Photos and text by Joseph Levendusky
The Forbidden City moat. The Forbidden City is the touchstone for all things Chinese.
Shot between August and November 2010, Beijing Journal is intended as a document of Beijing at this frenetic juncture in its history, when the city is at the height of transformation from the insular old Beijing of the dynasties and the rule of Mao, to that of a fully connected global capital. Rather than an exhaustive study, this work is intended to be a more personal record of the glimpses of Beijing life that revealed themselves in my explorations of the city. Most singularly, I was captivated by the vanishing traditional streetscapes of ancient Beijing—the hutong—and the people who lived in those narrow, lively thoroughfares as time gradually runs out on their way of life.
Old and New Beijing
The National Center for the Performing Arts. Designed by French architect Paul Andreu, it is one of the finest examples of contemporary building in Beijing.
The narrow alleyways of the hutong. Light plays deliciously at the beginning and end of the day.
Beijing’s skyline is bowl shaped. Its geographic and cultural center is the Forbidden City, the palace complex of the former Emperor. Low and sprawling, it is directly adjacent to Tian’an men Square, a vast open plaza of 100 acres, and the largest city square in the world.
For hundreds of years, these two landmarks were surrounded by sprawling expanses of predominantly single story buildings within the ancient wall built to defend the inner city. Having been pierced for through streets to accommodate vehicular traffic beginning in the 1920’s, the wall had been almost completely dismantled by the 1960’s, and is now merely delineated by the Second Ring Road (oddly, there is no First Ring) and the route of Circle Line Subway.
The inner city is famous for vast swaths of maze-like alleys called hutong, which are lined chock-a-block with traditional courtyard houses known as siheyuan. These neighborhoods and their way of life have changed very slowly and stubbornly, if much at all, over the course of centuries. The tall, dense development associated with contemporary Beijing, lies largely outside the second ring (there are now seventh and eighth rings). Particularly in the advent of Beijing Olympics of 2008, the Chinese government pursued a policy of headlong development in the capital city. Many star architects of the West were engaged to build innovative buildings. Rem Koolhaas’ gravity defying CCTV building is a stellar example. The National Center for the Performing Arts, designed by French architect Paul Andreu, is a subtle and stunning fusion of the contemporary with traces of traditional Chinese aesthetic. But much recent development lacks such distinction. Most noticeably the residential housing of the outer rings, whether built by Mao or by the contemporary Party, often appears poorly planned and banal.
The Hutong
Motor scooter repair in the hutong.
Red Flower Grocery. Located near Tian’an men Square in the Dahzalan district. The sign on the door says “Air Conditioned Inside”.
The word hutong means “alleyway” and comes from a Mongolian word for “well”. Centuries ago, a functioning well was a necessary amenity for each alleyway community.
The siheyuan, which crowd the maze-like networks of hutong, are designed to face inward onto an interior courtyard and thus turn bland and sparsely fenestrated brick and cement walls to the street. A touch of decoration is often reserved for the entranceways, which are typically flanked by drum stones or stone animal guardians. If the home was originally built for a person of means, the door may be decorated with leather and iron stud nails and carvings of characters representing Chinese aphorisms. One can rarely see into the courtyard from the street: the entrances were built with a turn or two to thwart evil spirits, who were believed to be unable to turn corners.
In accordance with the belief that life is best lived in physical contact with the earth, it is rare that a siheyuan is taller than one story. In dynastic Beijing, extended families occupied siheyuan, with different generations living in various rooms. After the Revolution all housing became the property of the state and most siheyuan were used as collective housing, with unrelated tenants sharing quarters.
In the early days of Communism, some hutong neighborhoods were rebuilt or renovated to better the quality of housing. But the vast majority were neglected and commonly bastardized by slapdash additions, often in the interior courtyards, and repairs done in resourceful, but provisional ways. Modern amenities coexist with ancient privations: Though every address in Beijing is guaranteed high speed internet access, most siheyuan lack indoor plumbing and are heated with coal brickets.
Still the hutong are marvelously human scale neighborhoods, with vibrant street life and a strong sense of community. With many eyes on the street, these generally poor neighborhoods are remarkably safe. Washing is routinely hung out in public to dry. Small informal, pop-up businesses abound, and vendors bring a diversity of goods directly to the door on their cargo tricycles—fruit, vegetables and so on. Each merchant pedals around and about the hutong, singing a distinctive song to alert the residents. Walking the hutong it is possible to hear many such songs at once. This cacophony, I was told by a well-traveled Beijing native, is the distinctive sound of Beijing in the summertime.
A Siheyuan. A Communist Party propaganda banner is affixed to the house.
