The Japanese colonial project in Manchuria stands as being unique amongst the pantheon of colonial projects in China. Where the treaty ports were Chinese cities with portions carved out by western concessions, and fully foreign controlled regions like Hong Kong were limited in geographical scale, the Japanese puppet state of Manchukuo was expansive in scope and scale – more comparable to the settler colonization projects of Africa or Australia. Manchuria was subject to grand, utopian Japanese visions and designs – something that David Tucker explores in his essay City Planning without Cities, Order and Chaos in Utopian Manchukuo.^[1] One particularly striking element discussed by Tucker is how Japanese urban planners conceptualized Manchuria. Tucker describes how Japanese urban planners explicitly saw Manchuria as a ‘blank slate’ – an empty, flat, virgin canvas on which they could paint their utopia.^[2] This conception of Manchuria colors every part of the resulting plans – most strikingly in the wider geographical layout of the planned communities which take strict geometric shapes, with no consideration for natural features, already existing communities, and economic viability.^[3] This plan of standardized hamlets has a number of fatal flaws seemingly total and disconnected – but the concept of imagined space can help piece them together.

The thinking behind the hamlet plan represents a very explicit example of Henri Lefebvre’s concept of imagined or mental space in action.^[4] As discussed by Lefebvre, mental space is conceptual in nature – it may be based on some set of guiding principles, perhaps even a conception of reality, but it is by its standard nature an unconstrained, uncontested space.^[5] Lefebvre uses this concept to critique the assumptions and ideas of other academics, framing mental space as an unconscious prior.^[6] This divide described by Lefebvre between the physical and mental space is extremely applicable to the manner with which Japanese urban planners approached Manchuria.^[7] Tucker discusses how the urban planners did study the lifestyle of Japanese farmers and applied those lessons into their designs, but did so in a way that simplified and removed nuance from the lives of farmers.^[8] This flawed conception of the lived experience of farmers was the basis for the geometric layout of proposed hamlets^[9], something which fed into many of the other numerous flaws with the hamlet proposal, notably including its security flaws, economic flaws and logistical flaws.^[10]

Where Lefebvre uses the concept of imagined space to expose the flaws and failings of academic ideas and theories – concepts that are difficult to ‘defeat’ with finality – imagined space is useful in revealing the links between the common elements between the varying flaws of the hamlet proposal. This is a textbook example of how spatial theory can be used to analyze colonial projects and urban planning – an while the implications of spatial theory may be somewhat obvious in this case, similar examples of flawed conceptions of imagined space can be found in other colonial projects of all shapes and sizes – from French Indochina to the British Raj to the wider Japanese Empire.

^[1] Tamanoi, Mariko. “City Planning without Cities, Order and Chaos in Utopian Manchukuo.” In Crossed Histories: Manchuria in the Age of Empire, 53–81. [Ann Arbor], Honolulu: Association for Asian Studies ; University of Hawai’i Press, 2005.

^[2] Tamanoi, Mariko. “City Planning without Cities, Order and Chaos in Utopian Manchukuo.” 55.

^[3] Ibid. 58-62.

^[4] Lefebvre, Henri. “Plan of the Present Work.” In The Production of Space, 1–67. Oxford, OX, UK ; Cambridge, Mass., USA: Blackwell, 1991.

^[5] Lefebvre, Henri. “Plan of the Present Work.” 3-4.

^[6] Ibid. 4-6.

^[7] Ibid. 6.

^[8] Tamanoi, Mariko. “City Planning without Cities, Order and Chaos in Utopian Manchukuo.” 62-63.

^[9] Ibid. 66.

^[10] Ibid. 66-71.

Taipei, on the northern peninsula of Taiwan, has been referred to as a ‘tripartite city’ by Joseph R. Allen, Professor Emeritus at the University of Minnesota.¹ Under Japanese occupation, it arguably underwent a third layer of urban developmental influence. The island of Taiwan had been used to foreign influence, for as early as the 17^th century, the island had been occupied by the Dutch Empire (known as Dutch Formosa). The island really rose to significance in the late 19^th century under the control of the late Qing Dynasty. In 1877, Chinese restrictions on immigration to the island were lifted and Taipei in particular became a focal point for trade, development and activity.

