Taiwan, officially known as the Republic of China (ROC) is a semi-recognised sovereign state with an independent government but limited recognition state in East Asia with only 11 UN member states recognising it by the time of writing.¹ Even though the name China appears on the name of Taiwan, the Taiwanese residents today, especially the younger generation see themselves as ‘Taiwanese’ rather than ‘Chinese’ despite the ROC being a remnant of the Chinese Civil War from 1945 to 1949 where the ruling Nationalist party (KMT) lost and established a rival government to the Communists (CCP).² To understand this phenomenon of Taiwanese identity shift, this blog will explore the two sites managed by the National Human Rights Museum established in 2018. This blog argues that the construction of human rights-themed museums builds onto the Taiwanese identity to showcase to the outside world that they are different from authoritarian Mainland China as an indirect form of protest against the ‘Chinese’ identity being forced upon Taiwanese residents. The blog will start by contextualising the argument through a brief account of the recent history of Taiwan. Next, the Green Island Memorial managed by the National Human Rights Museum will be analysed. Finally,  a concise comparison of the museum with the Japan-British exhibition will be used as a discussion of the theme of museums and exhibits.

Taiwan or Formosa is an island located off the coast of Fujian, China separated by the Taiwan Strait. From 1895 to 1945, as a result of the Qing defeat in the First Sino-Japanese War, Taiwan became a colony of the Japanese Empire, seeing industrialisation and exploitation of Taiwanese resources for the Japanese war effort.³ In 1945 at the onset of the surrender of the Japanese, Taiwan was to become under the administration of the ROC, which at the time controlled Mainland China as well. However, with the onslaught of the Chinese Civil War and the defeat of the KMT under Chaing Kai-shek at the hands of the CCP led by Mao Zedong, the KMT established their government in Taipei, with the goal of eventually reconquering the Mainland.⁴ Under KMT rule until 1989, forms of opposition or suspicion of being communist spies were a target for arrests and execution, and any form of Taiwanese separatism, speaking Taiwanese Hokkien or praising the Japanese were seen as treason and a breach of national security reinforced by Martial Law.⁵ This policy was in line with the KMT policy to instil a sense of Chinese identity in the Taiwanese population to eventually retake the Mainland, and to promote itself as the ‘true China’. Fast forward to 1987, Taiwan lifted Martial Law and free elections were held, causing Taiwan to flourish as a young democracy.⁶ This has allowed for a broader room of discussion for topics that used to be banned such as Taiwanese identity, democracy, human rights, and free speech. This democratising environment eventually culminated in the 2000 presidential election of Chen-Shui-bian of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), which promote a Taiwanese identity distinct from the Chinese-centric KMT, hence marking a shift in Taiwan’s history.⁷ Since 2000, Taiwan has become an established democracy with the KMT and DPP constantly vying for power with some notable cases of brawling in the Legislative Yuan (Taiwan’s parliament). 

Under DPP administrations, the government has pushed for the introduction of liberal values that distanced itself from China. The promotion of human rights is a major policy for the Taiwanese government. The DPP administrations under Chen-Shui-bian (2000-2008) and Tsai Ing-wen (2016-2023) have pushed for a Taiwanese-centered identity which aimed to promote a Taiwan-centered society and de-Sinicise the education system.⁸ The establishment of the National Human Rights Museum in 2017 was a milestone in Taiwan’s quest to distance itself from an ever-aggressive China. According to the museum’s official website, it took over 15 years of donations from organisations and countless legislative obstacles to establish the museum managing two former sites used to imprison KMT political opponents to educate the public about the importance of freedom and reflecting on past mistakes. ( (https://www.nhrm.gov.tw/w/nhrm/Introduction )) This demonstrates how the Taiwanese government under the DPP tried to establish former spaces of oppression to promote new Taiwanese values. I believe this was done to counter the growing assertiveness of the Chinese government in claiming Taiwan for itself.

The Green Island Human Rights Park was a former prison used to imprison political opponents during the Martial Law era and is now a museum site under the administration of the National Human Rights Museum. Located in Taitung prefecture on the east coast of the island, this 32 acre site used to be a former prison that housed activists who challenged the government.⁹ By turning the site into a museum that commemorated the victims of the KMT regime, it demonstrates a power shift. Under the DPP administration, the KMT past, especially the era under Martial Law was seen as a period where innocent Taiwanese were imprisoned because of promoting free speech created a new discourse that the KMT and China were foreign invaders of Taiwan and were not native to the land. This shows how the DPP is attempting to construct a discourse of Taiwanese identity that aims to distance itself from China in light of the heightened tensions across the Taiwan Strait. As China is increasing its crackdown on human rights and individual freedoms, Taiwan sees itself as the bastion of freedom against the communist regime across the Straits. By coming to terms with the past human rights abuses and promoting a sense of Taiwanese identity, this museum exhibit aims to educate the public that human rights is an important aspect of post-Martial Law Taiwan. By directly turning a former site of political oppression into a site that educates the public on values of democracy, it demonstrates that the government under the DPP is attempting to create a discourse that the past KMT-centered government is responsible for numerous atrocities and that the Taiwanese identity is central to a new discourse. This showcases how the DPP aims to construct that the new Taiwan was born under the abandonment of the China-centric approach by the KMT, solidifying the political narrative. With museums, it is an effective measure to promote to the public as it uses summarised and condensed narratives on how particular political progress is achieved.