An entrance to a Siheyan (courtyard house). Such an entrance is never directly into the courtyard or the house–there are always a few corners to turn. This is both for privacy and because it was once believed that evil spirits could not turn corners.
Fuxingmen neighborhood.
Dumpling Shop. Most businesses in the hutong are small and informal. The costs of starting a business are modest, ironically making for a wealth of small enterprise.
Fuxingmen. A simple board game becomes a public event attracting kibitzing spectators.
Demolition
Partially demolished restaurant in Dahzalan. The characters on the still intact window say, “Home Cooking”.
Dahzalan demolition area. A woman prepares food in a house that has been partially destroyed. Weary of the bad publicity due to forced evictions, the government adopted this tactic in dealing with those who refuse to leave. One wall of the house was demolished, leaving it open to the elements. The government then waits for the resident to leave of their own accord.
Though the Hutong areas have been shrinking since the 1940’s, over the past decade the Chinese government has pursued an aggressive redevelopment program that greatly resembles the much maligned slum clearance programs practiced in the US in the 1950’s and 1960’s. This program was greatly accelerated during preparations for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. Generally redevelopment has involved wholesale demolition of hutong neighborhoods and rebuilding high-density housing or commercial real estate.
Though the government has offered relocation compensation and replacement housing, this housing is often in the outer rings in anonymous high-rise developments that lack the character, community and human scale of the hutong, and often lack convenient basic services such as shopping and transportation as well.
This policy and the procedures implementing it have created widespread discontent. Charges of corruption and profiteering are routine. Many hutong residents have refused to leave their homes once they are scheduled for demolition. Some sincerely desire to stay, and others desire to negotiate higher compensation for relocation. Still others are lucklessly stuck trying to live normal lives in homes that, while not targeted for demolition, border on the demolition areas.
Initially the government responded by forcibly removing residents from homes. The images of elderly hutong residents being dragged from their homes generated massive ill will. The government then adopted the tactic of sparing the houses of hold-outs in demolition area, on the assumption that eventually they will leave rather than live in a rubble field. Recently, the government has often attempted to accelerate this process by sending work crews in to demolish one wall of a hold-out’s home, thereby exposing it to the elements. The woman pictured preparing food is living in a siheyuan with one wall demolished.
Dazhalan and Front Gate Avenue (Qian Men Dajie)
Front Gate Avenue. Acres of ancient hutong in the Dahzalan district were bulldozed to create this ersatz Chinese shopping mall which opened just prior to the 2008 Olympics. Note the birdcage light fixtures. The planters are replicas of the water cauldrons that were used for firefighting purposes in the Forbidden City.
Living with demolition. Dazhalan demolition area. Those who live on the edge of demolition areas attempt to live with some degree of normalcy amidst the chaos.
Much of the demolition in the past decade have focused around an ancient historic district just south of Tian’ an men Square called Da Zha Lan. Dazhalan sprawls westward from the north-south running Front Gate Avenue (Qian men Dajie) named after the gate in the long gone city wall that survives at its northern end. Here the street layout dates to the Ming dynasty and many individual buildings survive from the Qing dynasty.
Just outside the gate of the inner city, Dazhalan has, over the centuries, served variously as a center of commerce and foreign trade, an entertainment district, a red light precinct, a light industrial sector and a haven for migrants from many provinces seeking work and lodging in Beijing. Dialects from many regions of China are spoken and form the basis of social ties. Translation to and from Mandarin is the basis of relations between the diverse groups. Today Dazhalan and its surrounding neighborhoods are among the oldest, most fragile and most threatened of the existing hutong areas.
In the run up to the Olympics of 2008, the government began widespread demolitions along Front Gate Avenue, replacing venerable old buildings with a Chinese themed pedestrian shopping mall featuring architecture based on traditional designs. The planters that dot the avenue are replicas of the water urns that once protected the Forbidden City against fire. The street lamps mimic Chinese birdcages. An old time trolley car runs up and down the mall. Western brands like Starbucks dot the avenue and a nearby multi-story Walmart is the crowning gem among the improvements.
The Front Gate Shopping area managed to open just in time for the Beijing Olympics, but was surrounded by construction sites and areas in transition. That condition persisted in 2010. New construction, construction zones, demolition zones, western chain stores, traditional Beijing commerce, thriving residential hutong and abandoned hutong all existed cheek by jowl.
Wandering the areas adjacent to Front Gate Avenue, one can experience a dizzying sensation of cultural collision. Young Chinese dressed in designer brands rub elbows with old timers in Mao caps and Nehru jackets. One can eat Hagen Daz ice cream or savor a deep fried cruller made from walnuts that have been pulverized on the top of an old tree stump. A visitor can buy a Rolex watch or any bootleg DVD imaginable. The 20thcentury trolley clangs along carrying 21stcentury tourists and shoppers, while on the edges, the hutong, some barely wide enough to traverse single file, lead the way to centuries long gone.