Although Liu Mingchuan, Qing Governor of Taipei until 1891 had implemented several key reforms to Taipei, it was not really until the Japanese colonists arrived that modernity really felt like it was on the horizon. Kodama Gentaro, the Japanese Governor General and Goto Shinpei, a civil administrator were the main architects of Taihoku’s development. Shinpei, who would later go on to serve as director of the South Manchuria Railway and Mayor of Tokyo, had been educated in Germany.² Allen has alluded to the fact that Shinpei was also heavily influenced by Tokyo. In turn, Tokyo’s development had drawn many ideas from European cities such as Paris. Maps, such as the below from 1932, with ruler straight streets and a clear gridiron structure, really show how Taipei had been influenced by European colonial projects.

³

Taipei, even into the present day, as pointed out by Allen, has often considered itself a multicultural city. Away from Chinese mainland, and outwith the central power structure of the Chinese Communist Party, the city has always had a complex identity. Tan Hung-Jen and Paul Waley’s article ‘Planning Through Procrastination: The Preservation of Taipei’s Cultural Heritage’ discusses Dihua Street in Taipei, containing a number of late imperial edifices and buildings from the Japanese colonial period.⁴ The municipal government, property owners, stakeholders and citizens have all made an effort in varying ways to preserve these buildings as an important part of Taipei’s cultural identity. Additionally, buildings such as the Sotokofu, the main government building of Taipei and the Guest House (Táiběi Bīnguǎn), located in the city’s central district, were built by the Japanese and show a clear architectural and stylistic link to Europe. These buildings of grandeur, magnificence and opulence are typical of the domineering and grand style of buildings built under colonial and imperial rules. These buildings remain prominent today. The lack of ‘Chinese-ness’, as Allen describes it, can be much attributed to the Japanese era.

When one looks to understand the development of any space, place or spatial entity, one must understand and critically analyse the sources from which they are working. Allen cites the historian John Tagg, who maintains that even the ‘meaning’ from photographic evidence is dependent on the ‘discursive system’ and context within which it was taken.⁵When working with cartographic materials of Taipei as well, the same level of analysis must be used. For example, Allen’s article outlines the ‘lush’ maps of Taihoku the Japanese produced in the 1930s. Designed not with cartographic accuracy in mind, for they were meant to be understood and widely consumed ‘by women and children’, they show a bustling city, with buses, trains, commerce and activity. Taihoku is depicted as a well-run, prosperous and disciplined city, with all thanks to the Japanese imperial project. One image in particular, showing the city from a ‘bird’s eye’ perspective, looks out towards the sea and displays Mount Fuji standing tall and proud in the distance.⁶ To what extent are these depictions merely trying to emphasise the reward of colonial possession and desire?

The development of ‘utopian spaces’, especially in the context of colonial expansion, must always be considered carefully. For island cities like Taipei, their cultural identity, and the urban developments that often accompany them are politically contested phenomena. Is the island of Taiwan off the coast of China? Or is it off the coast of Japan? Many of the images that have come to light recently, raised by Allen in his article, have resurfaced only after exhibitions instigated by the Taipei City Cultural Affairs Bureau.⁷ With relations continuing to be strained between the ROC and the PRC, the nostalgia and romanticism of the many images from the Japanese period must be noted. Although clearly the Japanese prioritised the development of Taihoku, and indeed charted and archived much of their significant progress, one must always seek to understand why images have been constructed and re-presented in certain ways.

1. Joseph R. Allen, Taipei: City of Displacements (Washington, 2012), p. 31 [↩]
2.  Louis Frédéric, Japan Encyclopaedia, (Harvard, 2002), p. 6 [↩]
3. 1932 Murasaki City Plan or Map of Taipei, Taiwan [↩]
4. Tan Hung-Jen and Paul Waley. “Planning through Procrastination: The Preservation of Taipei’s Cultural Heritage” The Town Planning Review 77, no. 5 (2006), pp. 531–55 [↩]
5. Allen, Taipei: City of Displacements, p. 33 [↩]
6. Ibid, p. 39 [↩]
7. Ibid, p. 17 [↩]

This blog post focuses on a picture included in Bill Sewell’s book “Constructing Empire: The Japanese in Changchun, 1905-45”. Sewell focuses on the roof of the Changchun Hall of State to illustrate the “Asian Revival” architectural style which inspired many of the administrative buildings built in Japanese controlled Manchukuo in the 1930s. The view of the building presented shows how architecture during this period sought to promote Asian stylistic choices over European ones, most clearly seen in the style of roof. However, the choice to incorporate Chinese as well as Japanese styles reflects the shift of the Japanese government to the idea of Pan-Asianism.