In comparison to the Japan-British Exhibition of 1910, the transformation of the Green Island Museum draws parallels. The Japan-British Exhibition of 1910 aimed to promote Japan’s imperialism and justify having an empire over territories like Taiwan and Korea whereas the Taiwan one aimed to promote human rights as part of national identity construction.¹⁰ Similar to how the Japanese wanted to project their empire to the West, the Taiwanese aimed to use the human rights museums to promote that they are in line with the West in democracy against the authoritarian China much like how the Japanese did 100 years ago. In short, although there is a 100 year gap between my elective reading and the example used in this elective reading, fitting in with Western values often signify a sign of civilisation, in which colonised populations hope to achieve and become a part of it.

1. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-67978185 [↩]
2. https://tw.news.yahoo.com/%E6%B0%91%E8%AA%BF-76-7-%E8%87%AA%E8%AA%8D%E6%98%AF%E5%8F%B0%E7%81%A3%E4%BA%BA-%E4%B8%AD%E5%9C%8B%E8%AA%8D%E5%90%8C%E5%B7%B2%E7%B6%93%E5%80%8B%E4%BD%8D%E6%95%B8-044006112.html?guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuZ29vZ2xlLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAMa3tYOVvzOCVYWYQfcdY3JVR-V-tDwjxGpcmLNCusfFh3acFRPJnKI5hcA0YdS4FewkhElwHzleI0hXC2-GpoAqhJot16047_x8OV8yv60InDnCCx9klHRCio-zR7lo2ARrRFLe1ectntl9KfRXnPIDxrR2mlNEwNAhxYR8jAVQ [↩]
3. Dawley, Evan Becoming Taiwanese: Ethnogenesis in a Colonial City 1880s-1950s  [↩]
4. Manthorpe, Jonathan, Taiwan: Forbidden nation  [↩]
5. TIEN, HUNG-MAO, and CHYUAN-JENG SHIAU. “Taiwan’s Democratization: A Summary.” World Affairs, vol. 155, no. 2, 1992, pp. 58–61. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20672340. Accessed 4 Feb. 2024. [↩]
6. TIEN, H.-M., & SHIAU, C.-J. (1992). Taiwan’s Democratization: A Summary. World Affairs, 155(2), 58–61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20672340 [↩]
7. CHANG, BI-YU. “From Taiwanisation to De-Sinification: Culture Construction in Taiwan since the 1990s.” China Perspectives, no. 56, 2004, pp. 34–44. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24051939. Accessed 4 Feb. 2024. [↩]
8. https://www.lemonde.fr/en/international/article/2023/12/29/taiwan-questions-the-role-of-chinese-literature-and-history-in-education_6384023_4.html [↩]
9. https://www.nhrm.gov.tw/w/nhrm/GI_History [↩]
10. Hotta-Lister, A. The Japan-British Exhibition of 1910: Gateway to the Island Empire of the East. 1 edition. Richmond: Routledge, 1999. [↩]

Hong Kong has been known to many as the financial hub and gateway to the East with its vibrant culture and food scene earning the nickname ‘Pearl of the Orient’. Under this guise, however, few in the West are unaware of the complex history of this place which Western values come into play with traditional Chinese family values and how 156 years of British rule created a sense of identity that comes into conflict with that of its behemoth sovereign China.¹ Instead of focusing on the political aspect of Hong Kong which newspapers and scholars do a much better job at, I will take a look at Victoria Park, the second largest public park and green space in Hong Kong by land area and how its existence captures the conflicting values of Hong Kong discretely. I argue that the statue and this large space is representative of how Hong Kong’s complex interactions with China and the West created and destroyed certain values like free speech and it also acts as a ground of cultural representation for its secondary function. The park will be compared to the Sanam Luang (Royal Field) in Bangkok at the end.

