Why old Beijing's crumbling courtyards face extinction

During the Cultural Revolution, the state claimed ownership of any property occupied by the new dwellers. Original owners often fled to the countryside.

By the mid-'70s, owners were allowed to return and claim their part of a subdivided courtyard. They are today even allowed to "evict" the families that moved in after 1949, provided they secure and pay for a new property to settle them. Most can't afford it.

The character of the old courtyards suffered another change after the devastating earthquake of 1976. Many courtyard dwellers began shoring up their homes, using spare materials. That campaign led to new rooms added wherever they could fit.

No legal backing for owners

Hutong history and ownership issues are thus so tangled that proper restoration is a daunting proposition.

"The root of the problem is that 40 years ago they stopped respecting private property, and that habit has seeped into everything since," says Yang. "Until a respect for law and property is achieved, things won't really change."

Before Yang and Mr. Jacobson bought, for example, they searched for a property that only had one owner. It turned up in the form of a 2,900-square-foot half-courtyard. The two purchased both property and a 70-year old crumbling dwelling ("deserving of demolition," says Jacobson, who runs a joint-venture company), for about $150,000.

Before even dreaming of rebuilding, they signed a deal that included 30,000 yuan (about $3,600) in "facilitation fees." The fee facilitated wining and dining no fewer than eight local officials - anyone who could stymie the project. Just as the renovation was to start, their electricity permit was held up.

The couple's answer was to send a message to an e-mail hotline at the mayor's office. They pointed out that if China was going to join the WTO, host the Olympics, and make life nice for investors and foreigners like Jacobson, that such projects should not be squashed. Shortly after, the project was approved.

Developer Brahm says the paperwork and approvals to restore a single courtyard are the same as a 20-story building. To rehabilitate his Red Capital Club, he got stamps from three planners and city-construction, sub-district-construction, water, electric, police, sound, and environment officials.

Work often slowed since trucks can't enter the center city until after 10 p.m. (Jacobson and Yang solved this problem by paying Army trucks to deliver brick.)

Sources say the ongoing replacement of the hutong will continue. The quick money made on high-rise construction is too easy and too tempting to pass up, even though today the city is peppered with empty towers. Brahm says the Beijing housing authority has no incentive to put new money into the unpreserved hutong, and no longer repairs them.

Most working-class residents are ready to go. Mrs. Wu, who rents two hutong rooms with her husband, son, and in-laws inside Beijing's second ring road, is eager for an apartment.

"We've lived here since 1982, and we don't want to wait any longer for a toilet," Wu goes on to say. "The building is falling apart."

(c) Copyright 2001. The Christian Science Monitor

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