertiary sector, especially in the tourism industry, carry little economic benefit for local Third World populations who rarely have access to upwardly mobile employment and are only offered menial service jobs.11 Tourism has played an important role in the development of this urban image construction process. Many historic cities around the developing world have turned to tourism as an attractive source of foreign exchange and employment. As one of the largest employers and fastest growing global industries in the world, tourism represents one of the most concrete and pervasive forms of globalization, reaching out to the most remote regions on earth and bringing people from distant places face to face on an everyday basis. Because it thrives upon the marketing of places and local culture, tourism acts as a powerful force influencing local identity formation and promoting the construction of a coherent and easily marketable representation through the revival or invention of traditional cultural practices.12

Urban Image Construction in China In China, the economic reforms implemented since the late 1970s have had a major

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 29 impact on urban economies as the large state industries merged or disappeared altogether. As elsewhere, deindustrialization and the rise of the service economy also required fundamental urban restructuring, while China’s recent entry into the world economy exacerbated an already precarious situation. Cities throughout China, including Beijing, have thus had to find new raisons d’être and undergo major transformations to revitalize their economies. Thus, in common with other parts of the world, urban development in late twentieth-century China was characterized by a growing predilection for the production and dissemination of urban images. The following section examines some of the image construction practices inherited from the Chinese past and used to create a particular vision of the city in the collective consciousness.

Face and Image As discussed in the introduction, since its humiliating encounter with Western imperialism in the nineteenth century, modern China has been very selfconscious about its position in the world and deeply preoccupied with its image. Contemporary image construction efforts in Beijing must be placed in the context of a long Chinese tradition of concern for public recognition and personal prestige – or for what Western anthropologists have called ‘face’. The concept of face provides fundamental insights into the widespread preoccupation with self-perception and deep concern for outside opinion which have long characterized Chinese society. The term mianzi, which is generally used to communicate ideas about how one is perceived by others, actually connotes a much wider range of meanings than can possibly be indicated by the English word ‘face’. Mianzi can be translated as ‘reputation’ or ‘prestige’, and refers to a sort of public recognition ‘that is accumulated by means of personal effort or clever maneuvering’.13 According to anthropologists, to attain this kind of social appreciation the ego must heavily depend upon its external environment. Like most forms of social prestige, it is greatly defined by how one is judged by others. Face continues to play a major part in contemporary Chinese society, and its significance cannot be overestimated. ‘Keeping’ face is a perpetual concern which requires constant caution and diligence. While face can secure social approval by encouraging ‘correct’ conduct and personal dignity, face can also be easily ‘lost’ when rules of conduct are not observed and one is seen at a disadvantage. And if face represents an important social capital – fundamental to the constitution of the Chinese self – too much face is not necessarily a good thing. People who are overly concerned with promoting their own reputation are reproved for ‘loving face’.14 As noted by anthropologist Susan Brownell, the Chinese notion of face can be extended to apply to a group as well as to an individual, so that it is also possible to

30 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing talk about the face of China as a nation and of Beijing as a city.15 This interpretation of face is essential to explaining the importance given to collective representation, place image, and world recognition in contemporary China. Clifford Geertz rightfully noted that the quest for international recognition is inherent in national identity formation: ‘one aim is to be noticed,’ he wrote, as ‘being somebody in the world’.16 Global acceptance of Beijing as an important world player would therefore contribute a great amount of face and prestige to the Chinese nation as a whole, and this expectation remains a major ingredient in the redefinition of Chinese identity in the early twenty-first century.

Chinese Potemkinism Contemporary Chinese practices of urban image construction were greatly influenced by the Maoist legacy, itself derived from practices inherited from the Soviets. These image construction strategies were shaped by the potemkinist mentality that was the trademark of Stalinist socialism, and became a fundamental aspect of socialist epistemology.17 It was under Stalin that the Soviet leadership developed and mastered the art of building ‘Potemkin Villages’, using both ideological and environmental tools to project the state’s idealized and distorted representation of reality. The expression ‘Potemkin Village’ originates from the Russian army officer who, in the late eighteenth century, used stage sets and other theatrical props to build imitation villages and deceive Catherine the Great about his colonization accomplishments in Crimea.18 The expression was later popularized and served both literally and figuratively to describe things that appear elaborate and genuine on the surface but which actually lack substance. The extent of the Potemkin phenomenon in Stalinist Russia went beyond the mere construction of false architectural façades and window dressing to impress foreign VIPs. It also represented the reconstruction of an entire reality, a whole Potemkin world, in which newspapers, movies, political speeches, and official statistics conspired to create a radiant future, totally different from the miserable past and the chaotic present. It was a world born in the leaders’ imagination – a kind of ‘fake it till you make it’ approach to modernization – where shameless exaggeration and deception became a standard feature of official rule. Leaders regularly used boasting and exaggeration to hide economic and cultural backwardness and claim that the nation was catching up with the West.19 However, the projects initiated by demagogic leaders often resulted in the misuse of public funds for self-aggrandizement and ideological propaganda. For the Russian public which was rarely fooled by such practices, potemkinism amounted to just another form of repression.20 In China, potemkinism also became a central part of communist rule. It was

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 31 in part through a combination of coercive capabilities, an elaborate propaganda apparatus, political theatre combining force and persuasion, and manipulative patriotic appeals that the Party managed to remain China’s sole ruler for over half a century. During its fifty years in power, the Chinese Communist Party developed its own approach to image construction, erecting potemkin façades both for selfaggrandizement and to advertise the success of the revolution abroad. Many image construction initiatives were directed at the international community to secure external support for the revolution and to help the spread of world communist, but also to gain approval and recognition for the regime abroad, which was essential to establishing its legitimacy within China. Image construction programmes initiated in Beijing during the Mao years (1949– 1976) were meant to inspire respect, to show China and the world the worthiness of the leadership, and to demonstrate how this worthiness was reflected in the spaces, life, and order of the capital city. A unique opportunity for the Chinese leadership’s display of show politics was on the occasion of the visits of foreign heads of state to China. The rare foreigners to visit communist China were greeted with elaborately planned and carefully orchestrated displays of the nation’s progress. Foreign visitors were kept busy with tight schedules of sporting demonstrations, artistic performances, and a string of visits to architectural monuments that demonstrated the majesty of Chinese civilization. Contacts with the population were carefully filtered and usually limited to exchanges with officially assigned guides. Foreign delegations were taken on closely monitored tours of ‘model’ socialist institutions, especially schools and factories, which had been scrupulously re-arranged for the visits as idealized representations of successful socialism. U.S. President Richard Nixon’s 1972 visit to China for what he later called ‘the week that changed the world’, marked the restoration of Sino-U.S. relations and heralded the return of foreign visitors to China in growing numbers after the isolation of the Cultural Revolution.21 But the landmark visit diverged little from the tightly controlled itineraries that had characterized visits by other foreign dignitaries and ordinary tourists. Henry Kissinger characterized each one of his ten visits to China as ‘a carefully rehearsed play in which nothing was accidental and yet everything appeared spontaneous’.22 Chinese novelist Liu Xinwu captures the irony of such ‘stage management’ in his short story entitled The Wish. In the following passage, Liu writes of the hypocritical metamorphosis of a local school on the occasion of the visit of a single foreign guest in the mid-1970s, and alludes to the kind of popular hardship that resulted from such theatrical set up. The sofa, tea-table, carpet, drawn silk curtains, and other such props had all been brought over from the district office in order to create this reception room. What was more, the ‘flowers for political use’ – the palms, the asparagus bamboo, the red-clusters – had all been

32 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing borrowed for the occasion from the nearby park. The classroom to be visited had been newly whitewashed, the broken windows repaired, the wooden blackboard replaced by one of fibreglass, and the best chairs in the school gathered together there. Even the pupils in attendance had been selected from each form on the basis of a triple examination of their political suitability, appearance and aptitude displayed in an oral test. The girls, moreover, had to wear floral print dresses. This created considerable difficulty for the parents of those selected to take part in these ‘diplomatic activities’, as whatever dresses might originally have been owned had long ago been put to other uses following the destruction of the Four Olds, so material had to be bought and new ones run up.23 Of course, image construction under Mao was not solely directed at an international audience but also sought to influence public opinion at the national level. The Chinese leadership combined public works and propaganda to engineer consensus among city residents, ensure social stability and unity, and stimulate civic pride. City leaders and their allies manipulated cultural forms and symbols to boost confidence in the Party, reinforce political allegiance, and foster national sentiment. In the national capital, urban beautification was also motivated by the desires of ambitious leaders who sought to benefit personally from the international prestige that a positive world image would bring, and thus hoped to advance their careers and strengthen their power and stature.

Urban Renewal and Modernist Urbanism: The Panoptic City In China, one of the principal tools of urban image construction was urban renewal,

Figure 2.1. Idealized visions of the future. Propaganda billboards have long served as a primary instrument of image construction in socialist China. In the Mao years, posters generally contained socialist propaganda slogans which were gradually toned down in the reform era and replaced by patriotic messages and praise for China’s modernization. But they continue to portray an idealized image of China’s future, often represented by industrial complexes, skyscrapers, high speed trains, futuristic airplanes and space shuttles.

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 33 which served both to modernize the city and initiate social reforms. Throughout modern history, city and government leaders have used urban renewal as an instrument of modernization, which they believed could help rationalize urban life and create an efficient, productive, and functional social order. The techniques and methods developed by Baron Haussmann in his drastic reordering of late nineteenth-century Paris in the 1870s influenced the strategic beautification and spectacular redesign of many world metropolises, and inspired generations of modern planners and reformers worldwide.24 Responding to the needs of commerce and social control, and to a desire to create a clean and easily policed city, Haussmann redesigned Paris to allow for the efficient circulation of goods, people, money, and troops. He created the ultimate capitalist city, where commodity display became more grandiose and impossible to ignore. His programme also made the rich and poor more visible to one another and exacerbated the misery of the population displaced by his scheme. Modernist architects and planners who would follow Haussmann similarly believed they could change society by transforming the urban environment. They viewed city life through a normative lens, and used architecture and urbanism to engineer social reforms and to impose their modernist values on a recalcitrant humanity. Like Haussmann, they dreamt of an ordered and transparent city, and used urban renewal as a strategy of indirect government, a way of inducing the population to follow modernist adjudication of civility, morality, decency, and cleanliness not through public discipline but through self-policing. As observed by Michel Foucault, this new, modern city was one of surveillance, so rigid and transparent that nothing could be hidden from public scrutiny. ‘We are neither in the amphitheater, nor on the stage, but in the panoptic machine, invested by its effects of power, which we bring to ourselves since we are part of its mechanism.’25 Many colonial powers such as the French in North Africa similarly saw the city as a mechanism of social discipline, and viewed urban form as an ideological project that could be mobilized to act as a tool of social control.26 They hoped that by radically modernizing the urban environment, they could push native inhabitants to conform to norms of order and rationality. This modernist vision with its latent environmental determinism would rapidly take hold around the world. Later in the twentieth century, newly independent Third World nations such as Brazil and India turned to high modernism in their construction of new capitals at Brasilia and Chandigarh, convinced that the creation of a perfectly ordered and spatially disciplined city would produce a more ‘civilized’ and progressive society. For their government leaders, modern urban design and architecture also stood as visual markers of progress and yardsticks of modernity, essential for their recognition as advanced nations.27 Such blind faith in the power of architecture and urban design endures around

34 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the world. In countries with rapidly developing economies like China, urban image construction remains guided by similar modernist notions of aesthetic formalism, which maintain that planned changes in the environment would be sufficient to produce predictable changes in people’s perceptions, habits and conduct. Such discourses where the city is imagined by the state, planners, scientists, architects, and social engineers as an object of knowledge, transparent, legible, and controllable, rest upon a conceptualization of space as an abstraction – a ‘representation of space’, as Henri Lefebvre calls it – which can be mapped, measured, calculated and exploited.28 This abstract space encompasses the diversity, randomness and dynamism of urban life into a rational blueprint, a neat collection of statistics, and a clear set of social norms, and reduces the city to a governable space, easily surveyed and penetrated. For Michel De Certeau, this ‘concept city’ remains the fantasy of urban reformers, who aspire to create an ‘un espace propre’: a purified, hygienic space purged of ‘all the physical, mental and political pollution that would compromise it’.29 Such idealized conceptualizations contrast with a more anthropological vision of the city as a socially constructed ‘space of representation’, which is shaped, experienced, and transformed through everyday practices.30 The panoptic representation of the city promoted by modernist planners and reformers everywhere ignores the ‘real’ world that is found on the streets and in the houses of the city, and which is made of the places that people inhabit and appropriate on a daily basis, and invest with meaning, memory and desire. These two conflicting visions of urban space are at the heart of most contemporary conflicts over urban image construction, including in China where top down attempts to modernize the city are increasingly contested by grassroots preservation movements.

Staging the City: The Architecture of Spectacle Another way in which the material fabric of the city has been exploited for image construction purposes is through the use of architecture and urbanism in the elaboration of theatrical stage sets for spectacular events and rituals. The widespread use of metaphors borrowed from the world of theatre in city marketing and image construction literature is telling. After all, observes urban historian, Spiro Kostof, urban life is nothing if not theatrical. ‘In every age urban spaces – streets and squares – have served to stage spectacles in which the citizenry participated as players and audience.’31 Urban beautification and the staging of flamboyant urban spectacles have long played an important role in the aestheticization of politics to conceal and obscure ideological manipulation by using spectacular displays to divert popular attention from social inequities and other contradictions. Autocratic governments from

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 35 Napoleon III to Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini and Saddam Hussein widely relied on monumental architecture, ceremonial urbanism, and the careful orchestration of urban spectacles to legitimize their political order.32 They employed architecture as a tool of propaganda, a sort of ‘word in stone’, that communicated the permanence and authority of the established order. They also used urban renewal and urban design to create ideologically loaded settings for grand demonstrations of power, thereby transforming their metropolises into theatres for spectacular rallies and mass performances.33 The object was to claim the old cities in the name of the regime by pruning out of them undesirable elements, carving into them theaters for programmed mass demonstrations and political events, and building on a scale and magnificence that would prove the comparative worth of the present against the stony testimonials of past glories, native and foreign.34 Such urban dramatization was greatly inspired by the Grand Manner urbanism of the baroque period, exploited in Haussmann’s transformation of Paris, and later embraced by several autocratic governments in the course of the twentieth century. In this urban vision, theatrical conventions – especially perspective – helped underscore ‘the order imposed upon space by the political master of that space, the centrality of that master’s vision, and the increasing significance of objects as they were located at greater distance from the position of power’.35 Grand Manner urbanism also contributed to the aesthetization of absolute power, by helping build the utopian vision of a well-governed society while hiding all evidence of its pathologies.36 Grand Manner urbanism advocated the creation of planned spaces for secular displays of mass patriotism, especially in the form of ceremonial thoroughfares that centralized and controlled the urban experience of both residents and visitors. Wide, rectilinear processional avenues lined with imposing buildings were carved out of old cities for political display. For example, Mussolini exploited the drama of long, broad axes when he opened a wide processional avenue into the heart of historic Rome to stage celebrations of his rule. Hitler similarly projected a new centre for Berlin along an axis that would run from a colossal Arch of Triumph to his megalomaniac Great Hall, designed to be the largest building in the world. Even early Republican China was marked by Grand Manner ambitions. Chiang Kai-shek’s deep admiration for the great dictatorships of Europe is evident in the monumental design for his new capital at Nanjing in the late 1920s.37 The masters of socialism settled for a similarly spectacular approach to urbanism, with appropriate symbolic adaptations. Stalin’s 1935 ‘General Plan for the Reconstruction of Moscow’, which was to set the pattern for urban planning throughout the soviet republics and provide the model for socialist capitals worldwide, featured a 20 kilometre monumental axis for military parades.38 The

36 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing modernist urbanism that would subsequently be embraced by socialist regimes as a more fitting model displayed similar ideals of social and ideological control and was shaped by an instrumental rationality that envisioned the city in a coherent and integrated manner. Driven by both socialist ideals and a desire to master and dominate city space, modernist planners such as Le Corbusier envisioned a futuristic city and imagined a new representative urban order, with an expansive, majestic, and visually unified panorama. Their penchant for monumentality yielded a highly theatrical urban vision filled with Orwellian illusions, creating a city where the new norms and forms of socialist society were put on display. When the Chinese Communist Party came to power in the 1950s, it inherited a planning tradition that was very much influenced by the Soviet practices of the Stalin era, but which also bore the mark of China’s imperial tradition. Chinese dynastic leaders had long exploited the symbolic power of architecture and urbanism to support their claims to the celestial mandate. When it was conceived eight hundred years ago, the city of Beijing was designed to inspire awe and respect from all subjects of the empire, and to convince them that only the true son of heaven could be the ruler of such a magnificent city. The city’s cardinal orientation, its perfect proportions, gigantic walls and gates, broad and straight avenues, and its concentric organization at the heart of which stood the Forbidden City, all worked to convince the Chinese people that theirs was a blessed nation, destined to stand at the centre of the universe. Beijing’s powerful image produced a similar impression beyond the boundaries of the empire, and influenced world perceptions of China as a mighty empire. Indeed, early Western travellers to China, such as Marco Polo, were struck by Beijing’s splendour and brought back extensive descriptions of the city as proof that China stood among the world’s great civilizations. Beijing’s grandiose urbanism would be extensively exploited by successive generations of leaders, including the new regime which took over in the midtwentieth century. One aspect of the new socialist government’s approach to urbanism was what Victor Sit branded ‘wide-boulevardism’, or the state’s predilection for the construction of wide, ceremonial roadways for military display.39 In 1955, Mao carved out the broad Chang An Avenue into the heart of old Beijing to mark the establishment of the new regime. Tiananmen Square was also enlarged to megalomaniac proportions – making it the largest urban square in the world – to serve as a stage for mass demonstrations. Despite claims to turn away from imperial traditions, this policy reproduced the feudal dictate that had long required the streets of the imperial capital to be wider than those of all other cities in the empire. Wide boulevards long remained an attractive option for political leaders with ambitions of turning Beijing into a monumental socialist capital. The practice prevailed until the end of the twentieth century, periodically falling under attack, especially during the Cultural Revolution when it and other extravagant

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 37 urban design practices in the Grand Manner were denounced as expressions of capitalist revisionism. Today, image construction practices in China still often rest on spectacular urbanism to manipulate world perceptions of the city. As the powerful embodiment of a city’s attributes, architecture has long been a commodity as well as a form of publicity, and in today’s capitalist culture of consumption, designer skyline, signature urban furniture and carefully packaged urban spaces have more than ever become essential tools enhancing the prestige and desirability of place. Marked by a growing predilection for the ‘aesthetization of the material world’ and the production and dissemination of urban images for international consumption, contemporary urban design practices focus on surface appearance and the construction of sets of images. Often referred to as urban ‘imagineering’ – the Disney expression for the engineering of imaginary places – these practices rest upon the wide use of post-modern architecture, an ephemeral architecture of display, festival, and spectacle that blurs the distinction between the imaginary and the real.40

The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing In Beijing, recent efforts to transform the world perception of the city and to produce a favourable image of the nation were initiated after Mao’s death, as China re-entered the world stage following the initiation of Deng Xiaoping’s Opening and Reform policy in 1978. The reforms triggered a major redefinition of Beijing’s role as China’s national capital.41 According to directives issued by the Chinese Communist Party in 1980 and 1983, Beijing would no longer be the modern industrial centre it had struggled to become during the Mao period, but it was to serve primarily as the political, educational, and cultural centre of the nation and as the locus of international relations.42 Beijing would thus become a showcase of China’s contemporary material and cultural achievements and represent the country’s window to the outside world. As its economy was redirected towards the development of tourism and service industries, the city used its status as China’s national capital and cultural centre to attract the attention of large multinational corporations in search of a location for their corporate headquarters on the mainland, and to expand its share of international tourism revenues. It thus became imperative for the Beijing city government to rethink the image of the national capital, especially following the 1989 crackdown against pro-democracy students at Tiananmen Square which triggered a large drop in foreign investment and tourism. Image construction efforts have therefore concentrated on building international trust in China’s stability and prosperity as a sop to attract foreign investment and tourism, develop trade partnerships, and

38 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing facilitate international exchanges. Through the remodelling of Beijing’s material landscape, the state strove to communicate a very specific message to the world: China was moving forward, and China was open for business. However, image construction endeavours also made more conspicuous the fundamental contradictions inherent in the official state policy of a ‘socialist market economy’ which rests on seemingly opposed ideological and economic imperatives. As Beijing retained its role as the headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party and continued to serve as a base for communist morality, its new image would also have to proclaim China’s confidence in its new found prosperity and rising world status, while simultaneously promoting national pride and reinforcing state allegiance at home. The new Beijing of the reform era would thus have to work as a model for the development of a modern capitalist culture while serving as an example in implementing socialist ideology and fostering patriotic sentiments. In its efforts to transform the image of the national capital, the Chinese state similarly had to juggle with its desire to reconcile international demands for a market-friendly environment and internal pressures for a socially responsible leadership. Starting in the mid-1980s, the Beijing government initiated a series of ambitious redevelopment projects which aimed at remaking the world image of the Chinese capital. Influenced by a global concern with the production of images for international consumption, and by the modernist notion that one gains respect as a nation and people only by being modern, post-Mao leaders turned to urban redevelopment and social reform to fulfil their desire to attain modernity as a marker of world recognition. Through the modernization of urban infrastructure, the rationalization of existing neighbourhoods, and the construction of modern buildings, the state aspired to project the image of a modern, entrepreneurial metropolis, and hoped in the process to turn the citizenry into disciplined modern subjects. The great prosperity of the 1990s triggered an unprecedented construction boom and prompted major spatial restructuring intended to accommodate the new cultural, economic, and ideological revolution. In its effort to restore undervalued areas of the city, the fund-starved Beijing government sought the collaboration of private developers and entrepreneurs, offering tax breaks and other incentives to those groups whose support was deemed necessary to economic development. This growing reliance upon the private sector made balancing public interest and the logic of profit increasingly difficult. The reorientation of Beijing’s economy towards the tertiary sector also allowed a new class of educated, cosmopolitan and entrepreneurial elite with international aspirations to take control of urban space and its representation. In contrast to the Mao years, when the dynamic for urban renewal had been generated internally, post-Mao economic restructuring opened the door to external players including foreign investors, members of the Chinese

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 39 diaspora, and international tourists to play a major part in the construction of the image of the capital of the new China. The urban reordering of post-Mao Beijing was thus shaped by a trans-national politics of identity and place. Attempts to ascribe new meaning to urban space radically altered the socio-spatial landscape of the city and greatly affected the experience and meaning of places used, created, and inhabited by generations of Beijingers. The creation of a new spatial logic inspired by market imperatives led to the establishment of new class relations and new patterns of urban segregation to a degree unknown in pre-reform Beijing, thereby negating the efforts of forty years of socialist urbanization. The hegemonic new representation of urban space that emerged as a result was greatly resented by those excluded from this vision, giving rise to growing expressions of discontent and grassroots resistance movements. Urban redevelopment would ultimately instigate important debates about representation, right to the city, and the constitution of citizenship in contemporary China, thereby unwittingly leading the way to the development of an embryonic civil society. The ongoing battle over the control and interpretation of urban space would also be a battle for legitimacy. Increasing exposure to global flows of information, and the rising consumption of Western commodities and popular culture have created new desires and expectations, making it increasingly difficult for the Chinese state to draw the line between the consumption of Western goods and the consumption of Western ideals of freedom and democracy. As communism falters, to be quickly replaced by conspicuous consumption as the dominant ideology, the population grows increasingly inclined to favour the satisfaction of individual rights over the common good. To regain its hold on the nation, the Party is now whipping up nationalist fervour and promoting patriotism as the new hegemonic discourse, inscribing it in the urban environment as part of recent image construction efforts. Contemporary image making thus seeks to raise patriotic sentiments among the Chinese population and to secure people’s allegiance to the Party by promising major social benefits. The following chapter explores this last dimension of urban image construction in contemporary Beijing by presenting a case study on the uses of the nation’s history in transforming perceptions of the city for patriotic purposes.

Notes 1.

2. 3.

For a survey of the literature related to city marketing and image making, see Ashworth and Voogd, 1990; Kotler et al., 1993; Kearns and Philo, 1993; Erickson and Roberts, 1995; Ward, 1998. Kearns and Philo, 1993. Upton, 1991.

40 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 4. 5. 6.

7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17.

18.

19. 20.

21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

Lefebvre, 1986. Zukin, Sharon, 1995; Kearns and Philo, 1993. The close link that exists between place and identity stems from the privileged relationship that connects space and society. Henri Lefebvre has demonstrated how space and society are dialectically related, as people and places are reciprocally constitutive of one another. While human actions transform space into experienced places by inscribing meaning into the lived environment, places in turn structure human activities by constraining or enabling social, cultural, political, and economic relations and practices (Lefebvre, 1986). For discussions of the role of the built environment in the formation of self- and collective identity, see Walmsley, 1988; King, 1996. Zukin, 1991. Kearns and Philo, 1993. Ashworth and Voogd, 1990; Kotler et al., 1993; Kearns and Philo, 1993; Erickson and Roberts, 1995; Ward, 1998. Britton, 1991. Since the 1980s, large cities have become one of the most important type of tourist destination. See Judd and Fainstein, 1999; Page, 1995; Law, 1993. Hu Xsien-chin, 1944; see also Ho, 1975. Fairbank, 1983, p. 135. This usage is generally limited to the colloquial language. Official discourse is generally more cautious about the use of the term ‘mianzi’ for which it usually substitutes the words ‘honour’ and ‘dignity’ (Brownell, 1995, pp. 296–302). Cited in Esherick, 2000, pp. 1–16. Sheila Fitzpatrick (1994, p. 16) defines potemkinism as a Stalinist world view in which the defects and contradictions of the present are overlooked and where the world is described not as it is but as it is becoming. In the 1780s, the Russian field marshal Grigori Aleksandrovitch Potemkin (1739–1791) was charged with settling and developing territories in the newly conquered Crimea. On the occasion of the Empress Catherine II’s 1787 tour of the territory, accompanied by the Austrian Emperor Joseph II and the Polish King Stanislas Poniatowski, Potemkin put together a grand spectacle to simulate the success of his settlement programme. His use of theatrical décors to create what passed, from a distance, for real houses and villages, later gave rise to the expression ‘Potemkin Villages’ ( Riasanovsky, 1994, p. 292). Fitzpatrick, 1999, pp. 67–85. Of course, socialist regimes do not have the monopoly over potemkinism. Throughout history, authoritarian regimes of either the Left or the Right have resorted to different forms of spectacular development and image construction to show the success of their regimes. While all forms of governments have been known to manipulate the urban environment to reinforce political allegiance, great dictators and autocratic governments have been particularly proficient in this regard. Nixon, 1978; p. 580. Kissinger, 1979, p. 1056. Liu Xinwu, 1990, p. 110. Harvey, 1985. Foucault, 1979, pp. 216–217. Rabinow, 1989; Wright, 1991. Holston, 1989; Evenson, 1966. Lefebvre, 1986. Certeau, 1984, pp. 93–95. Lefebvre, 1986. Kostof, 1991, p. 222 Leach, 1999. Benton, 1995, pp. 36–42. Kostof, 1985, p. 721. Carlson, 1989, p. 22.

Selling the Chinese City: Theory and Practice of Urban Image Construction 41 36. Boyer, 1994. 37. Although the architect who designed the new capital at Nanjing was American (Henry Killam Murphy), the selection of the design was nonetheless influenced by the leadership’s proclivities for urban models such as those developed by European dictatorships (Cody, 1996). 38. The idea of political promotion as urban performance was often taken very literally. On the occasion of Mussolini’s 1937 visit to Berlin, the German government hired a stage artist, designer Bruno von Arent, to decorate the famous Unter den Linden processional way (Becker, 1995, p. 281). 39. Sit, 1995, p. 271. 40. Sorkin, 1992; Urry, 1995; Zukin,1991. 41. In 1982, French architect Phillipe Jonathan had already predicted that by the year 2000, Beijing’s most pressing problem would be the construction of a physical image for the old city of Beijing as one of the world’s leading national capitals and an essential link with the outside world. The construction of Beijing as a leading international capital would stand as the core principle of this image construction endeavour, with the slogan of a ‘clean, beautiful and modern city’ as its guiding principle (Jonathan, 1982, p. 6; see also Chen Kehan, 1980). 42. In May 1980, the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party published a four point proposal for the future of Beijing laying out the directives which were to guide the future transformation of the city’s image. The proposal stated that 1. Beijing should rank at the top among world capital cities and serve as a national model of public security, social order, and morality. 2. The city’s natural environment and historical patrimony should be carefully preserved in order to build a beautiful, clean and modern capital. 3. Beijing should lead the nation in the areas of culture, technology, and education. 4. Beijing should also prosper economically to increase living standards and ensure social stability (Hsueh, Feng-hsuan, 1995).

42 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Chapter Three

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan The Politics of Heritage, Memory, and Identity The past performs a pivotal role in the selling of places. In an effort to enhance the appeal and interest of places, city marketers increasingly exploit the history of their locale as an important cultural capital to lure inward investment from enterprises, visitors, and shoppers.1 In the process, they consciously repackage culture and history to convert them into commodities that can be bought and sold in their own right. Tourism plays an important role in the commodification of the past by attempting to transform the material reality of places into a cultural imaginary for mass consumption. The rise of tourism as one of the leading world industries has created a growing demand for built environments that promise a unique cultural experience. In their efforts to turn localities into consumable places, tourism and entertainment industries tap historical resources through the evocation of memories of past events, people, and places, often lumping together cultural and historical elements in a creative redeployment of tradition. Tourism similarly turns competing histories into reductionist constructions, promoting some version of history over others, or even manufacturing fictitious versions of history. It also colonizes local culture by demanding that expressions of identity respond to the expectations of first world tourist consumers.2 These fabricated visions of shared history are not, however, passively accepted by those they intend to represent. They are constantly re-appropriated, adapted, and reinvented by different people remembering the past in different ways.3 Notions of heritage – understood as collectively inherited cultural capital – are

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 43 similarly being invoked to sell locality and attract global capital. It has become common practice for cities around the world to capture, reconstruct, and invent social and built heritage for commercial consumption. For national governments, the manufacturing of heritage sites serves a dual function: it provides not only for economic sustenance but also plays an important role in political legitimization. With the fading of the nation state as a primary form of group allegiance, many governments worldwide have turned to heritage in their hope to restore national pride, strengthen local identity, and reinforce patriotic sentiment. Out of both political necessity and economic expediency, they increasingly invest in the making of places for the deliberate representation of carefully packaged versions of history, often using tourist revenues to do so.4 As mentioned above, the contemporary predilection for sites of national memory and heritage does not solely serve the purpose of selling places, but also responds to important political needs. Discovered under colonial domination, the political virtues of heritage were long exploited for nation building by post-colonial governments. As Timothy Mitchell rightly comments: One of the odd things about the arrival of the era of the modern nation-state was that for a state to prove it was modern, it helped if it could also prove it was ancient. A nation that wanted to show it was up to date and deserved a place among the company of modern states needed, among other things, to produce a past.5 The past, even patently fabricated, was thus a necessary element in the constitution of the modern nation state. Agreeing on a common version of the collective past was critical to the process of designing national identity and turning a heterogeneous population into a coherent nation.6 Today, the past has taken on a new significance as it now represents an essential resource for the economic survival of nations.7 The exploitation of history and culture has become a complex and dynamic process of creation, as heritage managers must increasingly juggle with the demands of the tourist market and the political goals of national and local governments. The selection and designation of sites as national heritage is a similarly complex and contentious process because of the multiplicity of pasts that compete for recognition. Which places do or do not become part of heritage and what transformation they undergo in this process of recognition is a key arena for identity and power struggles. Places that are incorporated into sanctioned views of the national heritage symbolize certain values and beliefs that gain an active influence in the present. Other places that may be seen as a threat to the national imaginary and elite hegemony are suppressed, obliterated, or, in some cases, sanitized and depoliticized in their transit into officially sanctioned heritage. The transformation of places into heritage therefore remains a highly political

44 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing process whereby identities are defined, debated, and contested, and where social orders are challenged and reproduced.8 The manufacturing of heritage is often used for the reproduction and imposition of dominant values and designed to serve the economic, social, and political interest of an economic and political elite. Through selective appropriations of the past, powerful groups reduce multiple visions of history into a singular one that is engineered to reaffirm their own ideology and to reproduce their power. Debates over uses of heritage in place promotion often rest upon disagreements over the nature of the past, and in the irreconcilable tensions that exist between memory and history. In the course of meeting economic needs, the act of selling places often conflates history – a critical evaluation of the past – and memory – a more subjective account of it. For French historian Pierre Nora, history (with a small h) is concerned with the evaluation of claims about the past and their reexamination in the light of current historiographic evidence, while memory consists of the celebration of certain accounts of the past which seek to legitimate particular developments in the present.9 Memory is thus often chauvinist, exclusionary, and subjected to abuse by powerful groups to serve their own interests. For Nora, conflicts over heritage selection and interpretation lie in the fact that official History (with a capital H) is a carefully selected version of memory – generally that of the ruling elite – that is officially sanctioned and which is given the appearance of truth through the manipulation of heritage and historical resources.

Yuanmingyuan: The Rise and Fall of the Summer Palace In April 2001, an American spy plane made an emergency landing on Hainan Island in South China after colliding with a Chinese fighter jet. The accident quickly escalated into one of the most serious diplomatic incidents between China and the United States in years, when China refused to return the twenty-four American crew members of the US EP-3E reconnaissance plane until a formal apology was made by the US government. After an eleven day stand off, President Bush finally sent a letter of apology stating he was ‘very sorry’ about the death of the Chinese pilot, and the American ‘hostages’ were released. Few people in the West fully appreciated the importance of that apology for the Chinese people, not only as an admission of guilt, but as a symbolic reparation that had been awaited for over 150 years. If the world viewed the airplane collision as an isolated event, Chinese citizens understood the incident as yet another insult in a century-long string of national humiliations; a new, insidious attempt by foreign powers to weaken China and hold back its development. The apology had the effect of momentarily restoring national pride to a country that had been pushed around, plundered, and carved up by Western nations ever since the first Opium

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 45 war in 1839. It was a great victory for the Communist government which had built its legitimacy on claims that it would help China stand up to the world and face Western nations as equals. The leadership’s tough position vis-à-vis the Americans clearly signified that China would no longer stand to be bullied. Under such historical circumstances, it is not surprising that the spy plane incident revived the memory of an earlier event which had forever shaped China’s complex relationship with the West: the looting and burning of Yuanmingyuan, the old Summer Palace, by European soldiers at the conclusion of the second Opium War in 1860. The diplomatic incident brought back into the spotlight the important controversies that have surrounded the projected restoration of the mythical ‘Garden of Gardens’ whose ruins lie less than 10 kilometres from the centre of Beijing. Forgotten for nearly a century, Yuanmingyuan was recently reopened to the public to stand as a symbol of Western imperialism in China. Facing a major legitimacy crisis in the aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen massacre, the Chinese state traded its socialist rhetoric for a more fundamental call for nationalism, reinforced by re-invocation of national humiliations at the hands of foreign nations and repeated warning about the duplicitous and predatory West. This movement was accompanied by both a revaluation of national heritage and a reinterpretation of certain chapters of Chinese history. Underexploited historical sites such as Yuanmingyuan have consequently been ‘rediscovered’ and rapidly ‘restored’, conveniently accommodating an increase in people’s leisure time and surplus income by providing new spaces for public entertainment and consumption. This chapter explores the deep contradictions inherent in uses of history and heritage in the selling of places, and their simultaneous exploitation for political purposes. It examines in detail the contemporary debates over the restoration and commodification of the ruins of Yuanmingyuan as an example of the complexity of heritage politics in the context of China’s fragile transition to a market economy and its ongoing re-examination of the past for patriotic purposes. This chapter also discusses the importance of both memory and forgetting in the constitution of a modern Chinese identity, and shows how the complex history of the gardens, shaped and transformed by the competing visions of multiple actors over the centuries, has filled their restoration with paradoxes and contradictions. Today, Yuanmingyuan represents one of those ‘lieux de mémoires’ – defined by Pierre Nora as the spatial and or physical embodiment of a population’s collective memory – which are not so much about remembering as they are about forgetting.10 While the history of the gardens and the circumstances of their downfall are relatively well known in China, virtually forgotten is the story of those people who have, over the last century, inhabited, used and transformed the ruins of Yuanmingyuan, endowing the site with new layers of meaning that few scholars

46 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing acknowledge. In its transformation into ‘national heritage’ – material culture which is collectively owned by the ‘nation’ – the proposed restoration of Yuanmingyuan actually denies a role to hundreds of people whose fate is very much tied to the gardens. Treated as objects rather than subjects in the debate, they have become the most recent victims of the site’s turbulent past. The history of Yuanmingyuan thus raises questions of social justice and the constitution of citizenship in contemporary China, when a self-serving and selective interpretation of the past overshadows a more immediate present and its inhabitants.

The Origins of Yuanmingyuan, 1709–1860 As early as the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), the families of high-ranking officials and members of the Chinese royal family had started establishing a number of private gardens in the north-western suburbs of the capital, an area replete with natural springs and scattered hills. When the rulers of Manchuria took over the throne and founded the Qing dynasty (1644–1911), they gradually assembled these gardens into imperial grounds and built summer residences where the Emperors could escape the ceremonial formality of their lives in the Forbidden City. Most of the grand architectural projects initiated by the Qing were concentrated on the

Figure 3.1. Location of Yuanmingyuan and other Qing imperial gardens in the north-west suburbs of Beijing’s walled city. Gazetteer map from the 1820s.

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 47 construction of such palatial gardens, which also represent one of the Manchu dynasty’s main artistic legacies (figures 3.1 and 3.2). Yuanmingyuan (the Garden of Perfection and Brightness) originated as a garden offered by the second Qing Emperor Kangxi (reigned 1662–1722) to his fourth son the future Emperor Yongzheng in 1723 (reigned 1723–1735). But it was Yongzheng’s succeeding son, the extravagant Emperor Qianlong (reigned 1736–1796), who was to give Yuanmingyuan its definitive identity. Born and raised at Yuanmingyuan, Qianlong would favour this suburban palace as his main residence and only spent the coldest winter months in the Forbidden City. Considered to be the most prolific garden builder in late imperial China, Qianlong made the completion of the gardens first laid out by his grandfather the centrepiece of his sixty-year reign. Between 1749 and 1772, Qianlong built two additional gardens, Changchunyuan (the Eternal Spring Garden) and Qichunyuan (the Superb Spring Garden) later called Wanchunyuan (the Ten Thousand Springs Garden), to the east and south of the original garden. Over time, the three contiguous compounds, made up of more than 150 interlocking gardens centred around Fuhai (the Sea of Happiness), came to be known by the single name of Yuanmingyuan (figure 3.3). While Yuanmingyuan is generally known outside China as the ‘Old Summer Palace’ – because of its status as imperial residence for all but the coldest months of the year – its Chinese name refers to neither summer nor palace. The name Yuanmingyuan, chosen by Kangxi, instead alludes to perfection and excellence and

Figure 3.2. Closer view of the imperial domains surrounding Yuanmingyuan.

48 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing suggests a wish to conform to such ideals in his rule.11 Yuanmingyuan was indeed much more than a simple summer residence. It served as a suburban administrative base for Qing dynasty Emperors from where they carried out official business. It was there that the Emperor received ambassadors and held key political conferences. The imperial gardens enjoyed a status almost equal to that of the Forbidden City in the heart of old Beijing. For this reason, their layout closely resembled that of the Imperial Palace, with official buildings and audience halls grouped in the south near the entrance, residential palaces in the north, and pleasure houses, temples, ancestral shrines, libraries, art galleries, and theatres scattered throughout the property around a series of hills, lakes and natural springs. Within the grounds were also thirty residential districts for princes and officials as well as many small villages where servants and eunuchs lived (Figure 3.4). For more than 150 years, five successive Manchu rulers moved their court to Yuanmingyuan after each lunar New Year. There, they not only engaged in administrative duties but also indulged in various forms of leisure and entertainment. Qianlong himself stressed the importance of repose and relaxation for the well-being of the Emperor and his court. In an attempt to justify the expense of building such a grand suburban retreat, he wrote:

Figure 3.3. Plan of Yuanmingyuan with the three gardens that made up the imperial summer residence.

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 49 Every emperor and ruler, when he has retired from audience and has finished his public duties, must have a garden where he may stroll and look about and relax his heart. If he has a suitable place to do this, it will refresh his mind and regulate his emotions, but if not he will become engrossed in sensual pleasure and lose his willpower.12 The vast garden complex thus provided the Emperor with a suitable place to drink, feast, compose poetry, or paint ‘in an atmosphere that helped transcend the real world to a world of relaxation and spiritual pleasure’.13 However, recreational possibilities at Yuanmingyuan were not limited to the quiet contemplation of its serene and perfected landscape. The gardens also contained a variety of pleasure grounds and thematic stage sets designed to fulfil the court’s craving for hedonistic enjoyment. One of the several amusement parks found within the imperial gardens was the miniature market town staged and managed by palace eunuchs. The Emperor and ladies of the court loved to mingle with its crowds of busy shoppers, haggle over prices for curios and toys, and play, for an instant, at being ordinary citizens (Figure 3.5). By all accounts, Yuanmingyuan was the finest of the five suburban imperial parks built around Beijing during the Qing dynasty.14 With its 350 hectares and 10 kilometre circumference – five times the size of the entire precinct of the Forbidden City – Yuanmingyuan represented, at its height, one of the largest royal gardens in the world. As a condensed version of the most famous gardens of the Chinese Empire, Yuanmingyuan also constituted one of the richest museums of the art of classical Chinese landscaping. From the Ming to the early Qing dynasty, garden making had gained enormous popularity in China. But it was during the reign of the Emperor Qianlong that the

Figure 3.4. Reconstitution of the imperial gardens of Yuanmingyuan at their apogee.

50 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 3.5. This view of Yuanmingyuan, the thirtyeighth of the forty drawn by court painters in 1744, shows the market street built to entertain the emperor and his court.

Chinese art of landscaping – or taming disordered landscapes while preserving their ‘naturalness’ – was to reach the height of its sophistication. Qianlong’s travels south of the Yangzi had helped develop his taste for classical landscapes. From such journeys, he brought back the best southern painters and landscape gardeners who were to reproduce, with the aid of imperial master builders, some of the most beautiful landscapes he had contemplated. The garden ensemble at Yuanmingyuan was celebrated not only for its elaborate landscapes and rich architecture but also for its fabulous collections of precious furniture, ancient books and other rare objects. The few Europeans allowed to visit the exclusive imperial gardens were astonished by their complex and peculiar beauty and by the treasures they contained. Father Michel Benoist, a French Jesuit priest serving at the Qing court, wrote this description in 1767: To form any idea of its beauty one must drift into the regions of fairyland, such as described by imaginative writers. Artificial mountains, with miniature canals, passing over rocks and

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 51 forming rapids and lakes dotted with islands of proportionate size. Intricate pathways, winding in and out among the mountains, miniature lakes and canals, leading up to the palaces than contain the best that the world produces of luxury and art. Cleverly contrived summer houses, like fairy palaces, filling secluded nooks in the hills and valleys, and on the shores of the lake . . .[A]ll this for the sole use of the Emperor and his court.15 Such accounts and those of other eighteenth century Western correspondents, both travellers and Jesuit priests serving at the court, contributed to the creation of a myth around the Chinese imperial gardens in the European consciousness. Extolled abroad as the ‘Versailles of the Orient’, this Eden of the East became a symbol of

Figure 3.6. Detail of Yuanmingyuan, contemporary reconstitution. Oil on canvas.

52 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Oriental refinement and rapidly acquired worldwide fame. The fabulous gardens were said to represent, along with the Great Wall, one of the best examples of the great ingenuity, manpower and wisdom of the Chinese race and among its most renowned monuments, comparable to the Greek’s Parthenon and the Egyptian’s pyramids.16 French author Victor Hugo would later write in his famous eulogy of the celebrated gardens which he never himself visited. ‘All the treasures of all our cathedrals united could not match this splendid and magnificent Oriental museum’17 (Figure 3.6). Particularly evocative were the written descriptions of Father Jean-Denis Attiret, a French Jesuit whose accounts of the gardens in his Lettres Edifiantes compiled in 1743 represented one of the first works on the Chinese art of garden making published in Europe.18 In one letter Attiret writes of the unique and exquisite design of the imperial gardens: ‘. . . I had never seen anything that bore any manner of resemblance to them, in any part of the world that I had been in before’.19 The publication of the lettres in Paris in 1749 had a tremendous impact on the development of a fashion for Chinese-style gardens in Europe, and triggered a revolution in taste which would forever change the practice of garden making, manifested in the change from the rigid and highly formalized French-style gardens to the more picturesque English landscapes.20 In China, Yuanmingyuan was acclaimed as the ‘Garden of Gardens’ (wan yuan zhi yuan) and praised as the pinnacle in the art of garden making. Despite muted criticism of the excessive cost of both building and maintaining this imperial folly by Qianlong’s contemporaries, the lavish garden was lauded for qualities that only those well versed in classical Chinese language and culture could appreciate. Its landscape was endowed with rich multilayered meaning and refined symbolism. Each single vista bore a name which subtly referred to historical events or quoted from classical literary works, poetry or Taoist mythology. Landscape and architecture worked in symbiosis to both reflect and complement the literary citation. Through their association, the three art forms – garden making, architecture, and poetry – triggered specific sensory experiences and heightened the level of consciousness of the initiated viewer. The evocative power of the landscape also prompted mental associations that reached across time and space, since several of the garden’s landscapes were named after celebrated sceneries including Hangzhou’s West Lake or Suzhou’s gardens.21 One example of the complex cultural meaning embodied in the landscape of Yuanmingyuan is the Nine Continents scenery, composed of nine islets circling a lake, which housed the imperial living quarters. The landscape was designed in such a way that from certain angles, the islands appeared entirely independent, while from other points of view they could be read as closely connected. The name of this scenery, Jiuzhou Qingyan (nine lands united and prosperous), made reference

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 53 to an ancient verse which described the mythological integration of the nine lands, alluding to the legendary unification of China.22 Metaphorically, the scenery carried the subtle political message that a united China would bring prosperity. Through the meaning embodied in the landscape, the Emperor thus communicated his wish to rule over the united empire peacefully (Figure 3.7). The mythical aura which had developed around Yuanmingyuan in the West since Father Attiret’s first chronicle was further enhanced in the late nineteenth century by the publication of several new accounts of the palace by members of

Figure 3.7. Detail of the ‘Nine continents’ scenery, portion of the official map of the Yuanmingyuan reproduced in Malone (1932) p.72. The numbers were added by Malone and correspond to the forty scenes depicted by the Jesuits. Above number 3 a small plan is pasted upon the main map showing an alteration to the emperor’s private apartments.

54 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the British and French troops who participated in the Campaign of 1860, which followed the second Opium War. The idyllic and often romanticized descriptions they provided of Yuanmingyuan were informed by the fact that their authors were eye witnesses to, if not participants in, the famed garden’s demise. Maurice Irisson, Comte d’Hérisson, the personal translator of the French General de Montauban, wrote: To depict all the splendours . . . I should need to dissolve specimens of all known precious stones in liquid gold for ink, and to dip into it a diamond pen tipped with the fantasies of the oriental poet . . . The multitude of treasures had overflowed the private apartments of the sovereign and his wives . . . The spectacle was at once extraordinary and dazzling.23 The palace thus came to occupy a major part in the European imagination, both in the minds of Orientalist scholars as in popular constructions of the mysteries of the Orient. Yuanmingyuan soon became the object of romantic fantasies, legends, and fables, told in several works of fiction by European authors who never actually visited the gardens. For example, three centuries after Attiret’s lettres, English writer Marina Warner was to evoke the magic of the imperial gardens in The Dragon Empress: Scarlet and golden halls, miradors, follies and gazebos, clustered around artificial hills and lakes. Tranquil tracts of water were filled with fan tailed goldfish with telescopic eyes, and covered with lotus and lily pads, a superabundance of flowering shrubs luxuriated in the gardens, antlered deer wandered through the grounds, ornamental ducks and rare birds nestled on the lakeside.24

The Western Palaces (Xiyang lou) Yuanmingyuan not only exemplified the refinement of Chinese arts and architecture but also contained elements of European import. Apart from his great knowledge of his empire acquired during his extensive travels throughout China, Qianlong also developed an insatiable curiosity for exotic lands and a taste for all things foreign and novel, especially for Occidental arts and sciences. For this reason, he allowed a group of Jesuit missionaries, including mathematicians, geographers, astronomists, physicists, as well as painters, watchmakers, machinists, hydraulicists and architects, to serve at his court and instruct him on the lifestyles of European monarchs.25 This intensely creative cooperation would result in the development of a number of rich, new hybrid art forms. Among these early ‘foreign experts’ were Brother Guiseppe Castiglione (known in Chinese as Lang Shining), an Italian cleric trained as a painter, and Father Michel Benoist, a French mathematician and astronomer with a talent for hydraulics.26 Qianlong was particularly impressed by their descriptions of Versailles and the palaces of Italy, accompanied by detailed illustrations of their elaborate gardens.

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 55 Having seen the painting of a fountain projecting jets of water, [the Emperor] asked about it to Brother Castiglione, and inquired if there was in his court anyone able to create a similar one . . . [Father Benoist] devoted himself to this work and was immediately presented to His Majesty as being able to lead, with the help of books, the workers who could be lent to him and to make them carry out the construction of shuifa or projecting fountains . . . The first model to be presented by Father Benoist pleased the Emperor so much that he consequently took the resolution to have a European palace built, picked a location within his gardens himself and ordered Brother Castiglione to trace the plans, with the help of Father Benoist . . .27 The Emperor was fascinated by the French Jesuit’s first fountains activated by mechanical water pumps, which departed from traditional uses of water in Chinese landscaping. This first commission was to engage for two decades a small group of Western ecclesiastics in the conception and realization of an ensemble of European-style palaces, complete with manicured French style gardens, baroque statuary, music kiosk, belvedere, aviary, and the ‘Ten-thousand Flower Maze’ which reproduced in stone the shrubbery labyrinths found in European gardens of the time28 (Figure 3.8). The Western Palaces were not to be inhabited but rather served as elaborate playhouses where the Emperor could emulate European life by sitting on European furniture, listening to European music, eating European food and playing with European toys. The limited inhabitable space of the pavilions was occupied by the sovereign’s rich collections of European curiosities, which included works of art, tapestries, mirrors, machines, and furniture, most of which were rare and valuable. To give a more intimate feel to this section of the gardens exclusively devoted to

Figure 3.8. Bird’s eye view of the famous ‘Ten-thousand Flower Maze’ at Yuanmingyuan. Copperplate engraving made by European Jesuits at the court c. 1786.

56 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 3.9. Western view of the Haiyantang (Hall of the Calm Sea) with the notorious horological fountain made up of the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac. Note the baroque architecture and the Chinese roof lines. Copperplate engraving, c. 1786.

Qianlong’s entertainment, a rise in the land partly concealed the European Palaces. Conspicuous building elements which may be visible from the Chinese section of the gardens – roofs in particular – were cleverly sinicized to blend in with the surrounding landscape.29 The Emperor Qianlong’s European follies were truly the product of the collective fantasy and ingenuity of the religious men, few of whom had received any special training in architecture. In designing the European Palaces, the priests worked both from illustrations and manuscripts found in the libraries of the Jesuit missions in Beijing, or improvised in situ out of memory and imagination. They were greatly assisted in their elaboration by local artisans and master builders, especially from the prestigious Lei family who, since the reign of the Emperor Kangxi, had been charged with building imperial palaces. But the Milanese Castiglione remained the real master in charge of building the whole complex. With his architectural creations, Brother Castiglione not only aspired to please his patron but he also wished to convince the Emperor of the grandeur and refinement of European architecture. Castiglione worked hard to adapt his design to Chinese taste and to express Western exoticism in his composition, sparing no effort to submit the stone to the caprices of his inclination for rococo architecture.30 The result was a strange hybrid architectural form which integrated traditional Chinese techniques for the main structural elements – including the roofs, covered with colourful glazed tiles – while incorporating Italian baroque features in the exterior facades and stone decorations31 (Figure 3.9).

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 57 Unfortunately, Castiglione’s work at Yuanmingyuan was not particularly appreciated by posterity. While Chinese artists and scholars found the Europeanstyle palaces incongruous and foreign, the complex’s baroque extravaganzas clashed with the sense of aestheticism of Castiglione’s European contemporaries who, in the mist of a neoclassical revival, found it a degenerate, bastard construction, or a mere curiosity.32 Thus, at the very time when European princes were becoming fond of ‘chinoiseries’ and were giving up a formal style of landscaping for a more picturesque approach to garden making, the Chinese Emperor was borrowing from the European landscape vocabulary to build a little Versailles for his own enjoyment.33 The Emperor especially enjoyed this exotic imperial playground on moonlit nights, when he distracted himself by sitting in the marble pavilion at the centre of the ‘Ten-thousand Flower Maze’ and watched concubines and court ladies with lanterns in hand race through blind turnings and passages to reach him and obtain a special favour.

The Fall of Yuanmingyuan: 1860–1900 The ruins of the palace enables it to acquire the virtues of the cottage.34 Despite their undeniable beauty, the notoriety of the legendary gardens can be attributed as much to their mythical magnificence as to the way they were heartlessly destroyed less than a century after their completion. In a strange twist of fate, Europeans were to be involved in both the creation and destruction of the chimerical gardens. The conflict that would lead to the violent destruction of Yuanmingyuan arose at the closing of the Second Opium War (1856–1858) which centred around a series of disputes over trade, diplomacy and the question of foreign residence in China. The war was concluded in 1858 with the treaty of Tientsin (Tianjin) conceding demands for the opening of treaty ports and the right of diplomats to reside in Beijing. But the treaty’s enactment was compromised when, the following year, British and French delegates on their way to Beijing to exchange ratification papers were attacked by Chinese troops under the leadership of General Sengge Linqin. Determined to force the Chinese to comply with their treaty obligations, the allies returned in force in 1860. On September 18, 1860, the members of a delegation of French and British emissaries bringing a letter to the Qing court which acknowledged China’s earlier acceptance of the treaty conditions were captured by the Chinese. This incident served as a pretext for a new military campaign, and a British and French expedition was sent to Beijiing under the command of the English General Sir Hope

58 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Grant and the French General de Montauban. The French appointed Baron Gros as their ambassador and the English sent James Bruce, Eighth Earl of Elgin, as their representative. Lord Elgin – who was the son of the same Lord Elgin who had removed the famous statuary of the Parthenon’s frieze in the Acropolis (also known as the Elgin’s marbles) and brought it to England for ‘safekeeping’ in 1806 – was to play a central role in the looting and destruction of Yuanmingyuan.35 On October 5 1860, the French-Anglo troops occupied the town of Haidian in the northwestern suburbs of the capital, assuming that, at that time of year, the Emperor Xianfeng (reigned 1851–1861) would still be in residence at nearby Yuanmingyuan. On the night of October 6, the forces initiated a surprise attack on the gardens, only to find out that the Emperor and his court had just fled north to the imperial summer retreat at Jehol (Rehe). Upon entering the Emperor’s apartments that night, General de Montauban and his troops were bewildered by what they saw: One cannot describe what such apartments contained. Words lack to depict the material and artistic riches they held . . . It was a vision of the Thousand and One Nights, one such that no wild imagination could dream the tangible reality that stood before one’s eyes.36 It did not take long for the Allied troops to set about pillaging Yuanmingyuan. Charles Gordon, a young captain of the British Royal Engineers, gave this description of the looting: [We] went out, and, after pillaging it, burned the whole place, destroying, in a Vandal like manner most valuable property which would not be replaced for four millions. We got upwards of £48 a piece prize money before we went out here; and although I have not as much as many, I have done well. The people are civil, but I think the grandees hate us, as they must after what we did to the Palace . . . It was wretchedly demoralizing work for an army. Everybody was wild for plunder.37 The soldiery destroyed what they could not take with them. Statues in the temples were bayoneted in the search for the jewels they might contain. The best art works were first removed to be sent to England and France, the finest art objects being selected for Queen Victoria and Napoleon III. Among other things, Queen Victoria herself received a Pekinese dog, the first to be seen in the West, which she appropriately named ‘Looty’.38 Some of the loot was actually made of European artefacts that had previously been given to the Emperor by European monarchs.39 Gordon himself managed to take away one of the imperial thrones which he eventually donated to his regimental headquarters in Chatham, England where it still stands among other campaign trophies. Soldiers sold what they could not carry away with them to Beijing merchants against hard currency, in such quantity that it is said that the price of the piastre suddenly rose in Beijing40. In the decades following the looting of Yuanmingyuan, various precious objects

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 59 started showing up in Europe, at auctions, on the shelves of antique stores, and in the houses of the wealthy. The notoriety of the imperial gardens in Europe contributed to the popularity of objects known to come from Yuanmingyuan. For years thereafter art dealers in London and Paris were able to offer for sale unique curios, many of which ultimately found their way to the Louvre and the British Museum carrying the designation ‘From the Summer Palace of the Emperor of China’. The wave of Chinese objects which suddenly appeared in Europe contributed to the growth of a market for Chinese artifacts and prompted a frenzy over chinoiseries and oriental art in the second half of the nineteenth century.41 On October 8 1860, some of the foreign prisoners captured by the Chinese were set free but others including a London Times correspondent were killed. The torture and murder of British and French diplomats outraged the leaders of the foreign force who resolved not to let such barbarous treatment go unavenged. On October 18, the day after the funeral of the British prisoners, the younger Elgin ordered the foreign forces to set fire to Yuanmingyuan.42 An eye-witness, the Reverend R.J.L. McGhee, gives an account of the great fire and indiscriminate destruction which followed: Soon the wreath becomes a volume, a great black mass: out burst a hundred flames, the smoke obscures the sun; and temples, palaces, buildings and all, hallowed by age, if age can hallow, and by beauty, if it can make sacred, are swept to destruction . . . A pang of sorrow seizes on you . . . No eye will ever again gaze upon those buildings . . . records of by-gone skills and taste, of which the world contains not the like. You have seen them once and for ever . . . man cannot reproduce them.43 Eighty per cent of the buildings on site disappeared. The Chinese palaces, pavilions, and temples, which were primarily made of wood and constituted the major part of the complex, were almost entirely destroyed in the fire. All over Europe, intellectuals were outraged at the wanton destruction inflicted by Anglo-French troops. While exiled in England, Victor Hugo expressed his dismay at how the fabled summer palace, worthy of the Thousand and One Nights, was devastated by ‘two bandits’, one called France and the other one England. A strong defendant of historical preservation, Hugo condemned the actions led by two generations of Elgins: ‘What had been done to the Parthenon was done to the Summer Palace in a more complete and better way, so that nothing was left behind’.44 The French author deplored the removal of priceless works of art from their original settings, and raised questions about the legality of such plunder in land warfare. He prophesized that ‘a day will come when France, freed and cleansed, will send back such loot to a despoiled China’.45 Despite his good words, Hugo could not resist the temptation to get involved in the traffic of goods taken from Yuanmingyuan, and admits having purchased a quantity of Chinese silk wares from British officers.46 In response to the criticism at home, the French and British generals blamed

60 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing each other for the pillage and justified the subsequent destruction by claiming that their troops got out of hand.47 Officers on both sides also charged gangs of Chinese looters for part of the plunder at Yuanmingyuan. Lord Elgin however did not try to excuse the action of the troops, nor did he apologize for his order to burn the Summer Palace. He rather presented the destruction of the Emperor’s favorite residence as a solemn act of retribution, a quick and effective punishment which would long remain hurtful for the Emperor and his court. Elgin claimed he had wanted to inflict a blow to the Emperor’s pride but wished to avoid a punishment which would weigh on the Chinese people – although, as Malone remarked, they ultimately were to pay for his reprisal in other ways.48 Far from grateful to Lord Elgin for letting punishment fall exclusively on the Emperor, the Chinese people resented the loss of Yuanmingyuan as a national disgrace and supreme humiliation. The destruction of Yuanmingyuan soon became a symbol of the time of calamity for China that the nineteenth century had become. The action led by Lord Elgin was bitterly resented by the Chinese scholar class. Chinese intellectuals did not grieve for the loss of the Chinese pavilions and European palaces, viewed as the result of an excess of folly of the extravagant Emperor Qianlong. But they deplored the savage destruction of large art collections, of irreplaceable books and manuscripts, and of other cultural treasures. [The scholars] did not at all think it is a just retribution, but much to be deplored, and a national loss in respect of which they could not but sympathize with the Emperor; seeing that the articles destroyed had been collected since the days of the Ming dynasty . . . if the property has been quietly removed, and taken care of, it would not have been so bad, though not in possession of China, it would have still existed.49 At the time, neither Elgin nor anyone else in Europe understood that this act of destruction was to represent, for generations of Chinese to come, an unforgivable injustice and a gratuitous insult, unjustified in the light of the humiliations which were to follow. The proud Middle Kingdom would soon be demoted by the West to the status of a weak, backward, impoverished, semi-colonial country. For years to come, the ruins of Yuanmingyuan stood as the embodiment of China’s humiliation and a symbol of its colonization by imperialist powers. The destruction of Yuanmingyuan played a central role in the development of Chinese nationalism, and may have accelerated the fall of the Qing dynasty.50 The events of 1860 ended with the signature of the Convention of Peking and the ratification of the Treaty of Tientsin. Important commercial and territorial concessions were made to the British including a large payment in silver, the opening up of the Yangzi river ports to trade, the cession of the Kowloon peninsula to British Hong Kong, the freedom of missionary preaching in China and the legalization of the opium trade. In addition, Western nation-states were permitted to establish permanent diplomatic legations in the Qing capital where they could

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 61 station resident ministers to represent their interests. The subjugation of China was all but complete.

