A roadside wedding in Fengning. (Click image to enlarge).
The notion of a Manchu Autonomous County may conjure images of horses, grasslands and ethnic clothing. But, in appearance at least, Fengning’s main county town appears little different from others in Hebei. Ethnic distinctions can, we are told, be spotted by a trained eye (and moustaches are more prominent), but aside from speaking a more ‘standard’ Mandarin, it is not always easy to differentiate. According to official estimates, around two-thirds of the county’s 380,000 residents are Manchu (a figure supported by our wiry hotelier), though everyone that we speak to in the town, without exception, claims Manchu heritage.
As one of the most important stopovers for the ethnically Manchu Qing Dynasty as it descended on Beijing in the 17th century, Fengning’s history has long been tied with that of Manchuria. After conquering the capital, many low-ranking Manchu soldiers remained in the county to develop the land. The story of how the town was named is carved into a huge stone tablet in the town’s busy main square, where we find Liu Zongguo, 73, returning home with his groceries. The retired factory manager expresses his disappointment that people here, even the older generation, can barely speak or read their ancestors’ language. In fact, fewer than 70 native or semi-speakers of the language remain.
“Here, most shops have bilingual signs,” he says, pointing to a small ice cream store bearing markings of the near-extinct language. “But sadly none of us can read it. We did not value our own culture and the country did not make the same effort to preserve it as they did for the Mongolians, Tibetans and Uighurs.”
Just as their language was incorporated into today’s putonghua, the Manchus’ process of conquer and assimilation left them with few remnants of their unique culture. Although Fengning was granted autonomous county status in 1987 – ostensibly to help preserve its traditions – there is scant evidence of history in the town.
At the distinctly ‘pan-China’ Intangible Cultural Heritage Museum, images of Mao and Lei Feng feature more prominently than any of the Qing emperors. We are enthusiastically shown to an exhibition floor where artifacts progress through time from prehistory before abruptly stopping at the 1500s, just as the Manchus were coming to rule. The ‘Manchu Heritage Village’, a little outside the town, tries a little harder. But it is clearly for tourists in search of horses, bows and arrows. The village employees no doubt change from their Manchu clothing as soon as their shift ends.
But while the preservation of Manchu culture feels somewhat futile, a certain yearning exists nonetheless – even among the young. We stop at a roadside wedding and, as the couple pass beneath a banner reading ‘I Love You’ in English, the bride’s sister tells us: “I hope that [Fengning] can develop and, at the same time, preserve Manchu culture.” Little cannons fire confetti into the air and the eruption of firecrackers sends guests ducking for cover. The flowing white bridal dress and tiara, like the entire ceremony, are not exactly steeped in Manchurian tradition.
This is not to say that all Western trends have caught on with such vigor. Our attempt to order cafe lattes at a nearby ice cream shop instigates visible panic among the employees, three of whom stand around the high tech silver coffee machine in bemusement. After over ten minutes of prodding, debate and disappearing into the backroom, two drinks are produced. We are told that the store has no milk, but we are assured that these are lattes.
We take our black-coffee-with-unknown-milk-substitute and return to the one of the town’s busier streets. Protruding from the main junction, we see the most pervasive sight of our journey across the Seventh Ring: a building under construction. Development is endemic here too. In the past two years, more than ten residential compounds were built in this town of less than 15 square kilometers.
A short walk away, we find more cranes parked in a construction site. But there are no workers here. Hubei native Huang Chaofu, who is unemployed and out enjoying the sun, tells us that the project is in trouble. Two days previously, a worker threatened to jump from the building in protest for having not been paid his year’s salary. The local government paid the bill to buy his silence, Huang claims, though the development has now been stalled.
“In a small town like this, you don’t see the darkness behind the prosperous face,” he says.
Dependant on a crutch to walk and blind in one eye following an accident last year at a local coal mine, 30-something Huang enjoys slightly better treatment. Despite having never signed a formal employment contract, the mine’s boss provides him with RMB8,000 a month for treatment and living expenses. This is far from the million yuan he hopes for.
