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$ x, o, P9 F7 _BEIJING — Mao slept here. So, too, did the imperial eunuchs who found themselves unemployed after China’s last emperor was sent packing. For much of the last 700 years, however, the most prominent residents of the quarter just north of the Forbidden City have been a pair of massive brick towers whose drums and bells helped Beijing’s citizenry keep track of the hour.
- G. [. ~, o( }0 e) o SMore recently, those who reside in the neighborhood known as Gulou are anxiously counting the days until construction crews begin turning its 32 charmingly decrepit acres into a polished tourist attraction called Beijing Time Cultural City.
' |8 t0 f9 z* P' Y4 e5 S" F6 L5 I3 XAnchored by the ancient Drum and Bell Towers, the $73 million redevelopment will include courtyard homes for the rich, a “timekeeping” museum and an underground mall, presumably well stocked with Rolexes and Cartiers — or perhaps their more affordable counterfeit cousins. + F/ `: P! H# J0 B
Since the project was announced in January, historians have been sounding the alarm. So, too, have the expatriates who cherish the area’s old Beijing authenticity. “When they’re done, the place is going to look like Universal Studios,” said Robin Foo, a Brunei-born Chinese architect who has spent the last six years turning a local Yuan dynasty temple into a swank cafe and catering hall.
]* U) p! C6 w: t" _But the outrage is harder to find among the thousands of poor families who live in the ramshackle collection of gray brick houses topped with wavy roof tiles. “Tear the whole place down,” said Zhou Meihua, 72, who shares a 200-square-foot pair of rooms with three generations of family members. “If we get enough compensation, we’ll happily move out.”
) `, C& J7 c- a+ _* x0 mGovernment officials tend to stoke such sentiments by failing to improve living conditions in old neighborhoods in a way that preserves their historic architectural fabric.
( T" V) X# S2 UInstead, they seize property in parts of the city they deem “unhygienic and unsafe,” rezone much of it as commercial property and sell it for huge profits. The concession to history often consists of a few new buildings with upturned eaves and garishly painted timber slapped on concrete facades. ! x' @$ K- F) R* K3 I( l8 h) y
Local officials often claim that the need to renew old areas requires their destruction, critics say. Over the past two months, a huge section of old homes just north of Gulou was bulldozed to make way for the construction of a nearby subway station. , I2 N, Z5 L9 T4 X' N9 Z
“This is not about preserving a historic monument. It’s about saving a living, breathing community that has evolved organically over hundreds of years,” said Yao Yuan, a Peking University professor who specializes in urban planning.
0 Q* x9 T, W5 ]: u4 QFor preservationists, the challenge is to convince local power brokers that there is still money to be made by modernizing old single-story homes, block by block, and then allowing some of the original residents — and their old Beijing ways — to remain. Keep the charm, they say, and the tourists and tax revenue will follow.
1 Q# I2 r4 z: g/ k1 ?For He Shuzhong, a lawyer who runs the Beijing Cultural Heritage Protection Center, that means bringing up his favorite analogy about a tattered Ming dynasty chair that would have immense value if spruced up.
) M6 q2 I, ]$ EOne can easily toss away the chair and buy a plastic one, he tells poker-faced officials, but if it were repaired and cleaned, the Ming chair would be worth 10,000 plastic chairs. “It’s the same thing for these old neighborhoods,” Mr. He said, gesticulating with urgency. “They are our unique heritage that cannot be replaced.” 7 v$ ^/ Y J# }# Y) S- s5 O
So far, such arguments have had limited impact on this redevelopment-crazed city. In recent years, two-thirds of Beijing’s 3,000 narrow lanes, known as hutongs, have been subsumed by mega-developments, many of them in neighborhoods that were officially designated preservation zones. # y1 L0 s( c) L3 \6 e1 E! P
Government-affiliated builders either ignore the law or use words like “historic” and “restoration” to describe patently new construction. Critics say the most egregious example of this trend can be seen just south of Tiananmen Square, where the city’s most fabled shopping district, Qianmen, was replaced by a soulless but expensive facsimile of its former hurly-burly self.
, t9 ^2 L# Q2 x2 D" k' {$ s2 M“The renovation of Qianmen wasn’t about preserving history, but about creating a fake Hollywood version of it,” said Mr. Yao, the urban planning professor.
" A C& c" n( A, i0 vFor those seeking to save Gulou, part of the problem is finding out exactly what the government has in mind. This spring, when the Beijing Cultural Heritage Protection Center tried to organize a meeting of Gulou residents, the police forced them to cancel.
; o' w5 `; ?/ t' F0 Z5 LOfficials have yet to publicly reveal the plans, and requests for information from the local government and the designated developer, the Beijing Oriental Culture Assets Operation Corporation, have gone unanswered. 9 G) ]9 |5 V7 U4 |+ [- d
Although he had limited details about the scope of the project, Luo Zhewen, an architectural expert who is advising the government on the area’s history, said the hand-wringing over lost patrimony was overblown. % r4 n- l8 t1 h4 [# \5 e
A longtime employee of the State Administration of Cultural Heritage who helped devise the Qianmen project, Mr. Luo, 87, said many of the area’s houses were nothing more than glorified shacks. Except for a few notable structures, he said, most buildings would be replaced by Qing dynasty replicas. Asked about the residents, Mr. Luo was unapologetic. “Cities are always changing and developing,” he said. q: `) I s" o0 i+ Z% Q( e
Still, clearing the neighborhood may not be so easy. When it comes to compensation, many residents have high expectations, saying they will not budge unless the money allows them to buy large apartments near their former homes. . \% \9 {# z* Y5 q- |
Rumors about lavish payments have been circulating. Some suggest that the government, eager to prevent the kind of resistance that plagues many projects, is prepared to pay the going rate for new, top-of-the-line apartments within biking distance of the city center.
, z- V$ p/ O2 g uSome, like Zhou Changlin, 53, an unemployed laborer, said he would leave only if he were relocated to a single-story home much like the one in which he was born and raised. “I need to feel the earth beneath my feet,” he said as workers salvaged massive beams from a neighboring house that had recently been demolished. “I’ve heard that old people who move to high-rise buildings usually die within two or three years.”
; ^; F) a) r; t4 C8 {! PAmong those eager to leave, the primary motivation is a desire for creature comforts like indoor toilets and draft-free bedrooms. “This kind of life might look charming to tourists, but it’s no fun wearing five layers from October to April,” said Wen Qiulin, 32, an elementary school teacher. ; m" K+ [. m9 U+ Z2 a' ~$ N k
Still, it would be misleading to suggest that everyone in the neighborhood wanted to abandon their ancestral homes. Those vowing to resist until the end include Liu Jinming, who each afternoon corrals a dozen or so tourists in his living room, where he and his wife serve them a home-cooked meal while they are regaled by a toothless man who stages cricket fights.
* F+ h5 ^* s& x2 bMr. Liu, a martial arts master with a gravelly voice and gruff manner, said he had no interest in the kind of steel-and-concrete living that had lured away some of his neighbors. ( d0 a g" K1 K4 j' n
“It’s a treasure to live in a place where you know the people and where your family has lived for generations,” said Mr. Liu, 55, who shares his home with three others, including his 81-year-old father. “Who wants to live in a place where you can live next door to someone and not talk to them for years?”
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发表于 2010-7-23 17:35:00
发表于 2010-7-23 21:13:00
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