A church in the remote Catholic village of Huangtugang dominates the Hebei skyline. (Click image to enlarge).
The Seventh Ring may not open in its entirety until 2017 but sections of the road are already finished and in use. Currently known as highways G95 and G7, the project’s longest completed stretch runs from Zhuozhou to Zhangjiakou and is flanked by jagged mountain peaks that rise one after another, overlapping between dense layers of mist. The terraced fields on the mountain slopes take the appearance of flowing green water, interrupted by occasional splashes of wild flowers.
As we emerge from a series of long tunnels that carve through the landscape, a cargo train passes ahead of us on an elevated railway line. The train’s length is astonishing. It is still flying across the highway bridge as it disappears into the horizon behind us. We are later told that the red and gray cars are loaded with coal bound for Japan. Traveling from Shanxi to the coast in Qinhuangdao, the train honors a trade agreement signed by Premier Zhou Enlai four decades ago.
This is not the only reminder of the past. At one of the infrequent rest stops we find an ‘Artware Souvenir Shop’ (although ‘Artware’ might better read: ‘Communist’). Inside, portraits of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, Mao Zedong, Deng Xiaoping and Hu Jintao sit alongside one another in a combination of images rarely displayed in the capital.
But most of the items for sale are modeled on Mao. Plaster, bronze, wood and ceramic sculptures all stand in near identical poses, each in the same flowing coat, arm outstretched in a benevolent wave.
Far from the communist kitsch on sale in tourist spots in Beijing – which lies just beyond the mountains – the souvenirs are targeted at an altogether different market. Many in the capital ascribe to the Party-endorsed notion that Mao’s leadership was “70 percent right and 30 percent wrong” but uncritical reverence for the former leader is much more prominent in surrounding provinces like Hebei. This has helped the steady growth of business at the shop since it opened five months ago, explains 39-year-old sales assistant Ms.Yang.
“All of our customers are drivers passing by. Some buy gifts for their friends but most buy for themselves. Sculptures of Chairman Mao are put in cars or even people’s homes for their safety. To them, Chairman Mao is kind of a god,” she tells us.
Further along the road’s western stretch, we catch the first physical evidence of the Seventh Ring. On a huge sign, some ten meters above the road, red characters are set against a backdrop of Zhuozhou’s city planning photo proclaiming: ‘Beijing West Seventh Ring Road’.
Unbeknown to us at the time, this will be the only physical recognition of the project that we encounter. While the Ring’s route has been widely reported in state media, and its construction is evidently underway, the majority of people who we speak with along its path have never heard of the road. For those who have, it is little more than an abstract concept; a distant harbinger of threat or opportunity.
This is perhaps of little surprise given the isolation that many of these places have existed in until now. Indeed, just beyond the roadside sign, nestled behind apple trees and sunflowers, we find something that could hardly be further from the Beijing sprawl that may soon engulf it – a Catholic village.
At Huangtugang’s center, a huge European-style church dominates the landscape, its spires piercing a skyline in which nothing stands higher than a single story. With dark pink walls and a sharp roof, the sight is as dramatic as it is unexpected.
We climb down the bank of the highway, past a barbed-wire fence and into a field of fruit trees. A shepherd watches on cautiously, though he seems appeased as we point to the church. “Are you also Catholics? Here, all the villagers are Catholics,” he says, leading us (and his sheep) the rest of the way.
In the village we meet 49-year-old Zhao, who says that the Bible and Church have always been important parts of his life. Along with all the other villagers, he attends church twice a day for prayers and song.
“I don’t know how long people here have followed Catholicism, but I was told by my grandfather that his grandfather was also Catholic, so it must be a very long time,” he says.
Catholic villager Mrs. Zhao at her home in Huangtugang (left), where religious imagery is proudly displayed (right). Click images to enlarge.
A church has long existed on this site, though the one stood before us was built in 2005. A local priest collected funds for the project at about the same time that a number of villagers’ fields were acquired by officials to make way for the Ring Road. Zhao received compensation of RMB28,300 for his plot, with some additional money given for the apple trees and grapevines that he lost. Nonetheless, he would have chosen land over money.
“The only thing I know about the Seventh Ring is that big sign over there,” says Zhao as he leads us to his home. “I am not optimistic about highways. The only change they bring is more noise from cars and trucks, day and night. There is little promise here – there has been no water on the north mountain in recent years. We can’t plant anything, we only dig wells.”
The poverty is starkly apparent. Many buildings are reinforced with an outer layer of dried manure and most of the villagers earn less than RMB10,000 a year, even with a good harvest. With drought worsening, many have abandoned farming and instead migrate elsewhere for work.
As the villagers gather for evensong we do not see a single young face and it is only at a nearby supply shop where we find anyone of working age. The chemical plant on the other side of the highway has fallen into disuse, meaning the nearest factory is now some 47 kilometers away in Xuanhua. For those unable to make the journey, livelihoods must instead depend on the year’s rainfall.
But while poor, the villagers are some of the most cheerful characters that we encounter on the journey. Outside Zhao’s gate, a group of old women sit out on the steps enjoying the sunshine and early autumn breeze. A few meters away, middle-aged men engross themselves in a game of Chinese chess. The villagers may be somewhat cautious of outsiders – we are not allowed into the church service – but they are more forthcoming with their homes.
“Come in, please don’t mind the mess,” Zhao says, seemingly embarrassed by his simple house as he ushers us in.
There are two small buildings in his yard – one old and one evidently newer – each with three rooms. In one, a hearth is set beside a wall connected to a kang, a heated bed commonly used in northern China. In the other, three tanks, each over a meter high, store water in case the village loses its supply. The walls are decorated with classical images of flowers and birds, but religion is the dominant theme of the decor. Photo frames bear family portraits – including many of a priest – with depictions of Jesus and other religious imagery symbolizing their piety.
Zhao’s mother, who sits on the kang, has had difficulty speaking since falling ill last year. She expresses herself through gestures, occasionally putting her hands together in prayer during the conversation. Her husband reads the Bible every day.
“For me, religion gives courage,” Zhao’s father says. “I am in my late 80s but I am not afraid of death. I believe that if I put my faith in God and do good things when I am alive, then when I die, I won’t suffer pain.”
For the people of Huangtugang, the outside world was, until recently, a place behind the mountains and beyond the horizon. The village existed unnoticed, its inhabitants practicing their religion, living and dying in relative isolation. Now part of the highway scenery, the Seventh Ring cuts through one of its corners, exposing it to all beyond.
We depart with good wishes and gifts of fruit. While on this occasion, Huangtugang’s visibility only lured inquisitive outsiders, it remains to be seen whether threats to its way of life accompany the completion of the Seventh Ring. Beijing needs more land to expand and the people here have no say in the urbanization that is creeping toward them. The short remainder of the road to Zhangjiakou reveals what urban planners hope will become of Hebei – a row of power plants exhaling smoke into the sunset.