A Palace without a Soul The events of 1860 crudely damaged the Old Summer Palace. Foreign buildings, largely made of masonry, survived the fire better than their Chinese counterparts, which practically disappeared, and left imposing ruins on the site.51 The ruined palace retained its imperial status and was guarded by troops and eunuchs until the fall of the Qing. The imperial family made several attempts to rebuild the gardens. But scarce funds put a full-scale restoration out of the question and only a few sections of the old palace grounds underwent partial repairs52 (Figure 3.10). In 1900, Yuanmingyuan was further devastated during the Boxer Rebellion.53 Boxers and other looters broke into the gardens and pulled down the buildings that had been repaired after 1860 to steal the precious timber. The troops of the Allied Expedition force which had been dispatched to Beijing by Britain, the United States, Germany, France, Russia, Japan, Italy and Austria to relieve the siege of the Foreign Legations and to suppress the anti-imperialist rebellion, carefully removed whatever remained of artistic or monetary value, including bronze statues, stone carvings, and ceramic ornaments, to be sent abroad. After its second sacking Yuanmingyuan was gradually abandoned by the imperial family and the Qing government, leaving the door open for more pillage and depredation. The little that had been left untouched by previous onslaughts was gradually pilfered by neighbouring residents in search of recyclable building

Figure 3.10. Ruins of the Xieqiqu (Palace of the Delights of Harmony) as photographed a few years after its destruction. Much of the masonry parts of the structure are still standing, while the roofs, which rested on timber structures, disappeared in the fire.

62 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing materials. The first elements to disappear were bricks, an essential construction material in northern China. For years, Yuanmingyuan was used as a sort of quarry for rare ornamental taihu rocks, first for the rebuilding of the New Summer Palace (Yiheyuan) in the late 1880s, and later for sale in Beijing. The Republican government, which, after the fall of the Qing in 1912, would do little to protect the site, was itself engaged in the sale and distribution of stones and artefacts to different Beijing institutions.54 Cut stone and marble pieces, more difficult to reuse due to their heavy weight and their Occidental carving, were carted to the local kilns for their lime. Chinese warlords also took away some of the remaining large marble pieces to use in the construction of their mansions.55 In the early twentieth century, court eunuchs who had long served at the summer palace and who had remained in charge of the imperial property, started renting out sections of the vast abandoned area to farmers who began to flatten the landscape, clear the groves, and fill in canals and lakes to create cultivable land. Cultivation on the site appears to have started around 1910 and corn plantations are first visible on historical photographs in 1915.56 The ruins of the European palaces became a favoured picnic and riding spot for residents of the foreign legations, who enjoyed extracting souvenirs from the heaps of debris.57 In the early 1920s, British writer Juliet Bredon offers this description of what was then left of the Emperor’s pleasure houses: There is much magic in the stately remains of these buildings, forever defaced, and in their desecrated ruin, more affecting than the most perfect monuments. Here and there, marble columns still stand, while others lie prone in the long grass . . . Fragments of friezes and pediments block the handsome two-fold doorways . . . A lizard scurries into the shelter of a fountain half overgrown with weeds and tare. What a mournful scene – and how doubly pathetic are all things intended for pleasure when they fall to ruin! Justly our guide describes Yuanmingyuan as a ‘palace that has lost its soul’.58 By the 1940s, the famine that resulted from years of Japanese occupation forced farmers to turn Fuhai Lake into rice paddies. Photographs taken by Hedda Morrison between 1933 and 1946 testify that it took over eighty years for the destruction started by the French-Anglo troops to be complete, with most buildings razed to the ground.59 All that survived until the late twentieth century were the outline of some of the landscapes, delineated by ancient trees, ponds and canals. The only traces of buildings were fragments of stone façades, marble columns, and large stone carvings concentrated in the European section of the gardens (Figure 3.11). The abandoned imperial gardens became a pleasant venue for weekend outings and morning strolls for residents of the surrounding neighbourhood, including students and professors from nearby Tsinghua and Beijing Universities. The site was freely accessible and offered a placid and secluded environment for Chinese couples looking for a bit of privacy, a welcome alternative to the crowded Summer

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 63

Figure 3.11. Ruins of the great fountains in 1924.

Palace a few kilometres away. The fragments of marble façades, elaborate fountains, and broken columns, which emerged from the rice paddies and lay amid acres of weed on which sheep and goats gazed, had a certain romantic appeal for local residents, who could fancy themselves among the exotic Western antiquity. Many ordinary Chinese have romantic notions of ancient Western civilization, which

Figure 3.12. The ruins of Yuanmingyuan’s European palaces today.

64 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing explains the great popularity of ‘Roman/Greek columns’ as decorative elements in shop windows and interior décor. Yuanmingyuan ruins thus serve as a favourite background for romantic photographs or a day-dream about the leisurely life of the Emperor and his court (Figure 3.12). Today, the story of Yuanmingyuan and the fate it suffered at the hands of Western imperialists is known to every Chinese schoolchild. The demise of the old imperial summer palace is the topic of history lessons and serves as a major marker for conventional periodization of Chinese civilization in history textbooks. Every year, the anniversaries of the 1860 ransacking of Yuanmingyuan by French and British forces and the looting which followed the Boxer Rebellion of 1900, are highlighted by an official ceremony at the ruins and widely covered in the press. Yuanmingyuan now stands as a powerful symbol in the national consciousness as one of the most humiliating chapters of China’s modern history and a testimony to the weakness and corruption of China’s imperial government.

Embattled Revival: Ruins of Memory or Memory in Ruins? Yuanmingyuan’s Rebirth For the hundred years that followed the initial attack on Yuanmingyuan, the old imperial gardens slowly fell into oblivion. It would take the advent of the Communist government in the middle of the twentieth century for the memory of Yuanmingyuan to be revived. The national ‘rediscovery’ of Yuanmingyuan was not accidental but served a very specific function: to foster patriotism and reawaken anti-imperialist sentiments. The idea of restoring Yuanmingyuan as a national memorial to China’s plight at the hands of Western imperialists was first voiced by premier Zhou Enlai in 1951 in the midst of the Korean War – often referred to in China as the ‘Anti-American War’ – in the hope of attracting ‘volunteers’ to go and defend the nation from this new Western aggression.60 Limited funds did not allow for actual restoration work to be initiated, but the idea of Yuanmingyuan was effectively revived. During the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), Yuanmingyuan was subjected to a final onslaught, as municipal authorities allowed the establishment of work units, communal enterprises, small industries, and a military shooting range within the area of the old imperial palace. Ancient trees were cut down for building materials, old stones were dug up to build air-raid shelters, and a new wave of residents built their homes on the foundations of temples and imperial halls, further obliterating whatever traces of the former gardens had survived. By the mid-1970s, there were fifteen work units and 270 families clustered in twenty different villages within the limits of the old imperial gardens.

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 65 After the Cultural Revolution, plans for the renovation of Yuanmingyuan resurfaced. In 1977, the Yuanmingyuan administration – a managerial body meant to protect the surviving ruins and reforest the area – was formally established. Two years later, the Yuanmingyuan Historical Exhibition Center was inaugurated, thereby establishing the new educational vocation of the site to instruct Chinese school children and other visitors about the historical events that led to the gardens’ destruction. The initiation of the ‘Reforms and Opening’ in the early 1980s and widespread optimism about China’s new rise as a global superpower provided a political climate that was finally ripe for Yuanmingyuan’s rehabilitation. Even in this context, China’s past encounter with Western imperialism remained a sensitive issue and the question of how best to safeguard the old imperial gardens would long be the subject of polemic. On October 18, 1980, a symposium was held in Beijing to mark the 120th anniversary of the destruction of Yuanmingyuan. On this occasion, a petition bearing the names of over 1500 Chinese personalities including Soong Qingling, widow of Sun Yatsen, founder of modern China and father of the Chinese revolution, important state leaders, and prominent scholars was submitted to the central government to support the transformation of Yuanmingyuan into a national heritage park. Signatories of the petition argued that the creation of a park commemorating the national shame endured at the hands of foreign imperialists would add to the district’s vocation as a national centre for higher education while enriching Beijing’s park system, and relieving crowding at nearby tourist attractions. Less than two years later in June 1982, the Beijing city mayor officially uncovered a plan to restore Yuanmingyuan in gradual stages, contingent upon the availability of funds. District and municipal governments would provide partial financial assistance while the park administration would raise the bulk of the renovation budget through private investment and fund raising activities. By the end of 1984, restoration was finally underway. Over the next seven months, thirty million cubic metres of earth were dug up to recreate some of the lakes and hills. Bridges and roads were built, and grass and trees were planted. In June 1988, soon after its designation as a National Historical Relic, Yuanmingyuan – at least the portion around Fuhai and the ruins of the European palaces – was officially opened to the public. There, scattered ruin fragments had been gathered, cleaned, and skilfully rearranged into free-standing monuments and evocative landmarks for the tourists to see. Qianlong’s stone labyrinth was also rebuilt, in concrete, and rapidly became one of the park’s main attractions. But overall, early reconstruction efforts were dispersed and limited in scale. By the late 1990s, 140 of the 350 hectares of the park remained closed off from public access, awaiting the evacuation of residents and industries which still occupied the land.61

66 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

The Reconstruction Debate One of the main obstacles standing in the way of Yuanmingyuan’s prompt rehabilitation was the absence of a consensus over the appropriate restoration approach to adopt, and the question of whether Yuanmingyuan should or could be restored to its original state. Ever since its destruction at the hands of Lord Elgin’s troops, generations of Chinese historians had dreamt of rebuilding the fabled palace. Now that the opportunity was presented, opposing philosophies divided them over how best to make the past serve the present. Throughout the 1980s and early 1990s, a series of conferences brought together city officials, members of the State Bureau of Cultural Relics, Yuanmingyuan scholars and preservation experts agonizing over a plethora of schemes and uses for the ruins. But each of the more than eighty meetings held ended in a deadlock over the best approach to restoring Yuanmingyuan, with the lack of a consensus preventing the formulation of a clear rehabilitation plan. The main conflict was between proponents of Yuanmingyuan’s reconstruction, and those who believed the ruins should remain untouched. Reconstruction proponents – generally money-minded administrators, including park managers and district government officials responsible for the financial viability of the park – are eager to exploit the commercial potential of a wholesale reconstruction and believe that failing to restore the gardens would be missing a great economic opportunity. Frustrated by the lengthy debate over the fate of the old imperial gardens, these pragmatists are afraid of seeing Yuanmingyuan lose its share of the tourism market to better-known attractions and rapidly developing theme parks in the Beijing area. One ardent proponent of reconstruction was Beijing mayor, Chen Xitong. In 1994, ten years after the Beijing municipal government had vowed to complete the restoration of the gardens before 1997, Mayor Chen reiterated the city’s desire to rebuild Yuanmingyuan, but this time in a miniaturized form. A Hong Kong investor had proposed investing in the construction of a scaled down version of the former gardens in a section of the site so as to attract tourism and raise funds to help the future development of the park. Purist preservation activists virulently opposed such reconstruction, even in a miniaturized form, for fear that it would damage the original image of the garden. The Hong Kong investor eventually took his money out of the deal.62 In spite of this defeat, Chen’s government continued to advocate a total or at least partial reconstruction of the gardens. Reconstruction advocates are quick to point out the economic success of the ‘New’ Yuanmingyuan, a full size reconstruction of the Old Summer Palace at its zenith, built by the City of Zhuhai, Guangdong province, in southern China. Conveniently located halfway between Hong Kong and Macau on the west bank of

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 67 the Pearl river delta, the Zhuhai replica of Yuanmingyuan brought revenues of 160 million yuan ($20 million) in its first year of operation. The construction of another replica of Yuanmingyuan on a scale of 1:10 has reportedly been planned in the Miyun district of Beijing province, north of the capital.63 At a conference of the consultative committee of the Chinese Communist Party in March 1999, a group of forty-nine national consulting committee members headed by Ye Tingfang, a research fellow from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and including other well-known figures such as preservation activist Liang Congjie, submitted a motion opposing the reconstruction of Yuanmingyuan, in part or in its entirety. Reconstruction, they feared, would forever destroy the instructive value of the ruins and, as such, go against national legislation regarding the protection of historical relics. Such spurious reconstitution, they claimed, would ‘amount to nothing more than the creation of a pile of fake antiques’. The attitude of these reconstruction opponents was informed by worldwide trends which have, since the 1970s, discredited artificial reconstruction in favour of a more transparent approach to preservation.64 For these opponents to reconstruction, the main symbolic value of Yuanmingyuan lies not in the splendour of its architecture but in its destruction at the hands of foreign invaders. ‘Ruins have a stronger evocative power than false reconstruction as they leave room for imagination.’ Yuanmingyuan would act as a more persuasive testimony to the shame inflicted upon China by foreign imperialists, they claimed, if it remained in fragments rather than be turned into a Qing dynasty Disneyland. They demanded that the ruins be simply prevented from further deterioration and allowed to stand as a permanent memorial honoured by generations to come.65 Other scholars such as Tsinghua University professor Wang Guoyu present more practical arguments against wholesale reconstruction, including the lack of precise knowledge of the original gardens. Over the last century, scholars have toiled to piece together whatever material they could find to reconstitute the original blueprint of the gardens. In 1933, the Beijing Municipal Government Bureau of Engineering conducted a survey of the site which provides some clues as to location and layout of surviving portions of the garden. Written descriptions including poems, many written by the Qianlong Emperor himself, along with surviving copies of the famous Forty views of Yuanmingyuan, drawn in 1744 by court painters Shen Yuan and Tang Dai, as well as a series of twenty perspective engravings of the European Palaces made in 1786 by Chinese students of Father Castiglione, also provide some clues about the most famous landscapes and monuments of Yuanmingyuan.66 A recent anthology by He Zhongyi compiles all major original sceneries and landscape of the Old Summer Palace.67 Few of these documents constitute reliable sources on which an exact reconstitution of the old imperial gardens could be based. Even if detailed plans were found, scholars argue that it

68 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing would be technically impossible to achieve a level of craftsmanship equivalent to that of Qianlong’s palaces. Any reconstruction of the gardens would be an illusory enterprise and amount to no more than mere approximations. Ironically, opponents on both sides of the renovation debate actually advocate very similar historical manipulations. By supporting the reconstruction of the gardens as they were at the peak of their nineteenth century splendour, proponents of the renovation/restoration approach propose to freeze the site in an arbitrarily chosen historical moment which predates its destruction. Disciples of the preservation/conservation approach similarly advocate stopping Yuanmingyuan’s clock, this time in the present, by preventing the ruins from further deterioration through a selective consolidation of the remaining fragments. Despite their opposing positions with regards to the present use of the ruins, both visions ultimately represent a conscious manipulation of history, and arbitrarily determine what is worthy to be part of history and what is not.

Locating the Relics More obstacles still stand in the way of a quick resolution of the dilemma. One key problem with the transformation of Yuanmingyuan into a national heritage park is the relative scarcity of historical relics to put on display. The park administration possesses no actual collection, apart from a few low quality photographs and dusty models exhibited at the Historical Exhibition Center. Scholars argue that the reconstruction of even a handful of original buildings would be meaningless in the absence of antiques and works of art to furnish their interior. This observation has raised the delicate question of the repatriation of the large numbers of treasures that were disseminated following the looting of Yuanmingyuan. In recent years, Chinese scholars have multiplied efforts to locate some of the relics of Yuanmingyuan dispersed throughout China and around the world. Some large stone structures have been located in Beijing, scattered on different sites throughout the city. For example, several marble columns removed from Yuanmingyuan in 1904 were found in the courtyard of the old Beijing Library. The Eight Pillars of the Orchid Pavilion now stand in Zhongshan park near the Forbidden City. The two stone lions which used to guard one of the main gates of Yuanmingyuan are now on the campus of Tsinghua University.68 Procedures have been initiated to bring some of these relics back to Yuanmingyuan. Already in 1977 a finely carved five-part stone screen wall, two white marble pyramidal fountains, stone tablets, and two huabiao (ornamental marble columns) which had been moved from Yuanmingyuan to the Langrun garden of Peking University in the 1920s, were returned to their original location.69 In the late 1970s, Chinese researchers began the monumental task of making

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 69 an inventory of Yuanmingyuan relics now disseminated outside China. After international travel resumed in 1979, leading Chinese historians, archaeologists and antique experts started travelling overseas to locate some of the looted relics in leading museums, libraries, and private collections. Chinese experts believe that about one million artefacts are stored in more than two-hundred museums in forty-seven countries. For example, the originals of the famous Forty views of Yuanmingyuan drawn by Qing dynasty imperial artists have been kept at the Paris National Library since 1862. The only ‘complete panorama’ of the imperial retreat is also found in a private museum in Paris. The Chinese Hall of the British Museum displays porcelain, goldwares, jadeware and other treasures which are known to come from Yuanmingyuan.70 The main difficulty in reclaiming such objects is the lack of written records documenting what British and French troops took away. Nonetheless, it is widely understood that much of the Chinese collections of major European and North American museums are composed of objects removed from Yuanmingyuan during the events of 1860. In many cases, the treasures themselves reveal their origins. For example, there is strong evidence that most of the exhibits at the Chinese Museum of the Château de Fontainebleau – an imperial retreat 70 kilometres south-east of Paris – came from Yuanmingyuan. The Chinese Museum was created in 1863 by the Empress Eugénie, wife of Napoleon III. Over four hundred of the objects which constitute the collection – including furniture, screens, palatial fans, candelabrum, and other precious objects and works of art – were apparently brought back from the China Campaign of 1860 by General de Montauban’s army. Many objects carry proof that they were removed from Yuanmingyuan: the fine brushwork Buddha which adorns the ceiling of the Chinese museum at Fontainebleau clearly bears the seal of the Emperor Qianlong. The ornate bronze crowns displayed inside two cases within the collection are identical to those worn by the Qing Emperors in the summer. Elsewhere, a screen bears a written description of Qianlong’s sixtieth birthday.71 Another European collection which appears to be almost entirely constituted of objects from Yuanmingyuan is found at the West Norway Museum of Decorative Arts (Vestlandske Kunstindustri Museum) in Bergen, Norway. The collection was assembled by a Norwegian civil servant Johan Wilhelm Normann Munthe (1864–1935) (known in Chinese as Mengci) who spent fifty years in China at the end of the nineteenth and early twentieth century. While working as a customs agent and serving as Yuan Shikai’s private riding instructor, he spent most of his savings purchasing Chinese art and antiques. From 1907 until his death nearly thirty years later, he assembled a collection of over 2,500 pieces, including jade, bronze, and earthware, as well as paintings and silkworks which he donated to the Bergen museum. One of the most spectacular sections of the exhibit is found in

70 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the ‘Yuanmingyuan Hall’ of the gallery, and features stone carvings from the old imperial palaces, including broken balusters and marble statues. Distressed to see their cultural heritage dispersed throughout the world, and outraged at having to travel abroad to be able to study their own culture, Chinese intellectuals pleaded for China to regain possession of these national treasures. However, they soon realized that cultural property repatriation is a highly political endeavour, which entails lengthy diplomatic procedures.72 As China is slowly rebuilding diplomatic relations with foreign nations, it is highly unlikely that the leadership will undertake negotiations which may threaten the fragile political ties they recently re-established. ‘Not until China becomes a powerful nation again’, one university professor told me, ‘can we dream of regaining possession of our cultural heritage.’ He cites the example of Russia which has already returned a series of objects to China as a sign of friendship and good faith.73

The Relocation Dilemma Another major obstacle to Yuanmingyuan’s reconstruction is the enduring presence of diverse institutions and industries within the premises of the old imperial gardens, including the Beijing 101 Middle School and the Great Wall Boiler Factory. Their displacement has been impeded by the unresolved question of who would bear the cost of their relocation. The scale and nature of these institutions to be displaced also complicates the issue. The Beijing 101 Middle School was created in 1946 in Yan’an, the Wartime Revolutionary Base of Chairman Mao and Chinese Communist Party (CCP) headquarters, for the children of high ranking communist revolutionaries. The school followed the path of communist liberation in Northern China, until it was established permanently at Yuanmingyuan in 1950 after the revolution, under the recommendation of Premier Zhou Enlai. There it continued to serve a student population composed mainly of children of military personnel, CCP cadres, and the orphans of revolutionary martyrs.74 The school’s revolutionary background makes its demolition a highly political issue. When rumours of the school’s possible relocation were first heard in the early 1980s, a wave of indignation spread among students, staff members, and all those who had long been involved with the school and its development. While school authorities reluctantly admitted that it would be better for the common good to vacate the site and allow for the reconstruction of Yuanmingyuan, they also recognized that the relocation of such a large school – with its three thousand students and two hundred faculty – would represent a difficult and costly enterprise. To find a comparatively large site, they claimed, the school would have to move beyond the fourth ring road in the far suburbs, where the population is not

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 71 sufficient to support such a sizable institution. By the end of the 1990s, relocation rumours had died down, and new investments in improving school facilities betrayed the administration’s confidence in being able to stay. Another large institution said to pose one of the greatest challenges to the rehabilitation of the old imperial gardens is the Beijing Great Wall Boiler Factory. In 1973, in the midst of the Cultural Revolution, the Haidian District authorities in charge of managing Yuanmingyuan leased the compound of the Zhengyue Temple – an eighteenth-century Lama Buddhist shrine – to the factory. At the time, little regard was given to historical relics and the factory was allowed to cut down ancient trees, erect new structures and use old ones for production purposes. Having suffered from over twenty-five years of exposure to the vibrations of the factory machines, the temple is now in an advanced state of disrepair. Although the factory agreed to comply with the removal order, the Haidian District government and State Cultural Relics Bureau have yet to provide the funds necessary for the relocation of the entire factory, estimated at fifty million yuan (US$6 million). In the meantime, a high wall has been erected to keep the factory out of the sight of Yuanmingyuan visitors75 (Figure 3.13).

The Citizens of Yuanmingyuan By far the most problematic issue for the restoration of the Old Summer Palace has been the relocation of the families who live within its premises. For most Chinese, Yuanmingyuan belongs to the past: it stands as a symbol of by-gone imperial grandeur, and as a reminder of the nation’s tragic history. But for at least 1500 people, Yuanmingyuan belongs to the present, the mundane, and the everyday. It has been for years, even decades, the place they have called home. However, this contemporary reality has been denied recognition by nearly all those involved in

Figure 3.13. The Great Wall Boiler factory encroaches upon part of the Zhengyue Temple.

72 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing determining the fate of the old imperial grounds. If there is a single issue which partisans of both sides of the reconstruction debate unanimously agree upon, it is the need to clear the site from its contemporary use and move people out of Yuanmingyuan. They show no remorse in erasing the traces that were left, and that are still being produced, by those who have inhabited Yuanmingyuan over the last 150 years. According to most historical accounts, Yuanmingyuan remained abandoned for a century following its demise. Left out of history books and tour guide descriptions are those who succeeded the Emperors and palace eunuchs in occupying the site. As early as 1900, peasants started moving onto this prime piece of land. They gradually flattened artificial hills and filled up the lakes to put it to a more productive use, thereby restoring the landscape to its original state. After nearly a century of quiet occupation, the forgotten tenants of Yuanmingyuan have recently been brought into the spotlight. They are now referred to as the main ‘problem’ standing in the way of the legendary garden’s return to glory. The question of how to deal with their presence at Yuanmingyuan has revealed one of the central ethical problems which have long characterized the practice of historic preservation worldwide but which are rarely addressed in preservation debates. Approaches to preservation have long rested on important class biases – where preservation means protecting the physical remains of a small section of society, among which the landscapes of the poor are rarely deemed worth preserving – and an obsession with the past, whose idealization often justifies sacrificing the present.76 This means that while some park residents may have lived at Yuanmingyuan longer than any Emperor ever did, their mundane occupation of the land is deemed of no value to the nation and offers nothing worth preserving. Not only has their past been forgotten, their present – as well as their future – is also widely ignored. Denied a role in the history of the site, these forgotten citizens are refused a voice in its present transformation, and will thus be readily sacrificed for the sake of an imperial past which, ironically, has itself long been discredited. Many of these ‘problem’ families have deep roots at Yuanmingyuan. Mr. Li, who owns a courtyard house at the very heart of the gardens, claims that his family’s presence at Yuanmingyuan goes back to the late nineteenth century. Two of his uncles worked at Yuanmingyuan under the Qing dynasty. One was a high official in the palace administration, and the other was a leading eunuch called Li Hexin. Mr. Li came from Hebei province in the late 1930s and settled on this piece of land secured for the family by his uncles after the fall of the Qing. Four generations of Li comprising ten nuclear families presently share this compound, a typical Beijing farm house. Spare rooms are also rented out to outsiders to raise a little income (Figure 3.14). For most of his life, Mr. Li farmed the land and raised fish in the ponds

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 73

Figure 3.14. Mr. Li (third from left) and his grandchildren in his courtyard at Yuanmingyuan.

surrounding his house. In 1990, the Yuanmingyuan administration confiscated his land and, like other residents, he became a park employee, working on the restoration project until his recent retirement.77 In common with other park residents, Mr. Li is allowed to continue living in his house until replacement accommodation is provided outside Yuanmingyuan. Mr. Li is strongly attached to this house which he built with his own hands. He fears that apartment living which, with all the added maintenance and management costs, would be very expensive – and would exceed his meagre 200 yuan (US$25) pension. When asked about the prospect of relocation, Mr. Li answers with a question: ‘Who would like to move out of a place like this?’ Mr. Li’s twenty-six year old grandson, who works as a doorman at the Olympic Hotel near the city centre, does not have the same nostalgic attachment to the place as his grandfather. But he enjoys the convenience of living here in the park. ‘We have a lot of freedom here. I don’t want to be confined to a small apartment in a tall building.’ For nearly ten years, the citizens of Yuanmingyuan have been living in limbo. Every year, they hear rumours about their imminent relocation, but they have yet to see them materialize. In the meantime, their living conditions are rapidly deteriorating. ‘Why invest in home improvement when your house may be torn down the next month?’ When their land was confiscated in 1990, people were promised new housing and stable jobs. Now they feel they have been cheated by the Haidian District government which oversees the Yuanmingyuan administration. ‘We pay taxes and fees every year to the district government, but when we complain about sewerage or garbage problems, we are easily forgotten.’ Some of the roads leading to communities within the park are so poor that emergency vehicles would be unable to access them in the event of a fire or a medical emergency. Garbage collection is similarly hampered and refuse is piling up all over the imperial ruins.

74 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing No one can tell how much longer this situation will last. The truth is that the park administration does not have the 100 million yuan (US$12 million) necessary for the removal and rehousing of all 615 households.78 Some residents have more noble reasons to wish for relocation, and see their departure as a patriotic gesture of self-sacrifice. A young boat attendant near Fuhai lake condemns those who oppose relocation for selfish reasons – for simple questions of convenience or for fear of losing the income they get from renting out spare rooms to migrants, which will no longer be possible when they move to an apartment. She makes her point by using the official rhetoric. ‘Personal interest should not stand in the way of the common good.’ Despite the fact that both her parents and grandparents have spent their entire lives at Yuanmingyuan, she claims that by continuing to live inside Yuanmingyuan, people spoil the park’s beauty and hinder its transformation into a national monument. Having been involved in the restoration of the gardens since the beginning, she has an almost proprietary interest in the success of the new park. She also views the fate of the old imperial garden as very much tied to that of the nation: she wants to see Yuanmingyuan rise from its rubble so that China too can rise and prosper.

A Qing Dynasty Disneyworld One last, more pragmatic obstacle to Yuanmingyuan’s reconstruction is the lack of sufficient funds to carry out restoration work. In the 1970s, the Haidian District government appointed the Yuanmingyuan administration to manage the gardens and ensure their economic viability. In the absence of large state subsidy, the administration was forced to run Yuanmingyuan as a profitable business, constantly seeking new ways to attract visitors and make the park self-sufficient. Over the years, park authorities have engaged in a series of income generating activities which have gradually encroached upon the park’s territory. For example, the park administration has been running a landscaping company, growing fruit, timber, and flowers in remote sections of Yuanmingyuan and selling them on the open market. Park authorities also built a series of single-storey buildings along the edge of the park which are rented out to private businesses as office space. The Yuanmingyuan administration has also started leasing large parcels of land to private commercial enterprises. In 1988, a private company leased the area directly east of the main entrance and built the Wanchuanyuan Villas, a complex of luxury courtyard houses for wealthy foreigners and high level cadres. Similarly, in the mid-1990s, the Hong Kong China Travel Agency paid 90 million yuan (nearly $10 million) for a forty-year lease on a 200 hectare piece land in the western section of the old imperial gardens to build a vacation resort. Such practices have outraged Yuanmingyuan residents and other enterprises who are themselves threatened

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 75 by eviction. They argue that if the restoration of Yuanmingyuan requires their departure, then newcomers should also have to go.79 By far the most controversial income-generating activity sponsored by the administration has been the opening up of newly restored sections of the park to commercial activities and theme entertainment. While intellectuals continue fighting over the best way to renovate Yuanmingyuan, the park administration has been busy turning the old imperial grounds into a Chinese Disneyworld. Throughout the park, private entrepreneurs have rented out space to run commercial franchises and provide services to tourists. Several islands dotting the ponds have been turned into small theme parks, including the ‘Children’s Amusement Park’ with mechanical animal rides and carnival games; the ‘Totem Island’ with its collection of tribal wooden sculptures from all over the world; the ‘Peace Island’ covered with white doves; and the euphemistic ‘Magical Island Animal Paradise’, a miniature zoo with deer, ostriches and a handful of farm animals. For a fee, visitors can also ride through Yuanmingyuan in horse drawn carriages, fish in the imperial lakes, use a foot-powered monorail, or have their visit videotaped. Food kiosks, photo stands, and trinket sellers are also dispersed throughout the park to serve visitors80 (Figures 3.15 and 3.16).

Figure 3.15. The children’s amusement park inside Yuanmingyuan.

Figure 3.16. Duck and dragon-shaped pedal boats and row boats are rented out to park visitors by the Yuanminyuan administration as a tourist attraction and income generating activity.

76 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing The Yuanmingyuan administration has itself become involved in the entertainment business. The administration recently purchased one hundred dragon- and duck-shaped pedal boats which visitors take out on the park’s numerous channels and lakes. The administration also sells motorized boat rides on the famous Fuhai lake. Even parts of the old European palaces have become part of the entertainment business. Visitors now pay an additional fee to visit the newly restored Ten-thousand Flower Maze and play ‘hide and seek’ in the Emperor’s former personal playground. Of course, this manufacturing of heritage for commercial consumption is not unique to Yuanmingyuan. With the affluence of a now hegemonic consumer culture and the growth of tourism as one of the leading industries worldwide, the commercialization of preservation has become a global phenomenon. Historical tourism has become big business, turning sites of historical memory into magnets for leisure. As a result, those who design commemorative sites and historic monuments are caught between the desire to educate and the need to entertain. They cannot ignore the tastes of mass culture, even if the banal treatment of historic sites, pandering to the consumer, often leads to the ‘Disneyfication’ of heritage and its transformation into sentimental kitsch for the amusement of metropolitan consumers.81 In this context, preservationists have had to juggle the demands of the tourist industry and the goals of local governments, and make difficult compromises between high purpose and low commerce, and between education and entertainment.

Clashing Uses, Conflicting Views Patriotism and Myth Construction Obviously, such commercial exploitation of the Old Summer Palace clashes with the more contemplative and memorial function of the site promoted by the state. Since its reopening to the public, the central government has exploited the story of Yuanmingyuan as a powerful propaganda tool in patriotic construction and a central figure in nationalist mythology. It has turned Yuanmingyuan into an important space for national representation, and a privileged site for holding political rituals and ceremonies with a patriotic flavour. For example, on the occasion of the 1990 Asian Games, the ceremony for the exchange of the Games torch was held at Yuanmingyuan, with the ruins serving as the backdrop for a grandiose light-andsound spectacle. In July 1997, the celebrations commemorating the handover of Hong Kong were also held at Yuanmingyuan, a site whose historical encounter with Western imperialism was judged most appropriate to celebrate the end of British rule over Chinese territory. Special ceremonies were also held at Yuanmingyuan

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 77 for the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the People’s Republic on October 1 1999, and on December 20 1999 to welcome Macau’s return under the Chinese flag82 (Figure 3.17). The national rediscovery of Yuanmingyuan and its dedication as a key monument in national mythology coincided with the important patriotic revival of the post-Tiananmen era. Since the early 1990s, Yuanmingyuan has become a fundamental instrument in fostering national sentiments, especially through patriotic education of the young. Everyday, busloads of school children are brought from all over China – and occasionally Hong Kong and Taiwan – to contemplate the ruins and learn about the evils of imperialism. For the 130th anniversary of the burning of Yuanmingyuan in October 1990, hundreds of Young Pioneers and Youth League members attended a ceremony to commemorate the events and heard a lecture on patriotism in front of the European ruins83 (Figure 3.18). Throughout their visit to Yuanmingyuan, people encounter plaques and boards bearing diverse patriotic messages and appealing to their national consciousness. Even before entering the site, tourists can read on the back of their admission

Figure 3.17. Images of Yuanmingyuan are widely used for patriotic education purposes. This advertising billboard paid for by the office of the Capital Spiritual Civilization Propaganda administration shows school children contemplating the ruins of Yuanmingyuan and reads ‘Love Beijing, Love the Motherland’.

Figure 3.18. This May 5 1999 front page of the Beijing Youth Daily displays the photograph of a ‘coming of age’ ceremony held for Beijing youth at Yuanmingyuan.

78 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing ticket: ‘Visit Yuanmingyuan and realize your dream to make the Motherland ever stronger’. Immediately inside the main gate, visitors are faced with a bronze plate engraved with iconic national symbols: the national flag, the Chinese coat of arms, the music score of the national anthem, and the text of the national constitution. Near the entrance to the ruins of the European Palaces stands the Uneven Treaty Wall which bears a series of plaques engraved with the text of every treaty China was forced to sign with European nations between 1840 and 1940. The introduction panel, signed by the chairman of the Chinese History Institute, reads: China’s recent history is tragic. Since 1840, and for one hundred years, foreign countries have, through military force, compelled the Chinese government to sign a series of uneven treaties which granted them Chinese land, monetary payments, the control of Chinese sea gates, the construction of banks and factories, and the establishment of permanent concessions on Chinese soil. These foreign powers have granted themselves rights over our land and people, levied taxes, monopolized railroad construction and mining rights, while competing among themselves for such privileges. By forcing the Chinese government to sign such treaties, they have turned China into their dependent and made the Chinese people suffer. These treaties are testimonies to China’s sad history and illustrate its fate at the hands of foreign invading forces. During the last seventy years, under the leadership of the Party, we have fought for fairness and independence. At last in 1949, New China was established. We must never forget our history, it will be the guide to our future. Let us remember the past, remember the pain, remember history, and pull our hearts together to build our China, spread the love of our country to make it strong, and build a new nation with Chinese characteristics.84 To educate people further on the tragic history of the gardens, a patriotic propaganda film entitled ‘The Vicissitudes of Yuanmingyuan’, which traces the history of China’s suffering at the hands of foreign imperialists, is shown at the visitor centre.

Controversial Commercialization In this context, it is not surprising that the commercial exploitation of the Old Summer Palace has been heavily criticized, especially by the intellectual community. Chinese scholars claim that entertainment activities clash with the park’s memorial role and should not be allowed to coexist with the ruins. Commercial transactions trivialize the site’s heritage value and belittle the past grandeur of Yuanmingyuan, thereby obfuscating the park’s historical message and the significance of its downfall. As a result, critics claim, Yuanmingyuan has become a site of consumption rather than reflection, where ruins and landscapes compete for people’s attention with papier maché animals, trinket vendors, and carnival stands. The debate over the proper use of the ruins has reawakened an old class war which had long opposed idealistic scholars and pragmatic bureaucrats, a conflict that decades of communism has failed to eradicate. Members of the academic elite

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 79 deplore the vulgar and ostentatious quality of Yuanmingyuan’s commercialization, which they blame on the park administration’s lack of refinement. Most cannot hide their contempt for the ‘illiterate peasants’ who have been put in charge of managing the historic gardens.85 Intellectuals deeply resent the way the administration has repeatedly ignored the recommendations of an academic advisory committee established to oversee restoration work and advise on the protection of the park’s cultural heritage. ‘Yuanmingyuan was planned and built by Emperors who were themselves accomplished scholars. It was designed with such discernment that any attempt at its reconstitution should be led by historians, architects, and restoration experts, not incompetent farmers,’ said one architecture professor in a personal interview. Academics also condemn the administration’s choice of income generating activities, and its attempt to capitalize on the growing popularity of theme parks – triggered by a rise in discretionary income and leisure time over recent decades – to attract people to Yuanmingyuan. The administration’s efforts to cater to the masses’ taste for thematic entertainment have been denigrated by intellectuals for lacking in cultural sophistication. By squarely dismissing such popular forms of entertainment, intellectuals betray an elitist belief in their own cultural superiority over the uncivilized Chinese masses. ‘With all these flashy, low quality decorations,’ asks a Tsinghua University professor, ‘how is the people’s level of cultural sophistication ever going to be raised?’ Another professor uses a biting riddle to deride the plastic flowers and gaudy neo-Qing pavilions and bridges put up by the administration: ‘Hua bu shi hua, qiao bu shi qiao, shu bu shi shu, cao bu shi cao’ (The flowers are not real flowers, the bridges are not real bridges, the trees are not real trees and the grass is not real either).86 While criticism is not entirely unfounded – the park administration is notorious for poor planning and mismanagement, which have resulted in important waste and misuse of valuable funds – much denunciation has also been self-serving.87 The intellectual community, especially scholars from nearby Beijing and Tsinghua universities, deeply resent the recent formalization of the old imperial gardens. Many local residents and university professors had a proprietary interest in the park, which they had long appropriated as their own personal backyard. After the administration built a wall around the park and began charging an admission fee, many old-time regulars decided to boycott the park, unable to bare the sight of how this quiet abandoned space has been turned into a fair ground. Contemporary debates over the proper uses of the garden – whether as a site of consumption, production, or contemplation – are filled with ironies and contradictions. For example, most scholars fail to see that contemporary uses of the park for leisure and entertainment are actually closer to Yuanmingyuan’s original function as an imperial pleasure ground than other so-called ‘more noble’,

80 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing contemplative uses proposed by preservationists and purist intellectuals. Similarly, recent research has demonstrated that the conflict between the production and consumption functions of the garden has long been a central feature of the Chinese practice of garden making. Craig Clunas, in his attempt to revise Orientalist constructions of the Chinese garden as an excessively aesthecized object of contemplation, demonstrates how the early urban gardens of fifteenth century Suzhou contained miniature rice fields, orchards, valuable timber, fish ponds, and vegetable gardens. This productive function was gradually eroded until, by the late Ming dynasty, gardens had become sites of luxury consumption – clearly differentiated from agricultural and horticultural gardens by exotic plants, rare stones and valuable ornaments – and were used by the elite as objects of class distinction.88 Incidentally, during the Communist era, the productive function of the garden regained prevalence, and urban parks were designed as self-sustaining gardens, growing flowers, fruit and timber for economic purposes.89

Official Exploitation and Selective Memory Despite the huge criticism of the administration’s commercialization of Yuanmingyuan, few observers have objected to the state’s exploitation of the ruins for patriotic purposes. Seldom disputed are the selective version of history and the single stranded, goal-oriented story told by the plaques, films, museum exhibits and books displayed at Yuanmingyuan. The lack of precise historical knowledge of the imperial gardens and the popular mythology that has long surrounded their history provided the leadership with great flexibility in its interpretation of the ruins and their manipulation for patriotic construction. By describing the past beauty of the forsaken gardens in superlative terms and focusing on the single moment of their barbaric destruction at the hands of Western aggressors, scholars, park authorities, and official accounts of Yuanmingyuan all contribute to the crystallization of the myth in the popular conscious.90 Historical omission and oversimplification prevent a critical examination of the vanity, exploitation, and corruption which guided the construction of the imperial gardens. Stories of the extravagant lifestyle of the Qianlong Emperor and his abuse of public funds for his and his court’s sole entertainment are conspicuously absent from most accounts and displays. Similarly omitted are the looting and destruction carried out by the local population after the departure of foreign forces. Accounts of Yuanmingyuan’s downfall depict the barbarous actions posed by foreign troops in great detail but are more evasive when mentioning the way Beijing residents took revenge upon the oppressive imperial regime. There is clear evidence that much damage was inflicted by local looters, and that a profitable local industry developed around the demise of Yuanmingyuan, making the fortune of local antique dealers.

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 81 Another example of selective memory found in most official accounts of Yuanmingyuan’s history concerns the contribution of foreign researchers to the reconstitution of some of the ruins. In the late 1980s, a French consortium of historians and architects carried out important research which helped the reconstruction of the Ten-thousand Flower Maze in the European section. According to these researchers, in the early 1980s, Chinese authorities invited the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs to send scholars to Yuanmingyuan and help carry out preliminary studies for the restoration of the European palaces. A team of French specialists in Chinese and baroque art conducted research and formulated a proposal for the revitalization of the ruins, accompanied by a 1/500 scale reconstitution model.91 But nowhere at Yuanmingyuan is this presumed French collaboration ever acknowledged – a sadly missed opportunity for reconciliation – whereas all involvement by local institutions is carefully listed.92 Park administrators and members of the Consultative Committee on Yuanmingyuan deny knowledge of any foreign contribution to reconstruction. Some even suggest that such assertions were mere fabrications, used as propaganda tools by the French government to show a good face in their negotiations with China which was seeking to reclaim some of the ancient objects looted from Yuanmingyuan.93 While serving the nationalist cause and promoting unbounded love for the motherland, this single-stranded interpretation of the history of Yuanmingyuan presents a clear danger by encouraging xenophobic feelings among park visitors. Despite signs near the entrance reassuring foreign visitors that they ‘are welcome’, there is a strong anti-foreign undertone to the exhibits, and visitors of European origin are made to feel a certain uneasiness at being associated with the ‘evil imperialists’ vividly denounced throughout the park. In a survey of fifty-eight Tsinghua University students conducted in April 1998, more than half of those who had visited Yuanmingyuan admitted that the visit had a negative effect on their perception of Europeans.94 Such selective memory is nothing new in the construction of lieux de mémoire and their exploitation for nation building purposes. The ongoing reconstruction of Yuanmingyuan demonstrates the centrality of the idea of China as nation and the importance of the collective ‘us’ which had been humiliated by the barbaric ‘them’. By evoking the fate of a weak, corrupt, and divided China when dealing with foreign world powers, Yuanmingyuan plays an important political role in China’s quest to reassert itself as a powerful nation on the world stage. However, in their haste to claim Yuanmingyuan as a tangible emblem of the national humiliations suffered at the hands of foreign imperialists, government leaders overlook the fact that, in their glorious past, the gardens were themselves foreign to most Chinese. Built by Qing Emperors – who, due to their Manchu origins, were seen as foreign invaders by the local population – and closed from access to all but the most

82 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing privileged members of the court, Yuanmingyuan holds a questionable pedigree as a symbol of China’s collective identity. The state’s willingness to forgive imperial abuses and romanticize the imperial past departs from previous practices of denouncing imperial history to build allegiance to the ideals of the communist regime. But in the context of the crisis of confidence faced by the Party in the aftermath of Tiananmen, a desperate need to rally people to the national cause, under the flag of the ‘great Chinese civilization’, has forced the state to reverse its stand on Chinese history. The Party’s ideological exploitation of spatially embedded memory at Yuanmingyuan is a clear attempt to rescue the state’s legitimacy and its own survival. By fostering animosity towards ‘the West’, the Chinese leadership attempts to foster national unity while slowing the Chinese infatuation with Western goods and ideas, including democracy. Yuanmingyuan is put at the service of national propaganda to keep the memory of ‘barbarian invasions’ and ‘uneven treaties’ alive, thereby reawakening sentiments of collective shame, disgrace, and humiliation. The state is thus promoting antiforeign sentiment to protect China from a new Western invasion, that of cultural imperialism, which is threatening not only the cultural identity of the Chinese people, but the political legitimacy of the Party as well. There remains, however, a certain irony in the government’s urgency to rebuild Yuanmingyuan, at a time when so much of old Beijing is being destroyed by the pressure of global economic forces. State efforts to regain popular allegiance and promote patriotic construction through the construction of a lieu de mémoire involving the tearing down of people’s houses are also contradictory. By insisting that traces of contemporary occupation of the site be erased, the state denies the equal validity of different layers of historical time, and implies that the imprints left by the Emperor and his entourage are more valuable to the nation than those of the ordinary Chinese citizens who lived at Yuanmingyuan. In other words, in the eye of the state, the cultural landscapes of ordinary people are not worthy of preservation, and can be erased from national history. Nonetheless, a few scholars have condemned the state’s selective exploitation of memory for patriotic propaganda that fuels hatred for the West. These scholars deplore the fact that current exhibits do not teach the lessons of history but rather promote xenophobia, at a time when China is striving to forge new global alliances. One Tsinghua University professor suggests that Yuanmingyuan would serve a more useful purpose as a memorial denouncing the evils of imperialism throughout world history, rather than focusing exclusively on China’s experience of colonialism. She wished Yuanmingyuan were used to condemn all forms of oppression, foster international exchange, and encourage mutual understanding among peoples.95 This more universal interpretation of the ruins would surely be welcomed by many members of Chinese society, especially ethnic minorities whose

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 83 experience of imperialism has long been – and remains in many cases – at the hands of the Han majority.

Popular Interpretations of the Ruins However, the greatest resistance to the state’s narrow reading of the ruins comes from the general public. There appears to be a much greater willingness on the part of the population to forget and forgive the misfortunes of the past, and to embrace fully global consumer culture, whose hegemony is threatening that of the Chinese state.96 The public is resisting the state’s biased interpretation, which it replaces by a more flexible, sentimental one. Many of the visitors I interviewed were less interested in Yuanmingyuan’s patriotic significance than in their own imagined romantic associations of the ruins, and the emotional sensations their sinister and violated appearance conveys. In other words, they were less concerned with the cause of the destruction than with the traces that it left behind.97 Ruins appeal to people because they provide a reassuring sense of continuity, durability and identity, especially for those whose points of reference elsewhere have been altered beyond recognition. At the same time, the obvious frailty and precariousness of the ruins also remind people of their own historical vulnerability.98 Members of the public do not necessarily see a contradiction in the park being used for both political and entertainment functions. These were, after all, the original functions of the gardens. The masses actually seem to understand better than anyone the historical meaning of Yuanmingyuan. They bring its history alive by making full use of its facilities for their own hedonistic enjoyment, much as the Qianlong Emperor used to do, albeit in a much less exclusive environment. While primarily attracted by the entertainment aspect of Yuanmingyuan, most visitors do spend time touring the ruins, usually taking numerous photographs amid the famous stones. Obviously moved by the historical descriptions inscribed on plaques throughout the ruins, they have, however, little use for ruminating events from the past. The official interpretation of the ruins as symbols of past humiliations and memorials to patriotism carries only a momentary appeal. At best, the tragic history of the site lends Yuanmingyuan prestige as an excursion destination. Much stronger is the romantic appeal of the site, whose tragic history has endowed the ruins with a poetic aura that other famous tourist attractions of the capital lack. More than nostalgia for a bygone era, the seductiveness of the ruins rests in their exoticism, both as historical relics and foreign objects, which connects them in both time and space to far away landscapes. Such preference for the ruins’ romantic appeal over their patriotic value is also a way for the Chinese public symbolically to rework official reading of the site by subverting its ascribed meaning to fit their own purpose.99

84 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Every Sunday, visitors, mainly from China’s emerging middle class, flock to the park despite the relatively high entrance fee, not to revel in the vicissitudes of the past but to enjoy a pleasant, unpolluted public space. They come to entertain themselves, and more specifically to participate in one of the nation’s favourite past-times: kan renao, observing society’s spectacle; to see and be seen. These weekend outings have become the occasion to display one’s participation in the new consumer society. People come dressed to the nines – women often sporting fancy dresses and high heels – to show off their new found wealth. A visit to Yuanmingyuan can rapidly become an escalation in conspicuous consumption: children are treated to rides, food, balloons, and other material goods for sale at Yuanmingyuan, while adults indulge in the many paying attractions offered. It will therefore take more than a few plaques and exhibits to divert popular attention from hedonistic consumption and to promote state-sanctioned reminiscing and patriotic education.

Yuanmingyuan: An Epilogue The fate of Yuanmingyuan became once again the centre of public discussion in April and May 2000 when several relics thought to originate from the Old Summer Palace were auctioned by Sotheby’s and Christie’s in Hong Kong. The pieces put up for sale included a seventeenth-century porcelain vase and three bronze animal heads thought to have been part of the spectacular horological fountain devised by Castiglione and Benoist around 1744 and which featured the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac. The three sculptures, stolen during the 1860 pillage, were first auctioned in France in 1861 before disappearing for years until the monkey appeared at the New York Metropolitan Museum in 1987. The other two, the tiger and the ox, were sold at auction in London in 1989.100 The auction of the looted Chinese antiques gave rise to a national debate over the repatriation of the relics to the motherland. The auctions stirred rage among Chinese relics experts who claimed that apart from testifying to the sorrows and pains the Chinese people suffered a century earlier, the precious artefacts from the famed imperial garden also represented valuable embodiments of the artistic exchanges which took place between the East and the West in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, especially in the field of sculpture.101 The auction aroused intense emotions from the public in both Hong Kong and the mainland. Hong Kong residents were especially indignant about such commerce in their national heritage. During the nine-day public exhibition in Hong Kong, some hundred thousand local people visited the relics while thousands of local residents staged demonstrations outside the auction sites chanting: ‘return the national treasure to the motherland’.102

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 85 The auctions also prompted legal concerns over relic protection measures. Ten days before the auction took place, the Chinese National Relics Bureau demanded that the two famous auction houses, Christie’s and Sotheby’s, give up the sale, invoking an international UNESCO agreement on the restitution of stolen or pillaged objects, which China had signed in 1995.103 The two firms ignored the urges and claimed the antiques sale did not violate any laws in Hong Kong, where the ex-colony’s special status had for decades allowed relics traffickers to take advantage of the lack of relevant legislation. The bureau issued a second warning a few days before the sale, and on May 2, Leung Chun-ying, the Governor of the Special Administrative Region’s Executive Council, publicly condemned the two auction companies for engaging in commercial activities which ‘grossly insulted the Chinese people on a wholesale scale’.104 In the end, Chinese public organizations were compelled to purchase the objects in order to repatriate them to China. The hexagonal porcelain vase was bought by a representative of the National Relics Bureau for HK$20 million – nearly US$2.5 million, well above expert estimates – while the three sculptures were purchased by members of the Beijing-based Poly Group – a former commercial branch of the People’s Liberation Army specializing in arms sales – for approximately US$4 million.105 While protesting against the high price China had to pay to recover its national heritage, all major Chinese newspapers celebrated the return of the stolen relics to the motherland as an important symbol of China’s return to major world power status. The Beijing Youth Daily, for example, heralded the news as a victory against Western imperialism. ‘China took nearly fifty years to defeat imperialism and to realize its national liberation, but colonialism continues to make appearances from time to time.’106 Despite the patriotic euphoria, there was little indication that the relics would actually return to Yuanmingyuan. The repatriated antiques were not given to the state as a contribution to the national patrimony, but they were kept in the private collections of their new owners. Made up of hundreds of artefacts purchased overseas over the past few years, these collections offer limited access to the public, Chinese or foreign.107 The auction triggered an important patriotic campaign against foreign theft and destruction of national treasures and a renewed interest in the mainland’s cultural heritage. It resulted in pressing demands on the part of the government for the return of a million Chinese relics said to be in foreign museums and galleries. Hong Kong’s role as the main exit port for Chinese relics also came under attack. The war waged by the Chinese government against the international art community to demand that looted historical relics be returned to the motherland did not move the foreign art dealers. They justified their actions and dismissed China’s claim to legal ownership of the objects by accusing Chinese officials of gross hypocrisy. They

86 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing argued that foreigners had not been the only looters of China’s national treasures, and that the Chinese Communist Party had itself been plundering the nation’s material heritage for decades and benefited from its sale on the international art market. Since the Cultural Revolution, the CCP has indeed profited from the sale of Chinese relics confiscated during political campaigns, opening warehouses filled with antiques to foreign art dealers for badly needed foreign currency.108 Many top Party officials participated in the trade, appropriating the best objects for their personal collections which are now being sold by their offspring for cash at auctions. The repatriation of the precious Qing palace artefacts kindled a new round of discussion over the fate of Yuanmingyuan, and the publicity resulting from the infamous auctions fanned renewed popular interest in the historical gardens, stimulating action for its development. In July 2000, it was announced that a new renovation plan conceived by the Beijing Urban Planning and Design Institute would soon be implemented. The plan proposed to rationalize the park by subdividing it into six distinct areas, which include the ruins of the European Palace, a cultural relics museum, a larger ruin garden, a leisure and entertainment section and a service and administration area. While wholesale reconstruction is now officially discredited, there will be substantial construction in the new project, in the form of roads, bridges, and pavilions. The deadline for the actual implementation of the project remains elusive, and is conditional on the endorsement of the city government.109 The plan, however, attracted public contestation after it was revealed that the sectioning of the park would actually accommodate the construction of a road to relieve traffic congestion in an area being developed as China’s future Silicon Valley.110 However, according to recent reports the renovation will be carried out over a three-year period beginning in 2004 and will cost 400 million yuan (US$48 milion).111 Filled with paradoxes and contradictions, the history of Yuanmingyuan’s restoration provides rich insights into the ongoing restructuring of Chinese society. However, the significance of Yuanmingyuan cannot be fully grasped in the narrow frame of China’s national situation. Its transformation was influenced by several external actors at the global level. The Chinese diaspora played a central role in promoting the contemporary interest in China’s past, exemplified by the sustained interest awakened by the restoration of Yuanmingyuan. Through growing contact with overseas Chinese – whose admiration for Chinese imperial history has not been adulterated by fifty years of communist rule – mainlanders have come to see their own national past in a different light. The present rediscovery of China’s imperial past is also linked to the contemporary cult of the past and worldwide fetishism for heritage preservation, driven in part by the growth of the tourism industry. Heritage preservation has

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 87 become essential resources for nations worldwide, especially in the developing world in the global competition for tourist dollars and represent an important cultural capital in the construction of a favourable world image. The history of Yuanmingyuan makes plain the difficulty of using heritage for both political and economic ends. It also illustrates the exclusionary nature of heritage preservation and problematizes its role as a tool for nation building. Ruins and relics are essential for historical memory. Often viewed as tangible, indelibly recorded evidence of past events, they are nonetheless mute and have their limitations as informants. Like much of the built environment, historical artefacts remain malleable, and require interpretation. They are easily manipulated to fit different possible historical readings, and allow viewers to substitute their own imaginary narrations, especially when their original function has been erased. Manipulations of the past ultimately turn memory – itself shaped by mythologies, ideologies, and narrative strategies which are often part of a wider hegemonic project – into amnesia. In its attempt to impose an officially constructed history onto the ruins of Yuanmingyuan, and to shape the way the past is remembered, choosing, for example, to silence – or at least tone down – alternate readings of the ruins, the state has obliterated memory and ultimately distorted the contemporary significance of Yuanmingyuan. The attempt at reducing several layers of often conflicting memories embodied in the ruins of Yuanmingyuan into a single version of history is now being increasingly contested by participants in the life of the gardens who are denied a voice in the renovation scheme. One of the strongest contradictions exemplified by the story of Yuanmingyuan is the way its residents, who have long cared for and inhabited the site, have been victimized, ostracized, and turned into the ‘other’ in the revitalization project. Otherness has long played a constitutive role in the making of the nation, where the identity of the community as a modern nation can be realized only by distinguishing what belongs to the nation and what does not. The ‘other’ against which the modern community of the nation is created can be found both outside the nation, embodied by a colonial society from which the local population wishes to distinguish itself, but within the nation as well, in those groups that do not conform to the modern national ideal and need to be reformed or displaced. Two types of others have thus played a role in the making of national identity at Yuanmingyuan: the imperial powers whose destructive acts have motivated the rise of a strong and united China, and the peasants whose eviction has been justified as a project of producing the nation. The story of Yuanmingyuan epitomizes the complex and ambiguous relationship which has existed since the early nineteenth century between China and the West, a relationship divided between admiration and contempt. By demonstrating the lasting role of China’s nineteenth-century encounter with Western imperialism in

88 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing shaping the Chinese experience of modernity, the story of Yuanmingyuan locates the source of China’s relentless pursuit of wealth and power, and its desire to become a major player in world affairs, in China’s experience of semi-colonialization by Western Power. It also brings to light communist China’s problematic relationship with its own imperial past, one marked by both indifference and pride. The official portrayal of the citizens of Yuanmingyuan as an obstacle to both national progress and the development of a national heritage site has also attempted to turn local residents into the ‘other’ in the making of the nation. The victimization of these citizens in the process of nation building thus brings to light the forces and instabilities that nation building brings into play. It also makes plain the contradiction of having to expel local residents from their homes in order to preserve the national heritage. Failure to address socio-economic issues in Yuanmingyuan’s renovation plan have fanned popular resentment against the state and may have unintended political repercussions. Anger is increasingly heard among Yuanmingyuan residents uncertain of their fate. Ironically, perhaps the greatest demonstration of patriotism at Yuanmingyuan today is found in these residents’ willingness to serve the common good and to let their present lives be sacrificed at the expense of an idealized and fabricated past.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17.