The park was built on reclaimed land from the Causeway Bay typhoon shelter and was so named Victoria Park because of a statue of Queen Victoria. The bronze statue of Queen Victoria was originally built to commemorate her Diamond Jubilee in 1897 and was located in Statue Square in Central, a 7-minute metro ride away. During the Second World War, the statue was stolen by the Japanese to make way for arms production. It was not until the 50s that the statue was recovered and coincidentally, the area around the old Causeway Bay typhoon shelter has been reclaimed and it was decided that a park was to be built on the reclaimed land measuring 19 acres. The park was to be named Victoria Park because of the statue.²

Figure 1: Aerial overview of Victoria Park

The statue of Queen Victoria, symbolising British control over Hong Kong was smeared with red paint and the nose was broken one year prior to Hong Kong’s handover in 1996 by an artist who criticised Hong Kong’s colonial art culture.³ The colour red is significant because in colonial Hong Kong discourse, the colour red is associated with communism or the mainland’s government in general, with it being especially sensitive in the aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre. Coincidentally, since 1989 until the enactment of the National Security Law in 2020, every year on June 4th, hundreds of thousands of individuals will gather to commemorate the victims slaughtered by the Chinese government through candlelight vigils as in China it is a banned topic.⁴ The gathering of the masses in a park with the name of the British monarch showcases an act of resistance by local Hong Kong activists to demonstrate that they cherish the values of democracy and freedom which does not sit well with the Chinese government.

With the Chinese government wanting to increase its grip on Hong Kong, it chose to assault what Hong Kongers cherished the most, open expression of a sense of identity. The park signified resistance in the form of an annual tradition, being featured on international outlets like the BBC and CNN. By using the pandemic as a pretext, the six football pitches where individuals used to gather have been cordoned off by the police in 2021 and 2022 showcasing how the Chinese authorities have been increasingly clamping down on Hong Kong in recent years.⁵ In June 2023, a patriotic fair that sold Chinese goods and promoted Chinese peace and values was set up in the place of the vigil according to a report from Radio Free Asia.⁶ This clearly shows a power shift and an overarching power of the Chinese authorities over the former established institutions as the Queen’s statue has faded into the background. In other words, the value of spaces changes over time and is synonymous with power dynamics and in the case of Victoria Park, it signifies the value of authoritarianism crushing civil liberties. It further aligns with the Chinese government’s vision of making Hong Kong ‘Chinese’.

For its secondary function, the park is a place for recreation and symbolises the livelihood of Hong Kong, an escape from the hustle and bustle of the city. Having six football pitches, six basketball courts, an Olympic-standard indoor swimming pool, a tennis stadium, a jogging track and a picnic ground, it has abundant space for individuals to stay healthy and enjoy socialising.² I remember going to swimming classes with my secondary school during the summer term for Physical Education (PE) classes and the park seems so tranquil whenever I go there, a great escape from the city.

Sanam Luang in Bangkok plays a symbolic role like Victoria Park. As Sanam Luang is a large open field located near the Royal Palace and a major Buddhist temple, the use of the space by groups like monarchists and protesters signifies the vibrant nature of different voices in Thailand.⁷ By hosting royal funerals and being near the palace, it demonstrates a power line that the monarch remains the most important figure within Thai society and the lese majeste laws that forbid slandering the monarch compliments the ‘peace’ of Sanam Luang. This draws parallels to how the Security Law creates a sense of ‘peace’ as opposed to the protests towards the Chinese government prior to the law.

In conclusion, the use of parks and open spaces alongside legislation showcases how certain authorities try to use space as an expression of power or enforce new values upon the population.

1. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/hong-kong-history-explain-relationship-china [↩]
2. https://www.discoverhongkong.com/tc/explore/great-outdoor/urban-retreat-at-city-parks.html [↩] [↩]
3. https://web.archive.org/web/20150924101554/http://www.scmp.com/article/180291/queen-victoria-has-successful-nose-job [↩]
4. https://www.bbc.com/zhongwen/trad/chinese-news-48511746 [↩]
5. https://edition.cnn.com/2022/06/03/asia/hong-kong-june-4-tiananmen-nsl-intl-mic-hnk/index.htmlOutside of its political functions, the park captures the livelihood of Hong Kong. [↩]
6. https://www.rfa.org/cantonese/news/htm/hk-fair-06042023104236.html [↩]
7. Chalana, Manish, ed. Messy Urbanism: Understanding the “Other” Cities of Asia. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2017. Ch 5 The Royal Field (Sanam Luang): Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest [↩]

In 1906, a delegation of court officials returned to Beijing from Germany with a host of exotic animals. The lions, tigers, zebras, and elephants they brought back were placed on imperial land, and thus the Garden of Ten Thousand Animals, or Wanshangyuen, was born. Two years later, it would open to the public, charging sixteen coppers for adults and eight for children.¹ While this was an unprecedented space in China, similar zoological parks had been present in Asia since the mid-nineteenth century. The first was established in Batavia in 1864 and another followed soon after in Singapore in 1875.² However, though they were superficially similar spaces to the Wanshengyuen, Beijing’s zoological park took on extra cultural meaning due to the historical context it arose in. While the Singapore and Batavia zoos existed within a colonial framework and thus served to perpetuate the existing colonial regime, the Wanshengyuan was used as a tool to herald a new urban age for Beijing.

