Busy slow-walking

First week of July

At the start of July, my team became fully committed to focusing on co-designing all-age-friendly public spaces. With support from the Women’s Federation in Renhua County, southern China, we had just completed three co-designed pocket parks with local residents, all of which were now in use.

As we prepared to take a break during the record-breaking heat, a Township Party Committee member reached out to us on WeChat. Enthusiastically, she invited us to visit her hometown, S Village.

At the earliest opportunity, we met Han and her colleagues from the S village committee. Han, a woman in her mid to late 30s with light freckles and a shy smile, oversees a budget for improving "living standards" under the Model Village (dianxingcun, Chinese: 典型村) policy. She explained that she had contacted us after seeing our work with children in a nearby village. Since S Village had plans to rebuild the public area around a basketball court as part of the budget, she hoped we could co-design features for children. Her motivation was personal and specific:

I’m responsible for one-on-one casework with some 'troubled youths,' most of whom are addicted to the internet. I remember spending my childhood here playing with other kids, but today’s children have nowhere to play together. I want younger children to play outdoors with friends again.

We were used to persuading village leaders to invest in children’s facilities, but a local leader was taking the initiative. Touched by her genuine intent, we quickly agreed to a four-day co-design event in S Village. Then, a month-long preparation began, including recruiting designers and residents and organizing co-design tools.

Midway through our first week of preparations, we received an unexpected and urgent call from Han. She anxiously asked if we could arrive the next day to “make the designs.” This felt like a walkback, as we thought we had agreed on not using the conventional way of having quick decisions made between the designer and the village committee while leaving the rest of the community out.

Han explained that she had just been reprimanded by higher-level leaders during an inspection. They criticized her for a lack of visible progress in S Village, and in one breath, another design and construction team had already been summoned to take measurements the next day. If we could also show up, we might still have a chance to produce a competing design.

We explained that engaging with the community was our only method and that time must be given for collaboration to be effective. Despite Han’s trust, our opportunity to contribute to S Village’s public space project came to a sudden halt.

Well, only officially speaking.

What followed was our quiet effort to reclaim the opportunity and continue with the original plan alongside Han. But before diving into what happened next, let us take a step back to explore scholarly insights into the mechanisms of governance in China, with a focus on the tensions and responses of the local government.

Second week of July

Sociologist Xueguang Zhou, a leading expert on governance in China and a professor at Stanford University, has written extensively on a key tension in the country’s governance system: the conflict between centralized authority and the need for effective local governance. Due to China’s enormous size, this tension manifests in two significant ways. First, top-down policies often prove too rigid and uniform to accommodate the diverse local conditions. Second, the limitations of bureaucratic organizations become more pronounced in such a large and complex system. These limitations include the constraints of bounded rationality, creating challenges in goal setting, organizational processes, and incentive design.

In response to this tension, China's bureaucratic system has evolved mechanisms of local governance that involve both formal and informal institutions. To gain a deeper understanding of these mechanisms, Zhou developed a Control-Rights Theory based on a model of a three-level three-level bureaucracy.

In this model, the central government functions as the principal, initiating top-down directives, while local governments, such as townships, serve as agents tasked with implementing these directives. An intermediate level of government, such as the provincial government, acts as a supervisor, bridging the central and local levels. To account for diverse local circumstances, the central government often employs a process known as subcontracting. In this process, the central government delegates policy targets to the supervisor and transfers part or all of the control rights for implementation, including decision-making authority, incentive structures, and responsibility for inspections.

Under this subcontracting mode of governance, inspections become a key responsibility of the supervisor, while meeting inspection expectations becomes a primary focus for the agent. In this way, top-down alignment may be reached.

However, in reality, reaching top-down alignment is much more complicated.

On the ground, agents such as township governments or village committees face significant challenges in meeting expectations from higher authorities. These include juggling tasks from multiple principals, ambiguities in performance criteria, limited resources, and disconnects between top-down policies and local realities. When implementation becomes difficult, agents may have to resort to symbolic compliance to navigate these pressures.