Kearns and Philo, 1993, p. ix. MacCannell, 1976; Judd and Fainstein, 1999; Urry, 1990. Holcomb 1999. AlSayyad, 2001b. Mitchell, 2001, p. 212. Hobsbawm and Ranger, 1983; Gellner, 1983; Anderson, 1983. Mitchell, 2001. Hobsbawm and Ranger, 1983. Nora, 1984. Nora, 1989. ‘Yuanming’ literally translates as ‘perfect (or round) brightness’, its meaning can also be interpreted as ‘well balanced intelligence and wisdom’, or even ‘ruling the country while preserving oneself in the best mental conditions’. This interpretation was suggested by Professor Wang Guoyu from the School of Architecture at Tsinghua University and member of a consultative committee on Yuanmingyuan, during an April 1999 interview. See also Vissière, 1913. From a memorial inscription erected in Yuanmingyuan, translated in Malone, 1932. See also Chan, 1991, p. 101. Cited Wang, 1998, p. 18. The other four suburban imperial playgrounds established around Beijing during the Qing dynasty were: Changchunyuan (Gardens of Joyful Springtime), Xiang Shan (Fragrant Hills), Yiheyuan (New Summer Palace), and the Jade Fountain Park. Cited in Thomas Cook and Sons, 1920, pp. 88–90. Wu Liangyong, 1981. ‘Tous les trésors de toutes nos cathédrales unies n’égaleraient pas ce formidable et splendide musée de l’orient’ (author’s translation). Hugo, 1875, p. 265.

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 89 18. The French Jesuit Jean-Denis Attiret (1702–1768) first went to China in 1737 and worked as a painter at Qianlong’s court. See Attiret, 1775, 1877. 19. Attiret, 1982, p. 5. 20. Attiret’s lettres arrived in Europe at a time when a taste for the picturesque was developing in reaction to the excessive formalism of the Louis XVI period. In the rococo period of the eighteenth century, luxuries such as Chinese porcelain, silk, lacquer, furniture and wallpaper also became very popular in Europe. see Malone, 1934b, p. 167. 21. For a detailed description of the different vistas at Yuanmingyuan, see Malone, 1932, pp. 61–102 and Young-tsu Wong, 2001, pp. 24–70. 22. In ancient Chinese mythology, odd numbers were associated with the yang and were thus the attributes of heaven. As the largest single digit odd number, the number nine was the supreme imperial number and symbolized the yang at its maximum. The nine continents or nine islands refer to the whole of China’s territory unified by the mythical Emperor Yu, thought to be the common ancestor to every Chinese. This interpretation was suggested by Professor Wang Guoyu from the Tsinghua University School of Architecture and member of the consultative committee on Yuanmingyuan, during an interview at his house in April 1999. See also Young-tsu Wong, 2001, pp. 28–29. 23. Irisson, 1886. 24. Warner, 1972. 25. Imperial workshops were also set up within the palace to experiment and develop skills using Jesuit knowledge: clocks and watches, cartography, glass-making and the production of enamels on copper. 26. Brother Giuseppe Castiglione (1688–1766) was born in Milan and arrived in China in 1715. He spent more than 50 years in Beijing where he was known as Lang Shining and was greatly appreciated by Qianlong, of whom he made numerous portraits. Father Michel Benoist (1715–1774) was known in China as Jiang. He spent most of his 30 years in China building fountains for the Emperor. See Beurdeley and Beurdeley, 1971. 27. Attiret, 1775, 1877, pp. 226–227. [Author’s translation?] 28. Durand, 1988. 29. Jonathan and Durand, 1987. 30. The architecture of the European palaces was strongly influenced by late seventeenth and early eighteenth century Italian art such as the work of Borromini, Guarini and Bibiera, especially seen in its excessive ornamentation, false doors and windows, and conspicuous exterior staircases. See Combaz, 1909, p. 57. 31. Droguet, 1994; Rabreau and Paupe, 1987. 32. See also the opinion of Stockholm University professor, Oswald Sirèn, 1909, 1926, p. 50. 33. In 1931, Sacheverell Sitwell wrote that the architecture of the European palaces was the opposite to chinoiserie, an oriental variation on Western themes; while later George N. Kates qualified them as ‘an experiment in Européennerie’, an eighteenth-century counterpart to the chinoiserie which flourished exuberantly in all the court of Europe at the time (Sitwell, 1931; Kates, 1952, p. 198). 34. Denis Diderot (1767) Salons Vol. 3, p. 246, quoted in Lowenthal, 1985, p. 175. 35. At age 31, Elgin had been Governor of Jamaica and Governor-General of Canada. He had first gone to China in 1857 and he returned in 1860 to enforce the ratification of the treaty of Tientsin (Malone, 1934b, p. 177). 36. ‘Il faut renoncer à décrire ce que contenaient ces appartements. Les mots manquent pour en peindre les richesses matérielles et artistiques . . . C’était une vision des Milles et une nuits, une férie telle, qu’une imagination en délire ne saurait en rêver de comparable à la palpable véritée qu’on avait devant soi!’ quoted in Varin, 1862, pp. 235–236. Author’s translation. 37. Charles Gordon was later to lead the Manchu armies to victory against the Taiping rebels and become famous as ‘Chinese Gordon’ (Boulger, 1896, pp. 45–46). 38. Cameron and Brake, 1970, 1989, pp. 348–360. 39. For example, a Gobelin tapestry presented as a gift from Louis XIV to the Chinese

90 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45.

46. 47. 48.

49. 50. 51.

52.

53.

54. 55.

56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

Emperor now hangs in the Ashmolean Library at Oxford, having passed through the Victoria and Albert Museum (Hevia. 1999, p. 197). Favier,1897, p. 217. Henri Cordier’s Bibliotheca sinica, col. 2496, lists two catalogues of valuable art objects coming mainly from Yuanmingyuan to be auctioned in Paris in 1862 (Cordier, 1904). Varin, 1862, pp. 226–279; Palikao, 1932, pp. 304–365. See Cameron and Brake, 1970, 1989, pp. 348–360. M’Ghee, 1862. Author’s translation. Extract from a letter written at the Hauteville House in Guernsey on November 25 1861 to a certain Captain Butler in response to his enquiry about Hugo’s opinion of the ‘China Expedition’ of 1860. This text of Hugo is still studied by Chinese school children today Hugo, 1875, pp. 263–265. See Maillon, 1962, p. 508. Author’s translation. Hugo, 1875, pp. 263–265. Hugo and other European intellectuals contributed to changing Euro-American attitudes towards wartime looting during the second half of the nineteenth century, which ultimately led to the signature of the Hague convention of 1899 where plunder and the seizure of private property were outlawed without qualifications. See Hevia, 1999, p. 197. From a note in Hugo’s hand dated March 23, 1865, cited in Chen Zenghou, 1997, p. 33. See Malone, 1932, pp. 180–181. Not only was an enormous indemnity in money exacted for the murder of the prisoners, but taxes were later levied to pay for the construction of the New Summer Palace (Yiheyuan) (Malone, 1932, pp. 188, 191; Cameron and Blake, 1970, 1989, pp. 348–360). Markbreiter, 1983, pp. 129–130. Malone, 1932, pp. 192–193. Historical photographs show their main facades relatively intact, with damage limited to their roofs and doors and windows. Some buildings appear to have been entirely spared by the fire. See Thiriez, 1990. In 1873, thirteen years after the sacking, an attempt was made by the Emperor Tongxi to rebuild the palace to mark the fortieth birthday of the Empress Dowager Cixi. See Youngtsu Wong, 2001, pp. 168–169. The Boxer Rebellion was an anti-foreign movement initiated in 1898 by a secret society, the Fists of Righteousness and Harmony, whose members were nicknamed ‘the Boxers’ because of the type of Chinese boxing martial art and semi-military martial arts they practised. For a detailed description of where different relics were transfered in Beijing, see Youngtsu Wong, 2001, pp. 183–185. The site of the European palaces has been under study since 1983 by a team made up of French historians, architects and landscape architects with the support of the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Much of the work was based on a close analysis of 149 photographs of the European palaces dating from before 1945. These photographs have allowed researchers to estimate the rate of deterioration of the European palaces. See Le Yuanmingyuan: Jeux d’eau et palais européens du XVIIIe siècle à la cour de Chine (1987); and Thiriez, 1990, pp. 90–96. Thiriez, 1998. Scidmore, 1900, p. 224. Bredon, 1919, p. 263. Thiriez, 1990, pp. 90–96. Wu Liangyong, 1981. Li Jiemin, 1993. Guo Nei, 1994. Bo and Xudong, 1999; Garden-like place creates enchanting atmosphere. China Daily, February 12, 1999, p. 8. Barthel, 1996. Bo and Xudong, 1999. For example, Wang Jingshi, a painter from Xinjiang province, recently produced a detailed projection drawing of the entire site after spending much of his lifetime

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 91

67. 68.

69. 70.

71. 72. 73.

74.

75. 76. 77.

78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83.

84. 85.

collecting material about the original aspect of Yuanmingyuan (Wang Jingshi and Zhang Dexiang, 1990). He Zhongyi (Ho, Chung-i) et al., 1995. In addition, some of the varnished tiles from the Yuanmingyuan palaces now stand on the roof of the Temple of Heaven. In 1890, the Temple of Heaven was struck by lightning and was restored using tiles from Yuanmingyuan which were stored at Qinghua University (Yue Dong, 2000). Based on interviews with Professor Wang Guoyu and Professor Luo Sen from the Tsinghua University School of Architecture on April 23 1999 and May 5 1999. For example, the Guimet Museum in Paris, long known as the Louvre of Oriental arts, has one of the most complete collection of Chinese ceramics. The British Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, the Tokyo National Museum, and the Far Eastern Antiquities Museum in Stockholm are also leading collectors of Chinese relics. Terrasse, 1959, p. 75; Liu Yang, 1998; Samoyault, 1995, pp. 64–65. For a survey of the literature on cultural property ownership, see Merryman, 2000; Simpson, 1997; Messenger, 1989. He also cites the case of the famous Zhaoling Stone Horses. Two of the six large stone horses guarding the tomb of Tang Dynasty Emperor Taizong (reigned AD 627–650) in today’s Shaanxi Province were removed by American archeologists in 1914, after gaining approval from local warlords. The sculptures were cut into pieces and sent to the United States, where they stand today in a Philadelphia museum. A second attempt to remove the remaining four horses in 1917 met with angry protests from residents of Xi’an, capital of Shaanxi. Local authorities ultimately retrieved the horses, which had already been cut into pieces and were awaiting shipment. These four horses are now on display in the Shaanxi Provincial History Museum. Eager to restore the original site, Chinese scholars have pressured their government to regain possession of the Philadelphia horses. However, all they received from the American museum was the permission to cast the horses and make reproductions. Since its very beginning, the school had been closely related to the revolutionary cause. It was first established in the city of Zhang Jiakou in Yan’an, with Hao Renchu, Communist Party Secretary at the time, as the school’s first headmaster. Famous Party members including Li Peng were schooled there. Interview Great Wall Boiler Factory office manager. See also, Lao Ku, 1993. See Tomlan, 2000. In 1988, Yuanmingyuan residents without legal residence permits were evicted without compensation and their 15,000 square metres of illegally self-built houses were demolished. In 1990, the remaining farmers saw their land confiscated and in return, they received an urban residence permit (hukou) and were given employment by the Yuanmingyuan administration to carry out restoration work, with a salary of about 800 yuan per month, which is below Haidian District’s median income. Based on an interview with local residents, April 1999. Interview Great Wall Boiler Factory office manager, March 1999. Tired of the Summer Palace? Go to the Summer Palace. Beijing This Month, July 1996, pp. 14–15. Barthel, 1996. Yuanmingyuan lights up for Hong Kong. Beijing This Month. June 1997, p. 14. China Daily, October 19 1990, p. 1. Ironically, of all the past splendours of Yuanmingyuan, it is the ruins of the European Palaces which have come to represent the old summer palace. The highly evocative image of the baroque ruins is now reproduced everywhere to advertise the former gardens. This widely recognized image is no longer restricted to the sole purpose of attracting visitors to Yuanmingyuan, but is also increasingly seen in government sponsored billboards encouraging patriotic behaviour. In Mandarin (Author’s translation). Many members of the Yuanmingyuan administration come from ranks of farmers who used to live there.

92 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 86. Based on a series of interviews held in March and April 1999. 87. For example, much of the initial restoration work carried out in the 1980s was done hastily without much concern for quality. As a result, paths paved at the time must now be resurfaced. The newly dredged Fuhai Lake also presents major maintenance problems because the stones lining the bottom of the lake were laid out without mortar. 88. The historical transformation of the economic function of the garden into one of pure consumption is often cited as the epitome of the excess and extravagance which led to the downfall of several dynasties including the Ming. Gardens were often denounced for their wasteful displays of wealth and inappropriately lavish consumption which went against the frugality and humility associated with traditional conceptions of morality and virtue (Clunas, 1996). 89. Cranz, 1979. 90. See Zhang Enmeng et al., 1998. 91. Durand, 1988. 92. French political adviser and literary figure Erik Orsenna, in his 1998 novel Longtemps also writes of the French government’s efforts to ‘repair the shame of 1860’ by sending volunteers to help restore the old summer palace (Orsenna, 1998, pp. 334–338, Author’s translation). 93. From an interview with a member of the Consultative Committee on Yuanmingyuan, in April 1999. 94. Based on a survey conducted by the author in May 1999. 95. Based on an interview conducted in March 1999. 96. This section is based on an in-depth ethnographic study of visitors to Yuanmingyuan, conducted from January to June 1999, and which rests upon a series of interviews and on observation work. 97. This discrepancy in official and popular interpretation of Yuanmingyuan corresponds to Alois Riegl’s typology of historic monuments divided between intentional monuments – designed to serve a particular end – and unintentional monuments – which become monuments because of their memorial, historical, and age value. Yuanmingyuan can therefore be defined as an unintentional monument, for which the official reading is centred on the historical value of the site, while visitors, who focus on the visual aspect of the ruins, are more interested in its age value (Riegl, 1984). 98. Lynch, 1972. 99. Such romanticization of the ruin appears to be a recent phenomenon in China, related to cultural contacts with the west. According to Wu Hung, in ancient China ruins were mainly lamented in words, especially in poetry. There was a sort of taboo against preserving and portraying ruins, with a virtual absence of visual representations of ruins which were seen as inauspicious (Wu Hung, 1998). 100. According to experts, only four other of the twelve animal heads have surfaced after they were smuggled abroad. The horse was bought at a London auction in 1989 by a Taiwanese collector and returned to Beijing for temporary viewing at an exhibition in 1995. The pig is stored in a New York museum while the rat and rabbit are preserved in private collections in France. The whereabouts of the remaining five remain unknown (Puel, 2000). 101. Li Xing, 2000. 102. Su Dan, 2000a. 103. Although endorsed by numerous nation-states worldwide, the agreement which supports all countries’ endeavours to recover relics looted or lost in wars, regardless of when the war took place or when the request was made has not yet been formalized into a convention, and can thus not be invoked by international law in the current debate (see Hu Qihua, 2000). 104. Su Dan and Felix Lo, 2000. 105. Su Dan, 2000b. 106. Puel, 2000. 107. Li Xing, 2000. 108. Apparently, some companies under the Ministry of Foreign Trade sold so many of the

Selling the Past: Nationalism and the Commodification of History at Yuanmingyuan 93 confiscated relics that in 1982 the Cultural Relics Bureau submitted a report to the State Council complaining that the Ministry was selling the antiques by weight, causing international prices to drop (see Becker, 2000a). 109. Xu Xiaomin, 2000. 110. Becker, 2000b. 111. Qin Jize, 2003.

94 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Chapter Four

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places Market Reforms and Consumption In China, as elsewhere, the process of selling places rests on their commodification and their conversion into attractive products that can be advertised, sold, and consumed in competitive markets. While cities use their unique cultural heritage and historical resources to distinguish themselves from other cities in the hope of attracting capital, they may also want to express compliance with world established norms of modernity, especially with regard to their business climate and facilities. In this regard, the individuality of different places matters far less than cultivating an image of a certain sort of place with specific attributes, generally in conformity with global expectations and international models.1 Cities seeking to attract global enterprises strive to convince potential investors of their economic vitality through the creation of a new urban space for the metropolitan play of capital. This often entails the provision of modern infrastructure, high quality shopping facilities, and the creation of up-to-date business environments. The increasingly popular phenomenon of the ‘business improvement district’ (BID) has brought the creation of new urban environments that emulate the controlled conditions and comprehensive managements of the shopping mall. These BIDs, which are generally devised by downtown business owners with the support of municipal authorities, are responsible for the physical improvements of the area, the provision of services, and for ridding the sector of undesirables. They are organized around a set of functions oriented to business people, commercial tenants, and foreign tourists, and intended to separate these key users from the wider urban environment, often perceived as dangerous.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 95 Like the mall, these simulated downtowns rely on a spectacular imagery designed to connote sumptuousness and luxury to appeal to a specific class of users. They are highly regulated and rigorously policed to ensure that international bourgeois values and middle-class conceptions of appropriate public behaviour are adhered to. They represent entirely a planned and designed environment, where signing and advertising style, architectural décor, and commercial activities are tightly regulated to create a unified total spectacle. These new downtowns are becoming increasingly uniform worldwide, and appear to be more connected to the trans-national spaces of flows described by Castells than to their own locality. They also exemplify a process that George Ritzer could have called the McDonaldization of urban space: the creation of rational, hyper-modern, efficient, clean, predictable and controlled environments that reproduce the successful capitalist rationalization that characterizes the McDonald’s phenomenon.2 But in the process, these districts are becoming sanitized and have lost their critical role as public spaces of encounter and exchange. The imperatives of capital accumulation have thus reduced the urban experience to a shopping experience. This chapter examines recent efforts to turn Wangfujing Street, long known as a cosmopolitan commercial centre in Beijing, into a stage for the celebration of conspicuous consumption and a showcase of the city’s transformation into a twentyfirst century metropolis. The socio-cultural implications of the rise of a new urban landscape in Beijing are assessed through a study of a recent business improvement programme which radically transformed both the outlook and function of Beijing’s historical district. The chapter closely examines two recent redevelopment projects that epitomize the novel spatial forms which have been gaining primacy on the urban landscape as symbolic sites of modernity, trans-nationality, and consumption. These two projects embody many of the complex social, economic, political and cultural issues involved in commercial redevelopment in the Chinese capital. Wangfujing’s recent redevelopment is shown to be the embodiment of the cultural revolution set in motion by China’s recent reopening to world markets, ideas, and cultures. This new revolution, of global consumerism, radically transformed the cultural fabric of the old Chinese capital, and was only nominally carried out by the Chinese Communist Party. Its true masters were private entrepreneurs and overseas investors who now stand as an important new generation of power holders in the mainland. The chapter thus investigates the new role played by the Chinese diaspora in transforming the socio-cultural landscape of the Chinese capital and giving shape to a characteristically Chinese experience of modernity. It especially examines the ascendancy of Hong Kong as the new urban model, and of Hong Kong values as modern Chinese values. It also seeks to demonstrate the direct influence of world capitalism and global consumerism on contemporary Beijing society.

96 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Wangfujing through History: East meets West Located at the heart of old Beijing, two blocks east of the Forbidden City, Wangfujing Street has long played an important role in the public life of the Chinese capital. For much of the twentieth century, it stood as a symbol of cosmopolitan urban life in China, a window on the world from where people could both contemplate and consume modernity, and a unique site of encounter between East and West in the Chinese capital city. Often compared to New York’s Fifth Avenue, Wangfujing was a kind of trans-national market place, where goods from all over the world and China could be purchased in shopping facilities often rivalling those of Europe. Wangfujing was also a vibrant cultural centre in Beijing, where some of the nation’s most renowned theatres, bookstores, and artistic institutions were concentrated. The history of Wangfujing is the history of Beijing’s encounter with modernity, and of its long and convoluted relationship with the West. In the fifteenth century, the area along the eastern side of the Imperial City was designated by the Ming Emperor Yongle (reigned 1403–1424) as the residence of the highest ranking princes and nobles – ostensibly to keep an eye on them and prevent conspiracies to take over the throne. One of the main north-south streets which ran through this area was known as Shiwangfu (Ten Princes’ Mansions) or Wangfu jie (Princely Mansion Street). A public well located on the west side of the roadway gave the street its present name: Wangfujing, the Well of the Princely Mansion.3 Early in its history Wangfujing became an important centre of public life in Beijing. The main office of the time-honoured Jing Bao (Capital Gazette) was long located off a narrow lane near the southern end of Wangfujing.4 Imperial edicts and other government announcements published in the Gazette were posted daily along Wangfujing for the general public to read. Wangfujing also acted as a window on the world beyond China’s borders. Long before the end of the second Opium War in 1860, when China was forced to sign the Treaty of Tianjin which sanctioned the establishment of a permanent international settlement directly south of the street, Wangfujing was already marked by a European presence. As early as the midseventeenth century, Portuguese Jesuits established Saint-Joseph Church – the first Catholic church in the mainland – along the east side of the street. Missionary activity was intense in this area as religious men strove to convert the Manchu nobility to Catholicism.5 From 1875 to 1908, the Qing Zhen Si, one of the city’s few mosques, also stood on the western side of Wangfujing, just below Donghuamen Street. But Wangfujing’s significance in the Beijing landscape largely rests on its twentieth-century history. Up until the late Qing dynasty, Wangfujing remained a narrow mud road lined with a few shops, behind which a tight network of narrow hutong (alleyways) gave access to the elaborate courtyard houses of high Mandarins and Manchu nobles. By the late nineteenth century, the rapid development of the

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 97

Figure 4.1. Wangfujing’s location in the centre of Beijing. The right hand map depicts Wangfujing in the 1920s, with the dotted line indicating streetcar lines.

international settlement south of Chang An Avenue contributed to Wangfujing’s emergence as a vibrant commercial and entertainment centre (Figure 4.1). After the 1900 Boxer Rebellion and the siege at the foreign legations which led to the permanent stationing of foreign military units in Beijing, foreign businesses – known to the Chinese as yanghang – started to spread along Wangfujing. Shops held by Italians, Americans, French, Germans, English, and Japanese began selling silk stockings, leather shoes, furs, mechanical clocks, photographic equipment, fine jewellery, Western style clothing and other imported goods to satisfy the demands of wealthy Chinese and foreign residents of the International Settlement. According to Juliet Bredon, invaluable treasures could be found in Wangfujing’s specialty shops in the 1920s, including: watches made in Europe, gorgeously enameled, wreathed in pearls, studded in diamonds, tiny timepieces set in thumb rings, larger ones such as Chinese princes delighted to hang from their belts in days when belts fitted loosely over satin robes. 6 After the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911 and the establishment of the Republic in 1912, the arrival of a growing number of bureaucrats, politicians and civil servants in the area contributed more trade to Wangfujing. The streets benefited in other ways from the changes brought about by the end of the Manchu rule. Shoppers and business owners alike became more inclined to accept novelty items and new fashions. Nobles and eunuchs also came there in great numbers to sell antiques and other treasures from the palace. The thriving commercial activity which developed led to the street’s nickname of Jing jie (Gold Street).

Cosmopolitan Modernity Wangfujing was always one of the city’s first streets to benefit from modern

98 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing technological innovations. It was one of the earliest Beijing streets to be paved, in stone in 1905 and in asphalt in 1928.7 Wangfujing was also one of the first areas in Beijing, after the Forbidden City and the Legations Quarter, to be equipped with electricity. In the second decade of the twentieth century, street illumination transformed Wangfujing, stamping it with a quintessential mark of modernity and making it safe to stroll at any hour of the day or night. Electricity was also used for decoration and advertising purposes, and crude neon lights drew crowds of the curious intrigued by such modern novelty8 (Figure 4.2).

Figure 4.2. This view of Wangfujing Street early in the twentieth century shows a pleasant – if busy – relatively narrow tree-lined avenue. Note the electrical lines above the tree canopy.

Beijing’s loss of its capital status to Nanjing in 1928 had a devastating effect on the urban economy.9 The departure of government bureaucrats and of much of the bourgeoisie caused an important drop in population – especially among the upper classes – and slowed down business in Wangfujing. But Beijing (known as Beiping at the time) remained the centre of foreign diplomatic activities and kept its important foreign population, despite the establishment of embassies in Nanjing. Foreigners continued to engage in trade in Wangfujing, and were among the street’s most faithful clientele, reinforcing its ties with the international community. Although generally cordial, the relationship between foreign and locals on the street was not always one of peaceful cohabitation. Foreigners were often presumptuous in the way in which they claimed space and made their presence visible. From 1920 until the middle of the twentieth century, Wangfujing became

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 99 known in the foreign community as Morisson Street, in honour of Dr. George E. Morisson, the legendary London Times correspondent who had lived at number 98.10 By the mid-1920s, foreign merchants started advertising in the press using the street’s foreign name as their address. One English store on Wangfujing went as far as posting a Morisson Street sign on its façade. Although most Chinese people ignored the existence of such symbolic appropriation, some saw it as an expression of foreign arrogance, a humiliating reminder of the semi-colonial status of China, and a proof of the Republican government’s incapacity to face up to the foreign invaders living on Chinese soil.11 Wangfujing had become a kind of trans-national enclave in the Chinese capital, catering to the foreign community despite its location outside the legation district. British novelist Ann Bridge who resided in Beijing in the 1920s, gives an account of Morisson Street in The Ginger Griffin. Despite its orientalist overtones, the description brings out the heterogeneous nature of the street: Morisson street, that curiously hybrid thoroughfare which begins so European . . . with its pavement, its block of flats where the dentist lives, its plate-glass windows in the two shops which purport to sell French dresses; and ends so completely Chinese. Some little distance down it the pavements gradually cease to be paved, and then to be defined at all, and becomes merely a sort of dusty adjunct to the street, a no-man’s-land between the shops – which here degenerate into ramshackle one-storey affairs with scaffold poles leaning against them, and swinging vertical signs – and the roadway itself – a space devoted to the practice of all sorts of minor trades, from the sale of sweets and persimmons to chiropody and knife grinding.12 The architecture of the buildings lining the street reinforced Wangfujing’s highly hybrid character. The monumental European renaissance architecture of the East Cathedral (Dongtang), built in 1904 on the site of the early St. Joseph Church, added an ‘old world’ touch to the district’s international flavour. The Peking Union Medical College (Xiehe Yiyuan), built in the late teens by the Rockefeller Foundation just east of Wangfujing, also contributed to the world-class character of the area. The college was one of the first establishments in Beijing to specialize in modern medicine, and was equipped with the most up-to-date American medical equipment. Its buildings, designed by Canadian architect Harry Hussey, integrated modern architectural features with Chinese traditional decorative elements. If its exterior borrowed from traditional Chinese architecture, the inside displayed the most modern Western utilities, including electricity, central heating, refrigeration, running water, and gas supply.13 The rest of the street was an eclectic mix of traditional Chinese shop houses (two- and three-storey buildings with shops and storage on the ground floor and housing above) – adorned with colourful and elaborately carved façades and tall wooden poles holding advertising banners – and modern stores with foreign shop

100 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 4.3. Traditional shop front commonly found in Beijing in the late Qing dynasty.

signs and glazed shop windows. Wangfujing hosted restaurants of every kind and class, many of which offered complete menus of foreign dishes. By the late teens, Wangfujing even had its own ice cream parlour, one of the first in the capital.14 Wangfujing’s crowds had a similarly multifarious character as people from very

Figure 4.4. The famous Yong Ren Tang pharmacy on the east side of Wangfujing, owned by the renowned Beijing Yue family.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 101

Figure 4.5. Also known as the East Cathedral (Dongtang), St. Joseph church was founded in 1655 by Jesuit priests, and rebuilt in 1884 and 1904. Religious activities at the cathedral were restored in 1980 having been banned by the Chinese government since the 1960s.

different social backgrounds mingled on its sidewalks and in its markets, and stores (Figures 4.3 to 4.5). Before the creation of the city’s first public parks in the 1920s, on the site of former imperial grounds, Wangfujing provided a welcome alternative to the crowded temple fairs which represented the only popular gathering places in the capital. Wangfujing’s numerous tea houses, theatres, and art schools attracted a lively community of bohemian artists and entertainers while its antique book shops drew numerous intellectuals. This heterogeneity contrasted with more popular commercial districts such as Qianmen and Dashalar where goods were cheap, traditional and appealed mainly to the masses. For many Chinese citizens, a trip to Wangfujing was a like journey to an exotic land. It provided the rare opportunity to encounter some of the strange long-nosed barbarians who lived in the foreign legations, to admire the latest in international fashions and shopping facilities, and to become familiar with the tastes and lifestyles of the modern world. Progressive intellectuals and members of the bourgeoisie enjoyed walking on the street’s brick sidewalks and rubbing shoulders with a heteroclite crowd, much akin to the Parisian flâneur described by Baudelaire in late nineteenth century Paris. ‘Like the Frenchman,’ Juliet Bredon wrote in the early 1920s, ‘the Chinese is a born boulevardier. He loves a crowd and he delights in an excursion to some public park where he can stand about in leisurely dignity,

102 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing sunning himself in indolent attitudes’.15 An afternoon stroll on Wangfujing allowed Beijingers of all classes to experience that elusive modern urbanity they knew existed in Europe.

Temples and Markets Far from being an exclusive enclave catering for the Beijing bourgeoisie and the capital’s foreign residents, Wangfujing also was a place where ordinary people could shop for their daily needs. One of the oldest and most famous commercial institutions to contribute to the development and prosperity of Wangfujing was the popular Dong An Bazaar (Dong An shicheng or Eastern Peace Market). The Dong An represents one of the first permanent public markets in Beijing. Before its establishment in 1902, the capital’s markets were limited to traditional temple fairs – held at certain set dates on a rotating schedule in different temples around town. Unlike temple fairs, the new Dong An Market offered daily services at a fixed location, and soon developed into a permanent venue. The Dong An Market came into being in 1902 when Dong An Street – which leads to the Dong An Gate of the Imperial city – underwent important renovations. Small vendors and peddlers established along the street were transferred to the site of an old Qing bannermen (military) training ground at the intersection of Wangfujing and Jinyu Hutong (Goldfish Lane). There, they erected stalls and booths and continued to sell the products of their individual trades. After the market was destroyed by fire in February 1912, a more permanent structure was built. According to French architect Philippe Jonathan, the new Dong An Market represented one of the first examples of modern architecture in the Chinese capital and used modern materials which were still novel in Beijing, including steel, glass, and iron.16 The new market displayed for the first time in Beijing the interior streets, covered walkways, skylights, and other architectural elements that characterized the European grand magasin and shopping arcade. In the mid-1930s, Arlington and Lewisohn described the Dong An as: a kind of covered-in miniature town of its own, crammed with small shops and stalls, where you can buy anything from a cent’s worth of melon seeds to the latest in radio sets, and everything at very reasonable prices.17 Much like temple fairs, the Dong An Market offered a wide variety of eating, drinking, shopping and entertainment services which catered for the masses as well as the local bourgeoisie. By the array of goods it sold, both local and imported, the Dong An differed from other great bazaars that would later open in Beijing, such as the Chuanye Chang (Industrial Bazaar), which traded exclusively in Chinese products. The Dong An offered affordable household items as well as more upmarket luxury goods and rare objects, including antiques, jewellery,

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 103 and paintings and calligraphy by renowned artists. The second hand book stalls attracted students, collectors and antiquarians in search of old classics or out of print books, as well as members of the international community looking for foreign language publications. Hatters, shoemakers, drapers, florists, goldfish merchants, pharmacists, and dealers in small wares all had stores in the market. A visitor in the early 1920s provides this account of the market: Shops selling almost every imaginable article, toys, jewelry, furniture, furs, clothing, books, pictures, candies, cakes, are on each side of the big passageway, while in the center are tables or stalls on which are spread out brassware, notions, tongue scrapers, combs, chopsticks, fruit, candies. All of the tables are cleared every night, the unsold goods being carried away in big baskets.18 Individual stalls in the open air sections of the bazaar dealt in all sorts of brica-brac. Cheap local snacks and regional specialties could be had at small stands throughout the market. Diverse services including barbers, old fashioned dentists, photographers, and fortune tellers were also available at the Dong An. A December 1933 survey records the existence of 267 shops and 658 stands at the market, mostly owned by private small-scale enterprises19 (Figures 4.6 and 4.7). The Dong An also offered opportunities for recreation and amusement of both a Chinese and Western nature, which helped Wangfujing become a thriving entertainment centre in the Beijing landscape. In addition to a number of traditional Chinese tea houses where groups of amateurs sang dramatic songs each afternoon and drum troupes performed in the evening, one of the city’s most popular billiard

Figure 4.6. The entrance of old Dong An Bazaar, c. 1920, with advertisements for two popular entertainment centers, the Huixian Billiard Club and the Tiyi Billiard Room.

104 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 4.7. Engraving of the Old Dong An market in the late 1910s.

halls, the Huixian, was located inside Dong An Market. Magicians and acrobats also gave performances in the market’s open space for a few copper coins. By far the most important entertainment centre in Wangfujing was the Jixiang theatre, located near the bazaar’s west gate on Jinyu hutong (Goldfish Lane). The theatre was famous on the Beijing Opera scene, especially because the well-known performer Mei Langfang (1894–1961) made regular appearances. When no opera performances were scheduled, European and American movies were shown. The Dong An rapidly became an attraction in its own right, and emerged as one of the city’s favourite shopping haunts, drawing crowds of shoppers to Wangfujing. In 1928, Jermyn Chi-Hung Lynn described the Dong An bazaar as ‘a place which no visitor to Peking can afford to miss’.20 Beijingers began to desert temple fairs for this more convenient venue. The Dong An had a reputation as a trustworthy institution, selling high-quality products at a fair price, and was known as a freely accessible democratic public space, which people could enjoy without necessarily having to consume. It was a place where scholars in long robes would mingle with coarsely jacketed workers along the market’s narrow passageways and rub shoulders with dandy flâneurs, busy housekeepers and curious foreigners. It was a true place of democratic encounter, were the city’s different social worlds collided. Upon entering the imposing arched gateway, visitors had to pass by scores of parked bicycles, dozens of rickshaws awaiting customers, and numerous beggars beating their wooden clappers, crying ‘lao ye, taitai’ (Old Sir! M’am!), or flaunting cards describing their misfortune, in Chinese on one side and English on the other.

Revolution and Change Throughout the 1930s, Wangfujing kept an exotic character as a growing number of foreigners, namely Americans and Japanese, settled in the area. Wangfujing gathered all the elements of a modern downtown, with theatres, cinemas, coffeehouses, dance halls, hotels and brothels.21 Its accessibility via modern forms of

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 105 mass transportation and proximity to bus and streetcar terminals, as well as to the city’s most important railway stations aided its popularity.22 During the Japanese Occupation (1937–1945) many local institutions were replaced by Japanese shops, including several photo studios. The Peking Union Medical Center just off Wangfujing was turned into a Japanese military hospital.23 When the Communist Party came to power in 1949, Wangfujing’s international character was dramatically altered. In 1949, a new nationalist regulation imposed by the recently established government required all shop signs and the packaging of goods to be exclusively in Chinese characters. Famous signs such as ‘Jelly Belly, Tailor’, ‘Whole World & Co.’ or the ubiquitous ‘Hollywood Beauty Salon, Specialists in Hair Curvation and Scientific Hair Discoloration’ were removed.24 Traditional red and gold Chinese shop signs bearing auspicious old names also gradually vanished and were replaced by more revolutionary ones. Beggars were no longer visible along Wangfujing as they were sent back to their home towns or to job training centres by the new government. Foreigners, who had hitherto been free to move within the city, were gradually put under restriction, especially after the outbreak of the Korean War (1950–1953). In 1954, all foreign nationals were forced to leave China.25 The nationalization of most business institutions and the departure of foreign enterprises brought a slowdown in Wangfujing’s commercial activity and cost the street some of its glitz. As China virtually stopped importing foreign goods and limited national commodity production, Wangfujing’s famous shop windows were gradually left empty. Old private stores were replaced by socialist ones, with their efficient layout, crude lighting, stark decoration, and surly shop assistants. During the Great Leap Forward in the late 1950s, food shortages, limited production, and the introduction of a ration system reduced overall consumption and further slowed business on Wangfujing. Dong An Market itself was reformed and shops judged unsuitable – either for the products they sold or the people who ran them – were closed down.26 In January 1956, the market was nationalized and converted into a state enterprise selling national products at fixed prices. During the Cultural Revolution, the market was stripped of its old name – whose reference to the eastern gate of the Imperial City (Dong An Men) was judged counter-revolutionary – and changed to Dong Feng (East Wind) Market. Wangfujing similarly lost its evocative feudal name and was renamed Ren Min Lu (People’s Street). It only regained its original name in 1978, after the downfall of the Gang of Four.27 Despite such ideological adaptations, Wangfujing retained its position as a major centre of consumption. In 1955, the legendary Beijing Department Store (Beijingshi Baihuo Dalou) – the first of the so-called ‘one-hundred things department stores’ of the socialist era – was built on the west side of the street. It was such a novelty that,

106 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 4.8. The Wangfujing Department Store (Baihuo Dalou) built in 1954 represents one of the main additions to Wangfujing’s commercial landscape in the Mao era.

on its opening day, it lured 160,000 customers without any promotional activity. As the largest shopping complex in the country and the first department store in Beijing, it quickly became a nationally famed tourist attraction and port of call for provincial visitors to the national capital, reviving Wangfujing’s reputation as the best-known commercial street in Beijing (Figure 4.8). After the launch of the Open Door policy in 1978 and China’s embrace of a market economy, Wangfujing’s landscape was again transformed. Red-character slogans and propaganda posters were replaced by advertisements for foreign television sets and Chinese patent medicine. Increasingly aware of global trends and fashions, Chinese consumers became more concerned about the quality of products and services as well as the attractiveness of the shopping environment. But large state-owned enterprises were slow to adapt to the new consumer culture of the reform era. Wangfujing’s anchor institutions, the Dong An Market and the Beijing Department Store, failed to update their facilities and continued selling low-quality, nationally-produced goods, causing the street to lose part of its most faithful clientele. Discriminating Beijing consumers deserted Wangfujing for Xidan, Wangfujing’s long-time rival, which was the first street in the Chinese capital to host consumer friendly shopping facilities, boasting energetic staff and high quality imported goods. Wangfujing’s clientele became overwhelmingly composed of Chinese tourists and foreign visitors attracted by the street’s historic reputation as well as its central location close to the train stations and all major tourist attractions. Wangfujing’s tourist role was soon confirmed by the establishment of several high-grade tourist hotels in the area.28 By the late 1980s, as China entered a new period of prosperity, Wangfujing underwent a revival. Foreign investors started to invade the Chinese real estate market and to fight for a spot on Wangfujing. Land prices along the street began to rise, justifying Wangfujing’s latest nickname: ‘cun

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 107 tu cun jin’ (where an inch of land is worth an inch of gold). An important symbol of Wangfujing’s recovery was the opening of Beijing’s first McDonald’s restaurant (Maidanglao) which planted its golden arches at the southern end of Golden Street in April 1992. As the world’s largest McDonald’s, with seven-hundred seats and twenty-nine cash registers, it instantly became a major attraction on the Beijing scene, drawing a record 40,000 customers on its first day of business. Despite the relatively high prices, the landmark restaurant long remained one of McDonalds’ most profitable outlets, and was so popular that for a while Wangfujing became known as ‘McDonald’s Street’29 (Figure 4.9). Beijing’s first McDonald’s became an important icon of the city’s modernization and was frequently shown on national television as a proof of China’s integration into the world economy. For Beijing residents and provincial Chinese tourists, the famous restaurant was more than a mere eatery. It was considered as a high fashion place, where one could get a taste of Western culture – or simply a snapshot of it by being photographed with the large Ronald McDonald statue standing by the door. The establishment of McDonald’s was to be the first in a series of transformations which were to turn Wangfujing into a centre of global consumerism. Two weeks

Figure 4.9. The notorious McDonald’s outlet at the corner of Wangfujing Street and Chang An Avenue. At the time of its construction in 1992, it was the world’s largest McDonald’s outlet, and the first one in the Chinese capital. It would soon stand at the centre of an important controversy involving the construction of the Oriental Plaza.

108 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing after the restaurant’s opening, Wu Fang Zhai, an old, prestigious restaurant further north on Wangfujing went out of business and was replaced by the International Fast Food City, specializing in American and Japanese snacks.30 Other trademarks of Western capitalism soon followed, including a Holiday Inn hotel and a Dunkin’ Donut outlet, which rapidly became part of the street’s familiar landscape and no longer considered strange or exotic. The last decade of the twentieth century represented a major turning point in the history of Wangfujing as it became one of the symbols of China’s successful marketization. In the early 1990s, Wangfujing embarked on a large-scale urban improvement project which would give the street a major face-lift in the hope of regaining its reputation as Beijing’s foremost shopping street. The transformation was part of a redevelopment scheme put forward by Beijing Mayor and Party Chief, Chen Xitong, which aimed to turn the old capital into a ‘prosperous and stable international metropolis with first class public services and a sound environment’. The ambitious plan would bring worldwide notoriety to Wangfujing, albeit not of the sort its promoters had envisaged. Chen Xitong would be at the centre of a saga which would unfold in the mid-1990s and plague Wangfujing with a series of controversies.

Towers, Malls and Plazas: Wangfujing in the 1990s One of the key aspects of the plan to turn Beijing into a world metropolis was the establishment of a series of Central Business Districts (CBDs) in the capital, one of which would be in Wangfujing. In 1992, the street was established as a special development area and important steps were taken to turn Wangfujing into a ‘first class international modern commercial district’.31 To attract foreign capital, the city government launched a major city marketing campaign worldwide, promoting Beijing as an advanced commercial and financial hub. Important sums were also spent on modernizing local infrastructure and improving the business environment.32 But the main tool used in Wangfujing’s transformation was urban redevelopment, with the projected reconstruction of most of the area with major commercial ventures.33 Fifty-five new multi-storey buildings were planned, adding up to 3.5 million square metres of office and retail space to the district.34 The goal was to turn Wangfujing into an elaborate and highly efficient machine devoted to a single activity: consumption, which would not only dominate the space on both sides of the street, but also be extended underground. The plan advocated the construction of an entire subterranean city, with underground shopping facilities interconnected by passageways and directly linked to subway stations and parking lots to ensure convenient access. To facilitate further the movement of the anticipated half a

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 109

Figure 4.10. Plan of the main commercial and cultural institutions on contemporary Wangfujing Street (left), and a model of the late 1990s redevelopment project (right).

million daily visitors, the street was turned over to pedestrians in July 1999, with special access to public buses and bicycle rickshaws35 (Figure 4.10). The ambitious renovation plan was extremely image-oriented. Strict directives ensured the construction of a unified and distinctive ‘Wangfujing image’ that would be both modern and characteristically Chinese. The guiding principle of the renovation programme was unification, emphasized in architectural styles, colour schemes, building materials, shop windows, advertising, urban design, street furnishing, street paving and thematic signs which, according to the specifications, should be uniformly ‘modern and simple’. Architectural guidelines specified that in order to retain a characteristic Chinese flavour in the new architecture, colours and roof lines must be consistent with those of the old city, using the Forbidden City as a model. The renovation plan also required all existing shops to conform to the unification criteria and ‘undergo a facelift and adapt to the environmental beautification programme while expressing their own character’.36 Order and cleanliness were other more implicit criteria guiding the renovation scheme. The redevelopment plan included the burial of messy telephone wires and cables, the use of uniform billboards and signage, and banning the use of coal for heating. Renovation also freed the street of offensive features such as shabby fences,

110 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing disorderly bicycle parking and unkempt trees which allegedly gave Wangfujing an untidy appearance. Wangfujing’s tamed and uniform new image departed from its historically diverse and eclectic outlook and contrasted with the vernacular anarchy of the surrounding neighbourhoods. By drawing on nostalgic imagery and historical quotations, the street’s reconstructed image evoked an imagined past, both unproblematic and reassuring in the face of the disturbingly rapid pace of modernization. Renovation gave the street the sanitized air of postmodern shopping and entertainment districts now found around the world, whose sedate environment is engineered to create the best conditions for people to focus their energy on consumption (Figure 4.11).

Figure 4.11. Wangfujing in 1999, in the midst of the renovation project.

Aesthetics extended to urban design and landscaping where no effort was spared to give Wangfujing a festive new look. The roadway and sidewalks were repaved with soft coloured stones and bricks. A series of small public squares equipped with custom designed benches, dustbins, lampposts, and phone booths ornamented with decorative clock towers, fountains and pavilions was created to serve as pedestrian nodes. Among the sleek modernity of the new urban design, a series of life-size statues depicting scenes from Old Peking contribute a tinge of nostalgia to the street and reportedly ‘add[s] a cultural dimension specifically Chinese and characteristic of Beijing’.37 In front of the Beijing Department Store, a Hong-Kong-style choreographed fountain-and-light display dances to the sounds of a Strauss waltz across from a rare remnant of the socialist era, the bust of the obscure worker, Zheng Binggui, labelled ‘the National Model Shop Assistant’, who it was said could assess the weight of candy by holding it in his hands. These and other popular attractions turned Wangfujing into a spectacular urban space whose kitsch ostentation fosters an urban experience that can itself be consumed. A new logo for Wangfujing was also created and stamped all over the street, making complete the picture perfect image of global corporate commercial redevelopment.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 111

Two Controversial Projects Wangfujing’s recent transformation was influenced by powerful global currents, especially from Hong Kong. Not only was the street reshaped by Hong Kong money, but it was also transformed according to Hong Kong models. Most of the large-scale commercial projects in the renovation plan were undertaken by Hong Kong investors. The entire redevelopment scheme, and especially the idea of a pedestrian-oriented shopping system, was directly inspired by the design of Hong Kong shopping malls. Wu Sheng, the original general urban planner of the Wangfujing Area Development and Construction Office conducted a study tour of Hong Kong’s shopping scene in 1993, and based many of the planning guidelines on the Special Administrative Region’s (SAR’s) commercial architectural design.38 Two Hong Kong funded mammoth projects anchored Wangfujing’s commercial redevelopment: Sun Dong An (the New Dong An Market), China’s largest shopping centre, and Oriental Plaza, considered to be the largest comprehensive construction site in Asia. The two projects were to act as catalysts for economic revitalization in the area, and serve as models for future projects in Wangfujing. City planners hoped that their prestigious image would lend status to the street and create a competitive advantage within the city, bringing investment, jobs, and visitors to the district. However, these two icons of Wangfujing’s redevelopment became the objects of important criticisms at home and abroad and gained notoriety for being at the centre of important controversies.

Sun Dong An: A Capitalist Revolution One of the first attempts to update Wangfujing’s’ commercial landscape was the transformation of the old Dong An market into a state-of-the-art, mixed-use commercial centre. Following the example of Shanghai, Beijing had, in the early 1990s, decided to open its retail sector to overseas investors, starting with the construction of a major commercial project on Wangfujing. The project represented the first large-scale, high-quality urban redevelopment project in Beijing since the slow down in construction sparked by the 1989 events at Tiananmen Square. This US$300 million redevelopment project was an important symbol for Beijing’s modernization. The developer, a fifty-fifty joint venture between the stateowned Beijing based Dong An Group and Sun Hung Kai Properties of Hong Kong, was among the first Sino-foreign joint ventures to be granted a license to operate a retail business. Because of its alleged potential as a ‘centre for Chinese people to look at the world and where foreigners would learn to know China’,39 the project received great support from both central and local governments and was treated as an important national affair. The June 1992 signature of the agreement between

112 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the two parties took place at the Great Hall of the People, the near equivalent to a Chinese Parliament. The joint venture also received permission from the government to import up to 30 per cent of its merchandise, a rare privilege for a Chinese retail business.40 In October 1993, the eighty-seven year old Dong An market closed its doors to allow demolition work to proceed. Since the mid-1980s, the Dong An had been losing popularity because of its derelict facilities. The stuffy, dimly lit market, with its unattractive behind-the-counter service could no longer compete with the new breed of foreign-funded shopping centres that had started to arise citywide. When it opened its doors in January 1998, the New Dong An market (hereafter referred to as Sun Dong An)41 was the largest international-standard shopping centre in Beijing (Figure 4.12). The twelve-storey multi-use complex is the epitome of the self-sufficient ‘total space’ said to characterize late capitalist architecture of consumption.42 It congregates retail, office and entertainment functions under a single roof, and includes several restaurants, a night club, a cinema, a bowling alley, and a fitness centre, all organized around the fluid space of ‘the mall’. Through careful spatial manipulations, Sun Dong An was conceived as a kind of parallel environment designed to create a condition of mindless consumption, and whose readability operates by alternating surprise and confusion with familiarity and harmony by combining clarity and opacity. It is a place consecrated to timelessness and stasis, deprived of references to real time and space, with its absence of clocks, of visual connection with the outside, and its perfectly controlled weather.43 Like the ubiquitous post-modern shopping mall found all over the world, its limited

Figure 4.12. Axonometric computer rendering of Sun Dong An showing the retail podium and office towers.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 113

Figure 4.13. The interior space of Sun Dong An displays the sleek postmodern features that characterize international shopping mall design.

entrances, multiple levels, repetitive corridors, reflective surfaces and dramatic atriums all work to trap the consumer within an enclosed, purely contemplative space protected from the busy world outside and devoted to the sole purpose of consumption.44 Sealed off from the street, Sun Dong An denies the reality of Wangfujing by turning its back on it: even street level shops are only accessible from the interior mall (Figure 4.13). While Sun Dong An’s interior design conforms to the sleek signature style of international shopping malls, the exterior architecture of the building is a superficial attempt to integrate the building into the local urban landscape by cloaking it under a familiar guise. The complex is an architectural hybrid that features traditional Chinese borrowings, including pastiche glazed-tile roofs and red-lacquer ornamental columns. Such historical recuperation stems in part from a new trend in public culture: a desire to preserve or revive things Chinese, strongly influenced by the debates over the definition of a modern Chinese identity. It is also influenced by a global inclination for post-modern revivalism that rests on the packaging and commodification of tradition. This practice takes on a new meaning at Sun Dong An where an artificial re-creation paradoxically required the destruction of a more ‘authentic’ place.

114 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Similarly, the ‘century old shopping street’ located in the basement concourse nostalgically reproduces the façades of famous old Beijing shops. These tea shops, folkloric Chinese medicine stores, bakeries and other stores bearing evocative names cluster around a central open space where stalls try to replicate the atmosphere of a public market inside the protected sphere of the shopping mall. Drawing upon a reductionist and highly nostalgic vision of an unproblematic, premodern Chinese past, image consultants tried to recreate an improved and condensed version of ‘urban reality’, imagined as free of many undesirable aspects of contemporary city life, including traffic, pollution, crime, uncontrollable weather, and the unbearable sight of impoverished people. Ironically, these imitation street vendors stand as a fiction of the informal sector workers who have themselves been displaced to allow for the ‘revitalization’ Wangfujing and the construction of Sun Dong An. But the mimicry is only superficial. Rather than selling cheap food and trinkets, the mall’s vendors trade in high-tech household gadgets and other goods associated with a certain well-off status. The design of the complex was at the centre of an important controversy, which made manifest the growing tensions between local and foreign participants in the street’s redevelopment. Originally, a team from the prestigious Tsinghua University School of Architecture had been selected to design the project, based on their winning entry to a state-sponsored design competition. Their sensitive proposal was acclaimed for both minimizing the building’s impact on the street and maximizing sunlight penetration into the adjacent neighbourhood. But when Sun Hung Kai moved in as the prime investor, he requested that the design be modified to optimize both floor space and profitability. The Hong Kong magnate threatened to withdraw his investment if several storeys of office space were not added to the retail scheme. Beijing Vice-Mayor Zhang Baifa accepted the conditions, to the dismay of the Tsinghua team who claimed they had a legally binding contract. The architects reported the wrongdoing to the media and the House of State, but the project was ultimately altered to match Sun Hung Kai’s requests. The final design was produced as a joint effort by the Los Angeles-based architectural firm RTKL Associates and Wong and Tong International of Hong Kong. The Tsinghua team ended up playing a subordinate role in the project, and was relegated to the position of local consultant. This first encounter with the realities of marketled urban development was a learning experience for the university team, and a sobering lesson in capitalism’s partiality for economic interests over social ones.45 The general public’s attitude towards the project reveals a widespread suspicion for modernization and the unsettling changes it triggers, and a nostalgia for a time when things were both simple and stable. For many people, the destruction of the old Dong An market represented the loss of an historic icon of Beijing’s early modernity, the end of an era in the city’s history, and the disappearance of an entire

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 115 urban culture. One shopkeeper who grew up in Wangfujing recalls the days when all businesses were small, trustworthy and offered personalized services. ‘If you needed shoes,’ he recollects, ‘you just had to go to Dong An Market, choose the leather, pick a model, and have shoes made to fit.’ His attitude reveals a deep distrust for chain stores and other large retail outlets. ‘Nowadays, you are never sure of the quality of what you buy’ he complains, ‘even if you pay a high price.’ For other people, the market’s demolition posed a more personal threat. It signified the first phase of Wangfujing’s redevelopment and the imminent eviction of hundreds of people from their neighbourhood. For this reason, many Beijingers resented Sun Dong An’s appropriation of the famous market’s old name. They found it outrageous that foreign investors could usurp Dong An’s name and capitalize upon its wide recognition and nostalgic capital to attract wealthy shoppers. And to do so while replacing an old storehouse of heterogeneity by a fabricated palace of luxury consumption. However, the sophisticated technology used in the manipulation of space, function, and design to seduce consumers ultimately backfired, in part because of people’s inexperience of such complex post-modern spaces. Many Beijingers were intimidated by the new Dong An. They found the building excessively complicated and feared losing their way in the unfamiliar maze of similar looking shops. Lao Wang, a sixty year old doorman, admits his difficulty adapting to the shopping environment of the Sun Dong An complex. ‘I don’t like to shop in modern stores’ he complained. ‘For one, I am not used to walking on the slippery floors.’ The opulent and sophisticated image of the new mall added to its exclusive character and further alienated part of the local population. Many Beijingers feel out of place at Sun Dong An. They believe that ordinary people do not really belong in this lavish environment built for the benefit of wealthy Chinese and rich foreigners. ‘The new market sure is magnificent,’ one resident said, ‘but all they sell is expensive brand names which we cannot afford. It was built for rich people, not ordinary people like us.’ Ultimately, the mall would suffer economically from the suspicion and resentment it aroused from the Beijing public. By mid-1999, the management of the Dong An Group admitted to important losses which it blamed upon the mall’s luxury image that gave people the false impression that the goods sold inside are beyond their means. More than one year after it opened, many residents of the neighbourhood admit having visited Sun Dong An only once, ‘just to have a look’. Most did not buy anything. ‘It’s a good place for sightseeing’ one resident said. ‘But common workers like me can not afford to shop there.’ Popular resistance to the new mall is made evident by the paradox that its most successful sections are the ones that most resemble the old market. The basement ‘century old shopping street’ attracts nostalgic people from all over Beijing for its famous traditional delis, many of which originally had shops at the old Dong

116 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing An. Crowds also flock to Sun Dong An’s fifth floor food court to taste culinary specialties from all over China, where they can consume diversity in a carefully packaged multicultural experience. But in general, people have been voting with their feet at the high prices charged at the new mall. Many locals actually end up shopping at the Xincheng Trading and Whole Sale Market, located in an alley behind Sun Dong An. Some old Dong An traders who could not afford the fivefold rent increase at the new mall have transferred their businesses to this temporary building. Despite their out of the way location, hidden from the main street, they are making good business, especially with Sun Dong An shoppers turned off by the high prices. They are symbolically getting their revenge on the ‘forbidden’ mall by selling the same products for nearly half the price, because their rent is only a tenth of those at Sun Dong An. Despite all the criticism, people go in their masses to Sun Dong An. Much like at the old Dong An, the permanent spectacle the mall offers makes it a privileged site of flânerie and indolence. Beijing teenagers, more familiar with global cultural trends, quickly adapted to the mall’s culture and adopted it as a favoured spot to ‘hang out’. They love the place’s connectedness to the wider world beyond China’s borders. ‘It looks just like in Hong Kong movies’ one said approvingly. ‘With all the brand-name stores!’ For the emerging Chinese bourgeoisie, the shopping mall represents a prestigious icon of modernity and a privileged site for the acquisition of social capital and the consumption of goods, images, and services that signify taste, distinction, and sophistication. Even for those who do not consume, the malls’ glamorous image offers the promise of an exotic tourist experience, where they can enjoy a taste of global consumer culture and feel part of the world community. This new world of fantasy and fiction provides them with the chance to partake in ‘imagined cosmopolitanism’ where even window shopping creates the illusion of participating in cosmopolitan life.46 The shopping mall represents a radically new type of public space in the Chinese urban landscape. During the Maoist period, scarce leisure time and a lack of surplus income coupled with the reduced mobility imparted by the danwei (work unit) system limited the use of public urban spaces. Public spaces were limited to parks, museums, streets, and public squares, whose main purpose centred on the reproduction of labour and ideology formation. Nightclubs, cafes and other semipublic gathering places were few, while shopping, restricted to government-owned stores, was more a daily necessity that a leisure activity. The new privately-owned spaces of leisure and consumption which have appeared since the early 1990s thus represent a drastic change in the urban landscape. Yet, far from being accessible to all, these spaces cater for the small fraction of the population now enjoying surplus income and leisure time. In this sense, they have become sites of exclusion, where the newly emerging social fragmentation is constructed and reproduced. Unable to

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 117 consume the cultural capital provided by these new trans-national spaces, those who have not benefited from the liberalization of the economy and have been left behind by modernization never acquire the symbolic and material capital which has become increasingly necessary to be part of, and succeed in, the new Chinese society. The mall has nonetheless become an important space for social congregation, a kind of parallel universe, sheltered from the government’s panoptic surveillance machinery, where ideas can potentially be formed and disseminated without fear of repression. This privatized environment is, paradoxically, enjoyed as a very public space: unlike most public parks in the city, there are no entrance fees, no security guards, no loud speakers, and few directives dictating people’s behaviour – apart from a sign asking people to form a line to wait for the elevators. People love the illusion of freedom that the mall affords them, and the privilege of being able to just walk into its spectacular atrium and enjoy its climatically controlled environment, comfortably warm in winter and refreshingly cool in summer. ‘It’s good because there is space for people to spend time and have a look’ says a snack bar owner in a nearby hutong (Beijing’s traditional narrow lanes). ‘And no one stops you from going in.’ In this apparently depoliticized space, ideology is nonetheless at work. Fashion models have replaced model workers on the billboards, while quotations from Mao simply gave way to promotional slogans. Yet, the propaganda remains essentially the same, and only substitutes the myths of a revolution for those of another. According to Michael Dutton: [T]he old dream of socialism, of a modern revolutionary China, pales before the windows of promise that the modern reifying form of consumption promotes. It is here, in these shop window displays, that one begins to recognize the power of consumption. One realizes how this power, beyond commitment to any single cause, beyond any simple-minded notion of ‘ideology’, is so voracious, so all-encompassing and so powerful.47 Global consumerism is the new ideology, and the glittering window displays, attractive advertising billboards, and shiny new architecture of Sun Dong An all promote the idea that to consume is to be headed for a bright new future where all needs and desires will be fulfilled.48 Like the circus in the Roman period, the new hedonistic space of the mall plays an important role in maintaining the social order by absorbing the increase in leisure time brought by the mechanization of household work and reduction in working hours. By fostering an excessive fascination for consumption, it also distracts people from the problems of their everyday life.