Figure 1: Map of Beijing 1903³

The Wanshengyuan was located just outside the walls to the Inner City, built on land which had previously held two imperial temples and their gardens. This space is visible in Figure 1 in the top left corner, labelled “Garten der Wohltätigkeit”. Since the fourteenth century, the city of Beijing had followed strict spatial delineations, with concentric walled segments dividing people by class and status.  The Forbidden City was the home of the emperors: the centre of Beijing and, metaphorically, the universe. Here, open spaces were prevalent, in the gardens and courtyards of temples and palaces. As one moved outwards into the Imperial City, which housed high ranking imperial officers, the Inner City, occupied by bannermen and other officials, and finally the Outer city, the availability of open space gradually decreased.⁴ Open space thus was a marker of status and inextricably linked to the imperial house. The foundation of the Wanshengyuan and the creation of a public space on formerly imperial and temple grounds, was radical. Much like the Singapore zoo, it attracted non-elite members of society to marvel at its animals.⁵ However, in Beijing this held extra weight, due to the pre-existing norms and connotations of open space. Though most visitors were of the middle class, it was still a significant reshuffling of the status quo.⁶

Figure 2: The Experimental Agricultural Complex⁷

As Mingzheng Shi suggests, the Wanshangyuen was a spatial representation of the growth of the public sphere in early republican China.⁸ Prior to the nineteenth century menageries had been the sole purview of rulers and the wealthy. They were private celebrations of the control exercised by the privileged over the natural world. Animals in Beijing’s menageries were often used in imperial rituals such as the Royal Ploughing Ceremony or the Spring and and Autumn Royal Hunting Ceremonies.⁹ A zoological park open to the public, however, had different connotations. It was a message that a government could provide for its citizens, an image the early republican Chinese government wished to pursue.¹⁰ Much like the zoo in Batavia and Singapore, the Wanshengyuen was attached to a Botanical Garden and various research facilities. In Figure 2 we can see the complex in which the Wanshengyuen (A) was housed, as well as various experimental agriculture beds, a museum (D), and sericulture hall (C). However, unlike the colonial institutions, the Wanshengyuen inherently appealed to the common citizen given its novel place in Beijing’s spatial culture. Thus, the Wanshengyuen could be connected to a wider project of research intended to improve the lives of all citizens, unlike the zoos in Batavia and Singapore which were seen more as colonial tools.

The Wanshengyuan is an interesting case study into the ways parks could be used by governments in different Asian contexts. While the zoological gardens of Singapore were certainly seen by the public as a symbol of modernity, as they bemoaned the absence of such a symbol in their city once it had been closed, that was never its purpose for the colonial government.¹¹ Rather it was an extension of the botanical gardens projection of colonial control and power, self-aggrandizing rather than communally uplifting. The Wanshengyuen, on the other hand, was used by the early republican government to show that they were abandoning the exclusionist policies of the past and emphasising public welfare.¹⁰ As such, though the Wanshengyuen was perhaps spatially similar to previous zoological parks in Asia, it was in fact a culturally distinct entity.

1. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 229. [↩]
2. Timothy Barnard, Nature’s Colony (Singapore, 2016), p. 85. [↩]
3. Peking – Contagion – CURIOSity Digital Collections (harvard.edu) [↩]
4. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 220. [↩]
5. Timothy Barnard, Nature’s Colony (Singapore, 2016), p. 96. [↩]
6. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 250. [↩]
7. Xin Shixue, “From Imperial Menageries to Public Zoological Garden: Captive Wild Animals at the Qing Court”, New History 29:1 (2018), p. 24. [↩]
8. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998). [↩]
9. Xin Shixue, “From Imperial Menageries to Public Zoological Garden: Captive Wild Animals at the Qing Court”, New History 29:1 (2018). [↩]
10. Mingzheng Shi, “From Imperial Gardens to Public Parks: The Transformation of Urban Space in Early Twentieth-Century Beijing”, Modern China 24:3 (1998), p. 233. [↩] [↩]
11. Timothy Barnard, Nature’s Colony (Singapore, 2016), p. 111. [↩]

Jingshan Park in Beijing is located next to the Forbidden city. (Figure 1) For many years, this park has been imperial and not opened to the public until 1928. Like many other imperial places, the park was invaded and destroyed when foreign troops entered Beijing in the late imperial period. This blog will refer to a tour guide article published in 2012 on a local Chinese tourism website, to discuss the impact of historical traumas on the park’s architecture, asserting that despite the foreign invasion caused severe architectural destruction, a deliberate decision by the government for not restoring some Buddha statues within the traditional pavilions in Jingshan Park can further cultivate national sentiment. By selectively choosing which historical aspects to restore, the government intends to shape collective memory and crafting a shared narrative that resonates with the broader populace.