Sewell notes that the roof of the Hall of State is built in a Japanese style, called “Imperial Crown” style. This was characterised by a tented roof, adding an Asian finish to an otherwise European-inspired building. This is evident in the picture of the Hall, where the building without the roof is indistinguishable from a Western administrative building. However, Sewell argues that the use of towers and a gentle slope for the remaining rooftop resembled Chinese instead of Japanese architecture. This is initially at odds with the idea of a colonial government constructing buildings for administration, but signifies the specific style of Japanese colonialism which was employed in Manchukuo.

Since the building was meant ‘to represent the entire country as chief government offices’ it is significant that the building incorporates elements of Chinese architecture, instead of being simply a melding of Japanese and Western styles. Sewell cites Ryue Nishizawa as suggesting that the choice of a Chinese style was in an attempt to project symbolism of harmony and sedateness, both represented in the long roof architecture chosen. This in turn would imply that the Japanese colonial government was seeking some form of legitimacy in the eyes of the Chinese population, as opposed to the colonial governments led by European nations.

The decision to seek legitimacy from the Chinese population of Manchukuo fits with the idea of Pan-Asianism, a driving ideology of Japanese expansion during the 1930s. The movement sought to unite Asian ethnic communities politically and economically to combat European imperialism. As such, the end goal of Japanese colonies was assimilation into the wider state, as opposed to the Western model of colonial governance. This ideology was already present within the colony of Korea, which was becoming assimilated as a province of Japan at the time the Hall of State was being constructed. It should also be noted that this style of roof was present in architecture designed in Korea during the 1920s, suggesting that the Japanese government was in favour of rolling out this style of roof across its new colonies, to combat European design while promoting a unified Asian idea of architecture.

Overall, the roof of the Hall of State offers an insight into how architecture could reflect government ideology, and seek to project both power and legitimacy. In this case, the Hall of State’s roof was designed to oppose European building styles, while attempting to win approval from the Chinese population of the province, as an early step in the creation of a Pan-Asian utopian entity.

 

Sources

Kornegay, Nate, ‘Traces of the Imperial Crown Style in Colonial Korea’, Transactions 92 (2017), pp. 21-30.

Sewell, Bill, Constructing Empire: The Japanese in Changchun, 1905-1945, (Vancouver, 2019), pp. 64-106.

Picture in Sewell, Constructing Empire, p. 82.

 

This blog post focuses on the Raffles Town Plan, sometimes recalled as the Jackson Plan. It was formulated in late 1822, per Stamford Raffle’s vision by Lieutenant Philip Jackson for the town of Singapore. The concept of this plan was based on a pre-conception that Singapore would be a place of “considerable magnitude and economic importance”; therefore, its town plan needed to embody this newly fostered identity.[1]

Some may argue that Raffles had a unique vision when it came to town planning. His concept focused on three major philosophies: firstly, the integration of immigrants into formal town plans was essential. Communes for Indians, Chinese and other ethnic groups should be integrated so they were not left to develop separately. This, in turn, helped avoid public health problems like a lack of sanitation which would ultimately ensure uneven town development. If Singapore were to be successful, it, needed to grow as one. Secondly, a fort with parks and greenery should be at the centre. Forts gave the impression of prosperity, as did greenery. Third, communal harmony and ease of trade were factors that would ensure the growth and success of the town.

Below is the town plan of Singapore completed by Lieutenant Jackson. As can be seen by the notations on each section, Raffles wanted to reserve an area for a specific race or function. For example: from Fort Canning to the Singapore River and the sea beyond the Padang (labelled “Open Square”) for government use. Whereas other sections are entitled “European Town” “Arab” and “Campong” effectively segregating Singapore. Another important hallmark of colonial towns that can be identified are the wide and straight streets. These were justified by colonial rulers on the basis of public health and sanitation improvement; but in fact, were a tactic to prevent uprising or unrest from indigenous populations[2].

Plan of the Town of Singapore, Lieut Jackson, Survey Department Singapore, Survey Department Singapore (London, 1828).

The question I find myself asking is whether this town plan accurately depicts “integration of communities” as Raffles is said to have done. What becomes clearer upon second glance is that that “acknowledgement” may be a more fitting word to describe the town planning. What Raffles and Jackson have done is not integration as we would recognise it today. Rather an acknowledgement that other communities will need to live and exist in close proximity to their colonisers and for the success of the land as a whole (which was his objective “economic success” of Singapore) integration in the sense of acknowledgement was necessary. Singapore could not have been seen as a great powerhouse of industry nor economy if there were sections of the city that did not have sanitation and were not developed. One city, but separate communities is how I would describe Raffles vision.