Oriental Plaza: The Hong Kong Takeover Another key commercial project in Wangfujing’s redevelopment – and by far the most controversial – is Oriental Plaza, the gigantic commercial complex which

118 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing now guards the southern end of Wangfujing. At the time of its construction, the US$2 billion Hong Kong-financed project represented the largest civil property development project in Asia. According to its promoters, including Beijing Mayor Chen Xitong, the complex of shopping malls, luxury apartments, hotel, and offices would play a central role in Wangfujing’s renovation and serve as a an anchor to attract overseas investment and develop the area’s service industry.49 From the very beginning, the project was flooded in controversy. The first conflict emerged in November 1994 when the Beijing city government, responsible for clearing the land on which Oriental Plaza would rise, ordered the eviction of Beijing’s landmark McDonald’s restaurant which stood at the western end of the site. The American fast-food chain had obtained a twenty-year lease for this prime corner location at the intersection of Wangfujing and Chang An Avenue at a fraction of its value, in the aftermath of the Tiananmen crackdown in 1989 when most foreign investors were backing away from their investments in Beijing. Outraged by the eviction order after only two years of operation, McDonald’s refused to go.50 The McDonald’s incident – which could have had disastrous consequences for the future of foreign investment in the Chinese capital – revealed just how much the city government was willing to forfeit to insure the realization of Oriental Plaza. The incident shook the confidence of the international business community and gave rise to a wave of concern about the risk of investing in China. Foreign business owners called into question the willingness of the Chinese government and its state-owned entities to live up to the terms of the contracts they signed with overseas investors.51 McDonald’s resisted eviction for two years but finally closed down its flagship restaurant in December 1996 after reaching an agreement with the Beijing authorities. The American fast-food chain received a 100 million yuan (US$12 million) compensation from the city government for lost business and was given a new site about 250 metres further north on Wangfujing. Within the next few years, McDonald’s were to open two more outlets on the street.52 The McDonald’s incident was only the first in a series of events which were to slow the evolution of Oriental Plaza. Soon after the controversy over the site emerged, a new conflict over the building design arose. In the Fall of 1994, historical preservationists and city government planners managed to stall early excavation work on the controversial billion dollar project for building code violations. The design of the future Oriental Plaza, which consisted of a single building 78 metres high, 500 meters long and nearly 200 metres wide, clearly exceeded the 30 metre height limit set for this historically sensitive area. In addition, it was revealed that the city government had failed to report to the central government that it had given permission to build the Oriental Plaza, bypassing a rule stating that any building worth more than 50 million yuan must be submitted for acceptance to the Central Planning Bureau.53

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 119 Upon discovery that the project had been pushed through without proper planning permission, project opponents took their grievances to the State Council, China’s highest governing body, which in November 1994 ordered the project to be halted. Prime Minister Li Peng, alerted by two of Beijing’s most senior city planning officials, also declared that the construction of Oriental Plaza would not be allowed to proceed until the project went through proper procedures and complied with established regulations. This was a small victory on the part of redevelopment opponents in their battle against Chen Xitong’s pro-development government.54 Only a few months before, Mayor Chen Xitong had shunned a similar attempt to stop the construction of Oriental Plaza. In August 1994, six prominent Beijing architects had sent a petition to the city government criticizing the height and scale of the project. Such blatant pursuit of high profit and maximum floor space, they wrote, was not suitable for an area as sensitive as Beijing’s historical city centre. They claimed that the construction of Oriental Plaza – a massive mirror glass block half a kilometre long – would forever alter the appearance of the old city and dwarf national monuments such as the Great Hall of the People and the Forbidden City a few hundred metres away. More than a wholesale rejection of modernization their attitude betrayed a blunt refusal to sacrifice a valuable urban heritage for the sake of Chen Xitong’s demagogic aspirations. But Chen Xitong could not accept such attack on this landmark project, so central to the realization of his vision of Beijing as a modern, international metropolis. He quickly dismissed the petition and abruptly told the architects that their criticism was old-fashioned. If they persisted in opposing the project, he said, then they should simply retire.55 In March 1995, the Hong Kong consortium of investors presented a new scaleddown version of Oriental Plaza to the Chinese government for proper approval. But before construction was resumed, a new incident stalled the project once more. In April 1995, a major corruption scandal erupted within the Beijing city government which exposed Chen Xitong and resulted in his being ousted as Beijing Mayor after twelve years in office. Central to the case against Chen were allegations that he and his associates received up to US$37 million in kickbacks from Hong Kong millionaire Li Ka-shing – the lead investor in Oriental Plaza – after ordering residential neighbourhoods to be cleared to make way for Oriental Plaza. The extent of Chen Xitong’s involvement in the realization of Oriental Plaza was soon revealed. He had been the prime mover behind the sale of the land on which the Plaza would be built, a site often considered the best piece of real estate in China.56 It was Chen who had put the site on the market during an investment mission in Hong Kong in 1992, and had sold it to Li Ka-shing.57 The former mayor was also responsible for the approval of the Plaza’s original design despite its breach in Beijing’s planning rules, and for exerting pressure on residents and businesses in the area – including the world’s largest McDonald’s outlet – to make way for the

120 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing gigantic construction project. In August 1997 Chen Xitong was sentenced to sixteen years in jail for fraud and dereliction of duty.58 The full extent of Chen Xitong’s association with Oriental Plaza remains a mystery, and is likely to remain so with the subsequent ban on media reports about both the project and the scandal. Oriental Plaza staff were also forbidden to talk about the issue. But in the minds of many Beijing citizens, Oriental Plaza remains strongly associated with Chen Xitong’s name, which lends the controversial project a nefarious reputation since the infamous leader was also one of the strong supporters of the violent repression of the 1989 student movement at Tiananmen. The project would remain stalled for nearly two years until the end of 1996, waiting for the scandal to cool off and for revised plans to be approved by the appropriate authorities. This interval provided the occasion for many groups hostile to the project to voice their opposition. In August 1995 the National Chinese Political Consultation Committee – a regulatory organ composed of members of eight ‘democratic parties’ as well as members of the CCP – issued a long statement condemning the revised design of the Plaza. The statement revealed the strong distrust still felt by many Chinese for the promises of modernization as well as their great respect for Beijing’s historic features. Committee members argued that although the new design had broken the project’s original volume into three sections, it could still be perceived as a single, colossal building which would divert attention from the city’s symbolic axis at Tiananmen and transgress the city’s height limitations. They deplored the design’s lack of consistency with the architectural style and general image of Beijing and claimed that if it were constructed, the building would have a negative impact on the city’s international image. Committee members also judged the building’s commercial function unfit for the cultural and political character of the area. Beijingers should not sacrifice their cultural heritage to satisfy foreign investors’ monetary interests, they wrote, and authorities should not be so short-sighted as to focus on short-term economic benefits while ignoring the long-term impact on the appearance of the ancient capital city.59 These arguments drew upon the familiar cultural debate over modern Chinese architecture which had developed in the 1980s and that revolved around the dilemma between tradition and modernity, Chinese and Western influences, and socialist and capitalist ideologies.60 This cultural questioning also coincided with the development of an historical conservation movement in China, whose resistance to change clashed with the vision of major proponents of modernization. One of the most devoted members of this movement and a strong opponent to the construction of Oriental Plaza was Liang Congjie, the son of the eminent architect Liang Sicheng who in the 1950s had fought, in vain, for the preservation of Beijing’s historic core. In a December 1995 letter addressed to the general secretary of the State House to protest against the construction of Oriental Plaza, Liang Congjie wrote:

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 121 In many national capitals all over the world – like Washington DC and Tokyo for example – government buildings and important public facilities are the only buildings allowed to be built in the city centre. Commercial buildings are not. The reason is self evident. What would citizens think? What would foreign visitors think? Here in Beijing, who will bear the historical responsibility for allowing such a colossal building as Oriental Plaza, built with Hong Kong capital, to stand among symbols of the People’s political power such as Tiananmen, Zhongnanhai, the Great Hall of the People, the Monument to People’s Heroes, and the National History Museum, and to be taller than all these buildings, so that it towers over all the other buildings in the area? It would be unlawful to allow such a thing to happen.61 In June 1996 the State Council gave its approval for the construction work on Oriental Plaza, following a final redesign which forced the investment consortium to scale down the project. Despite the lengthy and acrimonious battle, the project was little changed from its original design. The new version had been broken into a series of separate buildings with components rising 49, 59, and 68 metres, which were still greater than the 30-metre height limit (Figures 4.14 and 4.15).

Figure 4.14. Original design for Oriental Plaza.

Figure 4.15. Oriental Plaza’s slightly scaled down final design.

122 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing The State Council’s decision came as a blow to the opponents of Li Ka-shing’s monumental project. ‘The revisions are superficial,’ complained Luo Zuowen of the Communist Party’s Ancient Architecture Commission. ‘It is still a monster. If Mr. Li does not want to be the arch enemy of the entire Chinese people, he should stop it now and redeem himself.’62 Although the main winners in the negotiation, the investors were not satisfied with the final proposition either. The redesign had trimmed the project’s floor area by more than one-third and translated into a sizable commercial loss. After several months of legal and political battles, wrecking crews finally went back to work in December 1996 to tear down the old McDonald’s building and start excavation work. But they were soon stopped by a third incident which would stall the ill-fated project for yet another year. In late December 1996 construction workers unearthed primitive stone tools, bone fragments and charcoal pieces from the site, which experts from the Chinese Academy of Sciences dated from the late Palaeolithic Period some 20,000 years ago. These represent the earliest signs of human activity ever found in the Beijing area and were heralded as an important scientific discovery. Their presence on the site forced archaeologists to reconsider their belief that early humans had lived in caves, not in the plains surrounding Beijing.63 The archaeological discovery provided an opportunity for project opponents to renew their offensive. After the Beijing city government reassured the investors that archaeological searches would not affect progress on the Oriental Plaza, leading archaeologists, historians, and city planners sent a petition to official newspapers demanding that construction be stopped to allow the site to be properly excavated. A group of well-known personalities on the Beijing cultural scene also wrote to the press to propose that a museum be built on the site rather than a shopping mall. Beijing University professor Yu Xixian and eight other eminent scholars submitted a similar request to the municipal government supporting the establishment of an archaeological museum. Other imminent figures on the Beijing scene suggested that room be made inside Oriental Plaza to create an exhibition space for the relics, arguing that such cultural gesture might actually enhance the popularity of the commercial complex.64 The archaeological discovery also triggered important public discussions in the media about China’s need to preserve remnants of its rich and ancient history from the ravages of its headlong rush towards modernization. ‘We should not ignore our cultural roots, nor allow the destruction of cultural artefacts for the benefit of commercial development’ said Yuan Jianfang, a Beijing scholar. Yuan also suggested that ancient cities like Beijing should have laws regulating the depth limit for underground excavations, just as there are height limit ordinances for above ground construction.65

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 123 After the developers promised to make room for an exhibition hall inside Oriental Plaza, the State Council finally allowed work to resume in the Fall of 1997. Incidentally, the approval followed President Jiang Zemin’s return from Hong Kong where he had attended the ceremonies celebrating the territory’s return to the motherland in July 1997. Jiang had apparently discussed the project with the head of the Special Autonomous Region during his visit, and he held a meeting over the issue with the central government after his return. To the dismay of historical preservationists, it was confirmed in January 1999 that a 400 square metre palaeoanthropological museum would be set up in Oriental Plaza, but that it would be relegated to the building’s third basement, adjacent to a subway entrance.66 Foundation work on the project finally started on December 1, 1997. The threeyear delay had raised the total development cost of the project to US$2 billion, from the 1995 estimate of $1.3 billion.67 Despite the resumption of construction, the debate over the scale and design of Oriental Plaza continued. In September 1998, a group of scholars from the Chinese Academy of Sciences sent a letter to the central government with a final appeal for the structure to be no higher than 40 metres, suggesting that investors be compensated with land elsewhere in the city for the space they would lose. But their plea went unanswered. This time, nothing was to stand in the way of the mega-project, and construction on Oriental Plaza proceeded without interference. An army of labourers were put to work around the clock in three different shifts to catch up with accumulated delays and complete the exterior of the thirteen tower blocks in time for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the People’s Republic on October 1, 1999. At the peak of construction, a total of 20,000 people were working on the project. In February 1999, Oriental Plaza was launched on the property market. With its total floor area of 880,000 square metres, the Plaza boasted the largest floor space in Asia, with a footprint of 110,000 square metres – almost half that of the entire Forbidden City (Figures 4.16 and 4.17). Oriental Plaza was advertised as the new address of Beijing’s Central Business District. The Plaza’s location in the heart of the old city, adjoining the Wangfujing commercial district, a few blocks from Tiananmen and the Forbidden City, and across the street from the central office of the Ministry of Foreign Trade and Economy, were said to guarantee the project’s economic success.68 For those who had fought the construction of Oriental Plaza until the bitter end, the monumental building would remain a symbol of China’s new subjugation at the hands of world imperialists. The project epitomized the Chinese people’s lost sovereignty over their own environment as wealthy outsiders increasingly dictated the way their cities are transformed. For many, 1997 had brought Hong Kong’s takeover of China, not the opposite.

124 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 4.16. View of Oriental Plaza, the controversial commercial project built in the late 1990s at the intersection of Wangfujing Street and Chang An Avenue. At the time of its construction the project represented the largest civil building in Asia.

The Hidden Price of Redevelopment Driven by a free market vision of economic development, redevelopment was guided by the idea that local interests would be best served by lifting the dead hand of regulation. As a result, few local institutions were spared the impact of market forces, and most fell victims to the imperatives of capital accumulation. Wangfujing’s redevelopment deeply affected the social, cultural, and economic character of the surrounding neighbourhoods. As competition for precious land use rights along the street grew fierce, few of the neighbourhood’s existing institutions had the cash flow to afford the soaring rents which now rivalled those of European capitals. While some businesses struggled to remain in the area, most accepted the demolition compensation offered by development companies and vacated their premises to make way for redevelopment. Numerous residents and cultural institutions were also displaced from the Wangfujing area.

Cultural Costs Wangfujing’s recent history has come to symbolize the nationwide clash between cultural development and economic expansion. Here as everywhere else in China, bastions of Chinese art and centres of learning have been torn down to make way for new, profit-making ventures. Theatres, art galleries, bookstores, and

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 125

Figure 4.17. View of Chang An Avenue looking west with Oriental Plaza and the Beijing Hotel (at the far left).

traditional opera halls are rapidly replaced by fast-food restaurants, modern office buildings, hotels, and karaoke bars. While some people welcomed Wangfujing’s transformation as a sign of progress, others now condemn it as the assassination of a culture. But everyone agrees that Beijing, once compared favourably with Paris, Rome, and London as one of the world’s great cultural capitals, will never be the same once its cultural institutions are gone. Along with the old Dong An Market, another famous Beijing institution, the Jixiang Theatre, fell victim of commercial expansion in Wangfujing. The Jixiang had long been closely associated with the old Dong An and was a landmark on the Beijing Opera scene. Ever since it was built by a palace eunuch as a modest tea house inside the North gate of the old Dong An market in 1906, the Jixiang had caused a sensation. Its construction went against the Qing Imperial edict which had banished theatres, brothels, and the like from the Inner City. It also transgressed a rule that forbade Beijing Opera being played for money. But the Jixiang’s popularity was to set a new trend. Several other tea houses soon followed its example and helped make Wangfujing an entertainment centre. According to Lin Yutang, the Jixiang was: not in a great opera house but in a small theater inside Tungan Bazaar . . . where the benches were rickety, ventilation was nil and breathing was impossible. But the surroundings did not seem to matter. There was noise and laughter in the audience; refreshments were served,

126 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing and ushers, more strictly waiters, sent wrung-out hot towels flying in the air over the heads of the audience.69 Throughout the century, the Jixiang remained at the forefront of Beijing cultural life. After its roof was damaged by fire in 1919, the theatre underwent a series of renovations. Benches were replaced by individual seats and the main hall was reconfigured into an oval seating arrangement. The theatre also adapted to cultural change and added films and evening dramas to its programme. After 1949, the theatre moved to new premises just outside Dong An Market on Jinyu hutong. Despite its more modern setting in a two-storey structure with increased seating capacity, efforts were made to retain the atmosphere of the old theatre by packing the seats close to the stage so that the crowd could interact with the actors and boo the villains, cheer the heroes, and sing along. During the Reform Era, the Jixiang became one of the sole survivors of a decline in the popularity of traditional art forms like Peking Opera. By the time of its last renovation in 1990, the Jixiang was the only remaining theatre in Beijing still putting on shows all year round.70 But the Jixiang’s reprieve was short lived and its fate revealed just how vulnerable cultural institutions had become to the wave of commercialism. In spite of its promising name (jixiang means ‘auspicious’ in Mandarin) the theatre was scheduled for demolition in 1993 as it stood within the perimeter planned for the construction of Sun Dong An. News of the theatre’s imminent destruction was met with emotion by the shrinking community of Peking Opera lovers in Beijing. It aroused the concern of more than fifty Beijing celebrities, including actors, directors, and critics, who signed a petition to the city government pleading for the Jixiang Theatre to be saved. For them, the Jixiang’s historic role in the development of Peking Opera – regarded as one of the most expressive symbols of the country’s culture – had made it an emblem of that type of art. They feared the theatre’s demolition could mean the end of Beijing Opera in the capital, as it would follow the loss of other venues such as the Chang An and Zhonghe Theatres and the conversion of many opera houses into cinemas and discos.71 Zhang Yu, director of the theatre, denied rumours that a decline in Peking Opera popularity triggered the closure of the theatre and stated that the Jixiang Theatre had remained profitable to the end, with an average of 300 plays staged each year. He pointed instead to rapid commercial development in Wangfujing as the main cause of the theatre’s disappearance. Zhang told the press: ‘We don’t oppose reconstruction, but economic prosperity certainly does conflict with cultural prosperity. We can’t say that karaoke bars or dancing halls alone will satisfy the needs of people’.72 Despite vocal attempts to save the theatre, the historical landmark was officially closed on October 5, 1993. For its last night, the Jixiang was overwhelmed by grieving fans. Although the city government promised to reserve

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 127 a section of the new shopping complex for a three-hundred seat Jixiang theatre, this never materialized. Instead, the space was occupied by a cinema. Beijing’s artistic and cultural community lost another battle with the country’s increasingly powerful commercial interests when in April 1994 the prestigious Central Academy of Fine Arts agreed to vacate its premises on Wangfujing to make way for an office and retail complex. The institute, founded in 1918, had been located east of Wangfujing on Xiaowei hutong since the end of World War II. Known in the Chinese art world as ‘the cradle of modern Chinese painters’, the academy was considered one of the best art schools in Beijing and produced many of China’s best known twentieth-century painters and sculptors.73 The 2,700 square metre campus was sold to a subsidiary of the Hong Kong-based Everbright Group after several other developers had expressed an interest in the prime site. As a compensation, Everbright agreed to build a new campus on the city’s outskirts and to provide the academy with a 10 million yuan (US$1.15 million) long-term development fund. During the six years before the new school was completed, teachers and students were transferred to an old factory building next to the new school’s construction site, 15 kilometres from the city centre.74 Many teachers and students at the academy strongly objected to the move because of the massive disruption it would cause to their work. Teachers must now spend 90 minutes every day commuting from their Wangfujing housing to the school’s new location. Students also described relocation as a long and painful process. But their objections were overruled by the school authorities who prided themselves in the prospect of soon running the largest art school campus in Asia. ‘They were offered several hundred million yuan for the site . . . so of course they took the money!’ said one teacher. Most students at the academy admitted frequently complaining of the cramped conditions at the old campus. They were nonetheless reluctant to move from what was considered to be the best campus location in the country, right at the centre of the nation’s capital. Students at the academy have a long history of involvement with the cultural and political life of the city. They played a central role in the construction of the famous Goddess of Democracy statue which became the symbol of the student demonstration at Tiananmen in 1989, a role which may have accelerated the school’s displacement away from downtown. Students said they would miss such close proximity to the centre of urban life and the easy access to art galleries, theatres and art supply stores around Wangfujing. Many also feared that the school’s departure would mark the end of Wangfujing’s vibrant cultural and artistic life which had been a source of inspiration for many generations of Chinese artists. The municipal government promised to help preserve the school’s two art galleries in Wangfujing but at the time of writing only one of them remains. Cynicism for the whole redevelopment scheme was exacerbated when, after the

128 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing academy vacated the old campus, its main building was rented out to the infamous Oriental Plaza to serve as its construction headquarters. Even well-established communist institutions were not spared by the juggernaut of modernization. A third famous cultural institution impacted by Wangfujing’s redevelopment plan was the Xinhua (New China) bookstore which was razed in late 1994 to make way for Oriental Plaza. Owned by the official Xinhua News Agency, the bookstore was one the most prestigious in the national capital, attracting up to 60,000 visitors on a regular Sunday. The Xinhua was the first bookstore opened by the victorious communist forces in 1949 and served as an important showcase for the new regime. During the twenty-seven years of Mao’s rule, it acted as the main depository for propaganda works in China. After Mao’s death in 1976, the store began to stock thousands of Chinese and foreign novels, allowing the Chinese public the freedom to explore beyond the narrow intellectual limits imposed by the Party. The Xinhua was promised a place in one of the two buildings which were erected to relocate displaced businesses just north of the Oriental Plaza. But in the meantime, the bookstore had to spend six years in a temporary location on the third floor of the Foreign Language bookstore on Wangfujing, where its business greatly declined due to low visibility.75 The disappearance of an important cultural institution near Wangfujing was not met passively by the Beijing public. High ranking officials, celebrities, and well-known public figures played a part in denouncing the cultural impacts of uncontrolled commercial expansion, and took the unusually bold step of voicing their opposition in the press. In late 1994, fifteen deputies of China’s National People’s Congress sent a press communiqué to the capital’s main printed media to voice their outrage at the ‘insane destruction’ of Wangfujing. Surprisingly, the official press played a growing role in voicing discontent about the way redevelopment was being carried out, using the narrow margin of tolerance within which criticism can be publicly expressed without government censorship. On March 22 1995, the official China Daily committed a rare act of public censure of policy-makers when it published an article denouncing political leaders’ tendency to prioritize commercial interests over social concerns and their propensity to focus on economic matters while ignoring cultural issues. The mild reprimand in the Communist Party’s mouthpiece targeted officials who ‘allow bookstores to be exiled from bustling central streets to make way for far more profitable shopping centres’. For the leadership, wrote China Daily commentator Kang Bing, ‘economic development is a hard quota which tells the quality of their performance. Cultural and scientific prosperity, on the other hand, is something more abstract which they can just pay lip service to’.76 The official press also denounced the city government’s insufficient investment in the cultural arena, pointing to the fact that the national capital lagged behind Shanghai and Guangzhou in cultural institutions. In a recent

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 129 national ranking, Beijing came in third from last among all Chinese provinces, ahead of Tibet and Qinghai only in the number of bookstores per capita.77 But despite such courageous attacks, there remains a generalized sense of impotence among the population and an increased cynicism towards redevelopment. Local residents have resorted to more passive forms of symbolic resistance to express their growing frustration at seeing the national capital’s historic and cultural centre being sold out to foreign investors. Chinese minyao or popular ditties, which throughout history have been used by the oppressed to subvert power and voice criticism through humour and derision, compete in their wit to castigate the redevelopment scheme. While the paradox of destroying the old to create a pastiche version of it is qualified as jianshe de pohai, pohai de jianshe (constructive destruction and destructive construction), the displacement of cultural institutions by commercial ones is derided as jinqian wenhua daiti le jinse wenhua (where the culture of gold is replacing the gold of culture). Some Beijing residents go as far as to claim that cultural arenas in the national capital have become as rare as honest communist officials.78

Social Costs Another cultural landmark which fell victim to Wangfujing’s transformation is the tight network of alleys or hutong which makes up central Beijing neighbourhoods and has for centuries given the city its unique character. As the former residential quarters of the Chinese aristocracy and the city’s historic administrative centre, Wangfujing was surrounded by the elaborate mansions of the Manchu nobility. The young Yehonala, who later became the notorious Empress Dowager Cixi, grew up in one of the large courtyard houses of Xila hutong (Pewter Lane) just off Wangfujing. After the Communist Revolution, these residences were subdivided and allocated to several unrelated families who learned to live in close community (Figure 4.18). As commercial development started to spread into Wangfujing’s back alleys, this whole section of Beijing was radically transformed. In an attempt to ‘rationalize’ the city’s road network to accommodate the growing numbers of cars, many of Wangfujing’s celebrated hutongs – some with picturesque names such as Jinyu hutong (Goldfish Lane), Xiaowei Hutong (Officers’ Lane) and Meija hutong (Coal Ashes Lane) – were transformed into wider avenues. Such transformation carried serious social costs for long-time residents of the Wangfujing district, a large proportion of whom were elderly people, generally poor, who inhabited the area for several decades.79 Wangfujing’s redevelopment resulted in the demolition of hundreds of homes and the displacement of thousands of people from the city centre. Since the system

130 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 4.18. Detail of Beijing’s unique and dense urban fabric, which dates back to the Ming and Qing dynasties.

allows district governments to make substantial profits from leasing prime innercity land for new development, they have every incentive to raze residential neighbourhoods and encourage the construction of large-scale projects. Private developers take advantage of the important price differential between inner-city and suburban land and relocate original central city residents in low quality high-rise apartments an hour’s commute or more from their old neighbourhood. Displaced residents often complain that they were not adequately compensated, and that their new quarters are cramped and poorly built. The absence of a public consultation process means that there is virtually no public input in the decision making process. In addition to being denied participation in project implementation, there are no institutional means for city residents to challenge government actions, either by resisting relocation or demanding better compensation. Indeed, the courts have consistently ruled against the few residents who filed a suit to contest their financial settlements. Since December 1998, people displaced by redevelopment have received a monetary relocation compensation from developers rather than replacement housing as was customary.80 Generally, they prefer this new policy, which allows them to make decisions based on personal priorities. While some people use the money either to rent or buy a new home in a neighbourhood of their choice, others prefer moving in with relatives and saving the money for later. The policy is

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 131 particularly convenient for young people who have more flexible lifestyles and are ready to make trade-offs. But for older people with reduced mobility, the situation is more difficult.81 Elderly residents generally prefer to continue living in their old neighbourhood for social and practical reasons. Easy access to medical care, social clubs, old friends, customary shops, and well-known bus routes are important factors for the maintenance of their social life and sense of security. However, the monetary compensation received for their lost home can seldom afford them an apartment nearby, or even anywhere within the second ring road where housing prices are the highest. Relocation to unfamiliar new developments, often located beyond the fourth ring-road where services are few and public transportation is sporadic, may have drastic consequences on their lives. Studies have demonstrated that a large number of elderly people do not survive relocation.82 For over thirty years, Mrs. Zhang, ninety-two, lived with her husband in a 15 square metre room without kitchen or bathroom in a rundown, subdivided courtyard house behind the Wangfujing Department Store. In February 1999, the old couple received a notice announcing that their house would soon be torn down for road widening. Mrs. Zhang’s main anxiety regarding their imminent displacement was losing easy access to her doctor who practiced at the Donghuamen Hospital, a two minute walk up the street. Suburban relocation would make the childless couple very vulnerable, especially if one of them became ill. Mrs. Zhang feared that relocation will mean the end of them. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘new houses have modern conveniences and better facilities, but at our age, we don’t care for those. We are used to this old house’. She realized however that it would be impossible to stay. There is not much one can do against a government decision. And at the pace redevelopment was proceeding, the Zhangs hardly recognized their own neighbourhood anymore. All the affordable shops had already gone. Despite her resigned attitude, there was still a tinge of bitterness in Mrs. Zhang’s voice: ‘Rich people come here and make money while poor people are relocated far away. Soon the city centre will be entirely rebuilt and all old buildings will be gone. Citizens will be scattered. Nothing of the old will survive’. Another old-time Wangfujing resident was Mrs. Geng, 81 years old, who was relocated twice since 1992. For 46 years, her family shared a courtyard house with nine other households near Wangfujing, and developed close social bonds with neighbours. After the house was torn down in 1992, people were dispersed and Mrs. Geng was allocated an apartment along the second ring road. This new apartment was itself demolished by a new wave of redevelopment in 1998 and she was displaced once again. For Mrs. Geng, who is one of the ten million baptized Christians in China, moving out of Wangfujing also meant moving away from one of the rare active Catholic churches in the city. After her relocation, she had to

132 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing suffer long commutes back to Wangfujing to attend her daily mass at the Eastern Cathedral. This was also the occasion for her to see some old friends who still lived in the area. However, with her deteriorating health, Mrs. Geng did not know how much longer she would be able to make her daily pilgrimage back to her old neighbourhood. However many people displaced by the Wangfujing redevelopment programme claimed to be happy with the change. ‘Most people are glad to get money for their shabby old house. It’s like winning the lottery!’ said an old resident. Others had a more philosophical, almost patriotic attitude. They may not have been pleased with leaving such a convenient location but they did not want to stand in the way of what they saw as progress. They were – or at least claimed to be – happy to sacrifice themselves for the good of future generations. ‘It’s only natural that we should make way for the expansion of the commercial district’, said a middle-aged woman. Others, especially young professionals and local members of the aspiring middle class, talk the talk of modernity. ‘Yes of course this is a great area to live in’, said a young woman in near perfect English. ‘But look at all these messy old houses. The new high buildings look so nice and clean.’ Commenting on the new Wangfujing makeover, a Foreign Languages bookshop saleswoman revealed her pride in seeing China modernize: ‘It’s much better, smarter and more modern, more like Hong Kong. And it shows the prosperity of the country’. But not everybody was so deferential towards redevelopment and many people expressed resentment at the way they were being forced out of the city centre. They voiced their powerlessness in the face of eviction with the recurring phrase: mei you ban fa (there is nothing we can do about it). One old couple living on Meija hutong behind Oriental Plaza refused to accept relocation. For them, the issue was more than emotional attachment to place. It was, rather, a question of principle. ‘We are tired of being relocated. We were relocated during the Cultural Revolution, after the Cultural Revolution, and this will be the third time we are relocated.’ They knew their resistance was futile and that, ultimately, they would be forcibly evicted by the Public Security Bureau. ‘People here are not organized to fight relocation collectively.’ the old man said with resignation. ‘They are too afraid of the government.’ Ordinary Wangfujing residents resented the unfair treatment they were subjected to by developers while more powerful tenants were often better compensated – or did not have to leave at all. Among the 2500 households affected by the construction of Oriental Plaza were several military generals who had participated in the Long March. Because of their status and connections, they received better compensation packages. Similarly, a small guest house owned by the People’s Liberation Army behind Sun Dong An was spared by the bulldozer, while all surrounding houses were torn down.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 133 A large proportion of the people interviewed expressed a deep sense of indignation at being treated as second class citizens in their own city. Many people felt that the redeveloped downtown no longer belonged to ordinary Chinese, but had been sold out to rich outsiders. For them, redevelopment sent a clear message about the kind of citizens to be valued in the new Chinese society: people with money, or connections; not people of small means like themselves. One elderly resident complained: ‘Beijing is becoming just as segregated as it was one hundred years ago. Like in the old saying: Dongfu, Xigui, Nanluan, Beiqiong’ (the East is for the rich, the West for the nobles, the South is for the depraved and the North is for the poor).83 ‘And we are the ones being pushed up north.’

Economic Costs Forced eviction often results in more than the loss of housing. It also represents the loss of livelihood and increased economic hardship. According to Tan Ying, Professor of City Planning at Tsinghua University, one of the worst consequences of relocation is that people are removed from economic possibilities and vital support networks. Many people displaced from Wangfujing were retired or unemployed, or earned their living in small neighbourhood businesses. Their new suburban residential districts offered few job opportunities, especially in the informal service sector. Displacement also represented an increase in their cost of living. People’s rents are generally higher after relocation because of the additional fees associated with apartment living, which include central heating, garbage collection, landscaping, and the maintenance of common spaces. Most residents were not aware of such fees before they accepted relocation conditions. Transportation costs and the extra time spent commuting represent another type of direct cost added to people’s monthly expenses. So does the lack of public services and shopping conveniences in newly developed areas of the city. Consequently, the poor and the elderly are often further impoverished as a result of their relocation.84 Proponents of commercial expansion in Wangfujing claim that many of the socio-economic costs incurred by redevelopment will be countered by important job creation in the service and construction sectors. In reality, few of the jobs created by recent commercial redevelopment have amounted to stable and permanent employment. A look at the construction sector reveals that large foreign-funded construction projects actually create little local employment. The many short-term, low-skill low-wage construction jobs created are usually held by migrant workers. Local companies are hired for the general construction work but more specialized jobs like the installation of elevators, electricity, water and ventilation are all handled by overseas companies. Higher-skilled jobs and more technical labour such as interior and exterior decoration, are usually given to foreign specialists. Similarly,

134 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing jobs created in the retail and service sector by overseas companies are often of low level, high managerial posts being held by overseas workers. For example at Sun Dong An, all top jobs are occupied by Hong Kong employees. Oriental Plaza claims to have created a total of nearly 20,000 jobs for its construction only. Although construction workers found they were making good money compared with what they earned in the countryside, working conditions were far from ideal. Workers laboured seven days a week on a twelve hour shift (a total of 84 hours a week), and earned 70 yuan ($9) a day.85 Their net pay was based on a bonus system, given to each work team once a certain task was completed and shared according to skill level. But this precarious system provided no health care benefits or employment security. It also took advantage of the vulnerability of seasonal workers. Because they must wait until the work is completed to get the bulk of their pay, those who quit early, are sick or laid off are forced to give up part of their real wages. Furthermore, there are countless stories of team leaders making off with the bonus. On average, construction workers at Oriental Plaza made between 11,000 and 15,000 yuan (US$1,500–2,000) a year, for strenuous physical work.86 Redevelopment also brought economic hardship to some of the commercial institutions which used to thrive in Wangfujing. Despite the strong claims made by the Wangfujing Development and Construction Office about its efforts to preserve well-established shops, several businesses in the area were pressured to make way for modernization. For the construction of Oriental Plaza alone, several hundred commercial institutions were displaced. Of those, only 132 – the ones with the best political or business connections – were guaranteed a spot in the two relocation buildings built behind Oriental Plaza, where rents remain high and visibility is low. Other displaced businesses received monetary compensation and had to vacate the premises. Overall, relocation compensations including residential ones cost Oriental Plaza more than US$300 million.87 Businesses which did not stand in the way of redevelopment were put under a lot of pressure to upgrade their facilities and find new ways to attract customers. Most small shop owners who could not keep up with the change and compete with up-market stores left the area. Even well-established institutions like the famous Tongshenghe shoe store had to struggle to stay afloat in the face of new competitors. The store had to find a new location on Wangfujing and reduced its floor space by a factor of ten. Store owners also had to find ingenious ways to remain profitable, including starting a home delivery service.88 The Wangfujing Department Store also faced great challenges as it lost its traditional advantage. It was especially affected by the construction of Sun Dong An which immediately took over the dominant position on Wangfujing. In the year after the opening of Sun Dong An in January 1998, the department store’s sales

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 135 plunged 24 per cent.89 In February 1999, the forty-three year old store suspended its operations to carry out a series of renovations and refashion itself into a ‘modern and well-designed shopping mall’, which included the construction of a new retail wing financed by Hong Kong’s Everbright Group. The new management was intent on a radical transformation of the outdated image of the store. During renovation, all staff members followed a training programme in modern management practices and were not allowed back on the job until they successfully passed the training exam.90 Wangfujing’s informal economic sector, which employs some of the city’s most vulnerable workers, was also affected. In the late 1970s, a whole new sector of activity – the so-called ‘free markets’, emerged in the Chinese economic landscape. Small-scale vendors, often unemployed Beijing residents or, more frequently, transient workers without legal resident status in the city, would push wheeled carts or put up temporary stalls along sidewalks and sell snacks, fresh vegetables, and small items to passers-by. However, the presence of these informal workers clashed with Wangfujing’s clean, new, and orderly image. These early private entrepreneurs were gradually forced out of sight away from the main street and into the back alleys (Figure 4.19).

Figure 4.19. Informal restaurants sell snacks in an alleyway at the back of Sun Dong An.

A young woman in her mid-thirties who was selling stuffed buns and other snacks in an alley behind Sun Dong An had to pay 2000 yuan (US$250) a month to rent some sidewalk space for her stall and a room to live in from a restaurant owner who allowed her to work under his restaurant’s legal license. She explained that, as a migrant from Shanxi province, it was almost impossible to get a license for her small business in Beijing. A few months earlier, her previous stall was demolished to make way for the new building for the new Hong Kong government’s representatives in Beijing. This new arrangement was also temporary because the alley was scheduled for road widening. But because of the lack of cheap eateries and

136 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the high price of food at Sun Dong An, this location was very profitable, especially with the nearly 5000 people employed at the mall. She intended to find another location in the area and to stay in Beijing until she had saved enough money to send her two teenage children to college. In her determination to take advantage of a space from which she was excluded, this informal worker symbolically challenged the order imposed by the dominant culture and created her own landscape of empowerment. Like her, other street vendors, the homeless, beggars, and rural migrants, who congregate near the new Dong An to profit from its popularity, detract from the mall’s glamorous image while at the same time making the growing social contradictions impossible to ignore. Through their visibility to tourists and outside visitors, these ‘marginal’ groups disturb the modernization project and question Beijing’s alleged modernity, symbolically regaining their right to the city. They turn the city’s back alleys into ‘insurgent spaces’ or sites of resistance to a system of growing inequity where different social groups are forced to meet face to face and where social boundaries can be negotiated. Informal vendors at the widely popular Donghuamen night market – directly across from Sun Dong An – suffered a different fate. The Wangfujing district administration tolerated their presence in the area provided that they underwent a costly formalization process to clean up their image and integrate them to the new Wangfujing landscape. The night market is an informal gathering of snack vendors who set up their rickety stalls every night after sunset on Donghuamen Street to sell regional specialties. Over time, the market evolved from a cheap spot for night snacks into one of the city’s gourmet attractions. In the mid-1990s, the informal market underwent a series of transformations imposed by the Industry and Commerce Bureau (ICB) to formalize its activities and standardize the businesses. Stall owners were charged a 2000 yuan (US$250) monthly fee to secure a spot on the street. They also had to purchase standardized stalls from a company affiliated with the ICB for 500 yuan (US$60), on which they have to display a valid permit, price lists and health inspection certificates at all times. Stalls are now set up at fixed hours and must be orderly arranged into a single straight line on the north side of the street. In addition, vendors must wear uniform white coats and hats and an identification badge. The costly formalization process caused prices to rise and made the snacks less affordable for local residents. The popular night market was turned into a sterile but fashionable venue for Beijing yuppies and one of the top evening attractions in Wangfujing for foreign tourists (Figure 4.20). In addition to the economic costs suffered by displaced residents, small businesses, and informal sector workers, the entire Beijing real estate market also suffered from Wangfujing’s transformation. Financial analysts began to question the viability of such large-scale commercial development in the heart of old Beijing

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 137

Figure 4.20. The sanitized new look of the popular Donghuamen night market.

and real estate experts expressed doubts about Beijing’s capacity to absorb so much extra office and retail space. In 1992, when major projects such as Sun Dong An and Oriental Plaza were initiated, a major policy change provided overseas investors with preferential incentives to invest in what soon became the world’s most expensive rental market. But by 1994, a surge of new commercial buildings began to flood the market, and the city’s market for office space quickly suffered from an oversupply. In the meantime, demand for office space in Beijing remained relatively stable. The slump in the world economy of the late 1990s slowed the arrival of new overseas investors in the Chinese capital and contributed to the dragging development pace of Beijing’s service industry. By the end of 1998, one-third of Beijing’s total office space was unoccupied, making the city’s commercial space vacancy rate the third highest worldwide after Shanghai and Beirut.91 Office space in the city continued to expand throughout 1999, with the completion of five new office projects in time for the celebration of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the People’s Republic of China on October 1 1999. Despite their good locations along Chang An avenue, the five projects – which include Oriental Plaza – faced difficulties renting out the 720,000 square metres of office space they contributed to the market.92 The price war which consequently developed among new properties coming on the market in the late 1990s caused a serious drop in rents, which reduced the profitability of several important projects. Prices which had peaked in mid-1996 fell by 50 per cent across the board by 1999.93 Oriental Plaza was completed just in time to make a significant contribution to Beijing’s property surplus. The delay in construction had adverse effects on the commercial viability of the Plaza because several other projects which came on the market before Oriental Plaza lured many of the prestige tenants it had hoped to attract – especially mainland and foreign companies seeking to establish corporate headquarters in

138 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Beijing.94 Rents continued to fall through the early 2000s, as the supply of new office buildings continued to rise. In 2001, Oriental Plaza faced a 29 per cent vacancy rate, and an expert estimated that by 2004, vacancy rates in Dongcheng district would remain as high as 26 per cent.95 Beijing’s downtown retail market suffered from a similar oversupply. Since the mid-1980s, short-sighted investors looking for a quick road to profit became involved in the construction of countless shopping centres throughout Beijing. Local government officials, both overly optimistic about consumption trends and eager to increase employment opportunities and tax revenues, happily approved the construction of such redundant projects. According to the China Daily there were more than 160 shopping centres and major department stores in Beijing in 1999 – ten times more than in cities like Tokyo or New York, where consumer purchasing power is eight times greater.96 Of the seventeen large department stores opened in Beijing during the second half of 1997, four had already closed down six months later, and others were struggling to stay afloat. The resulting surge in the number of retail outlets also led to the dispersion of shoppers away from downtown.97 Many of the difficulties faced by large shopping centres stem from their failure to understand the reality of Beijing’s income structure. Most new Hong Kong-style shopping malls in Beijing sell high grade luxury products affordable by only 3 per cent of the city’s population, of high or medium income. The majority of urban shoppers prefer to shop at discount stores in the periphery where goods are inexpensive, varied, and abundant, and bargains can be had. Finally, commercial redevelopment may simply have fallen victim of its own success. The massive displacement of inner-city populations to Beijing’s outskirts has resulted in an important decline in the number of downtown shoppers. Experts estimate that by 2010, at least 40 per cent of the city’s population will have migrated to outer suburbs.98

The Politics of Redevelopment Given the bleak economic prospects for new business developments in the city centre, other factors must have motivated investors to continue pouring money into central Beijing. In fact, much of the current commercial development appears to have be driven more by politics than economic rationality, especially on the part of Hong Kong investors. In the years leading to the Chinese takeover of Hong Kong, major Hong Kong financiers made large investments in China – often knowingly at a loss – to put themselves on good terms with the Chinese government for future political benefits. This was apparently the case for Sun Hunk Kai’s investment in Sun Dong An and for Li Ka-shing’s at Oriental Plaza. An extreme example of such politically motivated investments in China was the Jimao building in Shanghai’s

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 139 Pudong. The construction of this spectacular 88-storey glass and steel tower was announced on Deng Xiaoping’s eighty-eighth birthday, as a symbolic present for the Chinese leader. Analysts firmly believe that the costly landmark project will never be profitable.99 Many Hong Kong investors have already personally benefited from their politically motivated investments in the mainland. In January 1996, Hong Kong magnate Li Ka-shing – whose two companies, Cheung Kong Holdings and Hutchison Whampoa were the main investors in Oriental Plaza – was appointed by the Chinese government to the 150-member Preparatory Committee which was to manage the transition to Chinese rule in Hong Kong. So too was Walter Kwok, Chairman of Sun Hung Kai, and primary owner of the new Sun Dong An market. In fact, committee members were all important figures from the Hong Kong business community, and were said to account for nearly a third of the total value of the Hong Kong stock exchange. Tung Chee-hwa, elected Chief Executive of the Hong Kong Special Autonomous Region in 1997 and re-elected for a second term in 2002, making him the first leader of Hong Kong under Chinese rule, is also one of the prime investors in Oriental Plaza. He originally owned 23 per cent of shares in the project, but later reduced his share to 8 per cent, presumably for reasons related to his nomination.100 The story of Oriental Plaza is an exemplary case of political gift-giving, an ironic revival of the imperial tribute system where emissaries from all over the empire would periodically travel to the capital to pay their homage to the Emperor. From its very inception, Oriental Plaza carried an important symbolic value for Hong Kong billionaire Li Ka-shing, as a highly visible contribution to China’s modernization, his personal gift to the Motherland to mark the arrival of the twenty-first century. For this first large-scale real estate project on the mainland, Li was determined to make an impression, even if it meant losing money. Oriental Plaza played a crucial role in speeding up progress on his other investments in infrastructure and property projects in China.101 Obviously, no one had foreseen the series of controversies which were to tarnish the image of the project. Following the 1995 arrest and sentencing of former Beijing Mayor and Party Secretary Chen Xitong, Li Ka-shing kept a relatively low profile. After 1997, Li made his presence more visible on the mainland where he launched an important campaign to burnish the public image of his companies and made generous donations, especially in the field of education.102 In 1998, Li Ka-shing made a HK$70 million (US$9 million) donation to establish the Cheung Kong Scholars Programme and the Cheung Kong Achievement Awards in cooperation with the Chinese Ministry of Education to help keep top scientists in China and encourage Chinese students to return home after their studies abroad. Li also sponsored an advertisement campaign in 1999 with a series of one-minute public information

140 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing broadcasts produced in cooperation with Chinese Central Television (CCTV). The spots, inspired by President Jiang Zemin’s slogan to ‘let science and education rejuvenate China’ detail how the lives of a broad range of Chinese people, rich and poor, have been transformed by knowledge. Li Ka-shing has thus skilfully managed to build a good relationship with the Chinese state, and remains today one of the most influential financiers in the mainland103 (Figures 4.21 and 4.22).

Figure 4.21. New construction along Wangfujing as seen from the Forbidden City. Visible from left to right are the McDonald’s building and Oriental Plaza.

Figure 4.22. New commercial projects like those recently built on Wangfujing often resemble the tributes paid by far away subsidiary power holders to the old emperors of China. President Jiang Zemin is seen here (right) shaking hands with Hong Kong businessman Li Ka-shing.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 141 In April 2003 it was revealed that Li Ka-shing’s company, Hutchinson Whampoa, had for more than 10 years owned 6 per cent of shares in OOIL, a firm owned by Tung Chee-hwa’s family. The disclosure revealed deeply embedded corporate interest since Li had been a key player in facilitating Tong’s 1997 election to the post of Hong Kong Chief Executive, and Hutchison and OOIL were both involved in the development of Oriental Plaza.104

A Market Economy with Chinese Characteristics Today, Wangfujing remains an important symbol of Beijing’s modernization. The existence of this new centre of global consumerism only a few blocks away from the Communist Party headquarters at Zhongnanhai proves that the market economy is no longer seen a threat to the regime but a central element of its programme. A more tangible threat to national sovereignty appears to come from the source of the new capital being injected into Beijing. Urban redevelopment is primarily led by outside investors, with up to 60 per cent coming from Hong Kong and Macau alone. Overseas Chinese now play a privileged role in deciding the fate of the old city and in the definition of the image of modern Beijing. Their presence is so pervasive that they are perceived as a menace by Chinese citizens, who themselves have a limited input in decision making concerning the transformation of their own city. While many had welcomed China’s move to a market economy and participation in the global economy, Chinese people are now critical of the way modernization has affected their city. For many Chinese, the reforms brought great hardships and a general sense of vulnerability which contrasts with the sense of security that central planning afforded. The reforms might have opened China’s door to a world of opportunities, but people feel they have been bypassed by the benefits of China’s modernization which have instead been harvested by corrupt officials and foreign capitalists. People talk of the three new mountains which now rest on the shoulders of Chinese people. Housing, hospital fees, and school tuition are no longer covered by the government. A fifty-seven year old rickshaw driver, waiting outside Sun Dong An to take tourists to different attractions in the city, summed up what many people think of Beijing’s rapid modernization: China has been developing too fast and people’s standard of living cannot keep up with all these new developments. Such magnificent buildings do not reflect the economic reality of the people. The reforms brought quick economic growth but the lives of ordinary people did not really improve. These new buildings are good for nothing; most of them remain empty for lack of tenants. What a waste! For many, recent change does not reflect the transformation of Chinese society itself as much as the dreams and aspirations of corrupt politicians and outsiders. ‘The city and buildings are changing,’ said a young snack vendor on Xiao Mei

142 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing hutong, ‘but ordinary people are not.’ As it is controlled by a handful of people, many of whom have important conflicts of interest, urban redevelopment has become deeply entangled with corruption. The main beneficiaries of redevelopment are those with political or economic power, and – as in many things in China – those with important connections. Politicians and members of the Chinese elite have reaped important personal benefits from redevelopment, either in monetary form or as political and social capital. Hong Kong investors have also gained political favour from their economic generosity. Redevelopment in Wangfujing thus serves the interests of Hong Kong investors while catering for the needs of the emerging Beijing bourgeoisie and flattering the ego of the state leadership. By pandering to the rich and powerful and granting privileges to those groups deemed necessary for economic development within the framework of world capitalism, urban beautification carries serious implications for social justice and raises important questions about the right to the city. Through their growing control of urban space and its representation, members of the ruling elite, property investors and large corporations increasingly take control of urban space and its representation and set the terms of membership in society by determining who will use, live in, and profit from urban spaces. By excluding them from full participation in urban life, redevelopment initiatives in Wangfujing sent a clear message to certain segments of Chinese society. It constructed an image of urbanity which does not conform to the everyday reality of most Beijing residents and where the poor and their informal activities clearly have no place. As an urban policy dominated by elite values and marketing dictates, inner-city redevelopment has clearly been instrumental in fostering socio-spatial polarization and social inequality in the Chinese capital. Because of the important tax breaks and preferential treatment given by Beijing’s fund-starved city government to lure investors, urban redevelopment has amounted to little more than a transfer in resources from the poor to the privileged and private sector. In another context, M.C. Boyer notes that: [m]ost civic improvement schemes and inner-city spatial recyclings play on an inversion of values – creating private preserves for the wealthy that are then transformed into ‘public amenities’ by allowing a select group of people to stroll unimpeded along their corridors and spaces of power.105 Because they believe that the salvation of their city depends primarily upon those who can own property and have discretionary income to engage in higher levels of consumption, Beijing city officials increasingly pay lip service to social and economic justice. They resort to complex rhetorical exercises to present growing inequities as the normal and inevitable consequences of economic growth and global pre-eminence, and foster the creation of consumerist spectacles where the

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 143 visual blight of the poor must be brutally eradicated. Those with exceptional buying power are now considered the preferred citizens of this elitist urban vision, while the displacement of those with lesser earning is presented as a necessary sacrifice if urban prosperity is to be attained. Urban interventions in contemporary Beijing have thus been marked by the conflicting tensions inherent in the construction of a market economy ‘with Chinese characteristics’ and the use of capitalist means to justify socialist development. The state’s growing dependency upon the private sector for redevelopment has made balancing public interest and the logic of profit increasingly difficult. Today, the centre of Beijing has been sold out by an increasingly corrupt government to foreign capitalists who have no ideological commitment to serve ‘the common good’ and little incentive to compromise their bottom line. As a result, a handful of overseas investors now have more say in project implementation than the Chinese public itself which is more than ever excluded from the decision-making process. Paradoxically, in its drive to build the new ‘socialist market economy’, the Chinese state has ultimately privileged capital over the people.

Notes 1. 2. 3.

4.

5.

6. 7.

8. 9.

Kearns and Philo, 1993. Ritzer, 1996. Early in its history, going as far back as the early Yuan dynasty (1276–1368), Wangfujing occupied an important position in the Chinese capital as the seat of the luxurious residences of government officials and nobles. By the early Ming Dynasty (1368–1644) several temples established in the area promoted the development of businesses in both services and crafts. The existence of Deng Shi Kou (Lantern Market Street), an important cross street midway up Wangfujing whose famous shops and stalls specializing in the fabrication of all forms of lanterns long attracted large crowds during the annual Lantern Festival, can be traced to the period of the Ming Emperor Yongle (Wu Yimin, and Yongyi Mi, 1993, pp.1–15). The Peking Gazette or Capital Gazette, regarded by some as the oldest periodical in the world, is said to date back to the Tang dynasty (618–907 AD). Printed daily, it published records of government affairs, including official announcements and imperial edicts. It was circulated to officials in the capital and the provinces, and was occasionally posted around the city for the masses to read. Also located north of Deng Shi Kou was an American Methodist church which established one of the earliest Christian school for girls in Beijing in 1864 (Dongcheng People’s Municipal Government, 1998, p. 90). From Bredon, 1919, p. 413. Beijing’s first asphalt streets appeared in the legation quarter in 1915. In 1920 a section of Western Chang An Avenue in front of the Republican government’s headquarters at Zhongnanhai was paved with asphalt. The next street to be asphalted was Wangfujing in 1928 (Shi Mingzheng, 1993; and Wu Yimin and Yongyi Mi, 1993, p. 61). Shi Mingzheng, 1993, p. 339. In 1928, the nationalist government of Chiang Kai-shek, following the wishes of Sun Yat-sen, transferred the capital to Nanjing, renaming Beijing (Northern Capital) Beiping, Northern Peace. When the communists came to power in 1949 they moved the capital back to Beijing and restored the city’s name.

144 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 10. The Australian-born Georges E. Morrison (1862–1920) held the post of Peking correspondent for the Times of London from 1897 to 1912. He was viewed as Europe’s foremost ‘China expert’ at the time. In 1912, he left journalism to become advisor to Yuan Shikai, the President of the new Republic of China. He left Peking in 1918 and died in London two years later (see Ramsay, 1922, 1971). 11. Wu Yimin and Yongyi Mi, 1993, pp. 20–35. 12. Ann Bridge, 1934,1985, p. 178. 13. Hussey, 1968. 14. Gamble, 1921, p. 213. 15. Bredon, 1919, p. 419 16. Jonathan, 1983. 17. Arlington and Lewisohn, 1935, 1967, p. 141. 18. Gamble, 1921, p. 213. 19. Guo Xiaohui, 1996. 20. Lin, Ch’i-hung, 1928, p. 83. 21. Esherick, 2000, pp. 1–16 22. The electric street cars appeared in Beijing in the early 1920s. Among the six routes crisscrossing within the Beijing City walls, routes number 2 and 3 went up Dongsi, one block west of Wangfujing, while three other lines ran along Chang’an at the south end of Wangfujing. Qianmen, at the northern end of Tiananmen, was the location of the city’s busiest train stations – serving the Beijing-Shenyang and Beijing-Hankou lines – around which hotels, stores and other services concentrated (Shi Mingzheng, 1993). 23. Wu Yimin and Mi Yongyi, 1993, pp. 50–51. 24. Bodde, 1950, p. 130. 25. Kidd, 1988, p. 69. 26. According to Guo Xiaohui, by the end of 1949 the number of businesses had been reduced from close to 1000 to 586 (Guo Xiaohui, 1996). 27. The market regained its old name in 1988, on the occasion of its 85th anniversary. 28. By the late 1980s, there were six major international hotels in Wangfujing’s direct vicinity, including two on Wangfujing (Holiday Inn), two on Chang An (Grand Hotel and Beijing Hotel), and two on Jinyu Hutong (Palace Hotel and Taiwan Hotel). 29. Driver, 1992; Kristof, 1992; Sun, 1992. 30. On Beijing’s McDonald’s, see Yuxiang Yan, 2000, pp. 20–25; Yuxiang Yan, 1997, pp. 39–76. 31. ‘Urban planning advances in Beijing’ China Daily-Business Weekly, May 30 1999, p. 5. 32. Infrastructure projects included the renovation of the water, gas, heat and electricity supply systems, and the widening of Wangfujing street, totalling an investment of 870 million yuan (US$110 million) (see Rui Jing, 1998; Beijing Wangfujing District Development and Construction Office,1998. 33. The redevelopment plan defined the new Wangfujing Commercial District as the 1.65 square kilometre quadrangle bordered by Wusi Street in the North, Chang An Avenue in the South, Dongdan Street in the East, and Nanchizi Street in the West, which covers an area ten times larger than the original. 34. Seven projects totalling 420,000 square metres had been completed by 1998, while seven others totalling 1.2 million square metres with a total investment of 18.7 billion yuan (US$2.3 billion) were under construction three years later. However, it is almost impossible to keep track of new construction in the city. 35. Yang Fahang, 1999; Wu Tao, 1997. 36. Beijing Wangfujing District Development and Construction Office, 1998, Internal Document. 37. Becker, 1999a. 38. ‘Developers From The Territory Take Major Stakes In Beijing’s Prime Commercial Area’ South China Morning Post, November 9, 1994. 39. Beijing Dong An Group Company, 1998. 40. Brotman, 1994; Li Wen, 1993; Ma Zhiping, 1992. 41. In Mandarin, the name of the complex is pronounced Xin (New) Dong An, but in its

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 145

42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

53.