Figure 1. Map of Jingshan Park and the Forbidden city

According to the website’s article, Jingshan Park has five traditional pavilions, each housing a copper Buddha statue representing one of the five tastes: sour, bitter, sweet, acrid, and salt.¹ Regrettably, during the siege of the international legations in 1900, foreign soldiers removed four of these statues,² directly compromising the integrity of the five tastes. There was only one statue in Wanchun Pavilion (Figure 2.) being preserved.

Figure 2. Wanchun Pavillion

Although this statue was preserved during the 1900 event, it was completely destroyed during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s when fervent individuals destroyed all Buddhist-related objects within the park.³ The removal of the first four statues symbolises the traumatic loss of Chinese traditional treasures due to Western powers, while the destruction of the second one mirrors the upheaval within Chinese society during the Cultural Revolution. Notably, the government’s response to these losses diverges. The Buddha statue, destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, was restored in 1998, signifying a commitment to reclaiming historical heritage. However, a proposal by Li Yuling in 2006 to restore the remaining four statues was rejected during the conference.⁴ This discrepancy in handling restoration projects reflects the government’s selective emphasis on historical narratives. Likely, the website does not mention the destruction of the statue in Wanchun Pavilion during the Cultural Revolution, underscoring the nuanced ways historical narratives are presented.

The historical narratives surrounding Jingshan Park reveal a discernible selectivity on the website, omitting certain facts and focusing on specific aspects. The absence of the four statues connected to the foreign invasion serves as a poignant reminder of a national tragedy inflicted by the West. Their non-restoration perpetuates a historical memory of loss, casting a shadow that lingers with visitors. The enduring pain of losing these traditional artifacts persists, leaving an impact on those who visit the remaining four pavilions. In contrast, the statue in Wanchun Pavilion, tied to internal chaos, underwent restoration in 1998. This act of restoration seeks to efface the traces of its destruction and erase the memory of violent actions carried out by the Chinese themselves. These selective restoration projects reflect the government’s effort to reshape historical narratives selectively. It brings to mind Zheng Wang’s book, Never Forget National Humiliation, where he introduces a concept of the Choseness-Myths-Trauma complex. He suggests that the government strategically select certain historical events to construct a chosen historical memory, invoking national sentiment.⁵ The revived statue in Wanchun Pavilion, distinct from the four forever-lost statues from the foreign occupation, symbolises the enduring Chinese tradition and spirit despite the challenges posed by Western invasion. It stands as a carefully chosen memorial object, contributing to the construction of a resilient national identity.

In this week’s elective reading on Taiwan park, the author highlights the replacement of Kodama Gentaro and Goto Shinpei’s statues with those of Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek, claiming it demonstrates another type of ‘colonial’ occupation and changing political landscapes.⁶ This blog asserts that beyond the visual impact of statues, the absence of traditional objects in specific spaces can significantly contribute to shaping national sentiment and moulding selective historical memory. It posits that not only do specific historical events construct national sentiment, but the simultaneous presence and absence of exhibit items in historical spaces can also influence historical interpretations, directing the emphasis on sentiment and memory.

Figure 3. The restored Buddha statue in Wanchun Pavilion

Figure 4. Russian Occupation of Jingshan Park, 1900

Bibliography

Primary Sources

‘Jingshan Park’, Travel China Guide, March 2012, < https://www.travelchinaguide.com/attraction/beijing/jingshan.htm> [accessed 29 January 2024].

Secondary Sources

Allen, Joseph R, ‘Taipei Park: Signs of Occupation’, The Journal of Asian Studies 66: 1 (2007), pp. 159–199, <https://doi.org/10.1017/s0021911807000010> [accessed 29 January 2024].

“Jingshan Gongyuan de Wuzuo Tingzi” 景山公园的五座亭子, Beijingshi Renming Zhengfu 北京市人民政府(2017), https://www.beijing.gov.cn/renwen/jrbj/sjc/201703/t20170309_1874497.html.