[1] Buckley, C. B. (1984). An anecdotal history of old times in Singapore: From the foundation of the settlement … on February 6th, 1819 to the transfer to the Colonial Office … on April 1st, 1867. Singapore: Oxford University Press, p. 81. (Call no.: RSING 959.57 BUC-[HIS])

[2] Robert K. Home, “’Planting Is My Trade’: The Shapers of Colonial Urban Landscapes,” in Of Planting and Planning: The Making of British Colonial Cities ((New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, 2013), p.59

Hong Kong stands alongside Singapore, Bombay and New Delhi as being one of the most well known and defining spaces of the British colonial enterprise in Asia. But unlike the aforementioned cities, Hong Kong is unique in its relatively late date of colonization, being ceded to the British in 1841. This places the city in a rather unique period in terms of British colonial urban planning – the ‘Grand Model’ that had dominated the approach to colonial urban planning was reaching the end of its over two centuries long tenure.^[1] Towards the end of the 1840s, arguments that favored a hands off laissez faire approach to urban planning would prevail, and remain dominant going into the tumultuous 20th century.^[2] In short, Hong Kong represents a unique opportunity to evaluate the principles and practice of the ‘Grand Modell’ at its most developed point – and while the Australian city of Adelaide can provide a similar example,^[3] the character of the British colonial project in Australia is sufficiently different to warrant another example. Where in the British colonial projects in places like India and China had relatively powerful and well organized local communities and governments that they were forced to engage with in some way, the Indigenous communities of Australia were systematically excluded and in many cases destroyed.

To aid this analysis, a map of Hong Kong from 1958 produced for the American Mobilgas company^[4] will be used. The reasoning for the use of this particular map is twofold. Firstly, being produced in the late 1950s, the urban environment of Hong Kong has had time to develop, but the pressures of the World Wars and Great Depression would have made the prospect of any new urban designs at best difficult to implement. Secondly, the map being of an American origin lends it an advantage – while it is obviously far from an extremely accurate, unbiased presentation of Hong Kong, it is disconnected from the immediate context of the British and the systems of British colonial administration. It also clearly has a utilitarian purpose, most likely being used by tourists – meaning it is less likely to be a rendition of how Hong Kong ‘should be’ – at least from an urban planning perspective. One important limiting factor that should be mentioned is that the map only covers a small space of Hong Kong – mostly the areas enclosing Hong Kong bay, while the New Territories, Sai Kung, a significant portion of Hong Kong Island and Kowloon have been excluded from the map. The map is also not suitable for discussing the third and fourth principles of the Grand Model that Robert Home describes – we cannot use a map intended for consumption by tourists to give us an insight into whether or not Hong Kong was laid out in advance, nor can we use it to determine the exact size of the many main roads marked on the map^[5].

The first principle of the Grand Model as defined by Robert Home is ‘deliberate’ urbanization – in short, strong central authorities prominent throughout or dominating the urban landscape.^[6] This principle is displayed in the Mobilgas map of Hong Kong, especially on Hong Kong Island itself – the organs of the colonial administration (government offices, post office, police headquarters, barracks) are clustered around two major roads, Queen’s Road East and Queen’s Road Central, while roughly lying in the center of the urban build up on Hong Kong Island.^[7] They also sit in close proximity to the ferry piers that are essential for travel between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon.^[8] It should be mentioned however that this principle does not appear to be as strongly applied to Kowloon – while there is a post office and railway station sitting at the south end of the central Nathan Road, there is little else in the way of administrative organs or buildings symbolic of the British colonial administration on the mainland – something that seems strange at face value given the seemingly larger scale of the urban environment in Kowloon.^[9] In short, the principle of deliberate urbanization in Hong Kong has been partially followed.