54. 55. 56.

57. 58. 59.

60.

61.

62. 63.

64. 65.

romanized version, the new market’s name reads Sun Dong An, which is a word play on the Cantonese pronunciation of the character for ‘new’ as Sun, also homonomous with the surname of owner Sun Hung Kai. Jameson, 1991, p. 40. Morris, 2000. Crawford, 1992, p. 16. Based on a May 1999 interview with Professor Luo Sen of the Tsinghua University School of Architecture. Anthropologist Louisa Schein came up with this concept in an intervention at the ‘Ethnographies of the Urban in Late Twentieth Century China’ workshop held at the University of California, Santa Cruz, September 27–28 1997. Michael Dutton, 1998, p. 4. Campbell, 1987, pp. 190–189. Yu Hua, 1993; Wu Yunhe, 1993. ‘World’s Biggest Mcdonald’s Told To Vacate Site’, South China Morning Post, November 22 1994, p. 6. Bauchli, 1994; Mufson, 1994. ‘McDonald’s to Move Beijing Restaurant’ New York Times, December 2 1996, p.D2; ‘Bai Bai mai dang lao’, Beijing Scene, January 3–16 1997, p. 19; ‘Beijing Compensated McDonald’s’, Wall Street Journal, December 26 1996, p.8. In 1985 the Capital Construction Committee, with the approval of the Beijing People’s Congress Standing Committee, issued a height control regulation for Beijing’s urban district. It stated that new construction in the area from Wangfujing to Dongdan should be limited to a height of 30 metres. The height limit for the Eastern section of Changan avenue was later fixed at between 30 and 45 metres. Sito, 1994. O’Neill, 1998a. It is actually very difficult to have the chance to build a commercial building on the north side of Chang An Avenue. When it was built by the Communist government in the 1950s, Chang An Avenue was intended to serve almost exclusively as the site of important government institutions. The few commercial buildings which stand along its way are generally on the south side of the street facing north, the orientation traditionally seen as the least desirable in China. Oriental Plaza is one of the rare buildings to be built along the north side of Chang An, where buildings are seen in the best light, with their main façade almost constantly in the sun. Li holds a 52 per cent stake in Oriental Plaza, through both of his companies, Cheung Kong and Hutchison Whampoa. ‘Seeing No Evil’ South China Morning Post, November 15 1995; Murphy, 1998. Report from the 8th Conference of the National Chinese Political Consultation Committee on Urban and Suburban Construction, report no. 101, August 17, 1995 (author’s translation). This debate first emerged in the 1920s and was periodically revived during the twentieth century at important moments of national soul searching. For more, see Broudehoux, 2001. Letter from Liang Congjie (Vice-Chairman of the Science and Education Committee) to Luo Gan (General Secretary of the State House), December 12, 1995 (author’s translation). Gilley, 1996; China City Planning Review, 1996; ‘Oriental Plaza Project to Go Ahead’ Business Beijing, July 1996, p.23. Li Xin, 1997; ‘New Lights On Ancient History’ Beijing This Month, Dec. 1998, p.7; Johnson, 1997; ‘Mall to Obliterate Stone Age Relics’ South China Morning Post, February 4 1997; ‘Relics Unearthed at Wangfujing’ Beijing This Month, February 1997 p.5. Xiao Chen, 1997; Li Wanbing,1997; see also ‘McRelics’ Beijing Scene, March 28–April 3 1997. Zhang Xianghong, 1997.

146 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 66. Du Xiuping, 1999; ‘Dongfang guangchang jiang jian guren lei yi zhi bowuguan’ [There Will Be A Paleonthology Museum in the Oriental Plaza] Beijing Wanbao [Beijing Evening News], January 23 1999. p. 1. 67. Sito, 1997. 68. ‘Plaza Nears Completion’ Business Beijing, April 1999, p. 21. 69. Lin, 1961, p. 188. 70. Hou Shihang, 1998; ‘Final Curtain For Peking Opera Hall’ South China Morning Post, October 4 1993, p. 8 71. ‘Old Opera Landmark Bows Out On Low Note’ China Daily, October 6 1993, p. 1; ‘Final Curtain For Peking Opera Hall’ South China Morning Post, October 4 1993, p. 8. 72. Gong Qian, 1993. 73. Among the renowned artists trained at the Central Academy of Fine Arts were Qi Baishi, revolutionary artist Wei Yiduo, and renowned art experts such as Ye Qianyu and Li Keran. 74. Crothall, 1994; ‘Arts Give Way To Business in Wangfujing Street’ China Daily, August 15 1994, p. 1. 75. ‘End of An Era For Bookshop’ South China Morning Post, November 16 1994; ‘Bastions of Culture Fall Victim To Commerce’ South China Morning Post, October 28 1994. 76. Kang Bing. China Daily, March 22 1995; ‘Officials Rebuked For Banishing Bookshops’ South China Morning Post, March 23 1995. 77. Cui Bian, 1997. 78. ‘Bastions of Culture Fall Victim To Commerce’ South China Morning Post, October 28 1994. 79. Tempest, 1996; ‘Hutong de Wangfujing-Dongdan’ Chine Guide Bleu, Paris: Hachette, 1998, p. 311. 80. Beijing is one of the last cities in China to have adopted this policy, which had been in practice for several years already in many major Chinese cities. While the previous compensation system was based on the number of people living in the original housing unit, the cash compensation is based on the floor area of the original house. 81. For more on the social costs of inner city redevelopment in Beijing, see Tan Ying, 1998. 82. Tan Ying, 1998; Ekblad, 1993. 83. This refers to Beijing’s Qing Dynasty socio-spatial structure, with the nobility living east of the Imperial city, around Wangfujing, and the wealthy to the west. The city’s red-light district and entertainment sectors were historically located in the walled-off Chinese city in the south, while the northernmost section of the city was where the poor were left to reside. 84. Based on a May 1999 interview with Professor Tan Ying at the Planning School of Tsinghua University. 85. The wages are based on national standards set by the Chinese Ministry of Construction, which state that one construction shift of 8 hours should be paid 35 yuan. Workers at Oriental Plaza thus earned 35 yuan for the first 8 hours of work, and were then paid double time for the remaining 4 hours. 86. Much like other Third World migrant workers, these people are in Beijing on a temporary basis. They live frugally and save every penny they earn to send home to help improve their family’s living conditions. They sleep in basic dormitories provided free by the construction company on sites scattered around the city and eat cheaply on the street. Once the construction project is completed, they are sent to another project or dismissed and sent back home. 87. Sito, 1995. 88. Zheng Shuhua, 1999. 89. Wang Chuandong, 1999. 90. Xiao Liu, 1993. 91. ‘The real deal: Survival Guide to Beijing Real Estate’ Beijing Scene April 2–8 1999, p. 4–5. 92. Xiao Xu, 1999. 93. Xu Dashan, 1999a. 94. Murphy, 1998; O’Neill, 1998a.

The Malling of Wangfujing: Commercial Redevelopment in the Selling of Places 147 95. Ko, 2002. 96. ‘Time to Put A Break On Department Store Growth’ China Daily, April 20 1999, p.4. 97. A report from China’s National Commercial Information Centre for 1998 stated that among the country’s largest shopping malls, less than 10 per cent were profitable, the remaining stores having faced adverse sales growth or a deficit during that year. ‘Time to Put A Break On Department Store Growth’ China Daily April 20 1999, p.4. 98. Kou Zhengling, 1998. 99. Based on an interview with Louis Chen, architect and close aid to Li Ka-shing on May 27, 1999. 100. Chan, 1996, pp. 211–212; Sito, 1999a, 1999b. 101. Chan, 1996, p. 214. 102. Li’s philanthropic work in China started much earlier in 1980 when he donated HK$305 million to fund Shantou University near his Guangdong province hometown of Chaozhou. As a token of his generosity, Li Ka-shing was awarded a honorary doctorate from the capital’s prestigious Beijing University, from the very hand of President Jiang Zemin, in April 1992. 103. Sito, 1999a, 1999b. 104. Kwok, 2003. 105. Boyer, 1994, p. 9.

148 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Chapter Five

Staging the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing Games, Rituals, and Political Spectacle in the Selling of Places A last strategy of place marketing and urban image construction examined in this book is the staging of mega events and grand urban spectacles to attract world attention to cities. In the hope of hosting world class media events, public funds are squandered to turn cities into ‘stage sets’, using spectacular urbanism, monumental architecture, and modern infrastructure to erect ‘potemkin’ façades of progress, order and prosperity. Throughout the 1990s, a series of international events and grand political spectacles were held in Beijing to improve global perception of the city. These were accompanied by international marketing campaigns to advertise the city on the world scene and by major social, cultural, and physical beautification programmes intended to reform the city’s human and material resources. As the example of Beijing will show, spectacles, festivals, and rituals are not solely directed to an international audience in the hope of attracting visitors and capital, but they also act as important tools of national representation by reviving national pride and unity and convincing local citizens of the beneficence of the system. Urban spectacles are also used to aestheticize local politics. As Water Benjamin rightly noted, aesthetics can easily turn an unsavoury political agenda into an intoxicating spectacle.1 Urban spectacles and mega events can therefore have an important depoliticizing effect by draining politics out of the urban arena, thereby averting political controversy and dwarfing political defiance from the local population.2 Much like the ‘bread and circuses’ of ancient Rome, the spectacular displays that accompany the staging of important world events often act as instruments of

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 149 popular pacification and social control. By distracting people from their everyday struggles, the spectacle lowers their social and political awareness and weakens their sense of criticism, thereby promoting complacency and alienation.3 In Beijing as elsewhere, the preparation for hosting mega events also calls for social beautification programmes, which include complex tactics of social disciplining, ‘civilizing’ reforms and a tightening of the social control apparatus used by power holders to impress their desired vision of society. These actions often impose new limits on civil liberties in the interest of creating secure spaces for tourists, safe from violence and political agitation. This chapter examines the different mechanisms developed and used at spectacular events in Beijing, and the socio-spatial transformations that accompanied them as the city actively reinvented itself through urban renewal, social reform, and city marketing. This chapter is divided into two main sections which each examine a different strategy of urban image construction used to attract world attention to the city of Beijing in the 1990s. The first section focuses on Beijing’s efforts to enhance its world image by hosting large scale media events and promotional activities in the Chinese capital, notably international sporting events such as the Asian Games, which would pave the way for Beijing’s successful bid for the 2008 Olympics. The second part focuses on the staging of a grand political spectacle on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic in 1999, and its effect upon local and international politics. It also discusses the semiotics of carefully orchestrated political spectacle and state ritual and their use for purposes of nation building and global representation.

International Events and Place Marketing International events have long been seen as opportunities to enhance the world image of the cities and countries involved either as host or participants. The world’s fairs and international exhibitions, held between 1851 and 1937, were the occasion for grandiose spectacles which endowed the organizing countries with great international prestige. Today, world class events such as international conferences or the Olympic Games represent prime opportunities for both national self-assertion and place promotion. Since World War I, transcontinental sports competitions such as the football World Cup or the Olympics – now two of the world’s largest media events – have become unique occasions for the dissemination of place images as well as for nation building. Acting as instruments of unification in otherwise fragmented societies, sporting events play an important role in securing allegiance for the nation. Mega events like the Olympics have come to be seen by rapidly developing Third World economies as important venues for world recognition, while hosting such events has become a sort of ‘rite of passage’ into modernity.4

150 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Although promising economic opportunities and improved infrastructure, hosting mega sporting events also carries major social and economic costs. As primary catalysts for large-scale redevelopment, modernization, and social reform, these events exert enormous pressure on local governments to use their limited funds on symbolic architectural projects and spectacular urban design while neglecting more pressing local needs. In addition, mega events often exacerbate local inequalities as they place resources into the hands of a few and serve the interests of a ruling elite at the expense of the urban poor who suffer increased hardship. By urging governments to produce a tame and obedient citizenry, hosting mega events can also prompt the use of complex tactics of social disciplining and a tightening of the social control apparatus, thereby imposing new limits on civil liberties.5 Indeed, efforts to control and reshape the perception of the host city are often accompanied by social reforms and civilizing campaigns which require great sacrifices on the part of the local population. A 1996 study of the impact of hosting the Olympics reveals the implications of such mega events, including public debt, increased municipal taxes, rising unemployment, evictions, displacement, and the disruption of property markets, all of which exacerbate pre-existing development challenges and social inequities.6 A major finding of the study is that events such as the Olympics tend to have negative economic impacts, which fall most heavily on those least able to afford them. Most investments made to improve the host city’s international standing are incompatible with local needs and conditions, and disproportionate to the benefits yielded by the event itself. The staging of mega events may also threaten national stability by upsetting the delicate balance of power between competing social forces. It occasionally leads to repression of the sort seen at the Mexico City Olympics of 1968, or to violent altercations like those that took place in Rio de Janeiro as a result of the major image enhancing programme initiated for the 1992 Conference on the Environment and the city’s subsequent entry into the competition to host the 2004 Olympics.7 However, by placing states under world scrutiny, these events may also become avenues for opposition groups to challenge the hegemony of powers in place, thus promoting potential long-term social change. A prime example is that of the 1988 Seoul Olympics, when Korean opposition groups deftly used the international media attention generated by the Games to further the fragile transition from a military dictatorship to a pluralist democracy.8

Selling Beijing to the World In late February 1999, the Chinese government held a national conference in Beijing on ‘Promoting the World’s Understanding of China’. During his inaugural speech,

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 151 President Jiang Zemin urged conference participants to undertake massive efforts to raise the country’s international stature. ‘China should have an influence on world opinion which must be as strong as its international standing and prestige’ said Jiang. In his eagerness to see China occupy a central place in world affairs and to facilitate economic, technological, and cultural exchanges, the Chinese president emphasized the importance of improving world knowledge of Chinese history and culture and of promoting international understanding of the country’s ongoing reforms. ‘China needs to understand the outside world better, just as the outside world needs to do with China’ he said. The president also appealed to popular patriotism in urging the Chinese people to raise their awareness and their love for their country. In an effort to secure international indulgence and attract global capital, the conference was followed by the launching of a massive international marketing campaign advertising China’s important social and economic achievements of the last five decades.9 As part of this promotional blitz, the Beijing government organized a series of cultural and educational activities overseas to boost its public image. For example, in 1999 the municipality co-sponsored the ‘Paris Chinese Culture Week’ at the UNESCO headquarters in Paris under the theme ‘China Marching Into the TwentyFirst Century’. The exhibition and series of presentations emphasized China’s achievements and developments in education, science and technology over the last fifty years. This and other similar events were the occasion to promote Beijing as a ‘first-class cultural-historic city and modern world metropolis’ and to arouse popular interest in Chinese tourism.10 Although China only recently became involved in high-profile international events abroad – the country only started participating in the Olympics on a regular basis in 198411 – the state is now encouraging the staging of major international events in Beijing to bring world attention to China and draw badly needed foreign capital. Major meetings such as the International Women’s Conference (1995), the Annual Conference of the International Association of Architects (1999) and the World Conference on Major City Leaders (2000) were only a few in a long series of mega events which were recently held in Beijing. These highly publicized venues were strongly supported by Chinese leaders who hoped to reap both personal glory and national prestige. In addition to establishing the city as a major player in international affairs, these meetings also acted as a primary channel through which global cultural forms flew into and out of China, and brought unforeseen changes in Chinese society. Indeed, the leadership would soon discover that hosting high profile international meetings could be a double edged sword, and that unforeseen events could damage rather than improve the capital’s image. This happened as the result of an important soccer match played in Beijing on May 19, 1985 when China lost to Hong

152 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Kong. A riot broke out. Thousands of soccer fans surged through the streets outside Beijing’s Worker’s Stadium chanting anti-foreign slogans, stopping foreigners’ cars and accosting non-Chinese. The event was denounced in the international press not only as a demonstration of Chinese poor sportsmanship, but also as a proof of widespread xenophobia. What became known as the ‘19 May Incident’ elicited strong concerns in Hong Kong and overseas about the security of foreign nationals in China. The matter was taken very seriously by the Chinese leadership who feared the incident would stain China’s image abroad and loss of face. An official statement made the following day by high-level officials in the national press reveals the extent of the government’s vulnerability to world opinion and great concern for the city’s reputation: Last night’s incident is the worst of its kind in the history of sports in the People’s Republic, and the most damaging to China’s international image. This type of ignorant and brutish behaviour is quite out of keeping with the stature of our capital city. The legal organs of the Beijing Municipal Government will be energetic in their application of the law to all offenders.12 As was to be expected, many of the people arrested during the riot were harshly punished. Important measures were also taken to increase public security in subsequent international events held in Beijing.

Asian Games: In the Wake of Tiananmen Despite the ominous outcome of the May 19, 1985 soccer match, international sporting competitions remained Beijing’s greatest success in drawing world attention and had the most lasting impact in transforming the Chinese national capital. One of the first occasions for Beijing authorities to stage a major international sports event in the Chinese capital was the 11th Asian Games held in September 1990. These Games represented the first comprehensive sports meeting ever hosted by China, as well as the largest international conference, drawing delegations from thirty-nine countries and over 100,000 tourists. Chinese authorities regarded the Asian Games as a trial run in Beijing’s bid to host the 2000 Olympics, an occasion to testify to the world that socialist China had the capacity to stage and organize a grand international event without trouble and trauma. The Chinese leadership thus invested more than half a billion dollars and an incalculable amount of face in the sixteen-day spectacle which represented one of China’s most important diplomatic events in years.13 Although China had been planning for the Asian Games since winning the bid in 1986, the timing of the event could not have been better. Held just over a year after the military crackdown at Tiananmen, the Games became a major public relations and political exercise, a chance to undo some of the damage inflicted on China’s image and to win back international respect and domestic support. Hosting the

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 153 Asian Games provided the opportunity to redirect the spotlight of foreign attention from human rights issues to China’s achievements in building prosperity and a smoothly functioning capital. Domestically, the Games represented a new patriotic cause around which the Chinese masses rallied.14 As a representation of China to the rest of Asia and the outside world, the Asian Games helped forge a new national identity that reflected China’s new ideological path. For the event, a new series of national symbols and iconography was created, and a century-long search for an architectural expression of Chinese modernity was revived. For instance, the architecture of the main stadium for the Games, with its gigantic silver roof mixing both traditional form and ultra-modern materials, reflected official aspirations for the creation of a distinctively modern identity with Chinese characteristics (Figure 5.1).

Figure 5.1. The silver roofed stadium built for the 11th Asian Games held in Beijing in 1990. Panpan, the Games’ panda bear mascot, stands in the foreground.

The Asian Games thus presented the world with a new, identifiable and marketable representation of China’s national culture, and a novel rendition of Chinese identity. The opening ceremonies were deeply marked by the spirit of the reforms. Gone were the rigidly choreographed dances, patriotic chants or mass callisthenics that had characterized Mao-era political spectacles. Instead, the celebrations presented a combination of traditional Chinese performances and of Western-style modern choreographies, greatly inspired by the spectacular ceremonies of the 1984 Olympic Games in Los Angeles. The Games thus clearly revealed the identity crisis faced by contemporary Chinese society, divided between an infatuation with things Western, and an effort to rediscover things Chinese as it moved into the global arena.15 The way the Games were handled proved to the international community that the Chinese leadership remained the same image conscious, authoritarian regime it had been under Mao. The central and municipal governments spent an estimated 2.5 billion yuan (US$ 300 million) in giving Beijing a major facelift for the Asian Games. No effort was spared to impress foreign visitors. In a series of potemkinist interventions reminiscent of the Mao era, buildings lining major arteries or located

154 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing near competition sites were given fresh coats of plaster and paint, for many of them the first in decades. Houses and apartment buildings too ramshackle to be improved by fresh paint were hidden behind newly erected walls. Nearly 3000 families were evicted by district governments and 317,000 square metres of buildings were torn down to make way for the stadium and athletes’ residences. City officials made sure that shops were well-stocked and goods from all over China were flown to the capital to meet the needs of foreign visitors. Every effort was made to erase traces of the Tiananmen massacre. Chang An Avenue, Beijing’s central thoroughfare, was partly repaved to hide the scars left by the tanks that rolled through during the crackdown, while bullet holes near Tiananmen were plastered over.16 Local authorities also sponsored a massive campaign to beautify the city’s human environment. Mental patients and neighbourhood bullies were put safely under lock and key, and over 200,000 people without Beijing residence permits were rounded up and sent back to their hometowns. The police monitored railway stations and main roads to keep unauthorized people from coming to Beijing. Efforts were also made to encourage city residents to conform to world-established norms of civility. A few weeks before the opening of the Games, official newspapers like the Beijing Daily (Beijing Ribao) began running a special column entitled ‘Rally together to attack evils’ designed to summon the masses to fight against ‘rude and immoral behaviour’. Municipal authorities also tried to enforce health reforms by issuing a decree forbidding residents to commit the ‘three reckless deeds’: spitting, littering and dumping, increasing the fine for spitting in public tenfold. Half a million volunteers were dispersed throughout the city to apprehend anyone who littered, pushed and shoved to board a bus, or broke traffic rules. Law enforcement officers were also entitled to fine male shop attendants who failed to wear ties.17 Tied to the social beautification campaign was a close tightening of the social control apparatus. Authorities feared that the citizens of Beijing might take advantage of the international spotlight to voice their resentment and take revenge for the violence of the 1989 repression. After all, the head of the Asian Games committee was none other than Beijing Party Secretary Chen Xitong, widely identified with the crackdown on the student democracy movement and the subsequent purge. As a preventive measure, Beijing authorities launched a massive anti-crime campaign and entrusted the police to take whatever means necessary to maintain order. The city government also organized Beijing’s ten million inhabitants to police themselves. Every work unit had to assign individuals to act as security guards and patrol factory grounds and neighbourhoods for potential ‘saboteurs’. On the Games’ opening day, workers were sent home in the afternoon with the stern advice that they should stay off the streets and watch the ceremony on television. Beijing residents were not fooled by the whole ‘mise en scene’ which gave the city the air of a Potemkin village. For them, the result was more like ‘donkey turd’ – to

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 155 use a pungent Chinese expression: something shiny on the outside but less glorious on the inside. Beijingers were rather hostile towards the Games which they saw as a wasteful extravaganza and an expensive propaganda tool. After two years of statemandated austerity, the Games’ half a billion dollar price tag was regarded as a waste of public funds that could have been better spent elsewhere, on more pressing issues such as employment security and social welfare. Some critics alleged that the central government had spent five times more on preparations for the Asian Games than on education.18 Many people could not hide their frustration at seeing so much money and effort spent on building walls to camouflage substandard houses, instead of consolidating them. ‘Why don’t they put those building materials into building us houses instead of hiding the problem?’ complained a factory worker.19 But what enraged workers most was that much of the money had to come from their own pockets, in the form of forced contributions or free labour. The June 1989 crackdown had led several multinational corporations to withdraw their support for the Games, leaving the government on its own to raise the necessary funds. Beijing employers were instructed to spend between 10 and 20 per cent of their workers’ monthly salaries to buy Asian Games bonds and help fund the sporting event. The equivalent of 50 million dollars was apparently raised through such ‘donations’. Much of the preparatory work was also subsidized by the work of hundreds of Beijing citizens including 100,000 college students, who were mobilized by the city government for compulsory voluntary work on the cosmetic makeover of the city’s image.20 However, opposition to the Asian Games did not give rise to open demonstrations. Rather than resorting to violence, many residents turned their anger into mockery and cynicism. Some used humour to ridicule the whole masquerade put up by the government to draw world attention and attract foreign capital. ‘Do you know what Panpan stands for?’ they asked making reference to the Games’ panda bear mascot Panpan (literally ‘hope-hope’) whose fetching image covered the walls of the capital. ‘They hope the foreigners come, and they hope they bring lots of money with them.’21

Beijing’s Olympian Dream As the first of such large-scale international events held in Beijing, the Asian Games set the trend for subsequent high-profile productions in the Chinese capital. An event which would prompt a second campaign of image building activities in 1990s Beijing was the March 1993 visit of the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to evaluate China’s candidacy for hosting the 2000 Olympics. China had been planning to stage the Olympic Games since the IOC first recognized the Chinese Olympic Committee in 1979. As the first Olympic bid ever made by a Chinese city,

156 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the visit was seen as a historical event which attracted global media attention. It exerted even greater fascination in China where the IOC’s tour of the capital was labelled the most anticipated visit to Beijing since Richard Nixon’s. Chinese authorities were well aware of the kind of impact the Olympics could have upon China. They knew that hosting the Games could mark China’s emergence as a major player on the world stage and its international acceptance as a great power. In addition, hosting the Olympics would be the occasion for the Chinese government to show the world the results of China’s recent development efforts and to affirm that the Middle Kingdom had arrived in the modern world. As the single largest global event, which draws audiences greater than any other world happening, the Olympics represent the ultimate venue for the production of national culture for international consumption. Hosting the Games has become an opportunity for cities and nations worldwide to project an image and to advertise themselves to the world, with opening ceremonies acting as extended commercials viewed simultaneously by millions of people worldwide.22 Chinese leaders also knew that the Olympics would help promote patriotism and redefine China’s identity as a modern nation state with a secure position in the world system. In the rapidly changing global political order, the Olympics have come to serve as an arena for debate about modern nationhood and international relations. ‘Being a nation, having a culture, are the chief requirements for claiming a rightful and autonomous place in the global system . . .’ writes sport historian John MacAloon. ‘To be a nation recognized by others and realistic to themselves, a people must march in the Olympic ceremony procession’.23 Ever since China first competed in the Olympics in the 1930s, the Chinese had become committed to the Olympics as a way in which to make up for the injustices of the past century by proving to the world that China was strong. Beijing’s Olympic bid was thus treated as an event of the utmost importance by the Chinese leadership, one which could have great repercussions for China’s future at this turning point in its history. Chinese leaders knew that national recognition would be even greater if China not only marched in the Olympic procession, but actually hosted the Games. Chinese authorities also hoped the Games could spur national development in the same way that the 1964 Tokyo Olympics had demonstrated Japan’s emergence as a world power. They remembered how the efficiency of the 1988 Seoul Olympics boosted South Korean national confidence and enhanced South Korea’s international image.24 For the Chinese leadership, winning the chance to host the Games would signify the full recovery of Beijing’s legitimacy among the international community, following the damage caused by the government’s handling of the 1989 Tiananmen democracy protests. The Chinese Olympics were also seen as an opportunity to strengthen China’s bonds with the diaspora and to promote pan-Chinese unity worldwide. In the

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 157 context of the country multiplying links with overseas Chinese communities, the authorities made important efforts to mobilize the diaspora to support Beijing’s bid to host the Games, going as far as offering Taiwan to host part of the competitions. Organizations of overseas Chinese worldwide rallied to support Beijing’s bid. For example, the China News Digest, an internet network created by Chinese students at North American universities with over 30,000 subscribers, promoted a letterwriting campaign to the IOC in favour of Beijing’s bid. Hong Kong developer Timothy Fok offered US$ 300 million for the construction of the Beijing Olympic stadium bearing his name, which Chinese American architect I.M. Pei agreed to design.25 In the months preceding the IOC’s visit, Beijing lobbied zealously around the world for the right to host the Olympics, spending millions of dollars and gambling much of its reputation on winning the Games. The Chinese government hired Bud Greenspan, the renowned American sports documentary producer, to create three promotional videos for the IOC. Like other marketing efforts, the videos focused on China’s ancient culture, rapidly developing economy, and recent sports successes, while avoiding human rights issues. The Beijing Olympic Committee, chaired by Beijing Mayor Chen Xitong, also went to great lengths to influence IOC delegates in their decision, even promising to hang a plaque engraved with each of the members’ names on the Great Wall. But China had overestimated the international community’s willingness to forgive the excesses of its leadership, and Beijing’s bid faced strong opposition abroad, with critics in the United States Congress and the European Parliament lobbying against Beijing on the basis of its repressive regime.26

Members of

several human rights groups claimed that it would be wrong to reward China with the Olympics in the wake of the Tiananmen crackdown, and claimed that letting Beijing host the Games might actually bring more hardship to the Chinese population. The chairman of Human Rights Watch – the largest U.S.-based human rights organization – declared that if Beijing were to host the Olympics, Chinese authorities ‘would put people away and clean up the city like you wouldn’t believe’. In an attempt to allay criticism of the country’s human rights record, the Chinese government made a show of releasing some prominent dissidents a few weeks before the vote, including 43-year-old Wei Jingsheng who had spent more than fourteen years in detention for advocating democratic reform.27 Paradoxically, throughout the campaign Beijing authorities actually promoted China’s lack of freedom as an asset for hosting the Olympics. Well aware of the IOC’s traditional anxiety about expressions of political dissent during the Games, the Beijing bid committee made the following pledge in its official application to host the Olympics: ‘Neither now nor in the future will there emerge in Beijing organizations opposing Beijing’s bid and the hosting of the 2000 Olympiads’.28 City

158 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing officials knew that Beijing stood out among other competing cities for its facility to control its population. The city was to make use of this power in its efforts to give the national capital a clean new look for the visit of the IOC delegation.

Olympic Spirit Prior to the IOC’s visit, authorities made considerable efforts to give Beijing a façade of modernity as quickly as possible. In the few months leading to the visit, modern hotels sprouted rapidly throughout the city and new yellow taxis flooded Beijing’s streets. Beijing invested several million yuans to upgrade its telecommunication system and transportation facilities, and pledged to spend US$7.5 billion to improve the city’s derelict urban infrastructure. Several highprofile projects were undertaken with the Olympic vote in mind, including the new airport terminal with its expressway, the new Beijing West railroad station, the extension of the Beijing subway system, and the conversion of two key ring roads into limited access freeways. The capital city also put on an air of cheerful celebration as the date of the visit grew near. Hundreds of bright banners were hung throughout Beijing, displaying the Olympic rings and the logos of IOC commercial sponsors such as Kodak and Visa. However, the spectacle retained much of the rigidity of traditional socialist propaganda campaigns. Walls in the capital were plastered with slogans in English reading: ‘A More Open China Awaits 2000 Olympics’ and ‘An Epoch-Making Games in a Legendary City’. Beijing residents were also instructed on how to behave around IOC members, and official newspapers published a series of English phrases for people to use. On the arrival day of the committee members, bands and bused-in crowds of schoolchildren – who had been instructed to wear brightly coloured clothes – lined Beijing’s main streets to greet the IOC convoy on its way from the airport. However, despite polls in the official media which put public support of the Games at 98.7 per cent, ordinary Beijing citizens expressed reservations. Many were worried that a bid for the Olympics would translate into a bite out of their pay cheque, as happened during the Asian Games. ‘China is so poor, why should we organize the Olympics?’ asked a woman working in an electrical factory. ‘It’s just an excuse to rebuild Beijing on the people’s money . . . I’m not going to give one cent.’29 As had been feared, Beijing residents were to pay a high price for their leaders’ Olympian dream. During the four days of the IOC’s February visit to Beijing, all inner-city offices, factories and apartment buildings that used highly polluting coalburning heaters were forced to shut down their boilers during daytime hours to ensure clean air and blue skies over the capital. Workers and residents had to carry on their daily activities in the cold of winter without heat or hot water.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 159 Then in July 1993, a press leak revealed that Beijing’s candidacy had been found wanting in four major areas of technical qualifications, including frequency of international flights, environmental protection, existing telecommunication facilities, and the people’s knowledge of foreign languages. The news came as a blow to Chinese leaders, as it not only appeared to compromise Beijing’s chances in the competition, but it also questioned Beijing’s assertion of modernity. Finally, in September 1993, it was announced that Sidney would be awarded the Games after beating Beijing by only two ballots. Some speculate that the balance might have tipped against Beijing after a Chinese official threatened to boycott future Olympics if the city did not win. Beijing’s defeat touched a sensitive nerve in China, and was interpreted by some as a new example of mistreatment at foreign hands. The day after the IOC vote, a China Daily editorial filled with anti-imperialist rhetoric reminded its readers that the country had suffered a century of brutal colonialist aggression and exploitation. Many foreign observers would later suggest that the increase in Chinese nationalism in the 1990s was sparked in part by Beijing’s failure to win the right to host the 2000 Games, and by perceptions that the U.S. had used its Olympic clout to block that bid on political grounds.

Figure 5.2. In August 2001 the International Olympic Committee announced its decision to select Beijing as the host of the 2008 Olympic Games, over Paris, Moscow, Toronto, Istanbul and Osaka.

160 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing While some analysts feared that Beijing’s defeat would spark a riot similar to that which rocked Beijing in May 1985, the news was taken rather peacefully. In an official statement, Beijing authorities announced that they would try bidding for the next Olympics in 2004. Three years later in October 1996, the Chinese government rectified its previous statement and announced that Beijing was not going to proceed with its bid. Moreover, China would not be hosting any other world events during the five-year plan which began in 1995. The Beijing government declared that instead of using public funds to compete for the right to host these events, China would direct its reserves to secure economic stability and sustain the country’s poor.30 Ultimately, the Olympic attraction would prove too strong to resist. Barely two years later in November 1998 the city announced its plan to bid for the 2008 Summer Olympic Games.31 Predictably, a similar scenario would be repeated during the March 2001 visit of the IOC committee, this time under the sanguine slogan ‘New Beijing for the New Olympics’32 (Figure 5.2).

The Social, Material, and Ideological Dimensions of Aestheticization The hosting of the Asian Games and the visit of the International Olympic Committee to Beijing in the early 1990s would prove both formative and influential for subsequent image construction initiatives in the Chinese capital. These two events prompted the development of a series of elaborate mechanisms to control and reshape the perception of the city, which largely drew upon techniques first developed during the Mao era and were influenced by the practices established by other cities engaged in hosting mega events. These image making mechanisms are based on three major components: physical beautification, social reform, and ideological manipulation. One of the most conspicuous means of urban image construction consists of physical beautification and environmental improvement through public works and city planning. These include highly symbolic architectural monuments, major infrastructure projects such as transportation hubs, expressways linking the airport to key event sites, and public transportation systems such as new subway lines serving the event. They also include large-scale cosmetic intervention involving both urban design and clean-up operations through the removal of eyesores such as shabby housing, informal businesses, as well as pollution alleviation and greening of the environment. These interventions are extremely ‘goal oriented’ and their overriding concern is with the way the city will be perceived by an international audience, either via the media or more directly by visitors. They are therefore concentrated in highly visible sectors of the city, near tourist attractions, event sites, and major access roads. Image construction also relies on complex tactics of social beautification. These

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 161 include social reform initiatives, such as language and literacy programmes and ‘civilizing’ campaigns intended to instigate proper behaviour and public health awareness. Social beautification also includes elaborate screening mechanisms which limit access to the events by the general public and allow only those judged fit to participate, based on their appearance, ethnic identity, health and political affiliations. Such practices justify the expulsion of the ‘undesirable’ or those who do not fit the definition of modern citizens, including illegal residents, the poor, migrants, the homeless, the mentally ill, street children, informal vendors, prostitutes and others participants in the illicit urban sector. Such people are placed in detention centres, prisons, or exiled for the duration of the event. Others are sent to some of the police-run psychiatric hospitals which have flourished in recent years because of the crackdown on the Falun gong33 or to some of China’s more than 700 custody and repatriation camps where conditions are horrific and treatment harsh.34 Mechanisms of social control and discipline are also developed, with rules and heightened public security that often create severe restrictions in civil liberties. Finally, all events are accompanied by symbolic strategies to manipulate popular consciousness, foster nationalist sentiment, and boost civic pride through political spectacles, mass demonstrations, and ritualized practices. The most mundane of events are infused with ethical, political, and symbolic messages and moral discourse to encourage self-reform and compliance to the norms of modern socialism. Symbolic strategies of image construction are also used in marketing campaigns abroad which are often accompanied by gift giving and the renewal of diplomatic ties. The event itself and the media attention it generates act as a form of global advertisement for the city.

China at Fifty: National Anniversary Celebrations, October 1999 In Beijing, these image construction techniques were further perfected towards the end of the 1990s as China prepared to celebrate five decades of socialism on the fiftieth anniversary of the People’s Republic. Anniversary celebrations serve a similar function to mega events such as Olympic Games, international conferences and world fairs. National anniversaries, described by Gerry Kearns as ‘arbitrary collisions between calendar and culture’ are often themselves accompanied by large-scale media events to make the celebration as visible as possible. They are often the occasion of turning a place-specific historic event into a money making extravaganza and into a vehicle for place-promotion, as exemplified by the lavish celebrations of the Paris bicentenary in 1989. The grand spectacles held on national anniversaries also serve a political purpose as an important ritual for the nation, and are the occasion to secure the loyalty of local residents. The anniversary celebration offered a new opportunity for the Chinese state

162 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing to display its unyielding capacity to shape and control the image of the national capital, this time in a major patriotic spectacular advertising the achievements of fifty years of Chinese communism. Paradoxically, this official commemoration of the founding of New China was not the object of much rejoicing in the private homes of many Beijingers. For residents of the capital, the event resonated as a self-congratulatory spectacle put on by the government to convince the world and the rest of China that all was well in the People’s Republic. Beijing residents did not share the leadership’s triumphant mood to greet the Party’s half-century of rule. Most considered they had paid too high a price for celebrations to which they were not even invited. For more than two years, Beijingers had endured the disruption caused by the diverse beautification campaigns initiated to camouflage the city’s social and physical blight. Hundreds of houses had been demolished, thousands of people expelled, and billions of tax payers’ yuans spent to build a façade of order and progress. To ensure that the carefully planned ceremonies were carried out smoothly, the capital had been brought to a standstill for the duration of the week-long festivities. Beijing residents were ordered to stay home and follow the festivities on television as they had been during the opening ceremony for the Asian Games. The message communicated throughout the celebrations was itself ambivalent, marked by the deepening chasm between hard liners and open-minded reformers within the leadership. While much of the image construction effort was concentrated on displaying national progress and China’s advance into modernity, efforts were also made to convey an ideological orthodoxy reminiscent of the pre-reform era by concealing traces of the rampant commercialism which had spread over the Chinese capital during the previous two decades. The anniversary celebration thus exposed with unusual clarity the contradictions inherent in the current policy of socialist market economy with Chinese characteristics – a desire for reform, openness, and prosperity, with an insistence on the unchallenged dictatorship of the CCP leadership. Such paradox was etched into the urban landscape of the national capital, which, while displaying all aspects of an advanced modern metropolis, also attempted to reclaim – at least for the duration of the celebrations – the disciplined image of a model socialist national capital. The scale of government intervention undertaken to reshape Beijing in time for the anniversary celebrations reflects the paramount importance given to the event by the Chinese leadership. Manifestly, the event served a significant purpose as an ideological tool essential to the strengthening of the regime’s power and stature. The celebration in the national capital would be broadcast throughout China and many thousands of visitors were expected to visit the city in the days following the festivities. Consequently, the festivities were the object of careful planning to create an uncompromising image of the regime and its successful revolution.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 163 Preparations for the celebration were the occasion to put into practice much of the image construction techniques developed for other large-scale international events such as the Asian Games. Analysis of the urban transformations initiated in Beijing at the time of the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the People’s Republic provides considerable insight into the image construction process, including the circumstances which may have motivated the implementation of such major projects, the mechanism used to construct this image, as well as the resulting social and economic costs.

Material Strategies of Beautification: Stage Sets and Political Theatre A large part of the initiatives to spruce up Beijing in time for October 1 1999 focused on improving the visual image of the capital through major public works. A comprehensive urban redevelopment plan involving sixty-seven citywide projects valued at 110 billion yuan (US$ 13.3 billion) and ranging from infrastructure modernization and pollution alleviation programmes to the construction of commercial and cultural facilities was launched early in 1998.35 But by far, the most important physical interventions centred on the city’s key symbolic urban spaces which were literally metamorphosed into a series of theatrical stage sets on which the spectacle of the festivities could be acted out. While many interventions provided badly needed improvement, several projects consisted of little more than Potemkin-style façadism which reinforced the sharp contrast between the squalid conditions in the back streets and the glorious outlook of Beijing’s more conspicuous urban spaces. As was expected, most beautification concentrated around the regime’s show pieces including Tiananmen Square and Chang An Avenue.

Chang An Clean Up One of the main foci of the beautification campaign was Chang An Dajie, the Avenue of Eternal Peace, which cuts right through the heart of the old Chinese capital and runs past the symbolic centre of the nation at Tiananmen Square. Chang An was opened up in 1911 by the new republican government by demolishing part of the Imperial City wall to facilitate communication between the eastern and western sections of Beijing. The creation of the avenue was highly symbolic, as a revolutionary challenge to Beijing’s ancient north-south imperial axis which it bisects as it is about to penetrate the imperial city.36 In the mid-1950s, Chang An was widened by the new Communist government to serve as the city’s principal ceremonial way. Today, Chang An retains this important political character as the seat of major state institutions and the nation’s widest urban roadway37 (Figure 5.3).

164 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 5.3. Plan of central Beijing with Tiananmen Square, Chang An Avenue, the Forbidden City and the seat of the central government at Zhongnanhai.

Because of its national importance, Chang An Avenue stood at the heart of most official events held to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the People’s Republic, including the inauguration ceremony and parade which were to be witnessed by millions of people worldwide through television broadcasts. The city government went to great lengths to ensure that Chang An presented a fitting aspect for such a glorious event, and strove to restore the avenue’s image as a ‘serious, simple, and graceful boulevard’, even if this meant infuriating many foreign investors established in the area, and alienating part of Beijing’s citizenry. One of the boldest state actions undertaken to restore Chang An’s institutional character would attempt to erase all traces of its recent commercialization through the compulsory removal of hundreds of billboards and neon signs along its way. Since the mid-1980s, under-funded public institutions and commercial buildings lining the avenue had relied upon advertising to supplement their revenues. By the late 1990s Chang An had lost its austere socialist character and was animated by giant colourful billboards and flashing neon signs. While the building of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences flaunted advertisements for Samsung, Toshiba and the Southeastern Automobile Company, the China Postal Service building boasted the largest billboard in the country with its Kodak neon display. Revolving signs carrying strangely ambiguous messages, which had become the trademark of the reform era

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 165 (on one, the slogan ‘Energetically Build Socialism with Chinese Characteristics’ alternated with ‘Drink XO’), were also targeted by the removal order.38 Five hundred buildings with over three hundred advertising boards located along the 6-kilometre stretch between Fuxingmen and Jianguomen were affected by the ban. The advertising proscription also targeted areas adjacent to the ceremonial way. During the few months leading to the celebration, all visible signs and boards along Tiananmen Square were taken down to ‘preserve the solemnity of the landmark square’, home to Mao’s Mausoleum, the People’s Heroes Memorial, Kentucky Fried Chicken and McDonald’s. Conspicuous advertisements placed at bus stops, on bicycle lane dividers, and highway overpasses throughout the city centre were also removed. Outside the most tightly controlled downtown areas, billboards were authorized to remain as long as they conformed to a new set of standards regulating size, display, and appropriateness, and ‘did not affect one’s impression of the city or destroy the skyline’.39 While some advertisers sympathized with the exigencies of the fiftieth anniversary and tried to be cooperative, others were outraged to see their contracts interrupted so abruptly. Many were offended to have first heard of the ban not from municipal agents but through unofficial channels and complained of the lack of transparency in government policies. Advertising agencies and building owners who were given less than two months’ notice to tear down their billboards saw the clean-up operation as stark proof of the government’s unyielding authoritarianism. The ban represented an estimated one hundred million yuan (US$12 million) loss to advertising firms.40 The advertising crackdown epitomized important divisions within the leadership between pro-capitalist reformers and more dogmatic Party members, and the ideological battle between those who had allowed the advertisements to go up in the first place and those who were now ordering them down for the anniversary. The ban also revealed just how far the Party was willing to go to save face for the celebration, including running the risk of damaging China’s reputation as an investment-friendly nation. Foreign companies were the most affected by the publicity ban, and many analysts feared that the initiative would once again shake the confidence of international investors. The incident was heralded in the international business press as another example of the risks of conducting business in the People’s Republic of China. Advertisements were not the only aspect of Chang An Avenue affected by the city improvement campaign. The Beijing government also undertook a series of cosmetic interventions in its attempt to re-establish a sense of order and decorum in this central part of the city. Traffic lanes were widened, the central portion of Chang An running past Tiananmen was repaved in granite, special traffic signals and colour strips for the blind were installed, and flower beds, lawns and new trees

166 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing were planted all along the avenue. The famous boulevard was also equipped with expensive new street furniture: brighter lamp posts, transparent phone booths, improved street signs, new rubbish bins, public benches, fountains, and statues. Some visual beautification interventions attempted to mirror the illusion of transparency that characterized the Open Door philosophy of the Reform Era. For example, owners of office and government buildings along Chang An Avenue were instructed to remove all walls, hedges, and fences fronting their compounds so as to display their façades to the street and give Chang An a more unified image.41 But such symbolic displays of openness were overshadowed by actions that betrayed the despotic nature of the state’s image construction efforts. For example, regulations restricting the type of vehicle that could drive down Chang An Avenue in effect proscribed all unsightly or highly polluting vehicles from using the ceremonial way. Since the Asian Games, jeeps, vans, mini-buses, motorcycles, twoseater pedi-cabs, cars with engines under one litre and all sizes of truck had been banned from using Beijing’s premier boulevard during daylight hours. As for public transportation, only brand new buses, double-decker tourist buses, or ‘ecological’ buses fuelled with liquefied gas were allowed on Chang An in front of Tiananmen Square. Just as participants in the ceremony would be carefully screened for both their appearance and political background, so too vehicles allowed to drive down

Figure 5.4. Beijing Jeep advertisement in the China Daily claiming that their new ‘Green’ model’s low emission level allows it to ride on Chang An Avenue.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 167 the avenue would be selected according to their make and emission levels. This was truly potemkinism at its best (Figure 5.4).

Tiananmen Makeover Tiananmen Square was not spared by the wave of visual censorship that had transformed Chang An. As an iconic embodiment of state power and the symbolic centre of socialist China, Tiananmen was a priviledged site for national representation. The famous square would be the focus of world attention during the festivities. It was therefore paramount that the square looked its best for the anniversary celebration. As the formal entrance to the Forbidden City, surrounded by key national monuments such as the Great Hall of the People, the Revolutionary Museum, and Mao’s Mausoleum, the square is one of the city’s top tourist attractions. People come from all over the country to tour the famous monuments, have the obligatory picture taken with Mao’s portrait, or to fly kites and mingle with the crowd. Tiananmen also figures as a highly emblematic and politically charged site in the world imagination. The events of 1989 imbued the square with a tragic aura which draws crowds of curious tourists on a pilgrimage to reflect upon previous protests, struggles, and sacrifices and silently mourn the victims, to express their contempt for the Party state, or simply to seek cheap political thrills. Millions of visitors were therefore expected to flock to Tiananmen in the weeks that followed the anniversary (Figure 5.5). It was also essential for the leadership to reclaim possession of the square, at least in appearance, and to regain control over its meaning as an official space celebrating the power and achievements of the Party state. Tiananmen has never been much

Figure 5.5. Tiananmen Square, looking south from Tiananmen Gate. Flanked by the Museum of Revolutionary History on the eastern side and the Great Hall of the People on the western side, Tiananmen Square was transformed in the late 1950s in the socialist Grand Manner and turned into the largest public square in the world, proportionate to the scale of the nation itself. The stele of the Monument to the Martyrs of the Revolution built in 1959 stands in front of Mao’s Mausoleum completed in 1977 (top, centre). The square stands today as a testimony of Mao’s megalomaniac tendencies.

168 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing of a public square but, throughout the twentieth century, it stood as an important representational space, generally controlled by the state but occasionally usurped by different groups contesting state hegemony.42 It is this dual quality as a site of both power and contestation that has led Wu Hung, drawing upon Pierre Nora’s typology, to describe the square as both a dominant and dominated monument: The first, spectacular and triumphant, imposing, and, generally, imposed – either by a national authority or by an established interest, but always from above – characteristically have the coldness and solemnity of official ceremonies. One attends them rather than visits them. The second are places of refuge, sanctuaries of spontaneous devotion and silent pilgrimage, where one finds the living heart of memory.43 With the memory of the violent crackdown of 1989 still fresh in people’s minds, it was crucial for the leadership to alter the image of the square, at least visually, and reaffirm its supremacy. In October 1998 a renovation project was initiated to update the square’s forty year old facilities. Much effort was made to de-politicize the image of Tiananmen by giving the old military parade ground the appearance of a public square. Fountains were installed, night lighting was improved, and several lawns were laid out around the square’s periphery – made from turf imported from Oregon. The greening was extended to areas surrounding the Qianmen arrow tower in the southern end of the square, thereby creating the largest green space in the centre of the Chinese capital. For over eight months, the square was fenced off and closed to the public. Originally scheduled to be completed by late May 1999, Tiananmen Square’s refurbishment dragged on until late July, conveniently closing access to the square on the tenth anniversary of the June 4, 1989 massacre44 (Figure 5.6). Major interventions concentrated on removing all physical reminders of the 1989 events, in a desire to erase from collective consciousness the memory of the atrocities which had created the square’s worldwide notoriety. The most obvious traces of the massacre had already been removed in the weeks following the crackdown. But this

Figure 5.6. Tiananmen was conveniently closed for repair during the tenth anniversary of the crackdown on the democracy movement, in June 1999.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 169 time, Tiananmen underwent a more drastic cosmetic surgery to conceal remaining blood stains and bullet holes. While the square’s worn out pavement was replaced by tank-proof pink granite, the façades of the monuments lining the square were also repaired at great cost. By a cynical twist of fate, part of the square’s old stone pavement was recycled in the construction of a drive-in cinema in suburban Beijing. There, the capital’s emerging bourgeois class can enjoy a taste of the ‘American way of life’ while standing on the same stones upon which the People’s Liberation Army tanks rumbled to suppress pro-democracy demonstrators ten years before.45 Despite attempts to create a more people-friendly image, Tiananmen remains under tight government control. As the anniversary celebrations approached, the renovated square was given its own Public Security Bureau, and military presence was increased, with plain clothed officers constantly patrolling the square. Tiananmen was also placed under close scrutiny with an elaborate electronic surveillance system. New regulations against chewing gum and a temporary ban on kite flying were also strictly enforced to ensure order and cleanliness during the festivities.46 Rather than turning the square into an ordinary tourist site, these restrictions only reinforced the experience of Tiananmen as a panoptical urban space and once more proved the deep insecurities of a paranoiac leadership.47

Discord on Peace Avenue Other important infrastructure projects were initiated with the anniversary deadline in mind. Among the most important were the expansion of the city’s international airport, the completion of the expressway to the Great Wall at Badaling, as well as twelve key road construction projects including the completion of the fourth ring road, and the construction of Ping An (Peace) Avenue, a northern equivalent to Chang An. This last project was by far the largest and most controversial infrastructure intervention linked to the anniversary celebrations. Originally proposed in the 1950s as a monumental thoroughfare running between Chaoyangmen and Fuchenmen, the project never took off due to lack of funds. In 1997, Beijing’s soaring population and growing traffic congestion forced policy makers to reconsider the old blue print. Much as the celebration of the tenth anniversary of the republic in 1959 had justified the widening of Chang An Avenue and the enlargement of Tiananmen Square, the fiftieth anniversary would serve as the excuse for the construction of this symbolic avenue cutting right through Beijing’s historic centre (Figures 5.7 and 5.8). Initiated by the municipal government in late February 1998, Ping An Avenue sought to transform a narrow, congested road into a 7 kilometre long, 38 metre wide east-west axis. Municipal planners viewed the construction of Ping An Avenue as a necessary step in the city’s struggle to modernize. They argued that Beijing’s

170 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 5.7. Ping An Avenue’s location in central Beijing.

Figure 5.8. The controversial widening of Ping An Avenue cutting through several historical neighbourhoods in Beijing to cater for the city’s ever growing fleet of cars.

historical layout had left the city with too few main avenues, especially in the eastwest direction.48 The proposed avenue would not only provide an opportunity for upgrading utilities and for the relocation of thousands of residents living in overcrowded, substandard houses in the area, but would also promote commercial development along the new avenue, bringing increased revenues and employment opportunities in the city centre.49 Ping An would also contribute to the fiftieth anniversary of the nation by relieving traffic congestion on Chang An Avenue while conveniently keeping unattractive vehicles off the main ceremonial way. However, the construction of Peace Avenue was all but peaceful. From the outset the costly avenue became the object of heated disputes. Opponents of the project criticized the construction of the avenue for a lack of practical rationale. They denounced it as yet another of the regime’s showy political endeavours allowing government leaders to leave their mark on the city and add another item to their

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 171 list of lifetime achievements. Some suggested that Ping An was no more than a symbolic project first conceptualized by early communist leaders and carried out in reverence to these founders of the Republic on the occasion of its fiftieth anniversary.50 Even before construction began, several Chinese and foreign experts expressed doubts that the benefits resulting from the construction of the avenue would be worth the more than two billion yuan (US$250 million) investment, the demolition of 11 hectares of existing housing and the relocation of 3300 families it was estimated to cost.51 Foreign traffic specialists indicated that the construction of such a wide and straight thoroughfare was not only unnecessary but also rendered obsolete the costly ring road built in the 1950s by providing a shortcut for through traffic. Challenging the conventional wisdom that more roadways decrease traffic congestion, they pointed to experience worldwide which suggests that increased road areas only temporarily relieve traffic and in the long run actually attract more vehicles.52 Some experts proposed reversing the state policy encouraging private car ownership, instead suggesting that private cars should be banned from the historic part of the city which should be accessible only to public transport.53 Others suggested that the project would be counter-productive and result in worse traffic since displaced residents would travel back to the area to work, thus adding to the daily commuting. In addition to uprooting long-term residents from the city centre, the eight lane avenue would also affect the city’s social and physical environment by creating an almost impassable barrier between what were once adjacent neighbourhoods. Opponents also argued that the projected commercial development along Ping An Avenue would burden the overtaxed inner city with more people and cars, thereby negating whatever relief from congestion might have been achieved by the 17-metre road widening.54 Much opposition came from preservationists who decried the lack of concern given to the area’s cultural and historical heritage. Ping An runs just a few blocks north of the Forbidden City through some of the city’s most historically sensitive traditional Ming and Qing neighbourhoods. Pressed by the 1999 anniversary deadline, little time was allocated to conduct historical surveys and preservation assessments, both regarded by district governments and private developers as obstacles to the project. Apart from ten historical buildings protected by the central and municipal governments, all structures on the avenue’s path were demolished. But the relics were not lost for everybody. Many artefacts unearthed during demolition work quickly found their way into Beijing’s informal antique markets.55 Many observers feared that rather than resolving traffic and housing problems, Ping An Avenue would be yet another urban renewal project where both city

172 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing government and private developers enriched themselves at the expense of poor inner-city residents.56 Project proponents themselves admitted that there was no need for the road expansion project to take such megalomaniac proportions, but they maintained that alternative solutions such as the extension of the existing subway system would be prohibitively expensive.57

By October 1999, Ping

An’s construction was well advanced, but little of the commercial development promised was visible. Much of the land acquired by greedy developers remained unbuilt, held in the hope of some future speculative gain.

Blue Skies, Green Lawns, and Red Tape A last but important aspect of the physical beautification campaigns focused on cleaning up the city’s sky by improving Beijing’s environmental record. At a time when environmentally friendly national policies stand as a symbol of responsible government worldwide, China has had to redress its laissez faire attitude towards the environment, which remains one of the main objects of international criticism, apart from human rights issues. Now regarded as an important capital to be valued and protected, Beijing’s environment represents a determining aspect of its desirability, and plays a central role in global image construction. It also represents an important criterion in site selection for prospective investors. China’s global aspirations have thus required drastic changes in national attitude towards the environment, and the transformation of now deeply ingrained cultural practices associated with the ‘development at all costs’ policies of the Mao years. Beijing has long been known to suffer from serious environmental degradation and to stand among the cities in the world with the worst air pollution, with smog, coal dust and construction dust spawning widespread respiratory illnesses and chronic cough.58 But until February 1998, the air pollution level in the Chinese capital remained a closely guarded state secret, even for senior government officials. According to local observers, the secrecy which long shrouded the extent of Beijing’s air pollution was related to the local government’s fear that high pollution levels would damage the city’s reputation and discourage foreign investment. The Beijing government also feared that the population would blame it for bad air quality and that high pollution levels could disrupt social stability and lead to civil unrest.59 It was only on February 28, 1998 that the capital’s state-run news media finally started publishing a weekly pollution index for the city.60 The publication of air pollution levels was considered a victory for environmental organizations in their efforts to put public pressure on polluters, and encourage law enforcement and transparent urban governance. The National Environmental Protection Agency argued that a more open attitude to the Chinese public on environmental issues – as opposed to what they saw as ‘treating the Chinese people as opponents in

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 173 a guerrilla war’ – would help build trust in the government, make authorities more accountable, and gain cooperation from the public to fight pollution more effectively.61 But this partial victory did not necessarily mean that the state would relax its grip on information and become more transparent in its policy making. As air pollution progressively worsened throughout the autumn that year, weekly reports vanished or were buried in tiny columns in local newspapers. Once the city’s air pollution problem was officially recognized, Beijing’s environmental condition suddenly became a national priority. The city started receiving more financial aid from the central government than any other region of China, some of which suffered from much worse pollution levels. While efforts were made to alleviate air pollution in Beijing, the issue also served as a propaganda tool to advertise recent government achievements. Articles about the miraculous reversal of the city’s pollution problem started to appear in literature aimed at foreign visitors and in the capital’s daily newspapers. In one example of blatant over-optimism reminiscent of the days of the planned economy, a 1999 official press statement dismissed the forecast made by foreign experts that China’s environment would not improve before 2030. ‘According to [the government’s] plan, we are set to reverse the pollution trend next year.’62 Evidence also suggests that pollution alleviation schemes were undertaken out of concern for the city’s image construction programme and modernization drive rather than for a real commitment to reducing pollution. For example, one of the landmark campaigns to cut down air pollution was Beijing’s scheme to eliminate its 20,000 minivan taxis familiarly known as miandi (bread bun). First introduced in Beijing in 1991, these five-passenger minivans, the cheapest taxis in the capital, were very popular. Their number more than doubled by 1993 when new legislation allowed any business to operate a taxi service in order to improve the city’s transport facilities for the visit of the International Olympics Committee.63 The disappearance of the miandis had a great impact on people’s mobility. Miandis accounted for less than 2 per cent of Beijing’s 1.4 million vehicles but were said to be the source of 10 per cent of vehicle emissions in the late 1990s.64 Beijingers often suggest that the removal of the miandis had more to do with their shoddy appearance than their contribution to the smog. This theory is supported by the fact that many of the miandis were not destroyed but were sent to neighbouring Hubei province where their highly toxic emissions did not seem to bother anyone. The removal of the miandis was only one part of the so-called ‘Blue Skies Project’ launched by the city government a few months before the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary. Motor tricycles, accused of causing serious pollution while overcharging customers, were also victim of a city-wide campaign to overhaul the transportation sector. From December 1998 to April 1999, a series of new traffic laws intended to relieve Chang An from traffic congestion for the anniversary

174 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing celebrations prohibited minivans and minibuses as well as all hatchback vehicles from entering Beijing’s entire inner city during daytime hours. The action was intended to be a fair policy, affecting rich and poor alike by cutting across the vehicular class system. But it had serious repercussions for the poorest segment of the city’s population. Among the vehicles affected by the ban were the low-rate hatchback taxis favoured by working class people in the city as well as the small utility vehicles which represent the main source of income of many self-employed Beijingers by offering an affordable haulage service.65 Once again, these actions raise doubts about the government’s real commitment to a sustainable approach to modernization. While second-rate vehicles were forced off the roads of the capital allegedly to improve air quality, the Beijing government persisted in encouraging private car ownership.66 To make things worse, the city government also discouraged the use of bicycles, and created a series of ‘bicyclefree zones’, closing many central city streets to bicycles. In addition, several bicycle lanes were converted into regular traffic lanes to accommodate Beijing’s ever growing fleet of cars.67 Other examples of contradictory environmental policies abound. For instance, a massive scheme for greening the city was launched in 1999 in a bid to increase the capital’s tree coverage before October 1, 1999. Consequently, 1.5 million trees and 1 million square metres of green lawns were planted in the Chinese capital throughout the year.68 While this costly initiative was undertaken in the name of environmental improvement, no one contested the important economic and ecological costs required to maintain such lawns in Beijing’s dry climate. The city’s new environmental policy also exposed the government’s equivocal commitment to welfare and equity. In the few months before the anniversary celebration, the Beijing city government enacted strict new regulations to cut dust and smog from construction sites, coal stoves and other sources. Ninety per cent of carbon monoxide emissions in Beijing are due to coal combustion, the cheapest and most widespread fuel used for both cooking and heating in Beijing. Unfortunately, efforts to reduce the more than 28 million tons of coals consumed in the city each year were not accompanied by a subsidy on the price of natural gas, making it difficult for poor people to make the shift.69 Beijing’s less fortunate were once more to pay the price for the government’s National Day beautification efforts.