“If I get the money, I will leave this place immediately. But I know the boss’ situation. Many mines have their minerals heaped up there because there is no market right now. The housing market is also full of bubbles,” Huang tells us.
Economic concerns appear to take precedence over cultural ones. Back in the town square, Liu Zongguo, who earlier shared his dismay about the loss of the Manchu language, hopes that the Seventh Ring can help Fengning replicate the development found in Langfang, the first city we visited.
“It will be great if the Seventh Ring Road brings more industries, like in Langfang, which used to be very poor but now has a booming economy,” says Liu who, along with his wife, lives on a pension of around RMB5,000. Everybody will benefit from the economy’s development. In ten years time, I am sure there will be huge changes in this city. The highway will bring in everything.”
Liu’s hope that prosperity can be better spread through the region is echoed by 58-year-old government employee, Li Hua, who we find a few meters beyond him in the square.
“Fengning cannot compare with Beijing at all, not even with Langfang. Huairou District [in Beijing] is only 18 kilometers away – they’re as different as heaven and earth,” he says.
The gap between Fengning and the capital is clear. We are told that the highest housing price here is less than RMB6,000 per square meter, less than a fifth of the average price in Beijing. Civil servants in Fengning can expect an average of RMB2,700 per month – significantly lower than the starting salary of their Beijing counterparts. Meanwhile, farmers here receive a state subsidy of just RMB55 a month, rather than the RMB350 enjoyed less than 20 kilometers away.
But the move towards an integrated megalopolis – the wider project that the Ring Road epitomizes – is already having an impact here, some locals claim. Fengning’s beef, mutton and vegetables are sold to the capital, and companies from Beijing are buying land at the provincial border to set up business. There is optimism that the town can catch up with its neighbors.
Small business owner Zhang Guiqing, 52, takes a break from his game of badminton to share his hopes for the town’s future. Sporting a counterfeit Liverpool soccer jersey, he is positive about rumors of a high-speed rail link and explains that ties with the capital are already expanding.
“As I’ve long expected, the Seventh Ring Road will go through Fengning. Beijing has no other choice than to expand to our small places. It is exploding – too much noise, pollution and pressure from overpopulation. Beijingers are coming here for our clean air, water and comfortable climate. In summer, cars with Beijing plates are even blocking the road to the grasslands,” he declares proudly.
Given that the Manchus once swarmed down to take Beijing, there is a certain irony in the fact that they may soon be consumed by the capital. What’s more, as we pass a crowded square on our way from the town, it transpires that the once fierce warriors are now also willing conscripts to the Chinese army.
Around 100 youths, most in their late teens, stand in line with red flowers attached to their military uniforms. Hordes of family members stand around them, holding their hands and, in some cases, wiping tears. These newly recruited soldiers are bound for military camps in cities like Beijing, Tianjin and Shijiazhuang for a minimum of two years.
A red carpet is laid out on the stage in preparation for a speech by the leaders of the county’s military office, who recruit new soldiers here twice a year. Loud songs with lyrics that include “being a soldier protecting the nation is the biggest honor” play repeatedly. A banner hung above the parade instructs: “Join the army using your cultural knowledge to show the true color of men,” and reminds the young conscripts that their loyalty to the army will “repay the motherland for her kindness.”
As conscription is voluntary in China, all have made a careful and mature decision, says Mrs Ma, whose 19-year-old son is among the recruits.
“Most families want to send their son to the army if he is not attending university. It’s a good choice,” she says. “First, it gets him some exercise, both physical and mental, and after he comes back it will benefit his future career.”
Prospects remain limited for young people in Fengning. The economy is significantly stunted when compared to that of the capital, or even other stops along the Ring Road. The expansion of Beijing is likely to further erode ethnic identities in this Manchu county. But the opportunities that it brings may, for many, make this a sacrifice worth making.