The second principle defined by Robert Home is that of land rights allocated in clearly differentiated regions of town, suburban, and country lots, something that Home describes as being definitively tied into the program of deliberate urbanization.^[10] Where the previous principle is displayed in the 1958 urban landscape of Hong Kong, this principle is completely absent. Hong Kong, as displayed in this map, is a nearly totally urban environment, with the few suburban locations having no distinct boundary between themselves and the urban, and the country being not present at all.^[11] The majority of the northern Hong Kong Island displayed on this map is an almost uninterrupted urban sprawl following tightly along the coast line, running from Kennedy Town to North Point, only interrupted by Victoria Barracks and the naval dockyard.^[12] The inset displaying Jardine Lookout has an identifiable suburban structure with small winding avenues and roads, but is directly connected to the bustling urban environment north of it by the Happy Valley Race Course and Stubbs Road^[13]. The layout of Hong Kong Island appears to have more in common with the concept of a treaty port and opposed to a colonial township. Meanwhile, the section of Kowloon displayed on this map is a wall of urban space that seemingly sheers off straight into nothing north of Clear Water Bay Road, Tai Po Road, Kowloon Tong and Kowloon Tsai.^[14] It is worth mentioning that the limitations of the Mobilgas map as a source are apparent in this discussion – as mentioned before, it only covers a small region of Hong Kong, leaving out for example, the fishing villages of Sai Kung, and the expanse of the New Territories. Its purpose as a guide for American tourists may also be a limiting factor – with most of the interest of the map on the urban spaces of Hong Kong, the mapmakers may have simply not bothered to describe in detail the non-urban spaces of Hong Kong. However, even with those caveats in mind, it is reasonable to conclude that there is at the very least a lack of a consideration for the principle of differentiated regions of urban, suburban and country displayed in Hong Kong. This discussion also ties into the eight principles discussed by Robert Home, being that of a clear green space separating the town and the country – for the reasons already discussed above, it is fair to conclude that this principle was also at the very least disregarded.^[15]

The fifth, sixth, and seventh principles laid out my Robert Home – respectively, that of a rectangular, grid based plot layout, the presence of public squares, and the reservation of plots for public purposes^[16] can also be discussed in sum, as they are intertwined with each other due to the condensed nature of Hong Kong’s urban environment. To start, Hong Kong does display a rectangular grid layout, but not a standardized one.^[17] While Hong Kong’s plots are nearly rectangular across the board, all flowing from a main road, they are not standardized, with many subsections of the urban space having different orientations and sizes for their plots – compare, for example, the rectangular layouts flowing out from the nearly parallel Nathan Road and Ma Tau Wei Road in Kowloon^[18]. These layouts are also interrupted at several points by public places – typically gardens, that seem to be centrally located ala a public square^[19]. For example, Southorn Playground in Wan Chai lies at the center of the urban space surrounding Hennessy Road, but in doing so interrupts the standardized grid plots surrounding Hennessy Road and Queen’s Road East.^[20] A more prominent example is that of King’s Park, lying at the center of Kowloon – King’s Park does not conform to any kind of grid layout, and indeed represents a significant break from the sprawling grid layout to its east, west and south.^[21] Taken in sum, I argue this represents an adherence to the spirit of the relevant principles, but does not follow them strictly to the letter. The grandeur and symbolism of a public square at the center of the city is not present, instead with public parks taking their place – spaces of leisure but still symbolic – the name ‘King’s Park’ is in itself symbolic, especially considering it is in the center of the Kowloon urban environment. A grid based layout is present, but its shape and form shifts across the landscape, serving more as a loose guide opposed to a strict commandment. The only principle of the three followed more closely the reservation of plots for public spaces – as some of the public spaces do roughly follow the grid based layout and ‘slot’ neatly in – although this is not universal, as discussed in the case of King’s Park.

To sum up, we can see a mixture of significant deviations from the principles of the Grand Model described by Robert Home in 1958 Hong Kong. There are a number of factors that could contribute to this that I can think of – the first and most obvious is the difficult nature of the landscape in Hong Kong, being a mixture of jungle, mountain and coast that would limit available space and require creative engineering solutions. Another possibility is that the focus of the British colonial project in Hong Kong was not on the land itself, but rather on the bay, harbor and infrastructure surrounding the harbor – this would change the spatial priorities of an urban planner, and perhaps bring Hong Kong closer in spirit to coastal Chinese treaty ports and their bunds, opposed to the settler colonization projects of Australia or Africa. Regardless, further investigation is warranted into the nature of British colonial urban planning – perhaps the Grand Model and its principles can be better thought of as a guideline opposed to a stricter set of rules.

^[1] Home, Robert K. “The ‘Grand Modell’ of Colonial Settlement.” In Of Planting and Planning: The Making of British Colonial Cities, Second Edition., 9–37. Planning History and Environment Series. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, 2013. 9-10.