Social Beautification Strategies: Social Reforms and Public Order Apart from efforts to beautify Beijing’s physical environment, the city government also used diverse strategies to enhance the capital’s human environment and enforce social order. Image construction efforts therefore included a series of social reform and public education campaigns which aimed to raise the citizenry to an

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 175 acceptable level of sophistication. Actions were also taken to hide the most visible manifestations of the reform’s failure to benefit all members of Chinese society. Signs of poverty and backwardness, or any visual blight which may question the success of the socialist market economy, were carefully camouflaged. The nature and extent of these initiatives revealed the leadership’s sensitivity to what might be perceived as stains on the city’s newly proclaimed prosperity, modernity, and sense of order. Social reform and public order have long been closely associated with modernization. Nineteenth-century urban planners and social reformers attempted to modernize the decaying cities of Europe and its colonies by subjecting the masses to a pedagogical process that would both normalize and rationalize society. Michel Foucault discusses in detail the diverse disciplinary procedures used by these reformers to internalize norms of good behaviour and rationality and create efficient, well-behaved, and productive individuals.70 Many early modern reformers were obsessed with population quality and eugenics. They believed that by disciplining individuals and forcing them to comply with strict norms of behaviour, they would improve the collective totality. Twentieth-century modernists followed a similar path in their attempt to heal the ills of modern society through urbanistic prescriptions meant to create an ideal urban form, perfectly tame and rational. They hoped that by imposing a strict and uniform order on the city they could simultaneously transform people into modern citizens. Early twentieth-century Chinese society was similarly transformed by an elite upholding modern values of rationality, discipline, and order. In the late 1920s, a series of public education campaigns was launched throughout urban China to reform both the mind and body of the Chinese people. Beiping’s new republican government strove to transform the citizenry by reshaping urban space, notably through the creation of public parks.71 It was in these new urban parks created on the sites of old imperial institutions that reformers tried to reach out to the masses and foster socially acceptable public behaviour. For example, Madeleine Yue Dong describes Beiping’s new Capital Park as a three-dimensional billboard, filled with didactic messages and mottoes preaching the moral principles of modesty, tolerance, honesty, patriotism, diligence, self-reflection, critical thinking, healthy living, and public mindedness. Minzheng Shi similarly describes the geyanting or maxim pavilions erected near the entrance of some parks for the purpose of instilling proper norms of behaviour and cultivating civic virtues. Colourfully illustrated boards encouraged people to buy national products, support education, oppose foot binding, advocate filial piety, abide by the law, and help each other.72 Communist China also sought to impose strict norms and forms on the Chinese experience of modernity and developed complex systems for the maintenance of public order. The new Chinese leaders saw their mission not as simply maintaining

176 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing or improving society but as transforming and restructuring it as well. Consequently, they initiated important social programmes which aimed at remoulding both the mind and body of their population, through public education campaigns and physical training. The disciplinary practices of the socialist state also served its own interests, allowing the Party to reproduce both its power and legitimacy. China’s new leaders developed a public security system based on routinely held campaigns of public discipline to apprehend people causing disturbances and deter other disruptive behaviour. This policing system tried to play down coercion by gaining the positive cooperation of the citizenry through normative appeals to patriotism and the necessity of preserving an orderly society. The wilful compliance of the general public therefore rested on the success of both propaganda and public education, but also on the fear engendered by periodic demonstrations of violent state repression.73

Civilizing Body and Soul An important strategy to improve Beijing’s world image in the 1990s was the implementation of a series of public campaigns aimed at reforming the Chinese body and preparing Beijing residents to become citizens of the world. While the Mao era had framed the Chinese body into an obedient and well-synchronized machine, the post-Mao period would develop its own form of social reform and national pedagogy, especially in the years following Tiananmen. This pedagogical programme was shaped by the wenming (civilization) discourse, whose elitist rhetoric preaches for the development of a modern Chinese citizenry.74 This discourse, widely promoted by the Party’s propaganda apparatus, constitutes one of the central tenets of reform era nation constructions. It revived the search for an essentialized national identity under the label of ‘spiritual civilization’ (jingshen wenming). This programme also helped ensure social control and ideological domination through the production of docile political subjects. Further, it allowed the Party to impose itself as the authority necessary for a public not yet ready for self-representation. As discussed by Ann Anagnost, wenming is a complex concept whose significance ranges from ‘modernity’, ‘Westernization’ and ‘civilization’ (understood as an advanced stage of historical development) but which can also connote notions of orderly – or ‘civil’ – behaviour in public spaces.75 Wenming thus carries a sense of being more advanced, rather than simply modern, and denotes a state of civility that is closely identified with the advanced industrial cultures of Asia and the West. Underlying the notion of wenming as ‘civilization’ is a pervasive concern with the ‘quality’ of the Chinese population (renmin de suzhi). Anagnost describes the wenming discourse as a discourse of lack, which exposes the failure of the Chinese people to

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 177 embody international standards of modernity, civility, and discipline, and constructs the Chinese as being of a ‘low quality’ (suzhi cha). Its concern with raising the quality of the people (tigao renminde suzhi) gives a new sense of mission to pedagogical campaigns aiming at refashioning the Chinese masses into a modern citizenry.76 The wenming discourse can be seen as an attempt by the ruling class to impose its norms upon society by controlling the activities and behaviour of the masses to serve its own interests. There seems to be a strong sense among the city’s economic elite that it is their role to ‘educate’ people on ‘urban values’, that is to teach them how to comply with global ideas about ‘proper’ urbanity. Image-conscious Chinese reformists see their civilizing mission as ridding the Chinese body of its peasant manners by making the masses conform to elite ideas of public civility, strongly influenced by Western upper-class norms of distinction. Therefore, these ‘civilizing’ campaigns focused on basic hygiene, behaviour in public places, as well as on propriety, including good manners, correct speech, and appropriate dress. The discourse on social reforms was similarly filled with rhetorical references to the norms and forms of modernity. The public education campaigns were justified in terms of progress, ethics, culture, and the pursuit of a higher level of civilization.77 Practices perceived by the ruling elite as expressions of China’s backwardness were discouraged, while compliance with codes of conduct regarded as world-sanctioned emblems of modernity were strongly encouraged. In order to incite people to adopt the new cultural norms, such intrusions in the core of people’s individuality were presented as patriotic necessities for national development, while compliance with suggested behaviour was portrayed as a patriotic action.

Forbidden City: Casting Out Beijing’s Illegal Citizens One particular population group whose image did not fit the ideal of the modern Chinese urbanite was targeted by the social beautification campaigns: illegal residents, for the most part Chinese peasants and other migrants who have in recent years come to the capital in their thousands in the hope of finding work. During the communist era, China avoided the adverse outcomes of rapid urbanization and massive rural-urban migration typical of many third world cities – namely sharp economic divisions, dramatic housing shortages, and a high level of informal settlements and businesses – by restricting population movements by means of a strict registration system (hukou).78 But the recent relaxation of the registration system coupled with rising unemployment throughout China has led to a substantial rural migration to Chinese cities. Much government intervention prior to the anniversary festivities took the form of a major human beautification campaign which focused on disciplining the uncivilized bodies of the rural masses and on carefully weeding out those judged

178 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing unfit to participate in the celebrations. In April 1999, Beijing Executive Vice-Mayor Meng Xuenong announced that non-residents seeking work or wanting to join in the celebrations would be discouraged from converging on the capital during the weeks leading up to national day in order to give the capital a clean, well-managed look and to ensure that crime rates stayed as low as possible.79 Beijing’s rural migrants and illegal residents, believed to number more than three million, were also targeted by a series of eviction campaigns which were part of a long running plan to cut down the number of illegal migrants living and working in the capital.80 These actions revealed the widespread tendency of authorities and the official media to criminalize migrant workers and blame outsiders for all social evils, and exposed the deep-seated attitude of the Chinese elite towards the unwashed masses of China’s economic periphery as the denizens of China’s post-reform metropoles.81 The wenming discourse and the diverse campaigns it engendered also played a part in constructing the Chinese peasant as the inappropriate ‘other’ of modernity, unfit for the project of modernization, and from whom urban elites wish to distinguish themselves.82 By stressing the need to ‘discipline’ peasant bodies, the Party encouraged the victimization of rural migrants by China’s urban residents and contribute to their exclusion from participation in urban life. In a letter to Beijing school children, published in the official press in January 1999, Mayor Jia Qinglin revealed a blatant example of the institutionalized victimization of migrant workers in the capital, encouraging the youth to engage in environmental protection campaigns such as the proposed ‘never buy fried kebabs from street vendors’ to reduce air pollution in Beijing.83 While the mayor showed no restraint in targeting small-scale informal vendors as major polluters, he takes no initiative to suggest other campaigns such as ‘stop cigarette smoking’, or ‘use public transportation rather than private cars’ because such widespread polluting activities are tolerated thanks to their association with ideas of modernity. One month before the beginning of the October 1 festivities Beijing authorities renewed their offensive against the city’s swelling ranks of illegal residents, expelling thousands of them in just one week. The campaign, dubbed the ‘Three Withouts’, was aimed at those without papers, without legal residence permits (hukou), and without permanent income. It targeted everyone from unlicensed street vendors, itinerant workers, the homeless, and ‘all others who under national regulations should be taken in and sent away’. Police officers collected hundreds of beggars and other ‘undesirables’ from train stations, pedestrian underpasses, railway bridges, and other hideouts. More than 3,400 people, including the mentally ill and street children, were placed in detention centres of Dickensian condition to await expulsion from the city.84 A circular published by the city’s public security organs and distributed to the

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 179 owners of low-budget accommodation threatened judicial action against any hotel, boarding house or hostel that gave shelter to illegal migrants. The Beijing police carried out house-to-house searches checking everyone’s papers. All Beijingers had to re-register with the police and obtain a ‘no previous crime’ certificate. By October, 300,000 illegal residents had reportedly been expelled from the city in one of the largest eviction campaigns in years.85 The government justified the campaign by claiming a need for more low-end jobs for permanent residents. This explanation was derided by migrants convinced that no Beijinger would willingly engage in jobs involving strenuous manual labour. ‘Please ask the Government if Beijing residents are willing to ride those bicycle carts that transport most of their fruit and vegetables,’ said Mr. Ge, a former produce vendor. ‘Beijing people don’t want to do the work, but they do want to eat fresh food.’86 The city also put restrictions on the jobs that migrants can hold, barring them from about two hundred occupations. While cleaning and sanitation remain relatively safe employment areas, hiring quotas for migrants in government offices and state companies shrank dramatically. This tightening of the labour market was intended to deter the arrival of new masses of migrants. All it really did was to reduce the chances of urban integration for migrants who kept coming in large numbers to the capital, thereby increasing their marginalization and perpetuating their condition as second class citizens.

Slogans for Civilization The tactics used to reform the Chinese citizenry and shape it into a modern society in the 1990s were very much influenced by Mao-era propaganda practices, and drew upon carefully worded slogans and idealized imagery. But the media through which these were conveyed – neon-lit advertising billboards and television commercials – were more typical of the new market economy. The state propaganda apparatus was not the only institution involved in the production of these public welfare advertisements. The State Administration of Industry and Commerce also urged private advertising agencies and public enterprises to sponsor the creation of posters and commercials. The best of these advertisements – selected for their ‘ability to help create a more favourable environment for the promotion of national ethical progress’ – are even granted a special annual award by China’s Central Ethical Construction Committee.87 In October 1996, the Beijing leadership announced a campaign urging its citizens to join their effort to build a ‘spiritual civilization’. Throughout the capital, glitzy back-lit signboards and giant billboards started instructing people to adopt more ‘modern’ behaviour by suggesting different ‘civilized’ actions ranging from paying their taxes and obeying traffic regulations to avoiding littering and respecting the

180 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing environment. Slogans such as ‘Be a polite citizen, build a polite city’, ‘Strive to build Beijing as a modern international metropolis’, and ‘Let’s join our efforts to maintain public order and create a civilized environment’ appeared side by side with older political slogans which encouraged the pursuit of socialist ideals, or urged people to avoid foul language and refrain from spitting. Other public billboards carried imagined visions of Beijing’s future and advertised the bright promises of modernization. These posters are not entirely dissimilar from the propaganda art of the Mao years in that they construct an overoptimistic vision of the future whose negative aspects are carefully hidden. Never are the rushing crowds, the insidious dust, and toxic exhaust fumes so central to Beijing’s everyday reality seen in these representations. Some posters seem to come straight out of science fiction comic books, and are filled with superhighways, futuristic landscapes and shiny high rise buildings. Construction site billboards sponsored by real estate companies to advertise ongoing projects often display the same fantastic view of Beijing. These posters and slogans resonate as wishful, self-fulfilling prophecies on the walls of the capital – what Walter Benjamin called the ‘wish image of the collective’ – a dream of the epoch to follow.88 They act as figures of prolepses, representing the future as already existing, as if the simple representation of an ideal could magically affect its realization (Figure 5.9).

Figure 5.9. Civilizing billboards. These public interest advertising billboards are encouraging modern norms of conduct for the civilized resident of the city. The use of modern imagery such as high-rise buildings, freeways, and futuristic landscapes to accompany slogans promoting civic virtues suggests the idea that modernity and civilization are closely related.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 181 One particularly detailed public billboard lists the nine commandments of the ideal Beijing citizen, proclaiming that ‘[b]eing a modern civilized Beijinger begins with abiding by the pledge of the civilized resident of the capital’. The pledge, reproduced below, reads like the model citizen’s list of new year resolutions. It covers all categories of public behaviour, and encourages compliance with statesponsored definitions of patriotism, racial equality, work ethics, altruism, courtesy, public order, education, and public health.

THE PLEDGE OF THE CIVILIZED RESIDENT OF THE CAPITAL 1. Love the motherland, love Beijing; promote the peaceful and harmonious cohabitation of all of China’s nationalities and help maintain national stability. 2. Love labour, love your own work and profession, be honest and trustworthy. Don’t waste, be frugal and hard working. 3. Abide by laws and regulations, maintain public order, never hesitate to pose righteous actions, and encourage a healthy social environment. 4. Beautify the city, encourage good hygiene, work to make the capital green and protect cultural relics. 5. Serve well the institution you belong to, be enthusiastic about the common welfare, respect public facilities, and protect the environment. 6. Love science, respect teachers, emphasize education, and strive to improve yourself. 7. Respect the old, love the young, cherish the people and support the People’s Liberation Army. Respect women and help the poor and the weak. 8. Get rid of outdated traditions and change old customs. Live a healthy life, use family planning, maintain your body strong and healthy. 9. Behave with good manner, be polite to guests, be broad minded and generous. Find pleasure in helping other people.89

This golden list appeared everywhere in Beijing, on construction sites, near bus stops, and along major streets. This obvious attempt to force newcomers to the city to comply to world-established norms of civility conveys a clear picture of the ideal citizens that the city is striving to create as part of its marketing strategy. While it may not actually have impact on people’s behaviour, it does make explicit the city marketers’ efforts to improve public standing. Although many people may no longer notice the list which, like other propaganda posters, has just become part of the urban landscape, others view it as part of the oppressive panoptic machinery of the state, a constant reminder of the necessity to comply with state proclaimed rules and norms of behaviour.

182 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Image and Language Another series of social reforms triggered by state concern about image construction and China’s opening to the outside world was aimed at giving Beijing residents a more cosmopolitan outlook. In May 1999, Beijing vice-mayor Zhang Mao announced that the municipal government was about to launch a new campaign to get Beijing citizens to learn to speak English. Municipal authorities declared that a basic knowledge of the English language was essential to foster more friendly interactions with foreigners around town and to help establish the Chinese capital as a ‘cosmopolis’. In the months leading to the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the People’s Republic, the city’s foreign economics and trade committee, education commission, and tourism administration arranged a series of activities to raise their staff’s enthusiasm to take up English lessons.90 State-owned newspapers also periodically publish lists of words and expressions to be used to greet foreign visitors to the city, especially on the occasion of important international events or state visits to China, when the presence of a large foreign media contingent offers the chance to boost China’s image as a cosmopolitan nation abroad. The ubiquitous ‘hello’ cheered by Chinese school children whenever they encounter a foreigner was part of a similar campaign to promote the use of English and create a friendly image of China.

Toilet Revolution Another landmark initiative to reform and discipline the Beijing body in the 1990s was a citywide programme to revamp Beijing’s derelict public toilet facilities. Ever since China opened up to international tourism and started hosting high-profile international events in the national capital, the toilet situation in Beijing had been a source of concern among image-conscious city officials who regarded the quality of public toilets as ‘an indication of a society’s civilization’, and a ‘symbol of a city’s development level’.91 According to Lu Xiaoqi, spokesperson for an NGO specializing in public education and aptly named ‘Fund for the Development of Cultural Behaviour’, communist-era toilets were a disgrace to China and seriously affected Beijing’s international image. Spurred by an early 1990s survey which revealed that only 10 per cent of overseas visitors were satisfied with Chinese public toilets, the Beijing municipal authorities launched a ‘Toilet Revolution’ to combat this embarrassing condition. The city government invested two million yuan to rebuild and repair public lavatories throughout the capital. By the end of 1998, 1000 public toilets had been built or renovated by the Beijing Environmental Sanitation Bureau. Efforts were first concentrated on toilets near major tourist attractions and susceptible to be used by foreign visitors. This was in spite of the urgent need to

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 183 repair the communal facilities used by the majority of Beijing residents, who still do not have private toilets and must share a neighbourhood toilet with dozens of unrelated families. Work on resolving the ‘toilet situation’ also involved a public sensitization campaign. After 1994, three ‘model toilet exhibitions’ organized by the Capital Culture and Ideological Progress Programme, jointly with local news organizations, were held at the Museum of the Chinese Revolution on Tiananmen square. The exhibitions were handled as a matter of national importance and treated with the utmost seriousness. Similarly in December 1998, a public toilet design competition was held at the Great Hall of the People, the very building where the National People’s Congress, China’s highest governing body, normally meets.92 Beijing residents generally approved of the campaign although many did not see the beautification of public toilets as a priority. The cultural norms which motivated the campaign were generally foreign to most Beijingers and reflected an occidental bias. In China, there is little cultural taboo regarding bodily functions. Until recently, night soil was still collected door to door everyday in Beijing and used as a precious agricultural fertilizer. During the Mao era, stall-free public toilets were the norm and still survive throughout Beijing today, where local notions of privacy make them acceptable to the public. It is only since the recent opening of China’s doors to international tourism, with swelling numbers of foreigners visiting Beijing each year, that the urge to reform the toilet system was felt. Even then, the doors of individual toilet stalls – including those at Beijing’s new luxury hotels and shopping malls – are rarely closed by Chinese users who have long been accustomed to limited privacy. Despite all the efforts, it will take more than fancy exhibits and modern designs to change well-established practices.

Targeting Informal Activities Informal sector activities which ran against the image of Beijing as a ‘modern international metropolis’ also fell victim to the beautification programme. This important sector of activity which had developed outside of the formal state structure since the start of the breakdown of the socialist regime had hitherto been tolerated by the state as it offered self-employment opportunities to the unemployed while providing essential services to the population, and shelter to those unable to access either public or private sector housing.93 Accustomed to being harassed at times of important international events in Beijing, participants in the city’s informal sector were nonetheless shocked by the extent to which they were targeted on this occasion. Rather than attempting to integrate informal practices into the economy – an approach now advocated by Third World governments as a more viable solution – the Chinese government

184 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing took the more efficient but widely discredited bulldozer approach to crackdown on informal housing, markets, and services throughout the city.94 Early in 1999, 2.6 million square metres of illegally built structures labelled ‘rundown and potentially dangerous’ were demolished by the Beijing city government ‘to help ensure a clean city’ for National Day celebrations. Structures demolished were generally unauthorized, self-built housing extensions located in back alleys and rented out to migrants workers. Some were, however, century old houses which had deteriorated after years of abuse from poor maintenance and over population.95 While the official justifications for demolition ranged from impeding traffic, fire-fighting units and generally creating inconveniences to safety and housing improvement issues, the demolition was obviously driven by a desire to eradicate eyesores and give the capital an ‘improved, modern image’ for the fiftieth anniversary. First scheduled for the three-phase demolition process were structures located along major streets near the city centre, most visible from the capital’s prestigious avenues. The second phase concentrated on structures located in suburban areas and near major tourist attractions, while the final phase targeted buildings located inside old neighbourhoods, and least visible from the main arteries. Beijing Mayor Liu Qi himself admitted that the illegal structures gave an ‘untidy’ appearance to the city.96 One of the first major demolition interventions targeted a series of houses located along the outer moat of the Forbidden City. In the first few months of 1999, the smelly, heavily polluted moat was drained, cleaned and repaved as part of a billion yuan project to clean up Beijing’s antique waterways and canals for recreational uses. Several hundred Qing dynasty houses and some informal structures built in the 1950s, which lined the 3.5 kilometre moat, were razed in January 1999 to open up views of the Palace and free the shores of the moat. All legal residents received relocation compensation and had to find housing elsewhere.97 Along with informal housing, Beijing also vowed to remove many of the capital’s illegal street markets located within the fourth ring road. Qualified as ‘dirty and disorderly’ and often seen as symbols of backwardness, hundreds of small-scale informal markets which offered daily goods and services to the local population around the city were targeted by the bulldozers of the beautification programme. The city also moved several vegetable markets into warehouses in order to clear the city streets.98 The disappearance of informal food peddlers and markets, coupled with reduced supply to formal supermarkets because of traffic restrictions imposed for the anniversary, resulted in a sudden scarcity in some goods such as fresh fruit and vegetables. One of the few informal markets to escape demolition was the famous Silk Market (Xiu Shui Shi Chang), a favourite shopping attraction for foreign tourists

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 185 looking for bargain price brand-name clothing and silk garments in Beijing. In recent years, the Beijing city government had more than once threatened to break up the busy outdoor market, and move its more than 500 stalls indoors in the newly built Jili Mansions on Yabao lu, allegedly for safety reasons and ‘to improve Beijing’s shopping environment’.99 But because of the market’s international fame – cited among Beijing’s main attractions by most foreign guidebooks – only the most conspicuous stalls built illegally along Jiangguomenwai Dajie (the eastern end of Chang An) were torn down in February 1999. The alley itself, invisible from the main thoroughfare, remained untouched. Less lucky was Xinjiang Alley which became one of the victims of the informal sector crackdown. Located near the university district in the north-west suburb of Beijing, Xinjiang Alley was a narrow strip of small restaurants featuring Uyghur specialties from Xinjiang province, which rapidly developed as one of the gastronomic corners of the capital, particularly appreciated by Beijing’s international expatriate community.100 In January 1999, Xinjiang Alley restaurant owners received a 15-day notice from the district government to vacate the premises allegedly ‘to reduce traffic pressure, improve the environment for universities in the area, and have a beautiful city for the fiftieth anniversary’. Since only a few of the structures were privately owned – most were structures built on public land and thus legally belonged to the district government – business owners received little or no demolition compensation.101 Xinjiang restaurant owners claimed that the eviction order was politically motivated. They claimed they were unfairly targeted in retaliation for the terrorist attacks suspected to have been carried out by members of a Xinjiang separatist movement in the early 1990s. They read the government’s repressive actions as an attempt to discourage the Xinjiang community from taking the opportunity of the anniversary celebration to stage separatist demonstrations. In an open letter to the city government, owners denied belonging to any political movement, and argued that the alley had become an essential cultural institution on the Beijing scene and an important attraction for both domestic and foreign tourists. But the Haidian district government turned a blind eye to their supplications and went ahead with demolition in the cold of February 1999. The invitation card to a ‘last supper’ dinner party organized by an American resident of Beijing read: ‘The disfigured specter of modernization has raised its ugly head and is once again preparing to strike down a beloved Beijing institution’102 (Figures 5.10 and 5.11).

Public Security and Social Stability Preparations for National Day festivities also involved stepping up security in the capital. The city’s public security organs developed a complex system for the

186 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 5.10. Demolition crew take a break near a building marked with chai (to demolish), at Xinjiang Alley.

maintenance of public order during the celebration. As 1999 was to be a year full of sensitive anniversaries for Beijing – including that of the 1989 crackdown on the student movement at Tiananmen – stability became the watchword among government authorities. Well aware that any sign of weakness could cause their power to unravel, Jiang Zemin and his leadership used drastic measures to neutralize all potential destabilizing factors. The fiftieth anniversary celebrations were thus surrounded by obsessive security measures, and by a series of crackdowns against groups perceived to pose a threat to the Communist Party’s rule. The state apprehended terrorist attacks by Islamic separatists fighting for their independence in north-western China and feared violent demonstrations by workers, democracy activists, and members of the Falun Gong spiritual movement. The Party had long held a substantial distrust of the

Figure 5.11. Demolition has, since the late 1980s, become part of the everyday landscape in Beijing, with the old, shabby and decrepit, making way for the new, clean and modern.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 187 subversive potential of unsupervised spiritual groups such as religious sects. In late July 1999, the government launched an all out offensive against the Falun Gong which had been banned since late April that year after 10,000 of its followers had surrounded the Communist Party headquarters in Beijing, demanding the group’s legalization. The sect, which draws on qi gong and traditional philosophy but whose members communicate via e-mail and cellular telephone, had startled Chinese authorities with its formidable powers of mass organization and the loyalty of its followers to an exiled leader. Claiming to act in defence of modernity, the regime castigated the group for its heretical, superstitious and anti-scientific doctrine. Drawing upon repression techniques of the purest Maoist tradition, the state waged a relentless war against the sect. More than fifty of its leaders were arrested for attempting to subvert state political power.103 During the last few weeks before the festivities, measures were taken to limit the number of people entering the capital and access to urban districts within the second ring road was strictly controlled. Passengers arriving at train and bus stations were carefully screened at checkpoints set up by police officers. To ensure no one entered the city without special permission, those who lacked Beijing work permits and could not show a legitimate reason for their visit were sent back home. All hotels and hostels had to report the identities of their guests to the police. In a fresh campaign of mass mobilization, every apartment block and street committee was called on to help enlist 400,000 people to help patrol the city and help maintain public order. These supervisors – mostly retired men and women who had served on local government committees – were given red armbands and asked to patrol back streets vigilantly, keep a lookout for ‘uncivilized actions’ and potential threats to public safety, and report the presence of strangers. A circular requesting all Beijing residents to do their part in maintaining social stability and welcoming the National Day was released by the city authorities in August 1999.104 As a clear indication that anything as basic as freedom of movement was secondary to the vanity of the nation’s leaders, nearly half of Beijing was put under temporary martial law for the duration of the anniversary celebrations. Residents were advised not to come to Tiananmen Square on October 1 and to follow the events on television. Streets near the square were barricaded and only prearranged onlookers were allowed near the ceremonial centre. Leaving nothing to chance, the authorities ordered every window facing Chang An Avenue to be shut, and forbade residents of the immediate neighbourhood from leaving their homes for two days. Guests paying as much as US$3,000 for hotel rooms overlooking Tiananmen Square were told they could not access their accommodation during the parade. In addition, the transmission of all pagers and mobile phones was suspended, to ensure that the communications of the air force planes which were to fly over Tiananmen square were not interrupted.105

188 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Other restrictions further disrupted the lives of city residents during the weeks leading up to the festivities and limited their freedom of action. After September 20, steel works and other major polluters in the capital were ordered to slow down production and were prohibited from burning coal and oil to give Beijing a break from smog for National Day. City residents were similarly forbidden to burn leaves and other garbage in their yards. The wordsmiths of the Communist Party’s Propaganda Department also issued a list of fifty approved slogans decreed to be the only messages allowed on posters, banners and on the lips of celebrants during the celebrations.

Symbolic Strategies of Representation: Power, Drama, and Ritual In the capital, the week-long festivities culminated with a multimillion dollar gala party and an emblematic military parade praising the glory of new China. The event represented an important ritual to regenerate the idea of the nation. The official ceremonies in Beijing epitomized the painstakingly choreographed theatrical displays long associated with Maoist rule and would prove once more China’s unequalled talent for dramatic productions and grand spectacles. No efforts would be spared to show the world – and the rest of China – the righteousness of five decades of communism and the Party’s self-confidence as it entered the new millennium. In Chinese, as in many other languages, metaphors and terms borrowed from the world of theatre are often used to describe the political process and interpret politics. In fact, political reality is in good part created and consolidated through dramatization and performances which rely on symbolism and role playing. Much like actors on a stage, political leaders use carefully choreographed gestures and symbol-laden language not merely to communicate facts but to produce a certain effect upon society.106 The roots of the historical association between power and drama are deeply embedded in uses of the ritual. Throughout world history, governments and religious leaders have gained and maintained their power through ritualized practices – public ceremonies, processions, rallies, and other formalized performances. Modern states have similarly asserted their right to rule, secured political allegiance, and established their legitimacy by using rituals that conceal both the nature and true source of power and mystify power relations. 107,108 Today, marches, parades, and other official rituals which take place in the open spaces of the city remain privileged vehicles for the transmission of political ideologies. Rituals also serve as tools to subvert the governing political order. Rebels and revolutionaries use rites of delegitimization to overthrow existing powers and replace them with a different political system. Rituals thus serve as tools for

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 189 building and confronting power relations, and therefore represent political acts, where authority can be consolidated, reproduced, but also contested.110

The Ritual in Chinese Political History The ritual was a vital aspect of governance in imperial China.111 Strict observance of highly codified imperial rituals was indispensable for the maintenance of the social order, and guaranteed that Chinese society would operate in harmony with the cosmic order.112 These ancient rituals which included elaborate imperial processions and carefully scripted court ceremonies betrayed a great sense of theatricality and a talent for pantomime, also seen in spectacular artistic productions such as Peking Opera. Political theatre and official ritual have remained essential ingredients of modern Chinese politics. As twentieth-century China freed itself from the rigid constraints of imperial tradition, it also rapidly developed a distinctive form of political ritual. Early in its reign, the Guomindang republican government (1912– 1937) experimented with patriotic mass mobilization in a conscious effort to foster political commitment and legitimacy for the regime. Banners with slogans, posters, pamphlets, and speeches were central to such early mass movements. Popular mobilization also relied on the fostering of a personality cult around the figure of Sun Yat-sen, the father of modern China. Rituals such as bows to the national flag, recitations of Sun’s last will, and ceremonial visits to the national father’s tomb became standard features of Republican political practices.113 The founding of the People’s Republic of China would establish a series of new rituals to provide a new basis for legitimization. The communist leadership was quick to learn from its Soviet allies, especially in the art of political theatre, staging spectacular manifestations to demonstrate the strength of its new government and secure the allegiance of the whole population. Grand military parades, mass rallies, and crowd callisthenics helped reproduce the idea of the primacy of the collective over the individual while serving as powerful tools in the ritualistic re-enactment of shared membership in the nation. Citizens were urged to show their loyalty to the regime through a panoply of daily rites of obeisance – such as wearing uniform clothing and studying Maoist thought. The annual commemoration of the founding of the Republic on October 1 was a special occasion for grand displays of national achievements which allowed the Party to justify its monopoly over national rule. National Day parades were instrumental in such legitimization, and helped promote the cult of key political personalities like Mao Zedong.114 Each year from 1950 to 1959, the People’s Liberation Army paraded in triumph on Chang An Avenue to reclaim its authority and show off its new equipment. Landmark anniversaries of the People’s Republic

190 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing of China, such as the tenth anniversary in 1959 and the thirty-fifth in 1984, were celebrated with special decorum in the Chinese capital. These endless pageants of giant floats and colour coordinated marchers in perfect step represented the epitome of the perfectly controlled mass movement. But the Party also understood the powerful emotions that mass commemorations are capable of producing, and the potentially counter-hegemonic character of state rituals. To prevent political opponents from usurping a performance to challenge or subvert state authority, the new government banned all autonomous associations in China, thereby monopolizing the capacity to organize mass performances. Work units and Party-sponsored organizations became responsible for the mobilization of constituencies for large demonstrations. Carefully selected representatives of all ethnic groups, many of which in national costume, would typically carry large character banners, red flags, cymbals and drums and march in a perfect choreography. These colourful puppet shows represented the disguised reality of a contented people cheering at their leader. During the first years of the Cultural Revolution, Mao loosened his control on mass association, allowing more spontaneous demonstrations to take place. But these popular campaigns often degenerated into uncontrollable chaos and, by the late 1960s, had to be suppressed. After the Cultural Revolution in 1980, the Party took a radical turn by revising the constitution to prohibit all mass demonstrations, bigcharacter posters, and leaflets. The Party even tried to abandon political campaigns and rituals in order to rule purely by administrative routine. But it soon found out that it could not do away with public ritual and image control strategies. In 1984, Deng Xiaoping resumed military parades by sponsoring a grandiose pageant, the first in twenty-five years, to celebrate the first five years of his reforms and modernization. This was the occasion for China to manifest national strength and unity – not only to a national audience as during the cold war, but to the rest of the world as well. The 1984 National Day parade underscored Deng’s growing control over the Party machine, promoting him as the next paramount leader of the nation, and establishing his world image as a committed reformer who could bring prosperity to China. It was then that Deng promised the international community that the Chinese people would continue their march on the road of reform and opening up, and that China would stride forward in building socialism towards the glorious destination of modernization. National Day celebrations thus remain important rituals in the Chinese Communist Party’s reproduction of power, and mass parades often serve as a necessary smoke-screen to distract attention from the leadership’s mistakes. On October 1, 1989, to mark the reinstatement of government control after the June crackdown on the democracy movement, an elaborate National Day parade was held. Tiananmen Square, which had been cordoned off for several months after the

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 191 student massacre, was reopened to let thousands of children dance merrily for the glory of the nation.115

October 1, 1999: Celebrating Fifty Years of Image Construction in Beijing After months of careful preparations, Beijing was finally ready to celebrate the first half century of communist rule. The festivities started off on September 28 with a grand reception for the political elite at the Great Hall of the People. On the morning of October 1, half a million ‘model citizens of all walks of life and ethnic groups’ – who had actually been carefully selected by the celebration’s organization committee for their ‘love of the motherland’ – gathered on Tiananmen Square to hear a speech delivered by president Jiang Zemin to inaugurate the celebrations. A relentless message of patriotism permeated the entire opening ceremonies as disciplined ranks of schoolchildren flaunted boards with cheerful slogans. The official ceremony at Tiananmen Square ended in a youthful exuberance as thousands of children rushed towards the Forbidden City, releasing hundreds of doves and red balloons.116 The centrepiece of the festivities was the grand parade which immediately followed the opening ceremony. It was, as were the rest of the celebrations, filled with superlatives and heavy symbolism in the purest potemkin tradition. The 5-mile long procession started with a military parade, the first staged by Beijing since 1984 and the largest in the country’s history (Figures 5.12 and 5.13). The parade was a true show of China’s emerging military power. It boasted the latest Chinese weapons and war technology including missiles, tanks, artillery and other hardware, and was accompanied by over 130 sorties by Chinese Air Force planes. A vast civilian procession followed the military parade. Among the 140,000 marchers who filed down Chang An Avenue were fashion models, retired revolutionaries, school teachers, children, representatives of the five official religions, and a contingent of private businessmen in Western business suits – all selected for both their looks and political affiliation. The marchers epitomized the idealized model citizens that the government’s human beautification efforts had sought to create. No overweight children stood among the parading young students, but for the first time in history, people in wheelchairs were present among the ranks of marchers in the national-day parade. They too had been carefully screened by an elaborate bureaucratic apparatus to make sure their disabilities carried no political connotations.117 During the evening of October 1, a grand gala hosting over 100,000 selected guests took place at Tiananmen Square. The gala was heavy with nationalist overtones. It began with a patriotic ode to the Yellow River, the cradle of Chinese

192 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 5.12 and 5.13. Floats used in the 1999 parade celebrating the 50th Anniversary of the Founding of the People’s Republic of China in Beijing. On the days following the parade the floats were displayed at Tiananmen Square for the public to see.

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 193 civilization, which drew on evocative national symbols to foster notions of a historically united China. It ended with an impressive display of fireworks which lit the sky over Tiananmen and were simultaneously set off in ten other locations around the capital, costing an estimated two million yuan. Unlike previous anniversary celebrations, the festivities did not include special invitations to foreign heads of states or government representatives.118 The celebrations were clearly intended for a Chinese audience, with their constant appeals for patriotism, national pride and unity. But the leadership obviously knew that the event would be carefully scrutinized by the foreign media and that any incident could be blown out of all proportion and used to criticize the Chinese government. Important measures were thus taken to limit potential mishaps. The elaborate security apparatus was apparently so successful that not a single incident, disturbing the festivities or challenging the government’s authority, was reported in either the Chinese or international press. For the authorities, the anniversary was a significant political success in itself. As the biggest military deployment in the capital since the Tiananmen crackdown ten years earlier, the celebration would help the Chinese Communist Party reclaim its leadership position and reassert its alliance with the military, at a time when its authority was eroding under the twin forces of money and information. The celebration was also the occasion for politicians to boost their personal image. For President Jiang Zemin, October 1 was truly a day of triumph. The celebration offered him the chance to portray himself as China’s next supreme leader in the pantheon of Communist Party history, in the mould of Mao and Deng. During the ceremony, Jiang stood in the place of honour on the Tiananmen rostrum, on the same spot from where Mao had proclaimed the founding of the Republic in 1949, and Deng Xiaoping had presided over the thirty-fifth anniversary ceremony in 1984. To further the resemblance with the two titans who had preceded him, Jiang traded his customary business suit for a black Zhongshan (Mao) jacket for the ceremony.119 President Jiang Zemin was also the only living leader to have his own float in the parade, third in line after Mao’s and Deng’s. The celebration helped to portray Jiang as a strong leader, capable of maintaining a tight grip on the regime. In contrast to the tenth anniversary celebrations in 1959, there was no amnesty for political prisoners in 1999, despite a suggestion by liberal Party cadres. To encourage public endorsement of Jiang’s leadership and reinforce the symbolic lineage between himself and his predecessors, the Party chose the event as the time to publish the first volume of The Selected Works of Jiang Zemin, a few months after a collection of Jiang speeches in the purest Maoist tradition had been published under the title: General Secretary Jiang Inspects the Countryside.120 In China, the press heralded the event as a major success and a true show of China’s emergence as a world power. But the festivities were met with a lukewarm

194 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing response overseas, and failed to attract the expected crowds of international tourists, especially from Hong Kong.121 In fact, most foreign nations were critical of the spectacle put on to celebrate its fifty years of communist rule. Many foreign commentators saw this display of political unity and popular happiness not as a demonstration of genuine national strength, but as evidence of the government’s organizational skills in orchestrating a nationwide festival of patriotic pride. The parade, made up of more than ninety floats with oil derricks, hydro-power stations, and scientists in white coats splitting the atom alongside make-believe spaceships, was derided in the foreign press for its clumsy papier maché vision of modernity.122 Chinese intellectuals expressed similar criticism. Li Shenzhi, an acclaimed Chinese scholar, wrote in response to the triumphalism of the celebration: ‘only North Korea would possibly be envious of the legion of goose-stepping soldiers and cherubic schoolchildren who filed through Tiananmen Square’. Li, the retired Vice President of the Chinese Academy of Social Science, who was also President of the China Society for American Studies, was later purged by the Party for his words, which nonetheless echoed what many other intellectuals thought of the extravagant celebrations.123

Contentious Celebration In Beijing, people complied with government orders and stayed at home for the larger part of the festivities. But this did not mean they unanimously supported the way the state chose to celebrate the event. The inconvenience caused by the preparation work and actual hosting of the celebrations triggered different responses among Beijing residents. Many people, especially among the emerging middle class, approved of the new clean and orderly image of Beijing, and considered the money well spent on interventions which they found necessary to improve their quality of life. ‘All this money is better spent this way than on corruption deals’ said one university professor. Other city residents, especially among the urban poor, were more cynical about Beijing’s much-acclaimed facelift. For months, people had been complaining to each other about the sacrifices they were called on to make. Some complaints focused on the daily disruptions caused by the massive construction projects. ‘Everywhere you go streets and sidewalks are blocked off for repairs,’ lamented a local man. ‘And there are lots of construction workers from outside Beijing camped out in roadside tents making noise all night.’ Rehearsals for the parade also interfered with city life, closing streets and disrupting traffic for hours. Huge crowds of would-be passengers gathered at bus stops all over the city, waiting for hundreds of public buses which had been diverted to take students and dancers to rehearsals at Tiananmen. Occasionally, Beijingers would jeer at troops struggling to co-ordinate

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 195 their vehicles along Chang An Avenue during rehearsals, showing their discontent at the disturbance caused by these festivities in which they were not even invited to participate.124 Many Beijingers seriously objected to the lavish expenditure made by their government for the event. Despite claims by the propaganda chief of the Beijing city government that the ceremony would be ‘grand, warm and thrifty’, and that extravagance and waste would not be tolerated, the municipal cleanup is estimated to have cost 110 billion yuan (US$13 billion), while the official price tag for National Day festivities alone was of US$36.6 million.125 One taxi driver complained that such astronomical expenditure was not fit for a developing country like China. He hinted that money would have been better spent on poverty alleviation and job creation programmes than on futile demonstrations of dubious prosperity. ‘The government always says that we should not waste money because our country is so poor, but they are spending tons of money for the fiftieth anniversary.’ Some disgruntled, laid-off workers similarly complained that the money spent in capital improvements should instead have been directed to improving workers’ living conditions. ‘Money would be better spent helping people who are laid off, who live in substandard housing, or who don’t have enough to eat,’ said a fifty-six year old pedi-cab driver, as three fellow drivers murmured assent. ‘I know they’re spending lots of money on all these new buildings, but I don’t see how it will help us ordinary workers,’ a hawker told one reporter.126 Many residents denounced such lavish expenditure as being motivated more by a desire to put on a show for the rest of the world rather than for improving the city’s quality of life. ‘The state is spending all this money on the celebrations, but they just want to give China face for when all the foreign media arrive.’ Others complained that the improvements amounted to no more than potemkinism, a well orchestrated operation to embellish the reality of China’s development level, but with potentially dreadful consequences. ‘They’re putting up these new buildings so fast, it’s a wonder they hold together at all.’ Some intellectuals, such as Professor Lu Junhua from Tsinghua University, condemned the Beijing government’s habit of using infrastructure projects for political propaganda. Professor Lu claims that, although this has been a long established practice for the city government, things really went too far with the fiftieth anniversary celebration. Other municipalities like Shanghai rely much less on political motives for the undertaking of public works projects. ‘If they build an overpass’ she says, ‘it’s for practical reasons, not for political ones.’ To lighten the country’s mood, boost patriotism and counter popular resentment, the central government made a series of ‘good news’ announcements in the few months preceding the anniversary. Symbolic actions included an extension of the social security net to more cities; an increase in the minimum payment to poverty

196 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing stricken people, and the granting of a one-time allowance during new year to jobless and laid off workers. The central government also promised a 30 per cent pay rise for civil servants retroactive to July 1999. But these announcements did not fool anybody. Local governments already owe their cadres, teachers, doctors and other public service officials months of back pay, and even these gestures evoked a cynical response. ‘It just means they are going to raise prices after the festival is over’.127 Similarly, to assuage part of the disappointment and frustration caused by the state decision to bring the capital to a standstill for ten days, the city government decreed a special seven-day holiday for the city population during the festivities. But the compulsory break only added more hardship to some city residents, including service industry workers who rely on the public for their income. ‘The holiday will be tough for me’, complained a Beijing taxi driver. ‘We even urged our company to cut the monthly charge for the car but they said no.’128 Clearly, the national anniversary was not celebrated equally by all Chinese nationals. The frustrations and resentment expressed by many city residents towards the festivities epitomize the growing clash between the global aspiration of a ruling elite, the ideological confusion of a die-hard police state, and the more pragmatic needs of a disillusioned population. Recent image construction efforts in Beijing thus reveal with unusual clarity the deep contradictions that characterize contemporary Chinese society, a society which remains at least nominally socialist while being increasingly dominated by free-market ideology. By accepting the logic of the market as the driving force for improving the quality of urban life, the Chinese leadership has sacrificed its ideological commitment to social welfare. This chapter has shown clearly how image construction initiatives in the Chinese national capital were often little more than programmes to embellish and camouflage the unjust consequences of rampant commercialism, without delivering the promises of socialism for a fair and equitable society. The 1999 National Day celebrations also exposed the outdated nature of approaches to image construction which involve costly beautification projects, symbolic manipulation, and popular repression. The problem is that no one – either at home or abroad – is deceived by this kind of political theatre anymore. Foreign coverage of the 1999 National Day parade, especially from Hong Kong, focused more on the sophisticated control apparatus put in place for the celebration, and on the gigantic proportions of the festivities, than on giving a measured assessment of the achievements of the fifty year old revolution. The international media described the event as a pathetic attempt by the Communist Party to save face as the last great socialist establishment, a grotesque mise en scene which barely hid the terrible malaise felt among its ranks at the turn of the millennium. The anniversary celebration was thus a double edged sword: by attracting global attention, it also

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 197 drew attention to the Party’s incredible power of coercion and its ability to carry out megalomaniac beautification projects by discouraging open opposition.129 High-profile political events such as the anniversary celebration are increasingly denounced as convenient launch pads for campaigns of power excesses, which almost inevitably lead to popular oppression and deprivation. The state’s rare and far-reaching power continues to give Chinese authorities the ability to carry out major projects without having to be accountable to the populations affected, and this, in the name of an elusive common interest. As the concrete manifestation of state aspirations, the image of the city remains an essential tool in the consolidation of party hegemony. City beautification projects have enabled a ruling minority to exploit the power of images and their mental and emotional associations to symbolize ‘who belongs where’. Decision makers used the built environment to manipulate consciousness and serve particular social, political and economic interests. They disguise this manipulation in order to reproduce their political ideology and naturalize their power. Central to the problem of image making policies, therefore, is the question of what is to be promoted and valued, and in whose interest. What this chapter may suggest, and what the subsequent chapter seeks to investigate is how image construction may actually give rise to new forces, both inside and outside Chinese society, which could help erode the state’s power of coercion and limit the government’s monopoly over power. Some of these pressures may even be self-imposed, driven by the state’s global aspirations. In fact, government immunity is being curtailed by growing global scrutiny of state oppression, increased consciousness of world opinion, as well as a growing concern for other nations perception of China. Growing popular discontent is also threatening the Chinese state, and this in spite of the still vivid memory of the violent repression of the 1989 democracy movement. Authorities are now forced to work within an increasingly limited frame of action, defined by their desire to limit popular discontent by remaining faithful to their socialist commitment, and by their need to preserve the confidence of foreign investors with capital-friendly policies.

Epilogue: New Beijing, Great Games On July 13 2001, as I was writing this chapter, the International Olympic Committee announced its decision to award Beijing the right to host the 2008 Summer Olympic Games. Throughout China, the reaction was euphoric. Fireworks lit up the Beijing sky as, spontaneously, thousands gathered at Tiananmen Square and crowded Chang An Avenue, waving Chinese flags and singing patriotic songs. Five months earlier in February 2001, the International Olympic Committee’s seventeen-member inspection commission had come to Beijing for a four-day visit

198 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing to evaluate the city’s bid. Although Beijing had already budgeted the equivalent of US$20 million to prepare the city for the event, tens of thousands of workers, students, and volunteers were mobilized in a last minute effort to airbrush, quite literally, a clean and cheerful picture of the city. According to official figures, in the weeks prior to the visit, a total surface area of 26 million square metres was covered with a fresh coat of paint.130 Highway guardrails were whitewashed, the visible façades of housing projects were painted in bright colours that contrasted with the grey that endured on their less conspicuous sides, and the grass in Tiananmen Square was dyed green. Along the national airport expressway, colourful banners proclaimed an ambivalent yet prophetic message: ‘New Beijing, Great Games!’131 As the ordinary citizens most likely to come in contact with IOC representatives and foreign journalists, Beijing taxi drivers were assigned a special role in making Beijing more welcoming. Fifty of them were given a five-day crash course in English sponsored by the Beijing Traffic Bureau, while others received cassettes with English phrases such as: ‘Beijing’s traffic is getting better’, or ‘pollution is a global problem’ that helped promote the bid. Throughout the duration of the visit, special announcements were sent on the taxis’ short wave radios reminding their drivers to be polite to foreign guests.132 Other Beijing citizens had to do their part in the beautification of their city. Following an all too familiar scenario, construction was stopped to reduce noise and dust, car owners were instructed to wash their vehicles, and people working in buildings along major transit routes were warned to wear warm clothes all week because heating systems would be turned off to reduce air pollution. This time, the Beijing public appeared wholeheartedly to support the bid, with an IOC poll putting the national approval rate at 96 per cent.133 Opponents of the bid were nowhere to be seen; even the Falun Gong – thousands of whose members had been incarcerated over the past few years – seemed to have ceased its activities during the visit. As at every other time when Beijing had prepared for international attention, in the weeks that preceded the visit, police sweeps were conducted and the streets of the capital were cleared of ‘undesirables’: the mentally ill, the homeless, street children, the unemployed, beggars and informal vendors. Two Chinese dissidents were also reportedly arrested after they signed a petition requesting that the IOC pressure China to free political prisoners. Worldwide, the news of Beijing’s successful bid elicited measured responses. Some observers predicted it could mark the beginning of democracy for China, putting the Chinese government under such world scrutiny that it could no longer continue its repressive methods of control and disrespect for human rights. Others feared that awarding Beijing the Olympics would ensure a continued wave of human rights abuses against Chinese dissidents, and bring a new wave of renewal and new forms of hardship for the population, the majority of which would be

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 199 bypassed by the economic benefits brought by the games.134 Some pointed to the Mexico City Olympics of 1968 when, weeks before the Summer Games, thousands of students demonstrated in protest at what they saw as the waste of public funds on an event that would scarcely benefit the millions of Mexicans living in poverty. The Mexican government called out troops who fired on the protesters and killed hundreds, and the Games proceeded with little protest from the international community.135 Beijing authorities quickly retorted to such thinly veiled allusions to the Tiananmen Massacre with another historical example, pointing that the Atlanta Summer Games went ahead in 1996 despite the violent US government attack in 1993 against the Davidian sect in Texas. For the leadership, Beijing’s victorious bid was clearly China’s ticket to modernity. Several leaders proclaimed their faith in the ‘civilizing’ power of the Games, hoping that they might ‘pressure Chinese residents to embrace new lifestyles and civilized manners while spreading new ideas on environmental protection, public welfare and volunteerism’.136 Others, including many intellectuals, supported the bid because they felt that by keeping the leadership in the global spotlight, the Games could help instigate democratic reforms and exert pressure on the regime to open more political space, improve its human rights records, and maintain its current moderate foreign policy, particularly towards Taiwan.137 This position is reinforced by those who believe that China’s accession to the World Trade Organization (WTO) in November 2001 may bind China to international rules that will further diminish the direct role of the government in the economy. They predict that, as that role diminishes, so too will the Party’s ability to intimidate and control ordinary citizens.138 Many commentators thus argue that hosting the Games could have beneficial effects for China by triggering important political reforms within the Party which could energize pro-democracy movements and promote liberalization. They often cite the example of the 1988 Olympic Games in Seoul, South Korea, which bears a striking resemblance to that of Beijing and provides an insightful basis for comparison. Seoul’s experience illustrates the influential role of the Olympics in local politics, and demonstrates how social tensions engendered by hosting the Games can trigger popular movements that can in turn be catalysts for important socio-political change. In 1981, the IOC took the controversial decision to award the 1988 Summer Games to Seoul in the wake of General Chun Doo Hwan’s military coup and only fifteen months after the regime’s violent and bloody repression of the Kwangju prodemocracy uprising of May 1980, South Korea’s equivalent to China’s Tiananmen Square massacre. The timing of the decision virtually ensured that the success or failure of the 24th Olympiads would be inextricably tied to political change in South Korea. Indeed, Korean opposition groups would deftly use the international media focus generated by the Games to further the fragile transition from a military

200 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing dictatorship to a pluralist democracy. As early as 1985, energized by the Olympic prospect, South Korean students backed by the opposition, began exerting pressure on the repressive Chun military regime for democratic change. In June 1987, fifteen months before the Summer Games, a massive popular mobilization erupted all over South Korea which rallied business interests, religious leaders and the middle class to the students’ support on the streets. In the face of this political crisis, the international community threatened to move the Olympics to a new location if a quick resolution was not found. Under such international pressure, the South Korean government finally conceded to the demonstrators’ demands, and put forward a package of important democratic reforms in June 1987, which ultimately forced General Chun to step down.139 As a result, the first democratic presidential elections in sixteen years were held in December 1987. Many observers saw the Seoul Olympics as a ‘coming of age’ for South Korea; an opportunity for the Asian nation to change international perception of itself and to be recognized for her competence and credibility. Indeed, the period of preparation for the Seoul Olympics coincided with rapid economic growth and South Korea’s transformation into an industrialized nation. The Games were also said to be pivotal in opening new perspectives on the outside world for citizens of a nation that had long ago been known as the ‘Hermit Kingdom’.140 The Olympics played an important role in South Korea’s foreign policy and were a definite factor in its successful Northern policy (Nordpolitik), helping the nation renew diplomatic ties with erstwhile cold war enemies worldwide.141 And for sixteen days in September 1988, worldwide attention centred on the Korean peninsula for the first time since the Korean War forty years earlier, to witness a grandiose spectacle under the theme: ‘Towards One World, Beyond All Barriers’. Despite such sustained optimism for the Beijing Olympic prospect, many commentators hold a more balanced view. They predict a scenario more akin to the one that characterized the United Nations Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995, which was neither a triumph for the legitimacy of the government, nor an effective vehicle for those hoping to democratize China. They point to the way the Chinese government both physically isolated the conference and limited its access by the general public, and, while permitting its most vociferous critics from abroad to attend, allowed few of their words to reach Chinese citizens via state-run newspapers, television or radio.142 Whatever the outcome, one thing is sure: the Games will leave a deep mark on Beijing and its inhabitants. In the few days following the IOC’s announcement, the Beijing municipal government unveiled an ambitious five-year plan to turn the capital into a first class metropolis, with an investment of 180 billion yuan (US$22 billion) – the highest amount allotted for capital projects in Beijing’s history. According to the plan, some 90 billion yaun (US$10.8 billion) will be spent

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 201 on infrastructure projects and on the improvement of transportation networks around the capital, including the construction of 100 km of new subway lines, the development of a lightrail system, and 400 km of expressways.143 Another 30 billion yuan (US$3.6 billion) will be devoted to information projects to establish a solid digital infrastructure for Beijing with investments in telecommunications. Finally, 45 billion yuan (US$5.4 billion) will be spent on the environment, and the last 15 billion yuan (US$1.8 billion) will go to housing renewal, to finish tearing down the more than 9 million square metres of derelict housing that remains in the city centre.144 It was later announced that the Forbidden City and the area surrounding it would undergo a major renovation in preparation for the Olympics, for an estimated 120 million yuan (US$15 million).145 Such promise to turn Beijing into a twenty-first century network society through high speed transportation systems, technology, and physical modernization resonates like a post-industrial modernist utopia and connotes an idealized vision of modernity that blindly disregards basic local needs. It may be predicted that those who will pay for the Games through self-sacrifice and economic hardship will not be the ones who reap the benefits. There is little evidence that the local population will profit from the unprecedented economic boom foreseen by the state which claims that the Games will entice foreign investors to pump billions of dollars into the capital. Indeed, Beijing’s mayor promised to give equal opportunity to foreign businesses in bidding against Chinese firms. Foreign corporations are already fighting for publicity and broadcasting rights. The biggest winners will thus be large private businesses – both local and international – involved in sports, tourism, real estate, and telecommunications. What the locals are more likely to see are tax increases, inflation, evictions, soaring rents, increased policing, restricted civil liberties, and growing urban congestion directly linked to the Olympics.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Benjamin, 1968. Kearns, 1993. Leach, 1999. Hobsbawm, 1995, p. 11; Hobsbawm, 1993, p. 143. Senn, 1999. Roaf et al., 1996. Similarly, in Seoul, South Korea, the population reacted negatively to many of the social hardships imposed upon them by the authoritarian state at the time of the 1988 Olympics. Before and during the events, the poor and homeless on the street were arrested and put out of sight. 720,000 people were evicted from informal settlements throughout the city, while small informal businesses were prevented from trading in the city centre for the duration of the Games. Protests erupted at several renewal sites, particularly among evicted tenants with limited financial resources. Many violent clashes between student demonstrators and the police also took place in the months that preceded the Games. (Kim and Sang-Chuel, 1997).

