Pier Pressure

A man in a plaid shirt emerges from the folds of his collapsed tent and rolls up a foam mat. It's just after 10 a.m. on a rainy Saturday, and as small birds rush between the pillars of Queen's Pier, Hong Kong begins to cough into life with the ubiquitous sounds of building—and of demolition.

Chen Yun-chung is one of about 20 activists who have been camping out in shifts on the grubby tile floor of Queen's Pier since April 26, the day the government closed this gray-on-gray Modernist structure for good. An assistant professor of urban planning at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, Chen and other members of a loose-knit coalition of NGOs and student groups are determined to stop the pier—built in the colonial era as a disembarkation point for incoming dignitaries—from being torn down or moved to make way for new roads and land reclamation. "People feel very powerless," Chen says. "They are very pessimistic about saving historic monuments."

Quixotic though protest may seem in the face of Hong Kong's relentless development, heritage is a hot issue. But the effort to save the pier (and a handful of other historical sites) is not so much about aesthetics as about what constitutes the community's inheritance and identity now that local officials, and not expatriate civil servants, are determining what gets saved.

You certainly couldn't call Queen's Pier beautiful. It's the memories bound up with it that seem to matter, like the comings and goings of Governors and royalty such as Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Diana. Activist Wat Yau-tin recalls being chosen to hand flowers to a visiting British dignitary as a boy. "It was the experience of a lifetime," he says. "I have witnessed the most glorious parts of this pier." Not everyone is so nostalgic for colonial rule, but Edward Leung, who chairs the heritage-and-conservation committee of the Hong Kong Institute of Architects, says that post-handover woes like the SARS epidemic and the resulting economic fallout ultimately helped residents develop a greater appreciation for what they have. "We discovered our own heritage," he says. "And we said, 'Oh, it's a great city after all. Maybe we should treasure it.'"

Taken aback by the criticism that followed the demolition and replacement last year of one of Hong Kong's two Star Ferry piers—like Queen's Pier, it was of doubtful architectural merit but an emotionally laden landmark—the government has held public forums on heritage, and opened up some planning meetings to the public. But the official attitude is pragmatic at best. "We cannot afford heritage preservation if we do not preserve our economic sustainability," Chief Executive Donald Tsang said in a radio address earlier this year. "The two go hand in hand." (This of a place whose economic growth since the SARS year of 2003 has averaged an annual rate of 7.6%.) Preservationists say such an attitude ignores the desire of Hong Kong people for a say in shaping their environment. "We thought we'd gotten rid of colonial attitudes," says Chen, "but they are still with us."

Mary Ann King, a district councilor for the neighborhood of Wanchai, another area feeling the pressure of development, says the public clamor over the fate of Queen's Pier is just one facet of a growing civil-society movement that she feels Hong Kong's current leaders do not sufficiently acknowledge. "The British took away a lot of from us, but they knew how to leave space for people," she says. "You'd think to yourself, 'At least I have freedom, [even] if I don't have democracy.'" King is not advocating a return to the old days, but her position reflects the general frustration at the ability of the present government and the big property companies to alter the cityscape apparently at will.

In fairness to the authorities, finding more room for development out of a total available area of just over 1,100 sq km poses constant challenges, even with the currently miniscule rates of population growth. Most of Hong Kong's hilly, unstable land is unsuitable for building on, and the flat tracts and ravines making up the urban area have reached saturation. As for the fate of Queen's Pier, there are three official proposals: that it be dismantled during reclamation and rebuilt on its original site; that it be rebuilt on another waterfront site; or that it be rebuilt inland. The latter would look incongruous, certainly, but compromises between expedience and quality of life have characterized Hong Kong since its beginnings. A landlocked pier would be a strange but fitting new monument for the city.

码头风云

原文链接

（挂满标语的皇后码头，转自http://hkdigit.blogspot.com/2007/08/eviction-order-for-queens-pier.html）

周六，蒙蒙细雨。上午10点刚过，一个穿花格衬衫的男人从倒塌的帐篷里爬出来，卷起泡沫睡垫。小鸟在皇后码头的立柱间飞来飞去，香港从一片建设的喧闹声中苏醒，当然，也有拆迁的喧闹。

陈允中（Chen Yun-chung）是从4月26日开始在皇后码头肮脏的石地板上轮班留守的大约20个抗议人士之一。政府出于好意在这一天关闭了这个灰蒙蒙的现代派建筑。陈是香港科技大学城市规划的助理教授，他和一群松散组织的非政府组织成员，以及学生团体的代表决心阻止为了新建道路和填海工程拆迁这个殖民时代达官贵人下船的码头。“人们觉得很无力，”陈说，“对保存历史遗迹十分悲观。”

香港的持续建设虽然让这些抗议活动看起来有些堂吉诃德，但历史确实是个炙手可热的议题。由于现在保留哪些历史古迹的决定权在地方官员而不是海外公务员手里，保护皇后码头（还有其他几个历史遗迹）的努力并不只关乎美学，而是更关乎这个城市对历史和自身的认同。

皇后码头谈不上美丽，但重要的是它萦系记忆。历任总督从这里来来又去去。伊丽莎白二世女王和戴安娜公主这样的皇家贵族，也都在这里上岸。一位名叫屈友天（Wat Yau-tin）的抗议人士回忆他小时候被选出给英国政要献花时说：“那真是永生难忘。我见证了这个码头最辉煌的时刻。”当然并不是每一个人都对殖民统治这么怀恋。香港建筑学院历史和保护委员会主席梁以华（Edward Leung）指出回归后的一系列不幸，比如非典疫症和经济危机，最终让这里的居民对自己拥有的更加珍视。“我们发现了自己的历史，”他说，“我们可以说：‘哦，这真是个伟大的城市，我们应该珍惜它。’”

和皇后码头一样，去年拆迁香港天星码头后政府遭到了猝不及防的批评浪潮。其中更多是的对标志性建筑的情感寄托，而不是建筑本身的价值。政府这次预先举行了关于历史传统的公众论坛，并且开放了一些规划会议让公众参与。但政府的态度最多只能算是实用主义的。今年早些时候行政长官曾荫权在电台节目中说：“如果我们不保持经济的持续发展，就不会有能力保护历史古迹。这二者必须携手共进。”（香港自2003年非典之后年平均经济增长率为7.6%。）保护主义者声称这种态度忽略了香港人民希望在塑造环境中拥有表达权的诉求。“我们原以为已经排除了殖民者的态度，”陈说，“但我们还身处其中。”

另一个感到拆迁压力的湾仔区的议员玛丽·安·金（Mary Ann King）指出关于皇后码头命运的争议实际上表现出不断成长壮大的公民社会运动，对此香港现任领导没有足够重视。她说：“英国人剥夺了很多，但他们知道给人民留点空间。大家可以安慰自己：‘即使没有民主，起码我还有自由。’”金并不宣扬回到过去的日子，但她的观点体现了一种对现政府能力的整体忧虑。大发展商似乎已经能够随心所欲地改变这个城市的地貌。

对当局公平地来说，即使是今天极低的生育率下，在区区1000多平方公里的总面积中挤出发展的空间也是一种永恒的挑战。香港大多数土地是山地，土质不稳，不适宜进行建筑。而且平地上掠夺式的开发已经让城区达到了饱和。至于皇后码头的命运，目前有三个官方方案：先拆除，填海工程后在原址重建；在海边另外选址重建；在内陆重建。最后一种看来大家都不同意，但是生活质量和便利之间的妥协从香港开埠之初就是这个城市的特征，所以一个在土地中间的码头虽然看起来奇怪，但也不失为这个城市的新地标。