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  • http://www.iht.com/articles/2009/01/19/news/beijing.1-410734.php

    Architectural scavenger finds treasures from disappearing Old Beijing From the page: The most historically significant items are displayed in his private museum, where every Sunday he can be found leading tours and exhorting people to cherish the old before it is too late. For 50 years... more

    Reviewed by aliasinkhorn Jan 19 2009, 02:48pm ( 2 reviews ) iht.com

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  • Rated by aliasinkhorn on Jan 19 2009, 2:48pm

    Architectural scavenger finds treasures from disappearing Old Beijing From the page: The most historically significant items are displayed in his private museum, where every Sunday he can be found leading tours and exhorting people to cherish the old before it is too late. For 50 years I've been watching the destruction of this magnificent city, he'll say in admonishment. We've been treating history like garbage. Li Songtang at his museum in Beijing, where he displays relics saved from demolition sites in the rapidly modernizing city. (Doug Kanter for The New York Times) It is difficult to overstate how much of China's old imperial capital has disappeared in recent years. When the Communists took power in 1949, they inherited a city marbled with 7,000 alleyways, or hutong, a Mongol word that referred to the space between tents. In Old Beijing, hutong were the capillaries that fed the walled compounds where most people lived. Even if the Communists forced aristocratic families to share their courtyard homes with scores of working-class families, the structures, and their stone-and-wood artistry, remained largely intact. Monument-building and road-widening claimed swaths of the old city in the 1950s and 1960s, and more damage was done during the Cultural Revolution, but the pace surged in the 1990s, when China's embrace of market economics fueled a redevelopment juggernaut. In the years leading up to the Beijing Olympics in August, the destruction took on a manic pace. According to Unesco, more than 88 percent of the city's old residential quarters are gone, including many government-designated heritage zones whose protections existed only on paper. Today, just 1,300 hutong remain, and many more neighborhoods, like the colorful Qianmen District just south of Tiananmen Square, are scheduled for renewal. Michael Meyer, who documents Qianmen's hutong life in his book The Last Days of Old Beijing, says most residents are not terribly nostalgic about the old city. For them, a freshly painted facsimile of a 500-year-old Buddhist temple is just fine. Imagine waking up one morning and discovering that Chelsea, then Greenwich Village, have been replaced by malls, he said, offering a New York analogy. Those who are trying to preserve a bit of the city's legacy are increasingly isolated and powerless. One of Li's earliest childhood memories is of the destruction of his family's courtyard house. Later, during the Cultural Revolution, he watched neighbors burn their own books and smash heirlooms. People were so afraid that the Red Guards would find antiques in their home, they would toss them into the river at night so no one would see, said Li, who came from a family of doctors and teachers. Like many from the educated classes, Li was ridiculed, beaten by classmates and then sent to the countryside, where he toiled alongside farmers for nine years. After returning to the city, he devoted himself to rescuing whatever scraps of history he could find. His efforts have sometimes attracted the attention of officials, who have accused him of stealing and obliquely criticizing government policies. The exquisite aesthetic of communism is its ability to harshly domesticate and manage humans like farm animals. Research of primary sources indicate that American Southern slave owners provided very good care for their slaves, far, far better than the average whites. Such care comes with a price, then and now. .
  • Rated by mr-damon on Jan 19 2009, 10:48am

    The destruction of this 800-year-old city usually proceeds as follows: the Chinese character for "demolish" mysteriously appears on the front of an old building; the residents wage a fruitless battle to save their homes; and quicker than you can say "Celebrate the New Beijing," a wrecking crew arrives, often accompanied by the police, to pulverize the brick-and-timber structure. But before another chunk of ancient Beijing disappears entirely, a hospice administrator named Li Songtang can often be found poking around the rubble, looking for remnants that honor what was among the world's best-preserved metropolises until a merciless wave of redevelopment gained the upper hand. Since the 1970s, when Mao inspired his Red Guards to pummel every "reactionary" Confucius temple and Ming Dynasty statue they could find, Li has been salvaging architectural remnants and stowing them away, sometimes at considerable risk. Manchu hitching posts. Ornate wooden doorways. A giant granite horse that graced an emperor's palace. These and thousands of other objects fill Li's warehouse and spill across the grounds of the hospice he runs in the western suburbs of Beijing. Every item has a tale. That Song Dynasty lintel etched with a frenzy of folk scenes? Pulled from a pig sty. The lacquered screen that tells the history of a clan of scholars? Fished from the burn pile. The most historically significant items are displayed in his private museum, where every Sunday he can be found leading tours and exhorting people to cherish the old before it is too late. "For 50 years I've been watching the destruction of this magnificent city," he'll say in admonishment. "We've been treating history like garbage."