202 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

34.

35.

36.

Kim and Sang-Chuel, 1997. ‘Overseas Interaction Stressed’ China Daily, February 27, 1999, p. 1; ‘Call to Build Better Awareness Of Nation’ China Daily, March 1 1999, p. 2. Tang Min, 1999a. China participated in the 1932, 1936, 1948, 1952 and 1956 Olympics, after which it remained absent from the Games until 1984. Since then, the Chinese presence in the Olympiads has been growing (Gittings, 2001). China Daily, May 20, 1985; see also Liu Xinwu, 1990. Xiao Ma, 1990; ‘Marathon Effort to Win Respect For China’ South China Morning Post, August 20 1990, p. 18; Kristof, 1990; Sterngold, 1990. Jaivin, 1990. Brownell, 1995, p. 315. ‘Families lose homes over Asian Games’ South China Morning Post, 22 August 1990. Lawrence, 1993, p.75; Bondy, 1993; Johnson, 1993. Holley, 1993; Steele, 1993. Jaivin, 1990. Faison, 1990. Idem. Brownell, 1995, p. 314. MacAloon, 1990. Beijing’s pre-Olympic image construction programme would be greatly influenced by Seoul’s successful experiment. Like Beijing, Seoul’s hosting of the tenth Asian Games in 1986 had served as a perfect dress rehearsal for the Olympics, and allowed the city to showcase itself to the world. On that occasion, Seoul would embark in a decade-long redevelopment programme meant to build an image of progress and prosperity for the ancient capital. Environmental clean up efforts, infrastructure construction, slum clearance and other urban renewal physical beautification efforts, as well as improvement of tourist facilities and public sanitation programmes were initiated. A major social beautification programme and a public civilization campaign were also carried out through mass rallies, the press, television broadcasts, slogan billboards, banners, and the mass distribution of leaflets, stickers, ribbons and videotapes. The events also prompted a rediscovery of Korea’s traditional culture and the development of a new national architectural style, mixing traditional elements with modern architecture. See Kim and Sang-Chuel, 1997. Brownell, 1995, p. 314. For example, the U.S. House of representatives passed a resolution calling on the IOC to reject China’s bid, and sixty senators signed a similar petition to the IOC. Lawrence, 1993; Bondy, 1993; Johnson, 1993. Holley, 1993; Steele, 1993. Sun, 1993. ‘Olympic Bid Abandoned’ Beijing Scene, October 11–24 1996, p. 3. Eckholm, 1998. Gittings, 2001. Falun gong (literally ‘the practice of the dharma wheel’) is a religious cult founded in China in 1992. It preaches self-cultivation through meditation and martial arts. Its members have been persecuted by the Chinese government which has outlawed the sect and forbids public demonstrations of its practice. Journalists have documented that over 2 million Chinese citizens live in these camps, 20 per cent of which are street children under the age of 16 where they are tortured with drugs and electrically charged acupuncture (Lizhi and Bernstein, 2001). ‘$102b Tab to Prepare For 50th Anniversary Bash’ South China Morning Post, July 16 1999; Ansfield, 1998; ‘Anniversary Projects’ Beijing This Month, February 1999, p. 7; Wang Xiangwei, 1998. Chang An was expanded in the 1920s by the republican government in its attempt to modernize Beijing and further erase visible traces of the city’s imperial past (Shi Minzheng, 1993).

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 203 37. This follows the ancient prescription that required that the streets of the capital be wider than those of any other city in the land. 38. On the Chang An advertising removal campaign, see Wang, 1999; ‘Time Up For Neon Signs As Capital Turns Back Clock’ South China Morning Post, March 2 1999; ‘The Ave Is Changing’, Metro, January 1999, p. 9. 39. Shao Zongwei, 1999. 40. Investors hoped, but in vain, that affected companies would receive support and financial help from the government or be given priority over other advertising locations in the city. But according to a local legal expert, the government’s action could not be attacked in court since it did not affect a single company in particular. It is not clear whether advertising will be permanently banned from Chang An or if billboards will be allowed to reappear after the quintennial celebration (Shao Zongwei, 1999). 41. Bao Yunfan, 1999; Tan Weiping and Li Ning, 1999; Li Ning, 1999a; Bu Yunfan and Li Qizhen, 1999. 42. It was the site of numerous public demonstrations throughout the twentieth century, including the 1919 May 4th movement, the 1976 incident which followed the death of Zhou Enlai, and the 1989 student-led democracy movement. 43. Nora, 1989; Wu Hung, 1991. 44. The Museum of Chinese History and the Museum of the Chinese Revolution, both located on the east side of Tianamen Square, also underwent costly facelifts in preparation for the October 1 celebration. Built on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the People’s Republic in the late 1950s, the museums were expanded with an additional 60,000 square metres, and underwent foundations work and façade upgrading, at an estimated cost of 1 billion yuan (US$120 million) (Guo Nei, 1999). 45. Pomfret, 1999a. 46. Li Desheng and Zheng Yong, 1998; Ye Jun, 1999; Xinhua New Agency, 1998; Li Ning 1999b;, Yang Jun, 1999. 47. The panopticon was used by Foucault as a metonym of the modern disciplinary gaze, which produces subjects who assume responsibility for self-discipline because the power of the gaze is visible but unverifiable (Foucault, 1979). 48. According to Zhang Yan, in the early 1990s, roads made up 10 per cent of Beijing’s surface area, compared to 24.8 per cent in London and 23.9 per cent in Tokyo. By the mid-1990s, traffic had become Beijing’s main planning problem as the number of car licences issued soared (Zhang Yan, 1998). 49. Wang, Ma, and Pi, 1998. 50. Nillson, 1998. 51. Idem. 52. Zhang Yan, 1998. 53. While private car ownership was strictly forbidden in China during the Mao years, it has since the early 1990s been encouraged by the government to promote China’s auto industry, despite growing urban congestion. Reliance on bicycles and public transport for urban transportation, one of communist China’s most sustainable urban policies, is now compromised to serve the needs of China’s developing market economy. Based on a May 1999 interview with Professor Luo Sen from Tsinghua University. 54. According to planning scholar Zhang Yan, while accounting for only five percent of the capital’s total area, the historical city centre is already the site of more than 50 per cent of Beijing’s commercial developments, and forty per cent of the city’s traffic (Zhang Yan, 1998). 55. Despite the wave of protests, not everyone deplored the construction of Ping An. In an effort to increase the cultural character of the western portion of the avenue, cultural institutions were given generous incentives to remain in the area. For example, members of the Writer’s Foundation of China were originally dismayed to learn about the imminent demolition of part of their brand new headquarters located along Ping An near the northern gate of Beihai Park. But they ultimately benefited from the avenue’s expansion. In addition to monetary compensation, they received a piece of land adjacent to their site and ended up being able to double the original size of the Foundation’s building. Based

204 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

56.

57. 58. 59. 60.

61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

67.

68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

on a May 1999 interview with Canadian architect Joe Carter who designed the Writer’s Foundation of China headquarters in Beijing. The city government claimed to kill two birds with one stone by working in cooperation with private developers to address the issue of sub-standard housing in the area while making room for commercial ventures which would stimulate the local economy and generate revenues to help fund public projects. The Beijing government pledged to provide 100 million yuan (US$12 million) of the estimated 800 million to 2 billion yuan (US$96 million to $241 million) needed for the resettlement of original residents, leaving the remainder of the money to be raised by the two district governments and developers involved in the project. While the Design and Research Institute had estimated relocation costs at 800–900 million yuan, the district governments’ estimate was much higher, at 2.2 billion yuan. As in many recent renewal projects in Beijing, the housing issue was resolved by allowing developers to relocate most of the original residents away from the centre and building commercial office complexes and shopping centres on the site, without regard for the resulting social costs. Summing up the attitude of both developers and local governments, a district official declared: ‘such a good location in the city should be for rich people’(Zhang Yan, 1998; Nillson, 1998). At the rate of 1 billion yuan per km, subway construction represents ten times the cost of road widening including relocation compensations. In the mid-1990s, the World Bank declared the Chinese capital the most polluted city in the world. ‘Zhi chi Beijingshi fang zhi wu ran cai qu jin si cuo shi’ (Measures Taken To Help Beijing Prevent Pollution) Beijing Ribao (Beijing Daily) December 24 1998, p. 1; Kurtenbach, 1999. Beijing was the last major Chinese city to comply with a 1989 central government law that required all levels of Chinese government to submit periodical reports on local and regional environmental quality. Mooney, 1998. Tang Min, 1999a. See also Liu Yinglang, 1999a, 1999b; Sun Shangwu, 1999; ‘Nation Steps Up Pollution Fight’ China Daily, March 15 1999, p. 1. Gaubatz, 1995a. ‘Miandi to Retire’, Beijing This Month, no 62, January 1999, p. 7; ‘Goodbye Miandi’ Beijing This Month, February 1999, p. 6. Rosenthal, 1999a. As a result, the number of motor vehicles in Beijing quintupled during the 1990s. By the end of 1999, private cars made up 50 per cent of the total number of cars on Beijing roads for the first time in history. This policy is based on the fact that twelve bicycles require as much road space as a 100-passenger bus. Bicycles, which numbered 7 million in 1994, are now considered by Chinese planners as transport problems rather than solutions (Gaubatz, 1995a). ‘This Year Is Beijing’s Green Year’ (jin shi shoudu luhua nian) Beijing Youth Daily, January 20 1999, p.1; Becker,1999b. ‘Breath of Fresh Air In Beijing’ South China Morning Post, August 30 1999. Foucault, 1979. After the national capital was moved to Nanjing by the republican government in 1928, Beijing was renamed Beiping. Yue Dong, 2000; Shi Mingzheng, 1993. Vogel, 1971. The question of wenming is discussed in detail in Ann Anagnost, 1997, pp. 75–80. Idem. Idem. For example, in his address on reforms at the 9th People’s Congress in early March 1999, Premier Zhu Rongji himself stressed the promotion of ‘cultural and ethical progress’ as necessary ways to ensure social and political stability and to achieve socialist modernization (‘99 Objectives to Strengthen Reform, Opening’ China Daily, March 6 1999, p. 3). Similarly, in a 1998 statement on the progress of the reforms, Beijing Mayor Jia Qinglin insisted on the necessity of such public education campaigns ‘[t]o improve the quality of our citizens’ (Dan Cai, 1998).

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 205 78. The hukou was the soviet-style registration system implemented by the Chinese government to limit population movement in the 1950s. 79. ‘Capital Clean-Up Riles Residents’ South China Morning Post, August 23 1999. 80. Urban administrators had also been charging migrants and other newcomers ‘municipal entrance fees’. This exploitation of outsider’s desire to move to the city was justified by allegations that illegal residents hastened the degradation of the city’s infrastructure. The collected entrance fees soon represented an important source of income for the municipal government. It could be used to rebuild old, worn-out infrastructure, to refurbish city facilities, as well as for urban beautification. In 1994, the Beijing government instituted a ‘city construction and appearance fee’ which became known as the Beijing ‘green card’. The enormous fee of 100,000 yuan billed for residency in the city centre was reduced by 80 per cent or more for highly skilled technical workers, or for those holding master’s or Ph.D. degrees (Solinger, 1999, pp.89–90). 81. The modern term ‘country bumpkin’ (tu baozi) has long held pejorative connotations, portraying the Chinese peasants as backward, superstitious, and conservative. China’s rural poor are seen by some members of the elite as an embarrassing presence and a serious obstacle blocking the nation’s drive to attain wealth and power. The civilization discourse not only reinforced the negative image of the people as an undisciplined mass but it also elevated the educational attainment of the urban cosmopolitan elite as essential to the task of modernity. 82. Anagnost, 1997. 83. ‘This Year Is Beijing’s Green Year’ (Jin shi shoudu luhua nian). Beijing Qinian Bao (Beijing Youth Daily), January 20 1999, p. 1. 84. Beijing also took necessary measures to ‘clean up’ the capital from all immoral activities, targeting prostitutes, bar hostesses, gaming halls, karaoke parlours and criminal activities involving guns, drugs and video-disc piracy. See ‘Migrants Pressed To Go Before Birthday Party’ South China Morning Post, April 19 1999. 85. ‘More Migrants Expelled in Anniversary Lead-Up’ South China Morning Post, September 9 1999; ‘Streets Cleaned of ‘Undesirables’ South China Morning Post, September 2 1999; ‘Undesirable Maybe but Vital’ The Economist, October 16 1999, pp. 41–42. 86. ‘Migrants Pressed To Go Before Birthday Party’ South China Morning Post, April 19 1999. 87. ‘Spiritual civilization’ Beijing Scene, October 8–21 1996, p. 17; Wehfritz, 1996; Su Dan, 1999. 88. Cited in Buck-Morss, 1989, p. 115. 89. Of course this sort of pledge is not unique to Beijing and similar boards are found in other large Chinese cities. But interestingly, those found in Shanghai, for example, focus much more on achieving prosperity, using honest business practices and showing good manners than on nationalism and social ethics. 90. ‘Language Drive’ China Daily, May 29 1999, p. 5. 91. Cao Min, 1994. 92. d’Orleans, 1999; Kan Zhengling, 1996; Guo Nei,1994a. 93. For more on the Chinese informal sector, see Solinger, 1999, pp.89–90. See also China Focus, 2, No.12, 1994, pp.1, 8. 94. On informal sector activities in Third World cities, see Gilbert and Gugler, 1992; Portes, Castells and Benton, 1989; Patton, 1988. 95. ‘Out With the Old’ Beijing Scene, March 12–25 1999, p. 3. 96. Much of the land freed-up by the demolition was turned into new green spaces. Liu Xinglei,1999; ‘Illegal Structures’ Business Weekly China Daily, March 14–20 1999, p. 5. 97. Wu Runmei, 1998; ‘City Moat Facelift’ Beijing This Month, June 1998, p. 51. 98. Liu Xinglei, 1999; ‘Migrants Pressed To Go Before Birthday Party’ South China Morning Post, April 19 1999. 99. ‘Goodbye Silk Alley, Welcome Jili Mansions’ City Edition, 1(5) July 1998, p. 4. 100. The alley started out in Ganjiakou in 1983 when individual migrants from Xinjiang province – also known as the Chinese Turkistan, home of the predominantly Muslim Uyghur minority – started renting shacks from local residents and established small restaurants. By 1987, a Uyghur enclave had developed in the area as restaurant owners sent for family members and friends to help staff their eateries.

206 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 101. In the months leading to the 1991 Asian Games, image conscious city officials began paying more attention to informal establishments such as Xinjiang Alley in their concern for the creation of a more orderly, modern appearance for Beijing. The Haidian district government began charging restaurant owners diverse taxes and improvement fees which contributed to the perception that the alley would soon undergo a formalization process, thus allowing restaurants to stay permanently. In a political move on the occasion of the visit of a Xinjiang province government official to Beijing in 1992, the district government finally established the legality of the restaurants. This action gave entrepreneurs the confidence to invest more money and effort in consolidating their restaurants. 102. For the story on Xinjiang alley, I am relying on Anne Stevenson-Yang’s 1999 article ‘Farewell to Xinjiang Alley’, and on several witnesses’ accounts. 103. Cu and Kuhn, 1999. 104. ‘Birthday Security Increased’ South China Morning Post, August 10 1999; Vivien Pik-Kwan Chan, 1999; ‘Beijing Orders Forces to Be Alert to Social Unrest as it Enters a Full Year of Celebration’ South China Morning Post, January 11 1999; Becker,1999c. 105. Eckholm, 1999a. 106. See, for example, Thompson, 1966 and Geertz, 1973. 107. For more on rituals and politics, see Davis, 1986; pp. 7–9; Kertzer, 1988; Ahern, 1981, pp. 77–110. 108. Hobsbawm and Ranger, 1983. 109. Davis, 1986; pp. 7–9. 110. DaMatta, 1991, pp. 14–17; Benton, 1995, p. 36; Hobsbawm, 1995. 111. Esherick and Wasserstrom, 1990. 112. Elaborate court ceremonies rested on the careful adherence to a traditionally prescribed format, whose familiar scripts not only reproduced the hierarchy of Chinese society, but also gave participants a shared sense of how to behave during performances. These rituals also reproduced the relations of patronage and protection in traditional Chinese society, which ensured the forms of domination by a leisure class (Ahern, 1981, pp. 77–110. 113. Esherick and Wasserstrom, 1990. 114. Maoist China was a classic personality cult political culture, greatly influenced by Stalinist political practices. During some National Day parades of the 1960s, a giant statue of Mao was carried through Tiananmen Square to be honoured by the population. 115. See Wagner, 1992. p. 419. 116. Jasper Becker, 1999c; Eckholm, 1999b. 117. Excluded from the ranks of young handicapped athletes were those like Fang Zheng whose legs were crushed by a tank during the 1989 Tiananmen Square uprising and who had been denied access to the Chinese Paralympics in 1994. See Tyler, 1994. 118. ‘Golden Anniversary’ Beijing Scene, April 23-29 1999, p. 3; Tang Min,1999b, p. 3. 119. The Mao suit, long held as a marker of Maoist orthodoxy, was originally designed by Sun Yatsen as a modern outfit, and is thus known in China by it’s creator’s name, Zhongshan. 120. Throughout 1999, cinemas, theatres, television channels, radio stations, newspapers, exhibition halls, museums and every other type of mass communication outlet were also filled by works praising the Party and President Jiang. 121. Xu Dashan, 1999b; Lo,1999; Chak, 1999. 122. Pomfret, 1999b, 1999c; Melvin,1999. 123. Li Shenzhi’s essay ‘Fifty years of Panic, Trials, and Tribulations: Lonely Night Time Thoughts on National Day’ was posted anonymously on the internet early in 2000 and prompted the Chinese to undertake a purge of officials believed to support Western liberal values and privatization. Li and other liberal academics were thus dismissed by Jiang Zemin. see Pomfret, John. ‘Chinese Leaders Purge ‘Westernized’ Scholars’ ‘ Guardian Weekly, April 20-26 2000, p. 21. 124. Eckholm, 1999c. 125. Nationwide, the official figure for anniversary-related public works was 900 billion yuan (US$110 billion) (Pomfret, 1999b).

Stating the Event-City: Olympics, Anniversaries, and the Politics of City Marketing 207 126. ‘City’s Glamour Breeds Clamour of Discontent’, South China Morning Post, September 2 1999; ‘Capital Clean-Up Riles Residents’ South China Morning Post, August 23 1999. 127. Lee, 1999; Wo-Lap Lam,1999. 128. Becker, 1999c. 129. Faison, 1999; Oksenberg, 1999; Eckholm, 1999d. 130. Hessler, 2001; Eckholm, 2001. 131. For obscure reasons, the Chinese Olympic Committee chose to use a different slogan in Chinese, replacing the second portion of the slogan with ‘New Games’. More in keeping with the forward looking spirit of the time in China, this statement may have been resented by the international community if it were perceived as an attempt by the Chinese to alter the Olympic tradition. 132. Zheng Min, 2001. 133. Longman, 2001. 134. Lizhi and Bernstein, 2001. 135. Hoberman, 1986b. 136. Zheng Min, 2001. 137. Cumings, 2001. 138. ‘Intimations of Mortality.’ The Economist. June 30, 2001; pp. 21–23. 139. Leaders considered that the loss of the Games would have brought national humiliation and compromised South Korean efforts to join the ranks of developed nations. 140. Larson and Park, 1993. 141. In 1981, South Korea had diplomatic ties with sixty countries, by the time of the Olympics in 1988, the number had grown to more than one hundred and sixty countries (de Lange, 1998). 142. Mufson, 2001. 143. Liu Li, 2001. 144. Li Shouen, 2001. 145. China Daily, March 15, 2002.

208 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Chapter Six

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment [M]any things are happening in this city: demolition, construction, car accidents, sex, drunkenness, and violence infiltrate every hole. In the vastness of the city . . . people are made nervous, scattered, and insecure. Waste builds up in every corner . . . People eat, defecate, and sleep in the garbage. Children look for toys in the garbage. The water running through the city is oil black and stinking. On the grass or hanging from tree branches, plastic bags dangle, moving with the wind like heads without souls. People wearing starched suits are now walking into the main entrance of hotels and exiting through the back door into dark, dirty, muddled lanes.

Cai Weijun. Urbanity: New Reflections on a New City.1

Contentious Images The dark image of Beijing portrayed by the above quote from Cai Weijun provides a stark contrast with the image of the city carefully constructed by the city government throughout the 1990s. It suggests a clear disjunction between the potemkin city as it is imagined by city marketers and the ‘behind the scenes’ city as it is experienced on an everyday basis by its residents. This final chapter seeks to explore this contested image of the city by shedding light on the many ways in which the people of Beijing have resisted efforts to reinvent their city for political gain and marketing purposes. It demonstrates how the hardship caused by urban renewal, city beautification, and commercial redevelopment did not go unchallenged by the Beijing population. Despite their limited power, people have proved that, more than passive objects in the transformation of their city, they could also be subjects, participating fully in this transformation and occasionally becoming agents of change themselves.

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 209 This chapter provides a series of examples of open contestation and resistance to urban redevelopment that took place in the Chinese capital during the 1990s, and demonstrates different strategies used by different groups and individuals to influence this ongoing modernization process. People excluded from the city’s dominant image have resorted to diverse forms of popular reworking to express symbolically their resistance to this system of growing inequity. As demonstrated throughout this book, in their attempt to contest elite control of spatial use and meaning, people have used the built environment and everyday practices to subvert the agendas of controlling groups and derail their system of representation through ridicule, appropriation, unintended uses, or unruly behaviour such as graffiti and vandalism. These diverse modes of popular reworking remain the favoured tactic of the weak and the most common means of expressing discontent within the limits of expression imposed by the state. Public figures such as intellectuals, artists and other prominent members of Chinese society have come to play an active role as public critics, increasingly denouncing government wrongdoing and requiring the state to be held accountable for its actions. Using their celebrity status, they have been able to take bolder initiatives than ordinary citizens to exert pressures upon the state, in the form of petitions, open letters, and conferences. The mass media, even the official one, also plays an important role in fighting unfair state actions and has over the last few years been increasingly daring in criticizing government excesses, especially with regard to urban redevelopment. These press reports have played an important role in empowering the masses, as they help crystallize the idea of resistance in the collective consciousness by making people aware that contestation is possible, thereby opening up the prospect for political change. Thanks to such media coverage, people realize that they are not alone in their predicament, and that they may gain something by organizing themselves to make collective requests. Even though the government still remains secretive over most public issues, information is no longer so easily contained. As China enters the information age with ever more accessible modes of communication and widespread access to international news and ideas via satellite television, the printed press, or the internet, it has become increasingly difficult to prevent the emergence of spontaneous public debates. This chapter is organized in three main parts. The first section examines different forms of grassroots responses to urban redevelopment, and shows the example of private individuals and families, who, on their own or collectively have resisted redevelopment. It presents the different ways in which they have organized and planned to fight powerful decision makers. The second section discusses the role of non-conformist artists in the Beijing underground art scene in encouraging public reactions to modernization and redevelopment. Finally, the third section looks at how a controversial public architecture project, the Beijing National Theatre,

210 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing triggered intense public discussion not only about architectural issues, but also about more political notions of national identity and urban governance. This chapter begins with a discussion of popular involvement in contemporary Chinese politics, and of the emergence of an embryonic form of civil society.

Civil Society and the Chinese Public Sphere Most analyses of the emergence of ‘civil society’ emphasize the virtues of a formal, institutionalized civil society as a potential source of pressure for the establishment of an open clean and accountable government.2 Generally defined as a sphere of free social interaction and organization, which, in its ‘ideal’ form at least, is separate from and independent of the state, civil society is presented as one of the means by which members of society can limit, control, and escape from state power. The development of civil society is therefore generally linked to a shift in the balance of power between state and society, although this is not always the case. In China, the post-Mao economic reforms engendered a process of social and institutional change which dramatically transformed the ways in which state and society interact. During the early years of the reforms, a relatively relaxed political atmosphere facilitated the emergence of all sorts of social organizations in China.3 This political condition encouraged the growing control of resources – both social and economic – by private parties within Chinese society, weakening the state’s capacity to control and manipulate the masses. Market reforms similarly diminished the ideological authority and organizational reach of the state, thereby reducing its capacity to repress political alternatives and opening up space for civil society. The rise of different voices and alternative structures of power posed a growing challenge to the Chinese state, exerting pressures for political change and democratization. Despite such important change, historians, political scientists, and sociologists remain sceptical about the prospect for autonomous or potentially autonomous social groups to develop in China and succeed in creating a full-fledged public sphere capable of subverting the authority of the Party.4 China continues to operate as a Leninist one-party system where decision making on key policy issues remains highly centralized. People’s ability to participate in the political process is still greatly impeded by the confiscation of three fundamental freedoms which guarantee the Chinese Communist Party’s tight control over Chinese society: freedom of press, freedom of association, freedom of expression. Despite the recent explosion of the so-called ‘popular press’ – producing hundreds of newspapers and magazines on topics which prudently steer away from political issues and range from home improvement, bridal products, and world fashion – the Chinese press remains entirely controlled by the Party. The

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 211 editing committees of all major Chinese newspapers are led by Party members who follow detailed state directives on the topics to be discussed and the vocabulary to be used. To prevent organized opposition to its leadership, the Party also forbids freedom of association, making illegal all forms of organization which are not part of a structure of the Party. The Party remains intolerant of all signs of personal autonomy, and any political activity that directly challenges the state remains at risk. Freedom of expression is similarly limited. While it is not entirely impossible to criticize the government and the Party, such criticisms must never be made in public, in classrooms or assemblies. State control over public opinion has limited the possibilities of contest to official decision making. It has also favoured the rise and spread of corruption within all levels of government. Repression also remains a central part of Party rule. While rarely resorting to the type of violence displayed during the June 1989 events, the state continues to use everyday forms of selective victimization, constant surveillance, harassment, and the implicit threat of abrupt crackdowns to discourage challenges to its authority. After the harsh repression at Tiananmen, the scope of associative life shrank dramatically – especially the type that could exert pressure on the government – allowing official corruption to swell. Fifteen years after Tiananmen, the balance of power has shifted dramatically in favour of the state. By the late 1990s, the long-term effects of the reforms began to be felt. Changes in the economy and the national welfare system started eroding the sureties that had defined urban life throughout the 1960s and 1970s. Cracks appeared in the ‘unbreakable iron rice bowl’, fuelling discontent about state corruption and social inequality. The Chinese population grew increasingly restless about the restraint imposed by the government. Greater affluence and increased contact with the outside world opened up new possibilities for urban residents to take part in unofficial initiatives. Mounting tensions between state and society gave rise to increasingly pervasive outbursts of spontaneous and potentially destabilizing activity, including demonstrations, protests, sit-ins, strikes and riots.5 Insurgence is now found both in organized grassroots mobilizations and in everyday practices which, in different ways, parody or subvert state agendas. Today, the realm of association in contemporary China remains embryonic and uneven. Pressure from social groups to have their voices heard and form their own associations have nonetheless been felt throughout society, even though they have not yet found adequate channels for expression. A public sphere is slowly taking shape, but it lacks the clear edges given by the political organizations and movements of a civil society, and is still dominated by the government. Multiple informal, interest groups that offer an alternative, flexible, and changing concept of the public sphere so gradually expanding the realm of public expression, are also beginning to appear.

212 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Redevelopment as a Catalyst for Political Change? Rapid urban transformation and large-scale urban redevelopment have triggered the emergence of population groups rallied under the common goal of saving their homes and neighbourhoods from the juggernaut of modernization. Frustrated by their inability to control changes which are affecting them in a very direct way, people are increasingly inclined to voice their discontent at the absence of public consultation in major urban interventions. There is little actual popular input in the design and implementation of urban redevelopment in contemporary China. As with most cases of urban renewal, citizen participation – in a way that would conform to the notion of a vibrant public sphere – remains the exception rather than the rule. However, unlike liberal democracies where the scope of government actions is limited by the rulers’ obligations to their constituencies, in China, the population has little leverage over city authorities in their handling of urban affairs. While some Chinese cities do elect their own municipal governments, Beijing – like Shanghai and Tianjin – is placed directly under the guidance of the central government, which reduces the possibility of citizen participation in the decision making process. In such circumstances, when public opinion is solicited, it is generally to approve pre-determined state decisions in a calculated show of largess meant to appease the citizenry.6 In recent years, the increasingly rapid pace of redevelopment and the abrupt and often brutal way in which homes, neighbourhoods and cherished institutions have been transformed have pushed Beijing citizens to take action and demand a more equitable and sustainable approach to modernization. As redevelopment overstepped the limits they were willing to tolerate, people felt compelled to raise their voices and object to the government’s pliant attitude towards marketled urban renewal. Because of its impact on the lives of so many people in such a personal way, redevelopment has sparked the emergence of a shared sense of responsibility and commitment towards what is left of the old city, and promoted solidarity in the face of adversity. Recent urban redevelopment has served as a vehicle for important transformations in Chinese society, unforeseen in the 1990s after the crackdown over protests at Tiananmen Square. Because of its unyielding and peremptory character, it may eventually prompt people to organize and so increase the possibility of democratic change in the Chinese capital Until the early 1990s, the Chinese approach to neighbourhood redevelopment had demonstrated a strong concern for the welfare of those it directly affected by providing fair and equitable housing compensations for all residents displaced by urban renewal. But it soon became clear that such commitment to social justice and equity required heavy subsidies which the state could not afford.7 Urban redevelopment was gradually privatized and the costs of resettling original

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 213 residents was passed on to the developer. To offset these extra expenditures, greedy developers inflated central city housing and office prices and benefited from prime inner-city land by relocating residents in low-grade apartments on less valuable land on the city’s outskirts, which generally lacked adequate transport, schools, hospitals and other amenities. In the absence of formal inspection procedures and without a regulatory body supervising redevelopment, it has become increasingly easy for developers to lure inner-city residents into signing equivocal contracts and to trick them by failing to deliver the new housing they were promised. Anger and frustration have pushed groups and individuals to take actions hitherto thought impossible, waging fierce battles against district government and private developers for cheating them of their right to a decent home. Pushed to the limit, many have taken their situation into their own hands and gone to court over improper relocation and compensation issues. However there are few resources to help people fight such injustice. The only existing organization which provides assistance to individuals in fighting fraud and exploitation is the consumer protection office. But many people question the office’s integrity because it is a government body. In the absence of an existing social structure which could assist redevelopment victims with their cases, people rarely win. People have also tried appealing directly to high-level government authorities, only to find out that the central government has little actual power over urban affairs. Local government agencies at the district level are responsible for carrying out renewal projects and usually have the last word over redevelopment issues. They often work in close partnership with developers, and have a major stake in making redevelopment as profitable as possible. Without a central government body regulating district level activities, local authorities often act with impunity, no matter what high level instructions they receive.8 As a last resort, some redevelopment victims have taken their anger to the streets and tried attracting media attention to their cause.9 But street demonstrations remain illegal and without a demonstration permit, issued by the district government, people risk imprisonment. Yet, some have found inventive ways to bypass the law. Each year on March 25, people take advantage of the relaxed atmosphere on the occasion of National Consumer’s Day to take to the streets and voice their frustrations at their own powerlessness in the face of widespread corruption. But even if they do succeed in getting their story printed, their fate is quickly forgotten until the next March 25. Such responses to perceived injustice, both individual and collective, have awakened hope and legitimated resistance. By triggering spontaneous group solidarity and the formation of many informal citizens associations, urban redevelopment is becoming a catalyst for political change and an avenue for the formation of civil society.

214 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Popular Strategies of Resistance Organized Resistance to Redevelopment On rare occasions, people have been known to organize spontaneously to fight a developer, some eventually winning their cause. This is, for example, what happened at Lan Qi Ying, a neighbourhood in the northern suburb of the capital. Early in the summer of 1998, 800 people living on a piece of property jointly owned by Tsinghua and Beijing Universities received an eviction notice stating that the site would soon be cleared to build faculty housing for both campuses. According to residents, the private development company hired by the two institutions handled relocation in a very unruly way, forcibly removing people from their houses, and at times demolishing dwellings that were still occupied, even physically abusing recalcitrant residents for resisting relocation. Unhappy with the compensation package promised by the universities and outraged at what they saw as their abuse of power in evicting them against their will, the residents organized themselves. All summer long, they fought the universities using some of the state’s propaganda channels to rally public opinion to their cause. They sent open letters to the press, put up wall posters around campus, and held mass sit-ins on the construction site, displaying a large national flag to proclaim their plea symbolically as that of all Chinese and rest their demands for fair housing on the basis of citizenship. By the end of the summer, an agreement was reached with the universities, and construction work could proceed. While details of the arrangement are unknown, the event made so much noise in Beijing that it gained notoriety as an heroic act of solidarity in the face of ruthless modernization and injustice. Another well-known case of collective resistance to redevelopment took place two years earlier at Guangyuan, a neighbourhood located between the western end of Ping An Avenue and the White Dagoba temple (baitaisi). Early in 1996, residents of Guangyuan received a one-month eviction notice. Rather than using public demonstrations to oppose relocation, residents chose to organize themselves in a highly sophisticated way and to bring their case to court. Soon after the eviction notice, a group of twenty to thirty families started holding regular meetings to report grievances and discuss strategies. They proceeded carefully to document proof of the unfair treatment to which they were being subjected by the relocation company hired by the developer. They recorded in detail the aggressive way demolition was carried out and the different means of intimidation used by the demolition crews to force people out of their houses, including unruly behaviour at night and partial demolition of dwellings that were still inhabited, rendering them unfit for habitation during the cold winter months. Residents also gathered evidence of the inequitable and often arbitrary way compensation was allocated to different households.

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 215 Carefully planning the most efficient way to attack the relocation company, Guangyuan residents used their extensive documentation to threaten the developer to go to court. They knew the developer would prefer to find a peaceful resolution to the conflict and, while they recognized they could not altogether avoid displacement, they demanded better relocation conditions. Ultimately, the company had no choice but to give in to their demands and find a compromise. This exceptional story showed the population that through mass organization and collective resistance, they could fight the system and win against a corrupt and powerful capitalist. This and other examples of successful organized opposition to market-led redevelopment served as models for subsequent fights against modernization in Beijing.

Lone Fighters and Stubborn Nails Individual resistance to displacement seldom matches the success of collective action. On their own, people are more vulnerable to intimidation by the developer’s coercion tactics or the threat of forceful removal. Individual fights are often driven more by personal motivation, such as a sentimental attachment to place, than by materialistic considerations which can be satisfied with a lavish compensation package from the developer. It is often difficult to yield a cherished home that housed one’s family for several generations for the sake of modernization. Beijing is full of dingzihu or ‘stubborn nails’ – elderly individuals who refuse to vacate their houses and be relocated. These people often fight an already lost battle, and ultimately have to be forcibly evicted by the Public Security Bureau. Rarely do they succeed in more than postponing demolition, unless they have important personal connections (guanxi). If they make enough noise, they can have their story published by local or international newspapers, and be rewarded by becoming part of Beijing’s urban history. Such publicity may also draw the attention of preservationists who exert pressure on the local government to consider the historic value of the structure.10 In rare cases, an old house can be preserved as a tourist attraction, but its ‘museumification’ generally leads to the displacement of the current occupants, resulting in the same social dislocation as demolition. Individual fights against relocation are also fought out of desperation, in response to gross injustice. This was the case of Mrs Cui Jun and her husband Mr San Dejian, residents of Tao Yuan, a neighbourhood near Xizhimen in the northwestern corner of the old city. In 1994, their house was demolished for housing redevelopment. At the time, Tao Yuan residents were given the option of moving immediately into new rental housing at a distance from the site with a monetary compensation for their old house, or purchasing a unit in the future Tao Yuan housing development at a preferential rate. Those who chose the latter option were

216 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing transferred to a temporary housing site while the project was under construction. The size of the new units offered to returning residents was determined by the dimensions of their old home. But Mrs Cui and her husband, whose old house had six rooms, were only offered a four-room apartment for purchase. Feeling they were being cheated, they refused to sign the contract. They were forced out of their home which was demolished and moved to the temporary housing site. They continued demanding fair compensation, hoping that by the time the project would be completed, the issue would be resolved. A year later, when Tao Yuan residents started moving into their new apartments Mrs Cui and Mr San realized that the four-room unit that had been intended for them had been sold to other people, at market rate – 50 per cent more than they would have paid for it. As sole compensation for the home they had lost, they were given a room in the basement of one of the new buildings, deprived of sunshine, subject to flooding and permanently damp. The old couple have now been living for over five years in this unit which, according to Beijing housing regulations, is unfit for human inhabitation.11 Those who had dully signed a contract with the developer and purchased new housing on the site did not fare much better. The new units that were delivered to returning residents were poorly built and of much lower standards than apartments built for sale at market rate. The developer had cut every possible corner to minimize expenditure on these flats and maximize his profit. In one particular building for returning residents at Tao Yuan, units are so dreadful that they are referred to as ‘coffins’: 3.5 metres wide, 17 metres deep with a single window at the narrow end. These apartments are so dark that their occupants must keep the lights on all day. Their lack of mechanical ventilation and absence of cross ventilation clearly violate government standards for new housing. For over five years, Mrs Cui and Mr San’s entire lives were taken up by their efforts to redress the unfair treatment they were subjected to by the developer. They wrote to President Jiang Zemin and other top-leaders such as Li Peng and Zhu Rongjie to plead for justice, and held demonstrations on the streets of Beijing. With the help of other residents, they gathered very detailed evidence to build up their case, compiling legal documents, letters sent and received, and press clippings. They documented the poor quality of the apartments with samples of building materials, hundreds of photographs, and videos of people’s living conditions. Mrs Cui and Mr San had their story published in several newspapers, even making front page headlines in one instance. But they quickly understood that the press had only a limited influence upon redevelopment. Local newspapers such as the Beijing Youth Daily (Beijing Qinian Bao) and Beijing Evening News (Beijing Wanbao), which are owned by the city government, do not usually report on controversial issues such as urban renewal. On the other hand, national newspapers such as The

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 217 People’s Daily (Renmin ribao) occasionally carry stories, but since they are owned by the central government which is removed from local urban issues, they have little impact on project implementation. Through their investigations, Tao Yuan residents exposed some of several ways in which the developer had bent the rules to maximize his profit. For example, they discovered that the developer had lied to the municipal planning bureau about the nature of the project to escape the tight regulations imposed upon housing renewal projects. After hiring professionals to measure the apartments, residents also realized that the developer had cheated them about the dimensions of the houses he sold. In addition, by registering returning home buyers as members of his construction company, the developer fraudulently benefited from a municipal tax break for companies housing their own employees. The tax fraud was reported to the district government after compromising documents were found in a briefcase left behind by one of the developer’s representatives. The residents’ efforts eventually bore fruit, and the developer was forced to pay four million yuan (US$500,000) in compensation, distributed among those who had purchased replacement units on the site. Without a contract, Mrs Cui and her husband had no legal claim to the money. After fighting so hard for everybody, they were left with nothing more than a damp basement to squat in. This broke their spirits, but they refused to give up. Every year, on March 25, the old couple continues to go to Xidan – Wangfujing’s main competitor as Beijing’s busiest shopping street – to demonstrate. They carry large posters that document and prove the veracity of their story with newspaper clippings and photographs of their current housing conditions. But invariably, they are told by the police to go home and stay out of trouble (Figures 6.1 and 6.2). It is only after taking their grievances to court and realizing that the judge assigned to their case was friends with the developer and lived in one of the new

Figure 6.1. In the absence of resources to fight unfair redevelopment practices, some Beijing residents have taken to the street, risking arrest but at least having the chance of having their stories told in the press. This photograph shows Mr. San being forcibly removed by a police officer during a peaceful demonstration on Xidan street in Beijing on Consumer day, March 25 1999.

218 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 6.2. Front page of the March 26, 1999 edition of the weekly ‘Living’ section of the Construction Herald Newspaper (Jianzhu bao, Zhu zhoukan) showing a photograph of Mr. San demonstrating in Xidan. The headline reads: ‘Should returning residents get third rate housing?!’

market-rate apartments at Tao Yuan that the old couple grasped the full absurdity of their situation. On a crusade to get justice, they found themselves caught up in the nets of high level corruption. They were not only fighting an unscrupulous developer but the entire corrupt system. Faced with an obsolete legal structure ill-adapted to protect citizens from the mercenary practices of the new market economy, it soon became clear that there was little chance to break through the perverse network of guanxi, whose members protect one another and conspire to ensure their invincibility. Tired, in her late 60s, Mrs Cui felt she had been let down by the nation for which she had worked so hard all of her life. An old revolutionary, she claims to have risked her life three times to serve the nation. But today, she feels the system has turned its back on her. There is no one to help her fight the relentless persecution she has been subjected to by the developer. She lost her health and most of her life savings simply trying to get what had been promised to her. Unable to sleep at night, she now fears her life may be in danger. She even went to the police to file a report stating that if anything happened to her, it would be the work of the developer and his allies. However, she feared the developer might have connections with the district’s police department and that nothing would be done to ensure her security. Her only wish now is that this struggle will not last until the day she dies. The stories told by people such as Mrs Cui and Mr San illustrate some of the social injustices which result from market-driven urban redevelopment. More than victims of modernization, city residents have become casualties in the relentless drive for profits led by land speculators, private developers and government officials, and unleashed by China’s recent market reforms. They are the victims of the greed and corruption that have become central features of Chinese society. Most of them will lose their fight to keep their homes and neighbourhood. But many of these fights were not fought in vain. By refusing to remain passive to capitalist aggression, these citizens helped uncover the failings of the present system and

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 219 show others that resistance to injustice was possible, especially through the formation of grassroots organizations. They planted the seed which would allow for new forms of public discussion to grow, and triggered a change in attitude towards urban governance, one that demands greater accountability in public policies and greater popular participation in urban affairs.

Graffiti Art as Protest: A Dialogue with Zhang Dali Some individuals have found new, unconventional, and often provocative ways to protest the injustice and alienation that have characterized urban redevelopment and transformed contemporary Chinese society. Artists in particular have played an important role in denouncing the ugly side of the new society and encouraging people to stand up for what they believe in. The arts have long had the capacity either to reinforce state hegemony in the public sphere or to undermine government legitimacy. While official or public art can be used to support official ideology, public art that is not officially sponsored – graffiti for example – can also destabilize established political actors and contribute to the rise of scepticism in politics.12 The kind of politically engaged public art which is common in the West is almost unknown in the People’s Republic. However, in recent years, artists on the margin of the officially sponsored artistic world have become increasingly involved in denouncing social inequality and voicing popular concerns over public issues. While avoiding direct political attacks and accusing the foreign press of over politicizing their art, these popular artists have played a central part in raising political awareness and have provoked the emergence of a new political consciousness among the population, especially Chinese youth. For example, irreverent poets like the Beijing rock star Cui Jian – branded by some as the Chinese Bob Dylan – have since the late 1980s played such a role on the national scene, using rock performances and lyrics to launch criticisms of the Chinese government and of society at large.13 Cui Jian – whose first album, ‘Rock and Roll on the New Long March’ (1988) is said to have marked the birth of Beijing rock – has long used his image of Rebel Rocker to act as an unofficial spokesperson for Chinese youth. ‘Rock and roll must confront reality’ he says. ‘We have a responsibility to confront society and [to] reflect the dissatisfaction of young people.’14 Cui Jian’s lyrics speak of the alienation of modern city life – denouncing power abuses and rampant corruption – and of the frustrations of the everyday deprivation of personal freedoms. Dreamed ‘bout livin’ in modern city space; Now it’s hard to explain what I face; Skyscrapers poppin’ up one by one; But let me tell ya, life here’s no fun.15

220 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing The artist irritated the political establishment by performing in support of the student demonstrations in Tiananmen Square in 1989 and was later banned from playing in front of large audiences for wearing a red blindfold on stage while performing on the government sponsored Asian Games fund raising tour. In 1998, Cui Jian released a new CD entitled ‘Power of the Powerless’ (Wu neng de liliang), with even more political lyrics. ‘In a world without heroes’ he sings, ‘I just want to be a man.’16 Another Beijing artist has taken a bolder step to reach out to the Beijing population and force people to react to the transformation of their city. Since 1995, the walls of the capital city have been plagued by a mysterious affliction. Large, spray-painted outlines of a human head which seems to scream its disarray in

Figure 6.3. The enigmatic faces of Zhang Dali’s Dialogue graffiti project covered the walls of Beijing in the late 1990s in a silent protest against the city’s unbridled modernization. By piercing holes into the walls on which some of his graffiti are painted, Zhang emphasizes the violence of the government sponsored destruction.

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 221 facing a world it no longer recognizes started to appear on buildings throughout Beijing. These enigmatic figures have been disconcerting for Beijing residents, unfamiliar with such bold manifestation of individual expression. The author of this mysterious campaign is Zhang Dali, a well-known figure in the underground Beijing art world.17 Since 1995, Zhang has taken his bicycle at night to go spraypainting profiles of his own bald head on condemned buildings, freeway bridges, and neglected walls all over the capital. By 1998, over 2000 of these giant heads, sometimes 2 metres tall, had been planted all over Beijing (Figure 6.3). Zhang Dali decided to use the walls of the city to wage his graffiti war, in reaction to the wave of urban renewal which is transforming Beijing on a scale and pace perhaps never seen in human history. His project, entitled ‘Dialogue’ (Duihua)18, is an attempt to shake Beijing residents out of their lethargy and make them react to the way their city is being transformed. ‘Walls seal off the Chinese’ says Zhang. ‘They are afraid of others entering into their life. I go on these walls and enter their life. I open a dialogue with people. I assault them with the knowledge that this city is changing. I don’t care if you take part or don’t take part, you still have to look at me.’19

Figure 6.4. The Chinese character chai is whitewashed by municipal authorities on structures scheduled for demolition throughout the Beijing city.

222 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Figure 6.5. Artist Zhang Dali photographed with his permission in his central Beijing studio with samples of his graffiti project through which he attempts to communicate in a dialogue with contemporary Beijing society.

While Zhang’s project brings modernization into question, its purpose is not to denounce the regime’s failure to limit the impacts of urban renewal but to sensitize the people of Beijing to how this transformation is also affecting them. Zhang’s blank faces invoke the ongoing fragmentation of Chinese society and people’s deepening alienation from their environment. The artist uses the ephemeral ruins of the modernizing city as a medium to communicate his message. He intentionally places his graffiti next to ‘chai’ characters painted by city authorities to indicate that a building is scheduled for demolition, in the hope of raising public awareness of the way the city is condemned to disappear under the pressure of modernization20 (Figure 6.5). Zhang uses the abstract image of the human head as a tool to facilitate communication between people, which he believes will not only create a more favourable social environment but also forge bonds of solidarity that will empower people and help them fight the injustice of the new society. He does not oppose change per se but wishes to denounce the destructive capacity of market-led redevelopment, where people rarely factor into the equation and are treated as collateral damage in the race for profit. By signing some of his work 18K – for 18 carats – Zhang derides China’s get-rich mentality, and the avarice he believes has gripped contemporary Chinese society. Although he blames the inhumanity of urban redevelopment upon profit-driven developers for whom nothing is sacred, he also regards redevelopment as an expression of government greed. Much like generations of emperors before them, present-day leaders, transform the urban environment for their own personal benefits and their unquenchable thirst for power. In their desire to impress the world and leave their mark upon China, they sponsor the construction of colossal monuments celebrating their own glory but whose oppressive monstrosity crushes the hopes of anyone spirited enough to say: ‘I am an individual and I can influence my environment’.21 The artist paints an apocalyptic vision of Beijing’s future, with market reforms

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 223 and the breakdown of the socialist system bringing rising social inequality and breeding violence and crime. For Zhang, urban renewal will continue to dehumanize a city where houses already look like prisons, with heavy security gates and irons bars at the windows. This is why he feels the urge to put a human face – quite literally – on the anonymous façades of the changing city and to leave his mark on a society seemingly opposed to spontaneity and light-hearted selfreflection. It is only through concerted efforts and relentless pressure upon the state that the people will be able to take the fate of their city into their own hands. Over the last fifteen years, Zhang has become an emblem of non-conformity in contemporary China, a symbol of the possibility of self-expression and of the prospect of freeing oneself from government control exerted through housing and job provision. Zhang always refused to fit the mould imposed upon him by the system. He resisted following his parents’ footsteps to work in a factory in Harbin and chose to move to Beijing without the security of a danwei (work unit) or hukou (official registration). Unable to get food, work, or housing through official channels, Zhang joined a group of starving freelance artists who established an artist colony near Yuanmingyuan. These ‘floating artists’ – officially classified as part of China’s ‘floating population’ due to their lack of hukou – represented an entirely new social category in the Beijing landscape, a new generation of people brave enough – or crazy enough – to get rid of their hukou and take their lives into their own hands. Having had the courage to free themselves of the security afforded by the system and to live off their own art without having to depend on the state, they came to symbolize the possibility of freedom and independence in reform-era Beijing. Today, Zhang praises those who, like him, have the nerve to stand up and break free from the limits imposed by the regime. He especially admires migrant peasants who were bold enough to leave the land and seek a better future in the city. Official reaction to Zhang’s faces suggests that the project had enough influence upon public opinion to represent a conceivable threat for the government, not so much for the graffiti themselves as for what they stand for. The state seems afraid that such expression of individualism and lack of conformity with the norms of socialist society might act as a destabilizing factor in the established order and menace the hegemony of power holders. On several occasions, such as before the ceremonies celebrating the Hong Kong handover in July 1997, the Beijing government sent out hundreds of city workers to erase Zhang’s faces on the city’s walls. Zhang was subsequently questioned by the police, but he was released after he made clear that his art carried no subversive political message.22 The Beijing press was slow to react to Zhang’s project. When the first article appeared in a popular magazine a year after the project began, it was to condemn the anonymous artist and accuse him of vandalism and sabotage.23 The 1996 article

224 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing denounced the ghost-like faces as an uncivilized act, a decadent attempt to pollute the image of the city. It would take two more years for the local press to engage with the project, this time in a more favourable light. Early in 1998, a whole cultural debate on the graffiti project emerged in the Beijing press.24 The media praised the mysterious artist, whose identity remained unknown at the time, for having provided Beijing citizens with a focus for discussions about important collective issues: urban violence, public art, urban redevelopment and environmental policies. Zhang welcomed such media attention, and saw the press as one of the channels through which the ‘Dialogue’ with the Beijing population could be established and reinforced. Soon after this, the artist finally ‘came out’ to join in the discussion and give his first newspaper interview in March 1998.25 For Zhang, the success of this city-wide art project rests on the diverse responses it prompted from the public. Because of their obtrusive character and ambiguous meaning, the graffiti left room for multiple interpretations, which spoke of the viewer’s personal urban experience, or hidden fears and suspicions. Many people were disturbed by the graffiti, fearing that the sinister faces were the symbol of

Figure 6.6. Graffiti war. Students from the Central Arts Academy painted a red character chai on one of Beijing’s sleek new taxi stands to mark their disapproval of the design. Similar graffiti have been found on brand new buildings throughout the city in symbolic protest of the rapid changes taking place.

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 225 some evil underground society or heralded the imminent demolition of their house. Elderly members of the city’s neighbourhood committees talked of vandalism. Younger people, however, generally appreciate the daring, unconventional nature of Zhang’s art. By raising eyebrows and prompting questions, Zhang succeeded in exposing Beijingers to the possibility of new forms of public expression, alternative lifestyles, forcing them to become more aware of their environment by thinking about the changes taking place around them, and perhaps to communicate with each other. Art historian Wu Hung notes that Zhang’s art has created a new image for Beijing, as a cosmopolitan city that could tolerate this unconventional type of artistic expression.26 Zhang’s most obvious legacy is to have triggered the development of an embryonic graffiti culture in Beijing. Copy cat graffiti of squashed heads with elongated necks started appearing around the city. Students of the Central Arts Academy have also been known to go around the city painting the character ‘chai’ (demolish) in red paint on brand new buildings that did not meet their approval, thereby exploiting the power of the graffiti as a form of symbolic resistance. Zhang’s vision has thus played a part in raising public awareness and promoting popular opposition to urban renewal, contributing a small step in the development of a fully fledged public sphere. He hopes his efforts will prompt the government to pay more attention to what ordinary people have to say, and eventually allow Beijing residents a voice in the transformation of their city (Figure 6.6).

Architecture as Agent of Change: The Beijing National Theatre Because of its important role in identity formation and collective representation, architecture carries a greater political influence than is generally acknowledged. In China, popular perceptions of architecture as a shared and collectively owned good, removed from more overtly political issues, has made it a topic around which Chinese people have spontaneously come together to express their opinion. During the 1990s discussions about seemingly innocuous topics such as public monuments and the transformation of the urban environment have increasingly become avenues for public debates and vehicles for the voicing of shared concerns. In this sense, architecture has become a neutral terrain for the expression of discontent about the current political system. This last section brings together many issues discussed throughout the book and which are related to the politics of image construction and urban redevelopment in Beijing. Through an investigation of the controversies that have surrounded the design of a grand national monument, the Beijing National Theatre, it examines the role of debates over the built environment as a catalyst for the development of a Chinese urban public sphere and a medium through which the democratic

226 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing process can be initiated. This section thus analyses how a single architectural project triggered unprecedented public discourse in the Chinese capital which went beyond simple architectural issues but rather focused on more political questions of social justice, national identity, and urban governance.

The Power of the Monument The monument has long played an important social role, as an historical marker, an object of collective representation, the expression of a particular ideology, and as a theatrical backdrop for dramatic representations and enduring civic display. Throughout world history, architecture has been put at the service of politics, to serve as an expression of the power, wealth, and idealism of the ruling elite.27 Capital cities, especially, tend to exhibit a deliberate architectural symbolism that distinguishes them from other cities, and to use architecture as a highly effective psychological mechanism to give form to the national myth implanted in the mass consciousness. They rely on monumental buildings as three dimensional representations of the ideals of the nation for the construction of a national pantheon. Monumental architecture plays a central role in underpinning state hegemony and glorifying political regimes, often acting as propaganda by which a government communicates its sponsor’s goals and ambitions and inspires citizens in the contemplation of state grandeur. Monuments are also designed to immortalize political regimes or men of state, and possess a permanent aesthetic value which awakes the imagination and seeks to demonstrate the triumph of power itself. While all political movements have used architecture and urban design to promote their own agenda and create a vision that would help legitimize their rule, nationalist regimes of an authoritarian nature have been particularly skilful in the manipulation of civic space to sanction their exercise of power. With their control of space and monopoly over use of force, autocratic governments are able to reshape entire cities to celebrate their regimes, ease their dominion over society, and consolidate their own power. Chinese communists made extensive use of monumental architecture in the establishment of their regime. Soon after the founding of the republic and the restoration of Beijing as its capital, public monuments intended to signify the edification of the nation began to appear. Monuments were erected to commemorate important national events, including anniversaries, among the most famous of which are the Monument to the Martyrs of the Revolution, the Great Hall of the People and the Museum of Revolutionary History, all built at Tiananmen Square on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the republic in 1959. On the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the nation in 1999, a series of

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 227 highly symbolic architectural projects was undertaken in Beijing in a clear attempt to outdo the tenth anniversary celebrations of 1959. Chinese leaders endorsed the construction of the long-awaited National Theatre, a project which for more than forty years had been paralyzed by conflicts over political interpretation and symbolic meaning, as the centrepiece of the government’s achievements in this anniversary year. The project had first emerged in 1958 as a proposal by the then premier Zhou Enlai to celebrate the first decade of communist rule. Following official approval in 1959, several lanes of low rise houses on the western side of the Great Hall of the People near Tiananmen Square were torn down to let excavation work begin. But Mao’s failed Great Leap Forward and the resulting famine of the early 1960s stopped government spending on the arts and compromised the theatre’s construction. Digging resumed in the mid-1960s only to be stopped again in 1966 by the Cultural Revolution. The national theatre project re-emerged after the Cultural Revolution in 1979 because of its publicity potential as a monument marking the beginning of a new era. But its realization was again compromised in 1982 when members of the National People’s Congress pushed a plan to use the site for their own office building. Internal disputes within the leadership on the best use for this prime piece of land in the symbolic heart of the Chinese capital precluded all development for years. The student protests of 1989 challenged the wisdom of building a major public attraction drawing crowds to Tiananmen. The land parcel which had for over thirty years awaited the theatre’s construction would remain empty for another decade, waiting for the political climate to cool. Finally, in October 1997 the Chinese government decided to revive the project of the Grand National Theatre as a monument to commemorate the nation’s fifty years of cultural accomplishment. The revival of the National Theatre project emerged in the midst of the ‘culture craze’ (wenhua re) of the late 1980s and early 1990s which Ann Anagnost characterizes as an ‘anguished search for the cultural impediments to an equivocal transcendence of China’s “backward” status in the global community of nation-states’.28 Yearning for the international respect and admiration that come with achievements in the arts, and acutely aware of their country’s low status on the international cultural scene, the regime was determined to give Beijing a cultural landmark, a theatre which could ‘surpass all existing theatres in the world’, and which could outdo Shanghai’s impressive new performing arts centre.29 The theatre was to become an emblem of late twentieth century modernity and a deserving symbol of China which could attract worldwide recognition and compete as a visual icon with structures such as the Sydney Opera House or the Grande Arche in Paris. From the outset the selection process for the construction of the Grand National Theatre in Beijing was paralyzed by public censure, shadowy government manoeuvres, and unending delays, which ultimately caused the project to miss

228 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing the fiftieth national anniversary deadline. The leadership’s high expectations for the monument proved difficult to reconcile in a single building. A first national design competition held in 1997 was plagued by controversy. The state’s desire for a monument on the cutting edge of international architecture, instantly recognizable as Chinese, and displaying both coherence and unity with its surroundings, put excessive pressure upon the participants. The attention given to the competition by international architecture critics and scholars, who regarded the project as one of the biggest architectural challenges of the late twentieth century, added tension to the design process. The project ultimately fell victim of its overambitious sponsors whose conflicting views prevented the selection of a satisfactory design, and the results of this first design competition were discarded for alleged unfair dealings. Early in 1998, Premier Zhu Rongji pressed for a new competition to be held and invited international design firms to participate. Forty-four architects, more than half of them Chinese and including those of world renown such as Jean Nouvel, Carlos Ott, Hans Hollein and Arata Isozaki, were invited.30 Resolved to redress the controversy which had compromised the first competition, authorities made a show of soliciting public opinion in the selection process. In July 1998, the forty-four models submitted to the Grand National Theatre Committee were displayed at the Museum of Revolutionary History on Tiananmen Square, attracting thousands of visitors. Beijing residents were pressed to visit the museum and voice their opinions on the different proposals by filling out questionnaires. The official media praised the exhibit as a rare exercise in democracy.31 However, it soon became clear that, rather than gauging public opinion on the design, the leadership was simply giving the illusion of public participation in decision making to assuage opposition in case an unpopular proposal was chosen. Soon after the exhibition, the selection process reverted to its normal authoritarian character, and the press remained silent on the issue.32 Two committees were set up to select the designs among which Chinese leaders would make their final choice. One was made up of eighteen architects, fifteen Chinese and three from the international community, while the other – the ‘proprietor committee’ – was composed of representatives from the Beijing city government, the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of Construction. The architects’ committee took part in the first two rounds of selection. But, when it came to picking the final candidates to submit to the leaders, a split developed between members of the two committees and the architects’ committee was sidelined and played no further part in the process.33 In May 1999, the proposals of French architect Paul Andreu, Canadian Carlos Ott, British Terry Farrell, and a team from the Architectural Institute of Tsinghua University in Beijing were finally submitted to the central government for consideration and approval.

