Photos: The character “chai” (demolish); razed hutongs; and a hutong lane
Certainly one of the most familiar sights in Beijing these days – at least to residents – is the Chinese character “chai,” which means something like, “demolish.” As the government continues to sell land currently occupied by the old Chinese homes and neighborhoods, known as “hutongs,” to real estate developers, this symbol has become ubiquitous.
Once “chai” is painted on the outside wall of one’s home, it will certainly be destroyed. There is not much one can do to stop the process though people have tried protesting, spray painting over the “chai,” and adding angry slogans to register their dismay. From the rubble of these old villages spring shiny new high rises or sprawling expat neighborhoods. While life in a hutong is not luxurious (common baths and toilets often require a short walk and heat is still – in many cases – by coal), its loss can be devastating, especially to the elderly.
Last summer, the movie, Avatar, opened in Beijing, as it did in other cities around the world. A reviewer in The China Daily, largely considered a mouthpiece for the Chinese government, shocked my husband and me by suggesting that the struggle between the developers and the Navi people in the movie could act as a metaphor for the situation in China. While he acknowledged that this interpretation was not intended by the writers, the similarities were difficult to dispute. Within weeks, the movie was pulled from many – though not all – theaters in China.
Westerners (myself included) tend to romanticize the old Chinese walled homes and villages. Their inherent charm is hard to resist as we explore those open to tourists or inhabited by friends. But our views may be flawed – or incomplete at best. Years ago, I spent several months living in Siberia. I recall once admiring one of Russia’s lovely little village homes in the presence of a Russian acquaintance. He laughed and asked me how much I would enjoy living in such a cottage during sub freezing temperatures when one had to go outside to use the latrine or bathe. He reminded me that some villagers kept their charming little homes warm only by stoking a stove throughout the night.
Russian village house, Baikal, Russian
Still, for many, despite the absence of modern conveniences, these old Chinese hutongs represent home. While a new apartment on the outskirts of town may have plumbing, it doesn’t offer the community born from half a century of living in the same neighborhood. And selfishly, in this confusing world of “Here today, gone tomorrow,” where miles of razed buildings create a landscape resembling that of a war ravaged country – I find myself more tolerant of romantic notions toward China’s rapidly disappearing hutongs.