“Luoshi Huifu Jingshan Wuting Lishiyuanmao Zhengxietian Jiaoliuhui Zaijingjuxing” 落实恢复景山五亭历史原貌政协提案交流会在京举行, Fojiao Zaxian (2006), https://web.archive.org/web/20140106033017/http://news.fjnet.com/jjdt/jjdtnr/200605/t20060524_26414.htm.

Wang, Zheng, Never forget national humiliation: Historical memory in Chinese politics and foreign relations (New York, 2014).

1. ‘Jingshan Park’, Travel China Guide, March 2012, <https://www.travelchinaguide.com/attraction/beijing/jingshan.htm> [accessed 29 January 2024]. [↩]
2. ‘Jingshan Park’. [↩]
3. “Jingshan Gongyuan de Wuzuotingzi” 景山公园的五座亭子, Beijingshi Reming Zhengfu 北京市人民政府(2017), https://www.beijing.gov.cn/renwen/jrbj/sjc/201703/t20170309_1874497.html. [↩]
4. “Luoshi Huifu Jingshan Wuting Lishiyuanmao Zhengxietian Jiaoliuhui Zaijingjuxing” 落实恢复景山五亭历史原貌政协提案交流会在京举行, Fojiao Zaxian (2006), https://web.archive.org/web/20140106033017/http://news.fjnet.com/jjdt/jjdtnr/200605/t20060524_26414.htm. [↩]
5. Zheng Wang, Never Forget National Humiliation: Historical Memory in Chinese Politics and Foreign Relations (New York, 2014), p. 39. [↩]
6. Joseph R. Allen, ‘Taipei Park: Signs of Occupation’, The Journal of Asian Studies 66: 1 (2007), p. 177, <https://doi.org/10.1017/s0021911807000010> [accessed 29 January 2024]. [↩]

Koompong Noobanjong’s chapter ‘The Royal Field (Sanam Luang): Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest,’ offers a compelling lens through which one can unravel the historical layers of a specific space. This exploration of Sanam Luang as a polysemic urban palimpsest serves as a valuable framework that can be applied to unravel and comprehend the historical tapestry of another iconic space – Singapore’s Padang. From functioning as a cricket ground to becoming the location of pivotal moments in wartime history and national independence, the Padang stands as a silent witness to the evolution of Singapore’s social fabric since its establishment in 1822.¹

The Padang, a lush expanse nestled in the heart of Singapore, transcends its physical limits because it is an iconic feature, which now belongs to the Singapore Cricket Club (SCC) which was founded in 1852. This site has metamorphosed from a cricket field – a relic of British colonial influence – to become a multifunctional space, encapsulating the essence of Singapore’s societal shifts. Noobanjong’s spatial analysis theory invites us to delve into the layers beneath the greenery to uncover moments of historical significance.

Noobanjong’s unfurls a captivating tapestry where coexistence, convergence, contradiction and contestation seamlessly interweave.² This is more than just a physical space. Noobanjong showcases how Sanam Luang became a manifestation of royal authority, an expression of military ambitions, and a symbol of the people’s struggle for civil empowerment, liberty, equality, national unity and modern polity.³ Translating this lens onto the Padang, one can witness a similar narrative unfolding – a narrative brought to life by figure 1. This painting serves not just as a visual representation but as a tool for theorising, thematising and contextualising the ‘messiness’ of Singapore’s Padang.⁴

Figure 1. The Esplanade from Scandal Point (1851). A painting by John Turnbull Thompson, the first Governor Surveyor of Singapore.⁵

Figure 1, The Esplanade from Scandal Point (1851) is a painting by John Turnbull Thompson which records what the Padang would have looked like during British colonial rule. While the commissioner and the purpose behind the painting remains unknown, the essence of the Padang is vividly portrayed. The artwork underscores the Padang’s ability to adapt and accommodate diverse recreational activities, serving as a communal space for various ethnic groups. This suggests that the Padang stood at the heart of social life in the 19th century, embodying an idyllic vision of multicultural harmony in Singapore. It functioned as a space where different ethnic groups could promenade or exercise. The image captures the versatility of the Padang highlighting the space’s role as a dynamic and inclusive space.

Moreover, the image conveys the imposition of European culture. This is evident in the portrayal of Europeans positioned on an elevated plane, either on horseback or in horse-drawn carriages. In contrast, Asians are predominantly depicted standing or seated on the field. The viewer’s eye is drawn to the two figures adorned in white clothing, symbolising a stark juxtaposition between the dominant European presence and the Asian subjects in the scene.

A curious and inexplicable aspect of the painting lies in the ghost-like figures in the background. The absence of contextual information leaves room for speculation on how these figures were intended to be viewed. Metaphorically, these figures serve as a poignant reminder of the Padang’s status as a palimpsest. The faded figures evoke the idea that the Padang carries echoes of countless historical moments, akin to the layers of paint on canvas. This serves as a poignant reminder of the Padang’s enduring significance, weaving itself into the fabric of Singapore’s narrative across time.

