HONG KONG - It appears to teeter
precariously on a narrow mound of earth surrounded
by a massive excavation pit that would be a
shopping mall. In the southwestern Chinese
municipality of Chongqing, the modest two-story
brick structure - a dot on the decimated landscape
- is called the "nail house" because it seems to
be nailed to the ground by its owners'
stubbornness.
And the woman who is largely
responsible for the three-year battle with a
property developer and local authorities that has
- so far, anyway - saved her home from the
wrecking ball is called "the
stubborn nail".
After accepting compensation
offers, 280 other homeowners long ago moved out of
the rapidly developing neighborhood of
Yangjiaping, leaving Wu Ping and her husband, Yang
Wu, in a lonely David-versus-Goliath struggle.
Their widely publicized ordeal has tapped into
widespread resentment against greedy developers
who collude with local officials to run roughshod
over
ordinary citizens in the name of profit and
progress.
Land seizures in the name of
development are commonplace in today's China, as
are demonstrations, often violent, against those
seizures. In many cases, outside the media
spotlight, property developers and local
authorities have hired thugs to enforce their
will.
The Chongqing case stands out for
the intense media scrutiny it has attracted, both
nationally and internationally, with striking
photographs of the site circulating around the
world. Bloggers have turned the case into an
Internet cause celebre that has drawn more than 10
million page views. The passage this month of the
country's first law protecting private property
further heightened interest in the case.
Meanwhile, the couple continue to stand
their narrow ground.
"I'm not stubborn or
unruly," Wu Ping, 49, told the state-run Legal
Daily last week. "I'm just trying to protect my
personal rights as a citizen. I will continue to
the end."
At this point, the end is
unclear.
The couple have reportedly
rejected an offer of 3.5 million yuan (US$453,000)
to vacate - although there have also been reports,
denied by Wu, that she is demanding as much as 20
million yuan.
The Chongqing housing
authority, citing the couple's "unreasonable
demands", has ordered their house demolished. In a
sign of the increasing power of the media and
public opinion in China, however, a local court
declined to enforce the demolition order, although
it did uphold the eviction order.
Now the
case has become not only a testing ground for
property rights but also a challenge for the
judiciary.
Catching the wave of public
opinion, Chongqing Mayor Wang Hongju has stated
his opposition to the forced demolition of the
nail house, even suggesting that the developer
offer the couple space in the shopping mall as
compensation. Since Wu previously operated a
restaurant with floor space of 219 square meters
out of her house, the mayor's proposed solution
might actually work.
Whether the couple's
tenacity is reasonable or extreme is open to
question, but there is no doubt that their quest
has struck a nerve in Chinese life. As the land on
which their house stands has gradually been
whittled down to an isolated strip of earth, they,
unlike countless others, have refused to cave in
to the interests of the powerful and well placed.
For the millions who are following their
drawn-out battle, the couple - especially the
articulate, svelte and stylish Wu Ping - have come
to symbolize all of the countless injustices
suffered by ordinary people who stood in the way
of the juggernaut of China's breakneck economic
growth. It doesn't matter if they are right or
wrong - their story has taken on a life of its own
and is now the stuff of myth and legend. In
cyberspace, the couple's home is known as "the
coolest nail house in history".
Although
Wu has clearly been the star of the protracted
drama, her 51-year-old husband, a local
martial-arts champion, has also played his part.
Last week, in defiance of the court's eviction
order, Yang hung a national flag from the roof of
his house as well as a banner that read: "No
violation of legitimate private property."
Entry to the locked construction site had
been barred, but Yang used nunchakus to fashion a
makeshift staircase from the construction pit,
which is 10 meters deep, to his home, where he
proudly unfurled both his patriotism and words of
protest.
His wife, the spokesperson for
the family, told China Central Television that,
before climbing his way back into their home to
make his one-man stand, Yang vowed to her: "If
anyone dares to come up, I'll beat them back
down."
It's not clear how long Yang could
hold out in a house that is dangling over an abyss
and no longer supplied with electricity or water,
but it was a grand gesture nonetheless. The site
has become a daily gathering point for the media
and a curious and sympathetic public.
A
survey conducted by the popular website QQ.com
showed overwhelming public support for the couple,
with more than 80% of the respondents embracing
their cause.
State-run publications, such
as the Legal Daily and China Daily, have carried
stories chronicling the nationwide nail-house
sensation, and the China Youth Daily opined: "If
this case of the 'lonely island' persists, it
could become a landmark test for Chinese law. If
the government does not respect people's rights in
this case, it will raise suspicions about the
entanglement of civil rights, property development
and government interests."
As the case has
taken on the aura of legend, few now dare to posit
that despite their remarkable obstinacy and flair
for theatrics, the heroic homeowners might very
well be in the wrong. But Professor Jiang Ping,
who led the team that drafted the recently adopted
property law, has spoken out. He says the new law
- which will not take effect until October anyway
- does not apply to the Chongqing house.
"The reason the Wu family refused to
move," he told the China Daily, "is that they
don't think [the property development] is related
to public interest, but that is just her claim.
Now that the court has issued the [demolition]
order, then the order should be executed."
The problem with that reasoning, of
course, is that it does not take into account the
tremendous public support for the couple and the
media sensation that has followed. It's as if all
of the myriad land grabs that have figured in
China's phenomenal economic growth over the past
quarter-century have, fair or not, come to be
represented by history's "coolest nail house".
The house, no doubt, is doomed to the
rubble heap. But clearing the way for that
shopping mall is looking like an increasingly
pricey prospect.
Kent Ewing is a
teacher and writer at Hong Kong International
School. He can be reached at
kewing@hkis.edu.hk.
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ordinary citizens in the name of profit and
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