^[2] Home, Robert K. “The ‘Grand Modell’ of Colonial Settlement.” 33.

^[3] Ibid. 29-30.

^[4] General Drafting Co. Inc. “Mobilgas Mobiloil Friendly Service Everywhere in Hong Kong.” Separate Map. Standard-Vacuum Oil Company, 1958. David Rumsey Historical Map Collection.

^[5] Home, Robert K. “The ‘Grand Modell’ of Colonial Settlement.” 10-13.

^[6] Ibid. 10-11.

^[7] General Drafting Co. Inc. “Mobilgas Mobiloil Friendly Service Everywhere in Hong Kong.”

^[8] Ibid.

^[9] Ibid.

^[10] Home, Robert K. “The ‘Grand Modell’ of Colonial Settlement.” 11-12.

^[11] General Drafting Co. Inc. “Mobilgas Mobiloil Friendly Service Everywhere in Hong Kong.”

^[12] Ibid.

^[13] Ibid.

^[14] Ibid.

^[15] Home, Robert K. “The ‘Grand Modell’ of Colonial Settlement.” 17-19.

^[16] Ibid. 10.

^[17] General Drafting Co. Inc. “Mobilgas Mobiloil Friendly Service Everywhere in Hong Kong.”

^[18] Ibid.

^[19] Ibid.

^[20] Ibid.

^[21] Ibid.

Chengdu, the provincial capital of the Sichuan region, known as the ‘Country of Heaven’ is located over 1,000 miles west of Shanghai. When one looks on a map of China in its entirety, one can really appreciate Chengdu’s distance from the coast and from other centres of urban progression. Dwyer, citing the Chinese poet Du Fu (712-770), notes the isolation Chengdu has always suffered from.¹

“How hard the road to Shu is!

It is as hard as the road to heaven.”

Despite this, Kristin Stapleton, Associate Professor of History at the University of Buffalo, has contested and analysed how Chengdu developed as an urban environment post 1895 in her book ‘Civilizing Chengdu: Chinese Urban Reform, 1895–1937’.²  Whilst other Chinese cities of this era, like Shanghai, benefitted from the influence of Western settlers and commercial enterprises on urban space development, for Chengdu, with its situation in the heart of the interior, the situation was more complex. This post, unpacking Stapleton’s work, looks more closely at how Chengdu developed into an urban hub, with a population today of over 20 million.

Stapleton notes that although Chengdu was the cultural and commercial beating heart of the Sichuan region, prior to 1895, urban affairs were left ‘largely to the local officials, and maintenance of public order was their chief if not only concern’.³ Up until 1895, and the ‘New Policies’ which were instituted in the early 20^th century, cities were given no real spatial importance in Chinese political discourse and the ways in which they could transform social change were not thoroughly considered. So, what changed and why?

The first flashpoint and catalyst for change in China was the humiliating defeat the nation suffered at the hands of the Japanese in the Sino-Japanese War, culminating in 1895. The harsh terms imposed on China as a result of the defeat, as Stapleton has argued, not only led to a general sense of anger but also a sense that reform was needed urgently.⁴ The ‘New Policies’ of the late Qing period, Stapleton has argued, ‘transformed Chengdu in remarkable ways’.⁵  Although the effects of the reforms were intended to be felt widely, in both rural, municipal and urban environments, it was indeed cities that benefitted most. Closer to pockets of political authority and heightened access to resources resulted in provincial capitals such as Chengdu being ‘showcase’ cities for the reforms, whilst other areas were less prioritised. 

As tends to be the case in many cases of urban development in China, the impact of individual local officials can have a large impact. Stapleton in particular focuses on the influences of Zhou Shanpei, a local advisor and official.⁶  She clearly highlights the five urban changes Zhou himself initiated. Known as the four chang (licensed zone for prostitutes, workhouse for beggars, new theatre and reformed opera and commercial arcade) and one cha (a new police force). Although Stapleton herself attests that Zhou is best remembered for his accomplishments in Chengdu, these changes seem relatively minor in creating a new type of urban space.⁷  Although he was personally interested in modelling Chengdu on the Tokyo model (which in turn had built on concepts and ideas from Paris and beyond), it is unclear what lasting impact Zhou’s reforms really had. Why was this?