Indeed, the Padang has played a pivotal role in manifesting and legitimising ruling authority. Its origins as a cricket ground during British imperial rule cemented its place as a colonial playground. Over the years, the Padang’s emergence as Singapore’s most important colonial civic space was organic as it also functioned as a location for many state ceremonies, military parades and national events. One of the earliest ceremonies to take place was the firing of the salute by the artillery in 1824 to commemorates King George IV’s birthday.⁶

The theory of urban palimpsest helps to articulate the Padang as a contested space. Although figure 1 is an idyllic representation, the Padang has also been witnessed to the imprint of various political happenings. Indeed, it became the site for the display of Japanese imperial power when the Padang became an assembly ground to hold and interrogate the European population (civilians and prisoners of war) before marching them off to internment camps in Changi and Katong.⁷ Moreover from colonial demonstrations – such as the Maria Hertogh riots in 1950 – to post-independence rallies, the Padang has absorbed the imprints of diverse identities and struggles, making it a canvas where historical narratives overlap, contradict and coexist.⁸

More recently, the Padang has had an important historic function since it was the site where Prime Minister Lee unilaterally declared Singapore’s independence in 1963.  Clearly. it has been the centre of key historic milestones and has now become a symbol of national pride and unity.

Together, this narrative suggests that places are prodigious historical recorders. The Padang, with its amalgamation of forms and meanings across historical epochs, serves as a narrator of Singapore’s human legacies. Viewing the Padang through the lens of an urban palimpsest reveals a nuanced and comprehensive understanding of space in Singapore. Much like Bangkok’s Sanam Luang, the Padang encapsulates the totality of Singaporean society, embodying continuity and change, political struggles, diverse cultural expressions and ultimately unity. It stands as a resilient urban palimpsest, inviting us to decode its multifaceted meanings and appreciate the dynamic interplay of Singapore’s past and present.

Overall, Noobanjong’s spatial anaylsis acts as a guiding tool, inviting the readership to appreciate how urban spaces encapsulate the ebb and flow of societal narratives. As one traverse the Padang, it becomes apparent that you are not merely treading on grass, but beneath lies strata of history, culture and identity. Therefore, it is clear that understanding space is not just about the present; it is about peeling back the layers of time.

1. Yoke-Sum Wong, ‘The Chaos of Dainties: Singapore and the Confections of Empire, 1819-1930,’ (Thesis, University of Alberta, 2003), p. 9. [↩]
2. Koompong Noobanjong, ‘The Royal Field (Sanam Luang: Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest,’ in Manish D. Chalana (ed), Messy Urbanism: Understanding the ‘Other’ Cities of Asia, (Hong Kong, 2017), p. 81 [↩]
3. Koompong Noobanjong, ‘The Royal Field (Sanam Luang: Bangkok’s Polysemic Urban Palimpsest,’ p. 88 [↩]
4. Ibid., p. 84 [↩]
5. John Turnbull Thompson, ‘The Esplanade from Scandal Point,’ oil painting, 1851, Singapore <https://www.roots.gov.sg/Collection-Landing/listing/1052004> [accessed 30th January 2024]. [↩]
6. Kevin Tan, ‘A History of the Padang,’ Biblioasia: National Library Singapore, April/June 2022 <https://github.com/isomerpages/nlb-biblioasia/blob/staging/_apr-to-jun-2022/A%20History%20of%20The%20Padang.md> [accessed 30th January 2024] [↩]
7. Kevin Tan, ‘A History of the Padang,’ Biblioasia [↩]
8.  Ibid.  [↩]

Hong Kong is a sprawling metropolis with over 7.3 million individuals situated in a combined area of less than London and where land is scarce with 90% of its territory covered by mountains. Despite the challenges it faced with the population explosion after the Second World War, today Hong Kong is regarded as a city with one of the best transport systems in the world due to its punctuality and affordability, even gaining the title of having the best transport in the world.¹ For this article, I will be focusing on the Mass Transit Railway or MTR which is arguably the backbone of Hong Kong’s efficient transport system. I will first analyse its beginnings, then followed by its association with the Hong Kong identity, and then analyse the negative association with higher living costs and being complicit with the Hong Kong government’s crackdown on civil liberties during the 2019 Anti-Extradition protests.

Prior to the construction of the MTR, there was only the Kowloon-Canton Railway (KCR) that opened in 1910, running a single-track line from Kowloon station in today’s Tsim Sha Tsui, through the then-rural areas of the New Territories and eventually crossing the border into mainland China through the Shum Chun river (today’s Shenzhen.² Therefore, not many trains were needed and a single-line track to China sufficed as many individuals looking to flee the mainland from Communist persecution made use of the railway to reach the haven of Hong Kong.

