62 China The Economist November 20th 2021
at least $1trn nationwide. Generous subsi
dies have been dolloped out to localities.
Netizens were up in arms when they disco
vered that Zhengzhou had planned to in
vest close to 55bn yuan in spongerelated
projects in the two years preceding the
floods. How much was actually spent has
not been made public. But the work had
clearly failed to avert disaster (and had not
reversed the extensive buildingover of
Zhengzhou’s wetlands that had occurred in
recent decades). Officials insisted that the
downpour was a “once in a millennium”
event that even the bestbuilt sponge city
could not have coped with perfectly.
Experts agree that Zhengzhou has not
disproved the effectiveness of the sponge
city programme. They point out that the
government had required sponge projects
to cover only 20% of the city’s urban area
by 2020. So it may be difficult to evaluate
Zhengzhou’s efforts at least until 2030.
Kong Feng of the China Agricultural Uni
versity in Beijing says that more subterra
nean spaces need to be used to collect
floodwater. For example, he suggests, the
lowest levels of underground car parks
could be adapted to serve as emergency
reservoirs. Such a backup “may not be
needed for ten years. But use it just once
and it will be lifesaving for the city,” says
Mr Kong. He has been involved in China’s
first nationwide survey of risk from natu
ral disasters, which was launched last year.
It is the case that local governments
sometimes misspend the money they are
given for spongecity building. They are of
ten reluctant to use expensive land to
create natural drainage systems such as
parks and ponds. For a sponge city to work,
many government units must collaborate,
from waterconservation and weather bu
reaus to education and emergency depart
ments. For two days before the worst of the
flooding, Zhengzhou’s meteorological of
fice issued its highest level of alert for a
rainstorm. But few officials appeared to
pay much attention.
There is evidence from other places that
spongifying can make a difference. Like
Zhengzhou, the floodprone city of Wu
han, on the banks of the Yangzi, was cho
sen as a pilot spongecity in 2015. From July
5th to 6th last year, a cloudburst caused re
cord rainfall over the city. Yet flood waters
began to recede within hours. The follow
ing day centres for taking the gaokao, Chi
na’s universityentrance exam, stayed
open despite heavy rain.
Many critics overlook the fact that in
Zhengzhou, too, water levels fell more
swiftly than they would otherwise have
done, says Mr Kong (it may have helped
that Zhengzhou’s floodprevention efforts
had also included the building or refur
bishing of over 5,000 kilometres of
drains). City officials recently called on Mr
Yu and his team to help them make
Zhengzhoumoreabsorbent.
Tourists are flocking once again to
Leshan’sBuddha,sometoseekpeaceand
protectionatitsfeet.Thestatueconceals
otherstrengths.Insideitsbodya drainage
system,carvedintotherockwhenitwas
built,helpstoflushoutrainwaterandre
duce erosion. Some say that the rocks
gougedoutofthecliffweredroppedinto
theriver,helpingtocalmit—andthatthe
statue’sdivinepresence,wheretherivers
meet,alsohelpsslowthewater’sflow.For
spongecityenthusiastsitis nature,not
thesupernatural,thatofferssalvation.n
Streetart
The grey walls
of China
I
n the mid1990s outlines of bulbous
heads, spraypainted with a single swipe,
began to appear on Beijing’s walls. Next to
them was written “ak47”. This tag, as graf
fitied signatures are known, belonged to
Zhang Dali, an art student who had spent
time in Italy and discovered graffiti culture
there. On his return to China, swathes of its
cities were being razed to make way for de
velopment. Workers were daubing the
character chai, meaning “demolish”, on
buildings due to be torn down. Mr Zhang
took his cans to the same walls in protest at
this often brutal upheaval.
Mr Zhang is widely regarded as China’s
first modern graffiti artist. More recent
ones are influenced by skateboarding cul
ture or rap music. The art form is still in its
infancy in China—it is far less commonly
seen than in the West. But Liu Yuansheng,
coauthor of “Beijing Graffiti”, published in
2020, reckons the number of practitioners
in the capital has at times swelled to 200.
Cities are riddled with cctvcameras
and teeming with lawenforcement offi
cers. But it is not the threat of punishment
that deters people from becoming graffiti
artists. Doodlers rarely face more than a
fine of 500 yuan ($80) and a day in police
custody. Those caught tagging often get
away with a promise to paint over their
work. Sometimes the public defends such
art. Residents in the central city of Wuhan
called on officers to remove advertise
ments that had been pasted over a work by
Rui Huang, a local artist. They felt that the
ads had defaced his graffiti.
It may simply be that few people even
consider spraying walls without permis
sion. There is no tradition of guerrilla art
used by criminal gangs to mark their terri
tory or by protesters to attack the govern
ment. Mr Zhang’s poke at developers was a
rare kind of dissent. The ruins gave him
cover—officials turned a blind eye, know
ing his works would soon be bulldozed.
China does have a history of using walls
to express dissent in written form, how
ever. A famous example occurred during
the Democracy Wall movement of 197879
when people flocked to the brick wall of a
bus station in Beijing to put up “bigchar
acter posters” demanding greater political
freedom. A constitutional right to put up
such posters was scrapped in 1980. These
days mural selfexpression rarely goes be
yond unauthorised “throwies”, or two
tone tags in bubblelike writing, which can
be seen on walls in Beijing.
Local governments sometimes even
sponsor street art, regarding it as a sign of
modernisation. In the runup to the Olym
pic games that were held in Beijing in
2008, officials in the capital encouraged
artists to paint a 300metrelong “graffiti
wall”. Designs were vetted first. A street in
the southwestern city of Chongqing is
home to one of the world’s largest graffiti
projects (pictured). It was created, with of
ficial approval, by 800 painters. This year
Wuhan paid local crews to draw graffiti on
a tram and several public buses.
There are others, however, who barely
qualify as artists who scribble on walls. A
Chinese citizen in Sydney, who goes by the
name Lil Quacky, collects graffiti in an In
stagram account called “chinesegraffiti
hub” (the app is blocked in China). Quacky
began the project last year after noticing
that someone had rewritten a roadside slo
gan in China that had urged people to carry
away their rubbish. It had been changed to
“Carry away your love.” Most graffiti sub
mitted to Quacky consists of untidy spray
painted sentences. “Are they enough to
shock passersby, to make them think, to
make them stay for a while?” areQuacky’s
criteria for posting them online.Hundreds
of examples have passed the test.n
Officials give graffiti artists a
surprising amount of leeway
Chongqing’s badge of modernity