Homeowners hold out against wreckers

BEIJING -- A frail-looking brick house clings to a small mound of earth surrounded by a giant pit where menacing bulldozers paw at the dirt.

They call it the "nail house." The name refers to the owners' uncanny ability to defy developers' plans to pound it down and make way for a luxury apartment and shopping mecca.

The standoff in central China's Chongqing municipality is nothing new. Government-backed development projects have been eating up private homes across China, creating a hotbed of resistance as millions are uprooted, with many alleging unfair compensation or forced removal.

But after Beijing passed landmark legislation in March to protect private property rights, the nail house seems to have become the common cause of an entire nation eager to see whether its communist leaders will pay more than lip service to a basic human right.

"They should leave this house standing as a monument to the Chinese people's struggle for property rights," said Zhou Xiaozheng, a sociologist at People's University.

The heroes defending this forlorn outpost are a folksy couple some have likened to cult figures in classic kung fu movies. As it happens, Yang Wu is a martial arts champion skilled in the ways of the fist. He has left much of the public speaking role to his wife, Wu Ping. The stylishly dressed woman sometimes refers to herself as a Peking Opera character named "Aqing Sao," an underground Communist Party cadre masquerading as a tea house matron known for her wit in outsmarting the enemy.

For the past three years, she and her husband have fended off developers as each of their 280 neighbors surrendered their homes to the wrecking ball.

"People must live with dignity," Wu said, her voice sounding hoarse and tired over the telephone line. "If you are right, you must stand up for yourself and not allow your rights to be trampled."

According to Wu, their house was originally built in 1944. Her father-in-law ran a grocery store there and later passed the property on to his son. In 1994, the couple rebuilt it from scratch. Since then, they have used it to run several businesses, including a restaurant and a karaoke parlor.

"They say the houses on our street are dilapidated," Wu said. "After we rebuilt ours, it looked better than many storefronts in big cities like Beijing. The fact that it's still standing after all the abuse it suffered from the demolition all around us is a testament to its quality and durability."

Housing authorities told state media that the relocation order is legal and that the couple had been offered an adequate compensation package. Instead, they wanted more money, including housing of the same size, on the ground floor, and facing the sun, like their current house.

Wu says the government is trying to discredit her by making her sound unreasonable. "The fact is what they are offering us is way below market price and we cannot accept that," she said.

Observers say disputes such as these are inevitable because China lacks an independent appraisal system. Local governments eager to promote growth tend to side with developers and fast-track projects.

The local courts recently issued an ultimatum to vacate the premises. Since then, Wu's husband has scaled the steep hill and returned to the fort. The couple have not been living there because road access has been cut off along with the water and the electricity. He has raised the red Chinese flag and vowed to defend his property.

The Chinese Internet community has followed each twist: Yang waving the flag and hanging up a protest banner. Yang hoisting up tanks of gas by rope.

No matter the outcome, observers say, a new page has been turned in the history of the Chinese people's relationship with private property.

"The nail house spirit will spread among the people," said Teng Biao, a Beijing lawyer. "In the future there will be more nail houses like this one. The government will have to think twice before striking them down."