The Gulou
A family has a meal in the Gulou district. The district’s eponymous Drum Tower was used in ancient times to mark the passage of the time of day.
Gulou demolition area. These men were refusing to leave their homes in the Gulou. The government bulldozed around their houses.
Gulou demolition area. A man looks out over the rubble field that once was his neighborhood. Given his refusal to leave, the government bulldozed around his house.
In the post-Olympic years, Beijing’s nascent preservation movement focused on the Party’s plan to raze acres of hutong in the Gulou district (named for its ancient Drum Tower). Much of this funky, artsy residential neighborhood was planned for redevelopment as a tourist district with a “Time Museum” as the main attraction (the drums of the Drum Tower were once used to mark the passage of the hours of the day).
The opposition to the demolitions in the Gulou was fierce and a number of residents refused to move. The government responded by razing all of the houses around those of the hold-outs. On a hot Sunday morning in August, I sneaked inside the blue steel construction barriers of one of the demolition areas in the Gulou, surveyed the rubble and remains of buildings, and visited with some of the refuseniks.
They greeted me with generous hospitality, good humor and a bit of broken English, expressing concern over the adequacy of my bottled water supply, given the heat of the day (one cannot drink tap water in Beijing). These men seemed excited by my interest in their neighborhood and allowed me to photograph freely. They showed me digital enlargements of photographs taken by other foreign journalists.
In October, I returned and found two of the five men still encamped in the rubble field. One of them, however, had passed away recently (the man with the white dog underneath his chair) and no one could tell me in English what had happened.
The Gulou marks the first preservation victory in modern Beijing. But victory came only after several acres of the district were razed and hundreds of residents were displaced.
Hou Hai
Hou Hai means “Back Lake”. Of the succession of six lakes that thread their way north to south in Beijing, the Hou Hai is the northern most and perhaps the loveliest. It is a popular place for a stroll or a picnic.
Hou Hai. A popular place to picnic and sing folk songs. Young Chinese adults are ardent admirers of American culture.
Within the boundaries of Beijing’s old wall, running north and west of the Forbidden City, is a meandering succession of six lovely lakes, one of the northernmost and prettiest of which is the Hou Hai (Back Lake). The Hou Hai runs from a café and entertainment district near the Gulou toward the Arrow Tower. The long narrow lake is a popular destination for weekend strollers and picnickers.
On a Sunday walk along the lakefront, I encountered a group of young people barbecuing, drinking beer and singing folk songs. Many of the young Chinese I met had an acute fascination with all things American. Here a young man with Roy Orbison sunglasses and a guitar regaled us with his rendition of Them Old Cotton Fields Back Home.
The Great Wall at Badaling
The Great Wall at Badaling. Visiting the Wall is a pilgrimage.
Chairman Mao so loved the Great Wall that he is oft quoted as saying, “He is not a man, who has not scaled the Great Wall.” And indeed he devoted significant resources and human toil to its preservation.
A public bus leaves Beijing, bound for Badaling, from the Arrow Tower, along the second ring. As I approached the tower on a crisp, sunny November day—the kind of weather the Chinese call “Tiger Autumn”—street vendors were selling steamed corn and roasted yams from the backs of the three wheeled cargo cycles that haul goods all over the city.
A majestic hawk circled the Arrow Tower. I took my place in the bus queue behind two elderly men. I pointed to the bird. One man just shrugged, but the other man also pointed to the bird, smiled and nodded at me in mutual appreciation of the raptor—perhaps we both took the bird as an auspicious sign. The smell of corn on the cob permeated the bus for most of the hour long trip.
For most Chinese, a trip to the Great Wall is a pilgrimage. At Badaling, the visitors were almost exclusively Chinese, many from rural areas deep within the country: Old folks in Mao caps and young people in T-shirts bedecked with illogical smatterings of fashionable English, families with children and adult children assisting elderly parents with the arduous climb up steep and irregular stairs, the atmosphere was joyous and festive in a reverent sort of way. The Great Wall is China’s Rushmore, its Grand Canyon, its Washington Monument—a symbol of Chinese pride and the endurance of Chinese culture through the ages.
Lounging at one of the highest points of the wall, regarding its form wending its way across waves of golden brown hills and disappearing in the hazy distance, I noticed the prevalence of graffiti carved into the stones. I found the word “Love” in English carved into one stone.
This project was supported in part by a grant from the Cambridge Arts Council, a local agency which is supported by the Massachusetts Cultural Council, a state agency. The original Beijing Journal gallery show was presented at the Multicultural Arts Center in Cambridge.