I’ve been talking with friends about what happened during zero Covid. Friends outside China say, “You have to let us know what really happened.” Friends inside China share personal stories and rumors. However, it seems pretty obvious that no one knows what happened. We know what we saw on our WeChat feeds. We know what family and friends have told us. We know what we saw and overheard while waiting in line for our daily test. But. That seems to be all we know.
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Yesterday, I visited the Xinqiao Ancient Architecture cluster. The museum has a few surprises, including documentation tracking land ownership from the Republican era all the way back to the Jiaqing era, which would be roughly late 1790s through early 1820s. Xinqiao has been an important settlement, and in fact, one of the compilers of the Jiaqing version of the Xin’an County Gazetteer was from Xinqiao.
According to members of the local history association, Xinqiao has historically been more important than the more famous Shajing. Shajing was famous for oysters, but Xinqiao had land and mountains, allowing for one of the largest agricultural settlements in the area. The historians emphasized that historically Xinqiao was water rich, allowing for cultivation of rice and lychees. A few impressions below.
Today I went into the very distant reaches of Guangming, to one of the new developments. During the Republican era (and from what I can glean, even earlier), this area was mountainous and had little agriculture. Consequently, in 1958, an Overseas Chinese Farm was set up here, bringing in both productivity and producing for the HK market. At the beginning of Reform and Opening Up they did some manufacturing (Konka and Overseas Chinese Town are both children of this settlement), but the area’s claim to fame remained agriculture, especially milk and roasted pigeon.
Point du jour: as with many parts of Shenzhen that missed the initial manufacturing boom (looking at you Longgang), the area is marketing itself as a high end suburban area. However, its far, far away (over 1.5 hours by subway from Shekou, or 3 hours round trip) and since there are few jobs out there, it’s filled with bedroom communities and empty shopping malls. A few snaps from today’s trip:
The year of the rabbit is upon us. It is also the 10th year that Handshake has been around; we’re still here, like the Whos of Whoville (Horton heard’m). At Handshake, we’re excited to start hosting events again and to use our work to explore what the past three years have meant to individuals, to groups and to the city more generally. Where are we, and how did we get here?
May you and yours thrive this year, may y’all find joy in your endeavors, and companionship on your uniquely wonderful paths.
Just fyi, Vietnam is celebrating the year of the cat! And I’m tempted, so tempted to post felines. All year. Nothing but cat videos in 2023.
So, “Morning Tea,” a 15-year old blast from the past: a creative non-fiction piece that I wrote about Shenzhen in 2006. The essay includes photos of lost objects that I used to take on my walks–in the 00s the inner districts were still under construction and I was constantly stumbling on discarded stuff. Indeed, the earliest incarnation of the blog began with photographs from this walks (those early galleries are still up on livejournal). “Morning Tea” was published in archipelago (vol 9, winter 2006), an online journal that seems to have been around for 10 years…
Several years before he was champion of the inaugural and influential singing competition 快乐男声 (on Hunan TV), Chen Chusheng 陈楚生 lived in Tangtou, Baishizhou. Indeed, the first stop on his musical career seems to have been Shenzhen, which in the late 1990s, early 2000s was famous for its indie and rock music scene. The musicians lived in urban villages and performed in the city’s many bars and infamous nightclubs.
The above image Shenzhen (2000) by Yu Haibo 余海波 not only gives a sense of what the city’s nightlife was like at the turn of the millennium, but also the frantic energy that characterized that scene. Of course, Chen Chusheng took a more laidback and folksy approach. His song, Baishizhou sounds almost pastoral, in stark contrast to the world outside his Tangtou apartment. And yes, circa 2000, Baishizhou was not yet linked to the urban grid and Shenzhen was still the world’s factory, relying on the highly transient residents of the villages.
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One of the purposes of this blog has been to document changes in Shenzhen’s cultural geography. A second purpose has been to observe changes in what is represented and how the representation aesthetic have also shifted. Sometimes it’s like we’re not seeing and talking about the same city. Postcards from a long-ago Shajing oyster culture museum give a sense of those discrepancies–what was thought valuable and who was able to transform cultural geography into what kind of story.
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Most are aware that the area we once knew as “Baishizhou” was located north of Shennan Road, comprising four villages–Shangbaishi, Xiabaishi, Tangtou and Xintang. The neighborhood’s name derived from the “Baishizhou” subway station. In turn, the station was named for the historical Baishizhou, a mudflat or sandbank, which was located south of Shennan Road. Historically, our Baishizhou was a continuation of historic settlement patterns, while Baishizhou Village seems to have emerged more recently. Nevertheless, the demolition of our Baishizhou has led to the emergence of a new Baishizhou and this new Baishizhou has a telling (and frankly distressing) general layout. Below, I give a brief overview of the layout and then a brief history of the place name, Baishizhou. And yes, its more speculative than conclusive. Reader be warned.
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Photos from Baishizhou, Dec 31, 2023. Three notes: 1, the Baishizhou mural has been replaced with a Shahe mural, suggesting that the area’s rebranding is proceeding apace; 2, the covid regulation infrastructure was solid and expensive, even though the area was already being demolished, and; 3, there are still holdouts in the village, most closer to Shennan Road, however, the center area near Jiangnan Department store, where 302 used to be is difficult to reach because mostly razed and inside the current construction site.
Impressions of the walk, below.
Many of the people around me have tested positive for omicron. In Chinese, the word for positive is 阳性 (yáng xìng), and the pun is with 羊 (yáng) or “lamb.” In keeping with the animated pandemic, this means that most memes involve 🐑 puns. During the lockdowns, one of the most popular phone games was 羊了个羊, a game that can be played on WeChat. The game is similar to a 3-tile puzzle and indeed, some say its a rip off of the original Three Tiles. At any rate, tens of millions have played, posted about playing, and analyzed the play while locked down. Now, that people actually have joined the omicron herd, there is more talk about how to convalesce and take care of oneself. And there’s the rub: party members are being asked to put their bodies on the line. Below, I’ve translated a recent article from the headline news app (今日头条). The gist: a true Party member puts their body on the line for the good of the masses:
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Shenzhen Noted 