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 229

Theatrical Debates In July 1999, eighteen months after the beginning of the competition, French architect Paul Andreu, known for his work on the Grande Arche de la Défence in Paris, was notified that his design for the opera house had been chosen and approved in principle by the authorities (Figure 6.7). While the decision was reported in the foreign press, it took months for the announcement to be made public in China where the competition results remained secret. National Day 1999 thus came and went with no public statement about the fate of the project.34 Excavation work on the project site began, unannounced, at the end of 1999, but mainland journalists were ordered not to report the news.

Figure 6.7. Paul Andreu’s controversial winning entry for the Beijing National Theatre. In the upper left corner one can see the back of the Great Hall of the People, which stands on the western side of Tiananmen Square and was one of the Ten Great Projects built to celebrate the 10th Anniversary of the People’s Republic in China in 1959.

For nearly nine months, the proprietor committee and the official Chinese press remained silent on the fate of the National Theatre. State officials would later excuse such reserve by pointing to the complex bureaucratic procedures and possible amendments the project still had to go through before gaining formal approval. But foreign commentators suggested that the announcement had been delayed for fear that popular reaction might compromise the fiftieth anniversary celebration. They insinuated that state officials knew the costly public project would outrage the population, at a time when state industries were ailing and millions of jobless people lived at subsistence level.35 It was only in late March 2000, when rumours that construction work had started began appearing in the local press, that authorities finally stepped in to clarify the issue.

230 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing In reality, by the time the official announcement was made, most Beijing residents already knew that a European design had been chosen. The secrecy which had surrounded the project had rapidly given rise to a lively rumour mill. As early as August 1999, the leadership’s choice for the design of the National Theatre was openly criticized in the Hong Kong press. The controversy rapidly spread on the mainland with the help of the internet, through which a group of important figures from the Chinese architectural world expressed their opposition to the project. Despite widespread knowledge of the competition result, the selected design took everybody by surprise when it was finally unveiled. The French architect’s winning entry consisted of a gigantic glass and titanium ellipsoid dome resting upon a pool of water and accessed through a submerged glass tunnel.36 Public reaction to the design was so strong that an April 1 official ceremony with Andreu and national leaders was cancelled at the last minute. As soon as the French architect’s design was made public, opposition to the project flew from all directions. Eminent figures of the Chinese architectural world, including world renowned Sino-American architect I.M. Pei, publicly voiced their hostility towards the design.37 Four leading mainland architects similarly expressed their disapproval in an open letter, published in the Journal of Architectural Studies (Jianzhu Xuebao) in March 2000. While initial criticism was confined to architectural circles, prominent members of professional or academic groups soon joined in their opposition. Criticism climaxed in June 2000 when two separate petitions, one signed by forty-nine members of the Chinese Academy of Science and Academy of Engineering and the other endorsed by 109 leading Chinese architects were submitted to president Jiang Zemin, demanding an unconditional reversal of the decision.38 It was not until mid-July 2000 that the press finally broke its silence on the National Theatre. Lifting a veil of secrecy that had surrounded the project for an entire year, the official media began to report the passionate debate over Paul Andreu’s design. Against all expectations, the press gave a surprisingly measured account of the project, presenting both its failings and merits in an objective way without necessarily endorsing the government’s views. For example, on July 15, 2000, the magazine China News published opinions – Chinese and foreign – both supporting and criticizing Andreu’s proposal. Rather than siding with the official decision, the article concluded with praise of the design quoted from the New York Times. Five days later, the Southern Weekend, China’s most independent magazine, presented a similarly balanced report on the project. A few weeks later in early August, the state-sponsored China Daily, defying all orthodoxy, finally took part in the discussion by dedicating an entire page to what it titled the ‘controversial project’. By openly siding with opponents of the project, the government-owned newspaper set a precedent in its disapproval of a major decision taken by the nation’s leaders.

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 231 General reproaches of Andreu’s design fell under several categories. The main area of criticism was related to the project’s extravagant size and cost. Opponents complained that even before construction started, Andreu had already tripled his original budget, and doubled the prescribed project area. The theatre’s 4.7 billion yuan (US$566 million) price tag made it one of the most expensive buildings of its kind in the world, costing more than the Lincoln Center in New York or the Sydney Opera House.39 For this reason, many people declared the project unfit for China, and regarded it as a waste of precious public funds.40 Project censors also questioned the very public character of the new monument, calling the theatre an impudently elitist fortress for the rich, foreigners, senior officials, or a twentieth century Forbidden City surrounded by its impassable moat. Opponents claimed that the high construction cost would translate into expensive tickets, out of the reach of ordinary people. Cynics suggested that the only way to avoid turning the theatre into a cultural ghetto for the economic elite would be to subsidize the tickets, an absurdity after daily necessities such as cabbage and public transportation were no longer subsidized.41 Other critics warned that the costly and extravagant theatre could become a financial burden for the city. They pointed at the impracticality of Andreu’s futuristic design, unfit for a city notorious for its ‘10 feet of red dust’ (shizhang hongchen) carried from the nearby Gobi desert. Even Andreu’s supporters conceded that maintenance fees to keep the glass dome clean would be hefty. The water pool was similarly denounced as a wasteful extravagance in the context of China’s limited resources. Apart from these more pragmatic considerations, important cultural and political issues also lay at the core of the debate. In China, hostility towards the project revealed an uneasiness with the idea that a foreigner could have been chosen to build a project of such national importance.42 It was clear that for many, a Chinese architect would have been the logical choice for such a national landmark. Much of the opposition’s discourse was thus filled with nationalist rhetoric at times fringing on xenophobia. It also revealed a rigid conception of Chinese ‘culture’ and a notion that only a Chinese architect would have what it takes to express this ‘culture’ in architectural form. To mark their disapproval, many opponents symbolically relabelled the Grand National Theatre as the ‘French Opera House’.43 The project reopened an important debate over the expression of a modern Chinese identity in architectural form. It revived the century-old dilemma between mimicking Western nations or drawing from China’s own past glories in defining Chinese modernity. Several members of the Chinese architectural community accused the project of being foreign to its historic setting, a stone’s throw from Tiananmen and the Forbidden City. Its futuristic image offended those who, like former chief architect Liu Xiaoshi, saw it as an expression of China’s blind worship of the West, betraying a lack of understanding of China’s culture and a lack of

232 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing confidence in its people.44 The metaphor Liu chose to describe Andreu’s design was a monster, ‘something that is totally foreign, from another planet’.45 Ironically, the most demagogic and xenophobic attacks on the project came from overseas Chinese, who carry their own essentialized – and often romanticized – conception of Chinese identity and of its expression in built form. Alfred Peng, a Chinese Canadian lecturer at Tsinghua University, denounced the French architect’s project as an arrogant and ignorant offence against the norms of Chinese architecture.46 ‘Andreu has no idea of Chinese culture’ said Peng. In one of the petitions submitted to the government, Peng argued that the design contravened a decision made in 1997 by the Sixth Plenum of the Communist Party leadership which stated that cultural projects must ‘express the superiority of our national culture and revolutionary cultural traditions and adopt the best of world culture’.47 Andreu was not the only victim of such criticism. Project opponents also targeted the state for having chosen the French architect’s design. As the debate mounted, the growing sense of euphoria at collectively castigating the project could soon be read as a thinly veiled censure of the state for its undemocratic decision-making process. Contestation of the project went beyond the realm of architecture, putting the whole political decision-making process in question, especially its lack of transparency and absence of public consultation. People began to criticize the obscure politics which had guided the selection process. The project became portrayed as an expensive folly commissioned by demagogic leaders more interested in national prestige, image, and personal gain rather than the well being of the nation. It would be no accident, critics suspected, if the projected completion date coincided with Jiang Zemin’s planned retirement, making the theatre the leader’s signature monument which would allow him to leave his mark upon Beijing. It was also suggested that the audacious project was chosen to give face to the leadership by reversing popular perceptions of party chiefs as conservative gerontocrats, and to create the image of a daring government, capable of bold actions to gain worldwide recognition into the new millennium. Intellectuals and architects were not alone to contest the design. Without access to the media, ordinary people found other, more symbolic ways to participate in the debate and voice their opposition to the project. The most widespread tactics of subversion used by the general public to discredit the design were mockery and ridicule, generally through the sardonic renaming of the structure. Ordinary citizens reworked the poetic metaphors often used to describe Andreu’s dome, such as a water drop, a pearl, or ‘an immortal pavilion on a lake’, by using more grotesque epithets to deride the futuristic project, likening it to a giant ostrich egg, a flying saucer, or, more crudely, to a ball of manure. Such apparently harmless renaming practices would turn out to be a powerful ‘weapon of the weak’ against

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 233 the project, forever tarnishing the pristine image of the theatre in the public eye, and endowing it with an air of ridicule and absurdity. The international architectural community also lashed out at the winning design. A December 1999 article in the world-renowned Architectural Review scorned Andreu’s ‘bombastic’ project as a ‘jelly-fish’ and a ‘shimmering blob’.48 Such foreign criticism of the project aggravated prominent members of the Chinese architectural community, and revealed their susceptibility to world opinion. In their petition to the central government, local architects pressed the state to abandon the project by playing the sensitive cord of Beijing’s international image, arguing that instead of elevating Beijing to the status of a sophisticated cosmopolitan metropolis, the ostentatious theatre would instead turn the Chinese capital into the object of world derision. ‘If this opera is built’, they wrote in the petition, ‘it will be the laughing stock of the entire international community and will tarnish the image of our government.’49 Of course, the project had strong supporters, both in China and abroad. Project proponents praised Andreu’s design for its boldness in breaking with tradition and its courageous departure from contemporary attempts at creating a modern Chinese architectural style, which had in recent years yielded a hotchpotch of variations on the pagoda theme. For them, the daring image of the project stood as a stimulating symbol of Chinese self-assertion and rapid modernization, and celebrated China’s entry into the twenty-first century as a major world power.50 ‘Beijing is no longer a traditional city. It is modern and international’ said University of Chicago art historian Wu Hung. ‘They’ve been experimenting with modern architecture in other parts of the city. Now it has broken into Tiananmen Square.’51 Others believed that the unique quality of the design would give Beijing an unrivalled landmark, instantly recognized all over the world.52 Andreu himself was not surprised by the protest and anger unleashed by his design. He pointed to other unconventional world-acclaimed national projects, including Chinese American architect I.M. Pei’s glass pyramid at the Louvre in Paris, which had initially given rise to similar controversy. ‘Creation always disturbs the past order and opens the future to change’ he told the China Daily in an interview.53 One of the most enlightened discourses on the project’s significance came from Andreu himself. Accusing his opponents of blind resistance to change, and challenging the notion of a fundamental Chinese culture closed to outside influences, the French architect explained that the power of Chinese architecture resides in its assimilation of new cultural forms. Andreu claimed that China needs projects like his to revitalize and enrich her modernizing culture. He described his project as more than a simple theatre, but a novel type of public space in the Chinese capital, free of the oppressive historical and political associations that places such as Tiananmen carry.54 However perceptive, the architect could not have foreseen the

234 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing extent to which his theatre would become a public forum for the residents of the city, even before it was built.

The Politics of Urban Redevelopment Initially, the government simply dismissed the wave of public opposition to the project, arguing that there was no reason to abandon a design rightfully selected by a fair international competition and supported by high level authorities including the appraisal committee, deputies of the National People’s Congress, and members of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference. However, as domestic opposition grew fierce and increasingly embarrassed the state, the government struggled to find an exit strategy which allowed Jiang Zemin’s decision to be reversed without the President losing face. Shifting the responsibility on to lower-level officials and alleging the need to conduct a final feasibility study, the leadership suspended the project on June 30 2000. While the official press claimed the break was only temporary, construction teams were dismissed and sent to work on other projects.55 For the Chinese public, this last interruption in a long series of historical delays and adjournments was seen as an important victory, however symbolic. This final moratorium on the construction of the ill-fated monument had been the work of the people. It proved that solidarity and relentless pressure could force the state to listen to the masses, and even succeed in reversing a unilateral decision, admittedly on a benign issue like architecture, but in a way that could open the door for changes at other levels. It would take 11 months for work to resume on the theatre in June 2001, only to stop again in November. In December 2001, after a 16 month consultation period, the green light was finally given for the construction of a scaled-down version of the theatre. The built area was reduced from 180,000 to 149,000 square metres, cutting the number of auditoriums from four to three and the cost from 4.7 billion to 2.7 billion yuan. The original 40,000 square metres parking garage was also excluded from the plan and will be built separately. Construction would be completed by the end of 2005.56 As work progresses on the national theatre, China still awaits a denouement to an epic decision-making process that lasted almost half a century. The national monument has already left a mark on the city as an icon of international fame, and will forever be endowed with a symbolic value rarely seen in other works of architecture. Long before construction is completed, the controversial history of the theatre has brought worldwide notoriety to the structure and placed it in the pantheon of revolutionary monuments strongly opposed by their contemporaries, including the Eiffel Tower and the Sydney Opera House.57

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 235 More importantly, the project has become an important symbol for Chinese society. By awakening unusual passions, the project has pushed a step further embryonic public debates over collective issues. The state’s refusal to involve the population in such a politically benign problem as the selection of a national architectural monument only results in growing distrust and anger among the people – including the official press – whose tolerance for authoritarian decision making is rapidly wearing out. The level of popular involvement in contesting the selection of the project also reveals people’s emotional investment in the transformation of their city, conceived as the symbolic heart of the nation, and as an essential part of their shared inheritance as an imagined community. This last case study demonstrates how recent urban image construction may do more than just build a capitalist friendly image for Beijing; it can unleash hitherto unheard of expressions of discontent and opposition vis-à-vis a government decision, however politically benign. Because it affects a large number of people in a very direct way, urban redevelopment has created a new sense of solidarity among Beijing residents and given people the courage to take a stand against government actions. The media, even the official one, has over the last few years been increasingly daring in criticizing decisions made by the leadership, especially those related to the urban environment. Mounting discontent with redevelopment has therefore triggered the emergence of activism in Beijing as people unite their voices to demand more transparent urban governance and popular participation in public affairs. The example of Beijing also suggests that the current use of cosmetic beautification as a tool of social control and popular pacification is highly unsustainable and may actually be counter productive. Urban image construction within the context of contemporary China also has serious implications for social stability. By camouflaging the deep social problems of Chinese society, and denying representation to certain population groups, such actions may in reality only exacerbate social instability and conflict, and ultimately tarnish Beijing’s international image.

Notes 1. 2. 3.

4. 5. 6.

Cai Weijun, 1998. He was the curator of the Beijing Art Museum. See Morales, De Los Reyes and Rich , 1999;. Fullinwider, 1999. Increasing reliance on horizontal ties of friendship, kinship or informal sociability began to challenge the vertical relationship between subject citizens and state agents. Important liberalization, notably in speech, publication, religion, assembly, and association, were also felt. See Davis, 2000, p. 3; Tu Wei-ming, 1994, p. xviii. Whyte, Howell and Shang Xiaoyuan, 1996; Brook and Frolic, 1997. Whyte, Howell and Shang Xiaoyuan, 1996 For example, in March 1999 the Beijing government held its first ‘Civilization Forum’ in Beijing to enquire about people’s conception of the capital’s image on the eve of the

236 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

7. 8.

9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18.

19. 20.

new century. The Forum invited citizens to voice opinions on specific issues related to Beijing’s transformation. Extensive coverage of the Forum in the official media provoked intense public response. However, this exercise in state democracy revealed an important gap between government concerns and popular aspirations in the leadership’s narrow focus on aesthetic issues and their citizen’s more practical concerns for problems of air pollution, environmental protection, traffic problems, and unemployment. To extend the idea of the public forum and further the appearance of transparency in urban governance, the city created a website which enabled local residents to voice their opinions on important public issues. see ‘Beijingers Outline Urban Image for the New Millennium.’ Travel China, March 10 1999, Vol. II, no.9–10, p. A.10. See, for example, Dowall, 1994; Leaf, 1995; Lu Junhua, 1993. Because of their endemic distrust for government agencies, especially at the lower level, people feared that many of the complaint letters they wrote to higher government authorities were intercepted by the district government who passed them on to developers who then used the information to buttress their own court cases. Every month, foreign and local newspapers carry stories of people fighting for the survival of their old houses. While foreign coverage focuses on issues of social justice and the loss of historic heritage, the Chinese press use the stories to trace the passing of an era and dismisses many of the fights as materially motivated. They show people are resolved to grab their share of the pie and squeeze as much as they can from the developer to get a better compensation package. See for example: O’Neill,1998b; Pool, 1998; ‘Battle For Beijing’s Ancient Courtyards’ South China Morning Post, August 27 1998; ‘That Was Beijing’, The Economist, September 9 2000 For example, an old calligrapher who lived near the Western end of Liulichang was given forty days to move out of his large historic courtyard house where he and his wife had raised their four children. But he refused to go. Because he had documents proving the historical significance of the house as the former residence of several famous artists and Beijiing opera performers, his resistance bore fruits. The house was ultimately demolished but the old artist received four new apartments as compensation, one of which is on the site of his old house and which he kept as his main residence. From an interview with Tsinghua University Planning professor Tan Ying, March 1999. Beijing housing regulation which stipulates that basement units cannot legally serve as housing. Edelman, 1995, p. 22. Lee, 1998. Wong, 1998. Cui Jian as translated in Pickowicz, Paul G., ‘Velvet Prisons and the Political Economy of Chinese Filmmaking’ in Davis, 1995, p. 201. ‘Power of the Powerless’ Beijing Scene, May 15–28 1998, Vol. IV no. 2, p. 4. This story about Zhang Dali is based on an interview with the artist at his house in May 1999. Also known as 18K or AK47, Zhang Dali, arrived in Beijing in 1983 to attend the prestigious Central Academy of Arts and Design. By the late 1980s, he had become one of the city’s most commercially successful modern painters. After the student massacre of 1989, he went into self-imposed exile to Italy where he conceived his long running graffiti project. He returned to Beijing in 1993. The term duihua – face-to-face conversation or dialogue – was a key word in the demands made by students of the 1989 democracy movement in their televised negotiations with the government. In contrast with the term jianghua – speech or talk – which is more generally used in political contexts and connotes the asymmetric, top down conditions of the Chinese political discourse, duihua symbolizes the integration of people’s opinions into the ruling process and implies a more equal exchange between participants. Although the artist has not explained the relationship between the title of his project and the democracy movement, the use of this historically loaded word implies a desire for a greater transparency in government-citizen relationships. Shadrack Smith, 1998; Loussouarn, 1998. Although Beijing has no graffiti tradition per se, there is a well-established practice of

Contested Visions: Resistance, Subversion, and the Politics of Urban Redevelopment 237

21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

37.

38. 39.

40. 41.

using the walls and other surfaces of the city for mass communication. From the pasting up of imperial edicts to the more recent posting of official newsprint and the display of propaganda billboards and large-character political slogans, city walls have long been used to convey the voice of the leadership to the population. The walls of the city have also been used as an outlet for protest against authority. The famous Democracy Wall, which appeared in west Beijing in late 1978 to be banished a year and a half later, is only one example of the subversive uses of the city’s walls to contest publicly government actions. In 1976, disillusioned Red Guards had similarly used the paving stones of Tiananmen Square to write poems of dissent. But in the midst of Beijing’s redevelopment, the closest thing to graffiti remains the ubiquitous Chinese character ‘chai’ white washed throughout the city to indicate that a building is scheduled for demolition, and whose oppressive image weighs like the trademark of a powerful street gang claiming the entire city as its territory. Cai Weijun, 1998. Zhang claims that his art is actually more humanitarian than political and despises the foreign press for portraying him as a political artist. He accuses foreign journalists of endangering his personal security by distorting his message to make him a political figure fighting for democracy. He was outraged when an interview he gave was reproduced in Asia Week under the title ‘Democracy Walls’. See Fathers, 1999. Yang Fudong and Jiang Shi, 1996. Yu Zhong, 1998; Zhao Guoming, 1998; Jiang Tao, 1998. Hang Cheng, 1998. Wu Hung, 2000. See, for example, Vale, 1992. Anagnost, 1997, p. 78. Shanghai’s new performing arts centre completed in 1998 on the renovated People’s Square was featured in several architectural magazines worldwide and attracted global media attention, instantly becoming one of the city’s main tourist attractions. Its popularity certainly irritated the Beijing establishment and revived the century-old rivalry between the mainland’s top two cities for modern infrastructure and sociocultural sophistication. ‘44 National Theatre Designs Received’, Beijing This Month, August 1998, p. 15; ‘Bid For National Theatre Design’ Beijing Review, June 1–7 1998, p. 30. Faison, 1998. O’Neill, 1999a. Dean,1998. Rosenthal, 1999b; Dean,1998. O’Neill, 1999a; O’Neill, 2000a. Incidentally, much like the Shanghai Grand Theatre which is an avant garde glass and steel structure built by a French architect, Jean-Marie Charpentier, the final selection for Beijing’s Grand National Theatre was the high-tech design of a leading French architect. Other critics include former Beijing Planning Bureau chief planner Liu Xiaoshi, nationally acclaimed architect Zhang Kaiji, and Construction Minister Yu Zhengsheng as well as three of his five vice-ministers. O’Neill, 2000a. 3.7 billion yuan would be provided by the central government and one billion yuan by the Beijing city government. The government ultimately demanded that Andreu cut his costs by 25 per cent to reach the initial project budget of 2.6 billion RMB (US$314 million) before getting final approval. Final estimates price the final project at around 3 billion yuan (US$361 million) (O’Neill, 2000b). O’Neill, 1999a; ‘Preliminary Choice Sparks Heated Debate’ China Daily August 9 2000. Project opponents argued that tickets at the Grand National Theatre would cost at least as much as at Shanghai’s new performing arts centre, where they ranged from 300 to 1,000 yuan in 1999, while statistics showed that the average Chinese earned no more than 452 yuan a month (O’Neill, 2000b).

238 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing 42. Rosenthal, 1999b. 43. Nationalist attacks on the project were of such a magnitude that by the end of August 2000, the French press began to suggest that the recent cooling off of Sino-French relations due to France’s recent sale of a satellite to Taiwan could have a negative impact and reverse the decision concerning the fate of the project (Haski, 2000). 44. O’Neill, 2000c. 45. Haski, 2000. 46. ‘French Bid Winner Defends His Plan For Grand Theatre’ China Daily. August 9. 2000 47. O’Neill, 2000c. 48. ‘Outrage: Paul Andreu Designs the National Theatre of China in Beijing,’ Architectural Review, 206(234) December 1999, p. 27. 49. Haski, 2000. 50. O’Neill, 2000d. 51. Rosenthal,1999b. 52. O’Neill, 2000c. 53. Andreu envisioned his building as a sort of indoor theatre district, with streets, plazas, exhibition sites, restaurants, shops, designed to be used throughout the day for a variety of activities by people from all walks of life. See ‘French Bid Winner Defends his Plan for Grand Theatre’ China Daily, August 9 2000. 54. ‘Defiant Design’ South China Morning Post, July 10 2000; Riding, 1999. 55. Tang Min, 2000; O’Neill, 2000a. 56. O’Neill, 2001a,b,c. 57. See Barthes, 1979, 1997; Drew, 1995.

The Making and Selling of Beijing 239

Chapter Seven

The Making and Selling of Beijing Study of city marketing and urban image construction in post-Mao Beijing reveals much about the ways in which Chinese society has been transformed during the last twenty-five years. The case studies presented in earlier chapters demonstrate how socio-spatial practices unveil the overt and covert values that dominate that society and expose the power struggles that define, transform and ultimately remake it. In Beijing, the exploitation of history and manipulation of the past in the production of a highly marketable national image – and one which could evoke patriotism – reflected China’s paradoxical position in its search for a modern identity. By blurring the boundary between memory and fantasy for commercial ends in the creation of a fabricated past at Yuanmingyuan, city marketers trivialized national history and distanced people from a meaningful historical experience. The case study suggests that by ignoring the rights and needs of local citizens in exploiting heritage sites, the state has demonstrated the precedence of economic growth over social welfare in its national policy, and its readiness to sacrifice local citizens in its drive towards global pre-eminence. The study of the commodification of public space in Beijing and its transformation into a stage for the celebration of conspicuous consumption at Wangfujing similarly exposed the power struggles which exist within the new class system that divides contemporary Chinese society. The political controversies that surrounded the state-led destruction of entire neighbourhoods to make room for commercial redevelopment revealed the extent of state corruption while discrediting the state’s claims to uphold socialist values and to work in the best interest of the Chinese people. Finally, the staging of grand urban spectacles and the hosting of major international media events to enhance the world image of both Beijing and China mirrored the new value system that now drives Chinese society. Scarce public funds were squandered to erect ‘potemkin’ façades reflecting the desires and expectations

240 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing of potential investors and visitors, while neglecting more pressing local needs such as employment, housing and education. The example of Beijing shows how urban images are much more than mere marketing tools. They must be read as ideology and as historical products, behind whose unified appearance lie struggles between various organized groups and contestation over use and meaning. The case studies show how, in Beijing, urban image construction was not simply a response to an economic imperative but also served a political purpose, as a means of popular pacification, a tool of social control, an instrument of state legitimization, and a mechanism of nation building. Furthermore, it served to camouflage the unfair consequences of the new socialist market economy. City officials resorted to complex rhetorical exercises to present growing inequities as the inevitable consequences of economic growth, and to justify the eviction and displacement of the poor as a necessary sacrifice for the attainment of national prosperity. It is evident that Beijing’s urban image construction initiatives often resulted in great social hardship, including exclusion, displacement, and repression, while imposing new limits on civil liberties in the interest of creating the vision of a rational, secure, and ordered society. The case studies demonstrate that the negative economic impacts of these initiatives generally fall most heavily on the urban poor, who are further impoverished as a result of their displacement away from jobs and services. The main beneficiaries of urban image construction are generally those with political or economic power, and with important personal connections. Politicians, entrepreneurs, and members of the local elite reap substantial benefits from urban beautification and redevelopment, either as monetary profit or as political and social capital. Furthermore, the tax breaks and preferential treatment used to lure investors and wealthy outsiders, and to prevent the flight of the rich and powerful, often equate urban image construction with a transfer in resources from the poor to the affluent. By pandering to the rich and powerful, and granting privileges to those groups deemed necessary to economic development, urban beautification carries serious implications for social justice. Through their growing control of urban space, members of the ruling elite, property investors, and large corporations increasingly set the terms of membership in society by determining who will use, live in, and profit from that space. They use diverse strategies to sanction some actors as participants in urban life while separating, isolating, and marginalizing others. By exploiting the power of images and their mental and emotional associations to symbolize ‘who belongs where’, city marketers exclude large segments of local society from full participation in urban life, and project a vision of urbanity where the poor and the marginal clearly have no place.

The Making and Selling of Beijing 241 A unique aspect of urban image construction in Beijing is that part of the elite who motivated, engineered, and benefited from image construction was not locally based but made up of outsiders, predominantly from Hong Kong. Overseas Chinese have played a major role in defining Beijing’s modern image, exemplified by the ascendancy of Hong Kong as the new urban model, and of Hong Kong values as modern Chinese values. As they gain political favours from their economic generosity in China, members of the Chinese diaspora also represent an important new generation of power holders in the mainland. The presence of this trans-national elite is becoming so pervasive that it is now perceived as a menace by Chinese citizens, who have themselves little say in the transformation of their city. In its packaging and showcasing of culture, history, and place identity, urban image construction alters the collective memory embodied in the walls and streets of a city, and influences the social construction of meaning. It is a process through which identities are defined, debated, and contested, and where social order is challenged and reproduced. Although the identities assigned and disseminated by city boosters attempt to reduce several competing visions of local identity into a single image to serve their purposes, the examples described here reveal the impossibility of representing the complex and multiple social relations of a city in a single image. Indeed, the case studies demonstrate that the practices of urban image construction are increasingly contested by insurgent groups and individuals who mobilize to fight growing inequity, reclaim their right to representation, and redefine the conditions of belonging to society. Despite their limited power, the people of Beijing have proved that, more than passive objects in the transformation of their city, they could also be subjects, participating fully in this transformation and occasionally becoming agents of change themselves. Within the limits imposed by the Chinese state, they used the built environment and everyday practices to challenge, reinterpret, and subvert the agendas of controlling groups. They resorted to tactics of ridicule, appropriation, unintended uses, or unruly behaviour to contest the false promises of this constructed image of modernity, conceived and imposed from both outside and above.

The Post-Mao Condition of Chinese Modernity In April 2003, the severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) epidemic broke out in Beijing. For many observers, the SARS epidemic marked a new threshold in China’s history, and signified the beginning of a new era of change, under the leadership of president Hu Jintao, who had been in office barely a month at the time.1 For over two months, Beijing was plunged into a torpor reminiscent of the aftermath of Tiananmen. Streets were empty, tourists stayed away, and the city’s

242 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing bustling economy stood still. The scandal that surrounded state attempts to cover up the real extent of the outbreak greatly affected the world image of both the city and the new leadership, and was a severe blow to the Chinese Communist Party’s political legitimacy. Growing popular restlessness coupled with travel warnings from the World Health Organization exerted tremendous pressure on the Hu government. A few weeks into the outbreak, the government unexpectedly changed its position and decided to face the crisis as openly and transparently as possible. Soon, the official press began publishing daily reports on the progression of the disease as well as critical analyses of the many faults in the system that had led to the outbreak. China’s deficient sanitation system, its faltering social welfare system, uneven access to resources as well as the widening income gap were all identified as threats to China’s recent achievements. The Chinese press also pointed the finger at the important ‘problems and contradictions’ in Chinese society – the common euphemism for rampant corruption, opportunism, and unemployment. It was quick to criticize the national infatuation with getting rich overnight, and warned of its potentially dreadful consequences for Chinese society as a whole. The media also suggested that government priorities in the post-SARS period could no longer be narrowly focused on economic growth but would have to serve the interests and the rights of the Chinese people.2 In many ways, the SARS outbreak acted as an eye-opener on the failings of a society where the monotonous equality of socialism had been replaced by the spectacular inequality of capitalism. It was a time of acute introspection for many Beijingers, and an opportunity to look back on the last two decades. It is ironic that it was to take the SARS outbreak for Chinese society to acknowledge the existence of an even more devastating epidemic: the obsession with money that had spread as a social disease throughout the 1990s. The epidemic forced people to realize that modernization is not only about the individual pursuit of money, material comfort, and symbolic capital, but that it is a societal project that depends on the involvement of all members of society to succeed. The SARS outbreak would also prove pivotal in helping the new leadership distance itself from its predecessors, by revealing its willingness to admit to its faults and to be held accountable. In fact, observers suggested that the SARS crisis could mark the beginning of a new era for China and would have long-term effects on Chinese society.3 The end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first century were tumultuous times in China, marked by transformations that challenged all certainties of life, and brought growing insecurities. It was a period of intense change which greatly altered China’s social and physical landscapes and affected the experience of everyday life. The 1990s brought the rise of commodity fetishism and the appearance of major increases in consumption, novel forms of leisure and entertainment, increased mobility, rapid population increase, and new modes of

The Making and Selling of Beijing 243 living and working. It also brought the experience of new material circumstances, and new forms of social and spatial inequality. The last decade of the twentieth century was, to say the least, a disturbing and uprooting time in a society marked by the incessant spectacle of the new, and the constant displacement of the familiar. It was also the occasion of an important re-examination of the national past and of intense national questioning into the nature of Chinese identity. This period of intense social and spatial reconfiguration can be characterized as the passage to a new phase in the Chinese experience of modernity. Far from being uniform, this post-Mao vision of Chinese modernity was made up of multiple, simultaneous, and competing visions, which often seem violently opposed to one another. Chinese society appeared deeply divided between a fascination with world culture and cosmopolitanism, an overwhelming desire to be accepted in the league of modern nations, and an acute yearning to demarcate itself as Chinese through a renewed emphasis on the past and local cultural traditions. What makes these multiple expressions of modernity unique to China is the way global and trans-national forces have been worked and reworked to fit historically specific local circumstances. Like all modernities, Chinese modernity is highly hybridized, shaped by a mix of trans-national currents such as global capitalism, the development of information technologies that allow for a greater connectedness with the rest of the world, as well as growing ties with the imagined community of modern Asian nations. It is equally fashioned by local historical and political conditions, including recent socialist history, imbued of the rhetoric of universal modernity and a belief in order, rationality and efficiency. As the studies of Beijing demonstrate, the Chinese experience of modernity was also shaped by China’s historically ambivalent relationship with Western modernity. Long defined in reaction to the West, Chinese modernity remains characterized by a both muted admiration and a profound distrust of the Occident. Construed and imagined as essentially Asian, it nonetheless remains deeply marked by the global consumer culture of world capitalism and by pressures to conform to Western images of modernity. During the 1990s, Beijing was swept into a new phase of capitalist modernization and the city’s urban landscape was transformed by successive waves of speculative investment and creative destruction, resulting in unprecedented population displacement. Within a decade, the city became increasingly ruled by outsiders, where even long-term residents have themselves become migrants. While some people envision modernization as a positive endeavour, a mark of remarkable achievement, or as a liberating force bringing the possibility of change; for others, it remains a suspicious and illusory goal and a threatening force that is both alien and alienating. Today, there remains a strong and undeniable desire for modernity among the

244 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing Chinese population, as the guarantor of a better life through wealth, freedom, and the restoration of national pride. But this appeal is increasingly resisted by those left behind or victimized by modernization. Although the call for modernity is often defined in patriotic terms and perceived as a nationalist endeavour which demands important self-sacrifice, Chinese people are increasingly suspicious of state-led modernization. As the case studies show, there is a growing intolerance of state excess and a sense of mistrust for spectacular projects such as the Three Gorges Dam or the Beijing National Theatre. As the 2008 Olympics draw near, a certain sense of wariness can be felt among the masses who fear they will once again be the ones to pay the price for such extravaganza. Such widespread mistrust and resentment have weakened people’s willingness to embrace the state’s vision of modernity ‘at all cost’ and to make important sacrifices without the assurance of future benefits. The case studies suggest that people will do all they can to subvert this imposed vision and trace their own alternative path to modernity.

Conclusion Recent city marketing efforts in Beijing revealed with unusual clarity the deep contradiction that characterizes contemporary Chinese society, a society which remains at least nominally socialist while being increasingly dominated by free-market ideology. This contradiction, which stems from seemingly opposed ideological and economic imperatives, was made plain by the impossibility of producing a coherent image for the Chinese capital which could reconcile international demands for a market-friendly environment, tourist demands for an ancient capital city, government desires for a modern socialist capital, elite aspirations for a cosmopolitan metropolis, and popular pressure for a socially responsive urban environment. In reality, urban image construction was instrumental in fostering sociospatial polarization and inequality, and in exacerbating pre-existing development challenges. By creating a new spatial logic inspired by market imperatives, the recent restructuring of the Chinese capital led to the establishment of new class relations and new patterns of urban segregation to a degree unknown in pre-reform Beijing, thereby negating the efforts of forty years of socialism. The frustrations and resentment expressed by many city residents towards image construction initiatives epitomize the growing clash between the global aspirations of a ruling elite, the more pragmatic needs of a disillusioned population, and the ideological confusion of aging socialist leaders who have accepted the logic of the market as the driving force for improving the quality of urban life. Recent urban redevelopment efforts in Beijing also exemplify the clash between two visions of the city: the abstract space imagined by the state and its planners,

The Making and Selling of Beijing 245 and the lived space experienced on a daily basis by the masses. There is a great disjunction between the image of the city as imagined in state fantasies as a blank slate onto which universal principles can be projected, and the city of its inhabitants conceived as a palimpsest, textured and animated by layers of history, memory, and everyday practices. These two conflicting visions of urban space are at the heart of most contemporary conflicts over urban image construction, including in China where top down attempts towards urban modernization are increasingly contested by grassroots social movements. By disavowing the complexity, diversity, and dynamism of urban life, the Chinese state failed to acknowledge the historicity and contingency of spatial representations and projections. This book demonstrates how the abstract vision of power and domination found in state conceptualizations of the city is doomed to produce popular repression and censorship, and thus to be resisted, contested and reworked in everyday practices. Finally, the example of Beijing suggests that current approaches to city marketing and urban image construction are highly unsustainable and may actually be counter productive. By camouflaging the deep social problems of Chinese society, denying representation to certain population groups, and putting resources into the hands of a few, image making initiatives may threaten local stability by upsetting the delicate balance of power between competing social forces. Such actions may escalate into violent conflict and social upheaval, and ultimately tarnish the city’s international image. On the other hand, urban image construction also carries positive long-term effects as a vehicle for important transformations in Chinese society. It could act as a catalyst in promoting potential social change by provoking the creation of an urban public sphere, eventually leading the way for the development of civil society. Because of its unyielding and peremptory character, urban redevelopment triggered intense public discussions in Beijing about notions of national identity and urban governance and instigated embryonic debates about social representation and the constitution of citizenship in contemporary China. By attracting global attention and placing local states under world scrutiny, urban image construction can help in eroding the state’s power of coercion and invite criticism of its megalomaniac practices, thereby discrediting the city’s image in the eyes of the world. Urban image construction may thus become an avenue for opposition groups to challenge the hegemony of those in power. Today, no one can deny the vast improvements in China’s overall conditions brought about by the last twenty-five years of reforms and modernization. However, its is also true that globalization and marketization have benefited a few while making many people more vulnerable. Chinese society has thus become increasingly fragmented, plagued by growing social inequality, and spatial segregation. Recent image construction endeavours have tried to camouflage such

246 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing shortcomings but in the process, they have only provoked the anger and resentment of the population. As the 2008 Olympics grow near and image construction efforts accelerate, those contradictions will only intensify. There are growing signs that the walls of this potemkin façade may come tumbling down, revealing deep cracks in the foundations of modern Chinese society.

Notes 1.

2.

3.

Laurence Brahm. China heads into a new cycle of reform. South China Morning Post, June 8 2003. Jonathan Story. China's cautious path to managing change. South China Morning Post, June 4 2003 SARS, a Valuable Lesson for Chinese Gov't to Learn. People’s Daily, June 09, 2003, Xinhua. Learn from SARS for reform, development and stability. China Daily, June 30 2003. Laurence Brahm. China heads into a new cycle of reform. South China Morning Post, June 8 2003. Jonathan Story. China's cautious path to managing change. South China Morning Post, June 4 2003.

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266 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing

Index advertising 1, 18, 21, 26, 77, 95, 98–99, 109, 117, 151, 162–165, 179, 180, 213 aestheticization 4–5, 20, 34–37, 160 Agnew, John 8, 22 Ahern, Emily M. 206 allied expedition 58 allied troops 54, 57–62, 66, 69 AlSayyad, Nezar 22, 88 Amin, Ash 22 Anagnost, Ana 176, 204–205, 227, 237 Anderson, Benedict 88 Arlington, L.C. 23, 102, 144 Ashworth, G.J. 39, 40 Asian games 21, 76, 149, 152–163, 166, 202, 206, 220 Attiret, Jean-Denis 52–54, 89 Barthel, Diane 90, 91 Barthes, Roland 238 Baudrillard, Jean 22 Bauman, Zygmunt 22, 23 beautification 4–5, 25, 27, 32–34, 41, 50, 109, 142, 148–149, 154, 160–163, 166, 172, 174, 177, 181–185, 191, 196–198, 202, 205, 208, 235, 240 Beijing Department store (Wangfujing) 105, 106, 111, 131, 134 Beijing University 62, 122, 147, 214. Benjamin, Walter 12, 16, 23, 148, 180, 201 Berlin 35, 41 Berman, Marshall 23 Beurdeley, C. 89 Bhabha, Homi 22–23 Blofeld, John 17, 23 Bodde, Derk 144

Bonavia, David 1, 22 Boxer Rebellion 61, 64, 90, 97 Boyer, M.C. 22, 41, 142, 147 Bredon, Juliet 23, 62, 90, 97, 101, 143, 144 Bridge, Ann 99, 144 Brownell, Susan 29, 40, 202 Cameron, Nigel 89, 90 capitalism 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 14, 15, 21, 22, 95, 108, 114, 142, 145, 242, 243 Castells, Manuel 7, 8, 22, 95, 205 Castiglioni, Giuseppe 54–57, 67, 84, 89, 129, 177, 187, 201, 232 Chang’an Avenue 36, 97, 107, 118, 125–126, 137, 143–145, 154, 163–173, 185–191 195, 197, 202–203 Changchunyuan 47, 88 Chen Xitong 66, 108, 118–120, 139 Cheung Kong Holdings 139, 145 Chiang Kai-shek 35, 143 Christie’s 84, 85, 131, 143 city marketing 2, 18, 25–28, 34, 39, 108, 142, 149, 239–245 civil society 39, 210–213, 245 civilization 3, 14, 31, 36, 63–64, 77, 176– 182, 192, 202, 205, 235 Clunas, Craig 80, 92 Cody, Jeffrey 41 Cohen, Michael 7, 22 Combaz, G. 89 commercialization 76–80, 126, 164 commodification 4, 10, 20, 21, 42, 94, 113, 239 connections (see guanxi) consumerism 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 21, 95, 107, 117, 141

Index 267 corruption 10, 64, 80, 81, 119, 141–143, 194, 211, 213, 215, 218, 219, 239, 242 Cui Jian 219, 220, 236 Cultural capital 27, 42, 87, 117, 125 Cultural Revolution 9, 31, 36, 64, 65, 71, 86, 105, 132, 190, 227, 250 danwei (work unit) 64, 116, 154, 223, 259 Davis, Deborah 24, 235, 236 De Certeau, Michel 34, 40 Debord, Guy 22 democratization 10, 17, 157, 199, 200, 210, 212, demolition 70, 112, 115, 124, 126, 129, 171, 184, 185, 186, 203, 205, 208, 214, 215, 221, 222, 225, 237 demonstration 31, 35, 36, 84, 127, 155, 161, 185, 190, 202, 203, 211, 213, 214, 216, 217, 220 Deng Xiaoping 9, 12, 37, 139, 143, 190, 193 Dialogue (graffiti project) 219–224, 236 diaspora (Chinese) 14, 21, 39, 86, 95, 156, 157, 241 discontent 6, 21, 39, 128, 195, 197, 207, 209, 211, 212, 225, 235 Disney 37, 67, 74–76 displacement (see also relocation) 5, 70, 127, 129, 131, 133, 138, 143, 150, 215, 240, 243 distinction 4, 5, 9, 37, 116, 177 Dong An market (Dong An Bazaar or Old Dong An) 102–106, 111–117, 125–126, 144 Donghuanmen night market 96, 131, 136–137 Dongtang (East Cathedral) 99, 101, 132 Dutton, Michael 24, 117, 145 Elgin, Lord 58–60, 66, 89 England 58–59 Erickson, B. 39, 40 Esherick, Joseph W. 40, 144, 206 European palaces 55, 56, 60–65, 76, 78, 81, 86, 89–91 eviction 75, 87, 115, 118, 132, 133, 150, 178, 179, 185, 201, 214, 240 Fainstein, Susan 22, 40, 88 Fairbanks, J.K. 40 Falun Gong 161, 186, 187, 198 Favier, Alphonse 61, 91 Featherstone, Mike 22–23 fiftieth anniversary 12, 21, 77, 123, 137,

149, 161–174, 177, 182–187, 190–197, 202–206, 226–229 Fitzpatrick, Sheila 40 Fontainebleau 69 Forbidden city 36, 46–49, 68, 96, 98, 109, 123, 140, 164, 167, 171, 177, 184, 191, 201, 220, 231 foreign legations 60–62, 97–101, 143. Foucault, Michel 13, 23, 40, 175, 203, 204 Fragrant Hills 88 France 58–61, 84, 92, 238 Fuhai lake 47, 62, 65, 74, 76, 92 Fukuyama, Francis 3, 22 Gamble, Sidney D. 144 Gaubatz, Piper 24, 204 Geertz, Clifford 30, 206 gentrification 6, 26 globalization 6–8, 28, 245 Gordon, Charles (Chinese Gordon) 22, 58, 89, 235 grafitti 6, 209, 219–225, 236, 237 Grand Manner urbanism 35–37, 167 Great Hall of the People 35, 112, 119, 121, 167, 183, 191, 226–229 Great Leap Forward 105, 227 guanxi (connections, relational network) 15, 23, 132–134, 142, 215, 218, 240 Guldin, Greg 24 Habermas, Jurgen 22 Haidian (town, district) 58, 71–74, 91, 185, 206 Harvey, David 4 Haussmann 33, 35 He Zhongyi 67, 91 heritage 5, 20, 21, 42–46, 65, 68, 70, 76–79, 84–88, 94, 119, 120, 171, 236, 239 Holcomb, Briavel 88 Holston, James22, 23, 40 homogenization 5–8, 15 Hong Kong (Special administrative region) 11, 21, 23, 60, 66, 74, 76, 84, 85, 91, 95, 111, 114, 116–119, 123, 127, 134, 135, 138–142, 152,m 157, 194, 196, 223, 230, 241 Hugo, Victor 52, 59, 88, 90 hukou (residence permit, registration system) 91, 136, 154, 177, 178, 205, 223 Hussey, Harry 99, 144 Hutchison Whampoa 139, 141, 145 hutong (alleys) 96, 102, 104, 117, 126, 129, 132, 142, 144, 146

268 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing identity, politics 6, 11,20, 27, 39 identity, Chinese 2, 10, 30, 231, 232 ideology 2–5, 9–10, 13–14, 17, 27, 38–39, 44, 116, 117, 196, 197, 219, 226, 244 Imperial city 96, 102, 105, 146, 163 imperialism 11, 13, 14, 29, 45, 65, 76, 77, 82, 83, 87 International Olympic Committee (IOC) 155–160, 197–202 Irisson, Maurice Hérisson, comte d’ 54, 89 Japan 15, 61, 97, 108, 156. Japanese occupation 62, 105 Jesuit 50–56, 89, 96, 101 Jia Qinglin 178, 204 Jiang Zemin 22, 123, 140, 151, 186, 191, 193, 206, 216, 230, 232, 234 Jingshen wenming (see spiritual civilization) Jinyu hutong (Goldfish alley) 102, 104, 126, 144 Jixiang theatre 104, 125–127 Jonathan, Philippe 41, 89, 102, 144 Judd, Dennis, R. 40, 88 Kangxi (emperor) 47, 56 Kates, George 17, 23, 89 Kearns, Gerry 39, 40, 88, 143, 161, 201 Kissinger, Henry 31, 40 Korean War 23, 64, 105, 200 Kostof, Spiro 34, 40, 41 Kotler, P. 39, 40 Labyrinth (see Ten-Thousand flower maze) Le Corbusier 36 Leach, Neil 40, 201 Lefebvre, Henri 22, 26, 34, 40 legitimation 188, 189 legitimization 43, 240 Li Ka-shing 119, 122, 138,–141, 147 Li Peng 91, 119, 216 Liang Congjie 67, 120, 145 Liang Sicheng 23, 120 lieux de mémoire 45, 81, 82, 88 Lin Yutang 23, 125 Liu Sola 1, 22 Liu Xinwu 31, 40, 202 Long March 23, 219 Loti, Pierre 17, 23 Lowenthal, David 89 Lu Junhua 195 MacAloon, John 156, 202

Macau 12, 66, 77 Malone, Carroll B. 53, 60, 61, 88–90 Manchu 46–48, 81, 89, 96, 97, 129 Mao Zedong 30–32, 36, 70, 117, 128, 153, 165, 167, 189, 190, 193, 206, 227 Marco Polo 36 marginalization 5, 6, 15, 136, 179, 240 marketing (see city marketing) marketization 9, 108, 245 Massey, Doreen 8, 22 McDonald’s 95, 107, 118, 119, 122, 140, 145, 165 memorial 64, 67, 76, 78, 82, 83, 88, 92, 165 memory 21, 27, 34, 42–45, 56, 64, 76, 80–82, 87, 168, 197, 239, 241, 245 Miandi 173, 204 Mianzi (face) 29, 40. migrants 4, 18, 74, 133, 135, 136, 146, 161, 177–179, 184, 205, 223, 243 Ming dynasty 46, 60, 80, 143 Minzheng Shi 175 modernism 1, 17, 32–38, 175, 201 modernity 2, 3, 8, 11–23, 28, 33, 38, 88, 94–98, 110, 114, 116, 120, 132, 136, 149, 153, 158, 159, 162, 175, 1760180, 187, 194, 199, 201, 205, 227, 241–244 modernization 2, 12–18, 30–34, 38, 107– 111, 114, 117–122, 128, 132, 134, 136, 139, 141, 150, 163, 169, 173–178, 180, 185, 190, 201–204, 209, 214–222, 233, 242–245 Mollenkopf, John H. 22 Montauban, de (general) 54, 58, 69 monument 17, 31, 52, 62, 67, 76, 77, 92, 119, 121, 160, 167, 169, 222–228, 231–235 Morisson Hedda 62 Morisson, George E. (Morisson Street) 99 Munthe, Johan W.N. 69. Mussolini, Frederico 35, 41 Nanjing 17, 35, 41, 98, 143, 204 Napoleon III 35, 58, 69 Naquin, Susan 16, 17, 23, 24 National day 174, 178, 184–190, 196, 206, 229 National relics bureau 85 National Theatre (Beijing) 209, 225–231, 234, 237–238, 244 nationalism 7, 10, 11, 45, 60, 159, 205 NATO 11 New Summer Palace (Yiheyuan) 62, 88, 90

Index 269 Nillson, Johan 203, 204 Nixon, Richard 31, 40, 156 Nora, Pierre 45, 88

Qing dynasty 3, 17, 46–52, 57, 60–62, 65, 67, 69, 72, 74, 79, 81, 86, 88, 91, 96, 97, 100, 102, 125, 130, 146, 171, 184

Old summer palace (see Yuanmingyuan) Olympic Games 21, 73, 148–161, 197–207, 244, 246 Ong, Aihwa 15, 23 Open Door Policy (see reforms) Opening and Reform Policy (see reforms) Opium War 23, 44, 45, 54, 57, 60, 96 Oriental Plaza 107, 111, 117–128, 132, 134, 137–141, 145, 146

redevelopment 6, 21, 26, 28, 38, 95, 108, 109, 111, 114–119, 124, 127–134, 141– 143, 150, 163, 202, 208–225, 239–254 reforms 2, 5, 9, 10, 12, 17, 23, 28, 32–39, 65, 94, 106, 126, 141, 150–166, 182, 183, 190, 199, 200, 204, 210, 211, 218, 222, 245, 246 registration system (see hukou) relocation 70–74, 127, 130–134, 170–171, 184, 204, 213–215 Relph, E. C. 22 renovation 65, 68, 86–88, 102, 109–111, 118, 126, 135, 144, 168, 201 representation 4–6, 18, 21, 26–31, 34, 38, 39, 43, 76, 92, 142, 148, 149, 153, 167, 168, 176, 180, 188, 209, 225, 226, 235, 241, 245 repression 28, 30, 117, 120, 150, 154, 176, 187, 196, 197, 199, 211, 240, 245 republican government 35, 62, 99, 143, 163, 175, 189, 202, 204 residence permit (see hukou) Riegl, Aloïs 92 ritual 20, 21, 34, 49, 76, 77, 148, 149, 161, 176, 179, 186–190, 205, 206 Ritzer, George 95, 143 Rofel, Lisa 14, 18, 23, 24 Rome 35, 125, 148 Russia 30, 40, 61, 70

Palikao, Comte de 90 Panpan 153, 155 parade 35, 164, 168, 187–196, 206 Paris 33, 35, 52, 59, 69, 90, 91, 101, 125, 151, 159, 161, 227, 233 patriotism 10, 35, 39, 64, 76, 77, 83, 88, 151, 156, 175, 176, 181, 191, 193, 195, 239 Paul Andreu 228–233, 238 Paz, Octavio 12 Pekin Opera 126, 146 Peking Medical Union College 99, 105 Peng, Alfred 232 People’s Liberation Army 85, 132, 169, 181, 189 Perry, Elizabeth 24 Ping An Avenue 169–171, 203, 214 place identity 26, 27, 241 political 21, 148, 149, 153 political theatre 31, 163, 189, 196 pollution 34, 114, 160, 163, 172, 173, 178, 198, 204, 236 poster 32, 57, 106, 179–181, 188–190, 214–217 potemkinism 30, 31, 40, 148, 153, 154, 163, 167, 191, 195, 208, 239, 246 Pred, Allan 22, 23 preservation 26, 24, 59, 66, 67, 68, 72, 76, 80, 82, 86, 87, 118, 120, 123, 171, 215 propaganda 19, 30–35, 76–78, 81, 82, 106, 117, 128, 155, 158, 173, 176, 179–181, 188, 195, 214, 226, 237 public health 161, 181 public security 41, 132, 152, 161, 169, 176, 178, 185, 215 public space 5, 84, 95, 104, 116, 176, 233, 239 public sphere 5, 104, 210, 211, 212, 219, 225, 245 Qianlong (emperor) 47–52, 54, 56, 60, 65, 67–69, 80, 83, 89

SARS 241, 242, 246 Sassen, Saskia 22 Ségalen, Victor 17 segregation (spatial, urban) 6, 39, 244, 245 selling places 20, 25, 26, 43, 94 Sennett, Richard 22 Seoul 150, 156, 199–202 Shanghai 16, 17, 24, 111, 128, 137, 138, 195, 205, 212, 227, 237 Shi Minzheng 143, 144, 204 shopping mall 2, 5, 21, 87, 94, 95, 111–118, 122, 135–136, 138, 147, 183 Silk Market (Silk Alley) 184, 205 Simmel, Georg 12, 16 Sitwell, Osbert 17, 23, 89 social inequality 6, 142, 211, 219, 223, 242–245 social justice 46,142, 212, 226, 236, 240 social order 33, 41, 117, 174, 241

270 The Making and Selling of Post-Mao Beijing social reforms 5, 33, 38, 149. 160, 161, 174–177, 182 social welfare 9, 155, 196, 239, 242 socialism 9–10, 14, 30–31, 35, 117, 161, 165, 190, 196, 242, 244 socialist market economy 9, 22, 38, 143, 175 Solinger, Dorothy 24, 205 Soong Qingling 65 Sotherby’s 84–85 South Korea 156, 199–201, 207 Soviet Union 14, 30, 35, 36, 189, 205 spiritual civilization 77, 176, 179, 205 Stalin 30, 35, 36, 40, 206 status 14, 16, 37, 38, 47, 48, 60, 61, 85, 98, 99, 111, 114, 132, 135, 209, 227, 233 subversion 6, 21, 83, 129, 187, 188, 190. 209, 211, 223, 232, 237, 241, 244 Summer Palace (see Yuanmingyuan or New Summer Palace) Sun dong an (Xin Dong An) 11–117, 126, 132–139, 145 Sun Hung Kai 111, 114, 138, 139, 145 Sun Yat-sen 65, 189, 206 Sydney Opera House 227, 231, 234 symbolic capital 242 symbolic discontent 6, 21 Taiwan 77, 92, 144, 157, 199, 238 Tan Ying 133, 146, 236. Ten-thousand Flower Maze 55, 57, 65, 76, 81 theme parks 4, 66, 75, 79 Thiriez, Régine 90 Tiananmen Square 12, 23, 36, 37, 45, 77, 82, 111, 118, 120, 121, 123, 127, 144, 152, 154, 156, 157, 163–169, 176, 183, 186, 187, 190–194, 197–199, 206, 211, 212, 220, 226–231, 233, 237, 241 Tibet 12, 129 Tokyo 91, 121, 138, 156, 203 tourism 17, 19, 26, 28, 37, 42, 66, 76, 86, 151, 182, 183, 201 transnationality 3, 5, 15, 39, 95, 96, 99, 117, 241, 243 Treaty of Tientsin (Tianjin) 57, 60, 89, 96 Treaty port 16, 57 Tsinghua University 23, 63, 67, 68, 79, 81, 82, 88, 89, 91, 114, 133, 145, 146, 195, 203, 214, 228, 232, 236 Tu Wei-ming 235

Tung Chee-hwa 139, 141 unemployment 177 unequal treaties 78, 82 UNESCO 85, 151 United Nations Conference on Women 151, 200 United States 44, 157 unrest 10, 172, 206 urban design 33, 37, 109, 110, 150, 160 urban governance 4, 5, 25, 172, 189, 210, 219, 226, 235, 236, 245 urban image 4, 21, 26, 34, 35, 40, 148, 161, 239 urban image construction 3, 18, 20, 21, 25–27, 30, 32, 148, 149, 160, 235, 239, 240, 241, 244, 245 urban renewal 32, 33, 35, 149, 171, 202, 208, 212, 216, 221–225 Urry, John 22, 41, 88 Uyghur 185, 205 Varin, Paul 89, 90 Wang Guoyu 67, 88, 89, 91 Wangfujing Street 21, 95–119, 123–136, 140–146, 217, 239 Ward, Stephen V. 39, 40 Warner, Marina 54, 89 Watts, Michael 22, 23 Wenfang Tang 24 Wenming 176–178, 204 Westernization 7, 176 work unit (see danwei) World Cup 149 Wu Hung 92, 168, 203, 225, 233, 237 Xiaowei hutong 127, 129 Xidan street 106, 217, 218 Xin Dong An (see Sun Dong An) Xinjiang Alley 185, 186, 206 Xinjiang Province 90, 205 Yuanmingyuan 20, 21, 42–93, 223, 239 Yue Dong, Madeleine 91, 175, 204 Zhang Dali 219–221, 236 Zhengyue temple 71 Zhou Enlai 64, 70, 203, 227 Zhu Rongji 204, 228 Zukin, Sharon 22, 40, 41