Dwyer has pointed out that even as late as the 1920’s, there was no real network of good quality roads providing a good quality trade network in and around Chengdu. Internal communications, he further points out, simply meant interior cities took far longer to develop like those on the coast or Treaty Ports. Dwyer further cites a 1931 visitor to Chengdu who notes that it was 25-40 years behind Chongqing in ‘material conveniences’.⁸  Dwyer adds that Chengdu in the 1920’s was still ‘pre-industrial – indeed virtually medieval’.⁹  One huge limitation on Chengdu’s ability to urbanise in the same way as treaty ports was simply access to foreign money and trade. Not only this, but ideas of how to plan cities was, in many cases, imported directly from the foreign settlers themselves. Although one must carefully note these were often as part of colonial and expansionist projects, many Asian cities have since expanded upon and made the most of the layouts and spatial divisions crafted by international settlers. The Shanghai Bund, still prominent and indeed a main attraction, was initially a space which flourished as part of the greater International Settlement.

To conclude, Stapleton’s article is useful in revealing the context of Chengdu’s changes in the late Qing period. By highlighting the role of Zhou Shanpei, she singles out an individual figure that made a big impact on the city in the light of the ‘New Policies’. However, in comparison to other contemporary Chinese cities, Chengdu appears to be relatively behind and indeed urbanism did not take hold nearly as quickly as it did outwith China’s interior.

1. D. J. Dwyer, “Chengdu, Sichuan: The Modernisation of a Chinese City”, Geography 71, no. 3 (1986), pp. 216 [↩]
2. Kristin Stapleton, Civilizing Chengdu: Chinese Urban Reform, 1895–1937, 1st ed., 186, (Harvard, 2000) [↩]
3. Stapleton, Civilizing Chengdu, p. 2 [↩]
4. Ibid, p. 49 [↩]
5. Ibid, p. 74 [↩]
6. Ibid [↩]
7. Ibid, p. 75 [↩]
8. Dwyer, ‘Chengdu, Sichuan’, p. 216 [↩]
9. Ibid, p. 219 [↩]

This blog post focuses on a diagram from Ebenezer Howard’s book, ‘To-morrow: A Peaceful Path to Real Reform’. In this book Howard set out his vision for the Garden City, a form of settlement designed to combat the overcrowding, disease, and squalor in cities, but also to provide job opportunities and social life not seen in rural England.

 

This particular diagram shows Howard’s wider vision, where a central garden city was surrounded by smaller satellite cities, connected by a system of roads, railways, and canals. In addition, the two developments set aside for allotments would help provide for the overall city, in combination with farms situated between municipalities. The overall effect of the diagram was to set out a planned community which could sustain its population with both food and employment, while also remaining self-sufficient with its welfare programs. This differentiated it from later projects like the 1950s New Towns, which were orchestrated by centralised government.
The diagram also helps shed light on contemporary views surrounding urban social problems and providing care for people with illnesses considered uncurable. The diagram clearly shows that homes for orphans and alcoholics would be situated outside the city proper, alongside an insane asylum. This highlights the arms-length approach people held towards these issues at the turn of the century: even when sympathetic to reducing these social problems, the first impulse was to remove them from the more populated cities. However, this could also fit with ideas of rural air being beneficial to health. In this way, Howard’s plan would seek to utilise the benefits of the countryside while keeping able-bodied orphans and recovering alcoholics close to job opportunities and places of education.
Above all, this diagram is clearly only theoretical. The actual layout of the city is not shown, and the locations of the surrounding services are approximate at best. There is also no mention of the landscape the perfectly straight roads and perfectly flat canals would have to contend with. This was because of two reasons: the diagram is solely conceptual, but also there were no examples of such a city to work with at the time Howard published his book. In reality, the Garden City would struggle to grow due to a lack of funds, while existing roads and railways would limit the symmetry and cohesiveness of the eventual settlements that grew using this plan.
Overall, the diagram is a useful tool to visualise Howard’s broader idea of a self-sufficient settlement combining the town and country. The model of the Garden City would utilise the space and health benefits of the countryside, while retaining a large variety of job opportunities which had caused the mass migration into cities during the nineteenth century. This fulfilled one of Howard’s most important ideas, the town-city: a combination of the best of both living environments. While no full Garden City was ever made, Howard’s design shows how urban planners at the start of the twentieth century were increasingly focused on solving social and economic problems through planned city design.

Sources
Hall, P. 1990. Cities of Tomorrow. Oxford: Blackwell. pp. 86-136.
Diagram – Hall, P. Cities of Tomorrow, p. 92.