However, the influx of population to nearly 4 million in 1970 and the overcrowding of urban areas and buses in Hong Kong and Kowloon proved to be unmanageable for the Hong Kong government and a new approach was needed. To complement the development of New Towns in the New Territories spearheaded by then-Governor General Barron Murray MacLehose, not only will the existing KCR line be double-tracked and electrified, a brand-new underground system initially running from the densely-populated housing districts of East Kowloon to the economic hub of Tsim Sha Tsui and eventually crossing the harbour into Central was constructed from 1975 and completed in 1979, completely transforming the way Hong Kong residents commuted.³ In particular, my family benefitted from the MTR construction as their daily commuting lives shortened from over an hour on buses to a mere half an hour by train from Kowloon to Hong Kong Island.

Figure 1: A diesel hauled train of the Kowloon-Canton Railway pre-electrification (circa 1960s colourised)

Figure 2: The first MTR train to ever run (Source: South China Morning Post)

The MTR has completely revolutionised people’s lives. According to a 2005 article by Man Hui Po a Hong Kong newspaper, it has become a pillar of the majority of Hong Kongers’ lives no matter which district they live in as since 1979 to the present day, the MTR has expanded to cover every district and its dominance over Hong Kong cannot be underestimated.⁴ The affordability and timeliness of the MTR is what makes it attractive. Even in non-peak hours, people can expect a train to arrive every 5 minutes unless it is the train lines for the less crowded districts. I have taken the MTR for granted as I have relied on it for my everyday commute to school since primary school all the way until my matriculation at St Andrews. I miss the jingle of trains, station announcements and people going on their daily lives for myself these sounds characterise the identity of Hong Kong. Although there are always people misbehaving on trains like playing music loudly, shouting obscene words or not covering your mouth when coughing, it is the MTR that makes Hong Kong function as without it, the idea of ‘Hong Kong efficiency’ will not be born as Hong Kong is known for being a city that never sleeps with individuals always rushing about to complete as much tasks as possible.⁵

Despite all the positive associations of the MTR, it has not been without its problems. For instance, after the merger of the MTR and KCR in 2007 in which the KCR systems have become under the operation of the MTR, it has become the sole monopoly of rail service provider of Hong Kong, hence limiting competition.⁶ The merger has also become a source of frustration among the local populace as it was rumoured that the MTR cooperation has been neglecting maintenance due to the increasing number of accidents that partially paralysed commuters, generating inconveniences among the commuters. Besides this, the MTR cooperation has also been portrayed as being complicit in the ‘Sinicisation’ of Hong Kong culture as not only does it have control over vast swaths of property and malls located close to stations with land prices being one of the most unaffordable on the planet. The discontent with the system came to a boiling point in the 2019 anti-extradition bill protests in which protesters initially calling for a controversial law allowing fugitives to be extradited to Mainland China for trail became a protest for free speech and democracy as the Hong Kong leader did not make concessions.⁷) The MTR has been criticised by the pro-democracy camp for assisting police officers by allowing them access to paid areas of stations to make arbitrary arrests and close stations where demonstrators gathered, as the police have been under fire for using excessive brute force against demonstrators.⁸

As a result, what was once Hong Kong’s pride can lose its prestige among its citizens within a short time as even places of mobility can become very politicised in the era of the digital world. Therefore, the MTR, although an inseperable part of Hong Kong’s identity and life can also be subject to criticism especially in recent years which society has become politicised.

Figure 3: Police cracking down on demonstraters at Prince Edward station on 31st July 2019. Source: Mainichi Shinbun

1. https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2023/01/davos23-how-to-keep-cities-moving-sustainably/ [↩]
2. John M. Carroll, A Concise History of Hong Kong (2006), p. 171). Up until the late 1960s, the northern areas of Hong Kong Island and most of Kowloon remained the core areas of Hong Kong with most of the business activities and industrial production centered around these two parts. In contrast, the New Territories remained a world of its own mainly focusing on agricultural production and village life. ((Frank Welsh, A History of Hong Kong (1997) [↩]
3. Frank Welsh, A History of Hong kong (1997) [↩]
4. http://paper.wenweipo.com/2005/03/12/NS0503120002.htm [↩]
5. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.retrec.2021.101133 [↩]
6. 港鐵，邁進新紀元，2007版 [↩]
7. Michael C. Davis, Making Hong Kong China (2019 [↩]
8. https://apnews.com/article/d4b799db57e54f42962b92dbebc57333 [↩]

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