Zhou identifies common strategies in such cases. Bureaucratic bargaining allows agents to negotiate with principals, using their local knowledge to influence resource allocation and performance criteria. When bargaining power is low and agents are forced to accept unworkable demands, they may later deviate, selectively implement, or even opt for inaction, triggering new rounds of bargaining when poor results arise. Moreover, collusion between agents and their immediate supervisors is common during inspections, as they present a façade of compliance to higher-level authorities. Zhou provides an example from the height of China's one-child policy era. During this time, supervisory government officials would discreetly inform village leaders in advance of a formal inspection, which allowed local leaders to temporarily hide "unplanned" children and pregnant women.

These strategies, described as "lubricants for hierarchy," are deeply institutionalized, viewed as either deviant or innovative depending on higher authorities’ perspectives.

Third week of July

The village committees we work with operate at the bottom of China’s bureaucratic hierarchy. Under the Model Village policy, these committees are entrusted with a significant annual budget of 3–4 million RMB. With this budget comes a barrage of expectations: repairing roads, renovating medical stations, improving waste management, adding public toilets, and more. Each expectation is often tied to directives from various supervising government branches, competing not only for funding but also for manpower and physical space. For instance, in Guangdong province, where S Village is located, directives for a village park might come from the General Administration of Sport (outdoor sports facilities), the CPC Central Commission for Discipline Inspection (anti-corruption propaganda), the Provincial Party Committee Secretary (greening efforts), the All-China Women's Federation (child-friendly spaces), and the National Health Commission (age-friendly spaces).

Given this multitude of demands, it wasn’t surprising when our park co-design plans were sidelined during an inspection. Though disappointed, we encouraged Han to voice her expectations to the newly assigned design team, hoping they could incorporate child-friendly elements.

A few days later, Han shared a basic rendering of the proposed park via WeChat. The plan featured fresh paint for the basketball court, a covered seating area, and two rows of propaganda stands. "There are no children’s elements," she texted. To me, it also lacked any trace of S Village’s character, reflecting a rushed, generic design.

"Construction begins next week. What can we do?" Han messaged again. I understood her frustration. If this design went forward, it would be years before another opportunity for change arose. Her determination inspired me to propose an idea that I never thought could work: “Can we request to leave one part of the park for us to work on?”

"Which part?" she asked.

I highlighted a section of the provided plan on my phone—an area beneath and around the ancient banyan tree, facing the village temple (missing in the official drawing). It was a fraction of what we initially had, but it carried cultural and communal significance.

Thus began our quiet collaboration with Han. We decided she would guide the construction team to start from the farthest point from the banyan tree, ensuring visible progress while buying us time to organize a co-design event. Armed with this minimalist "design" and strategy to manage inspections, Han navigated her internal communications.

Soon after, she texted us back. Without too much detail, she gave us the confidence to resume organizing the co-design process. Yet, every day spent leading up to those four special days felt like the shrinking of the area that could be co-designed.

We were racing for space.

Second week of October

In October, when I returned to the village to assess how much space was still available for our project, I was surprised to find that the only noticeable change was a fresh coat of paint on the basketball court. Remarkably, all the surrounding space remained untouched and ready for us to work with.

With no time to investigate what had preserved the area, we quickly launched our co-design initiative in _S_ Village. To draw attention to the event, we hung a large flag from the ancient banyan tree, boldly displaying the message: “Co-Design for All-age Friendly Space”.

The formal activities began with six volunteers—young architects and NGO workers experienced in working with children—moving into the village. Our first step in building connections was organizing a small dance party on the basketball court with a group of local aunties. During this gathering, we listened to their ideas and concerns, including their wishes for more seating and better lighting. Over the next few days, we organized a series of activities with children and older adults in and around the target space.

During this process, we observed the community’s special relationship with two significant trees within the area. The ancient banyan tree, casting a large breezy shade under the sun, sparked many stories about the villagers’ past gatherings and memories. At the far end of the basketball court, a camphor tree created a more private, shaded spot, which residents favored for resting and small group conversations. These trees were more than landmarks—they were integral to the social fabric and identity of the village.

Participants were particularly drawn to the far end of the basketball court, where a metal fence had been installed. In the previous plan was to add a covered seating area, but discussions revealed that the community’s seating preferences extended beyond just facing the basketball court. Many locals expressed a desire to sit facing the other direction, overlooking the expanding rice fields and the scenic Danxia_ mountain. Together, we explored possibilities for a design feature that would provide seating in both directions without obstructing the view.

In considering additional play-friendly features, participants grappled with the challenge of managing multiple, and sometimes conflicting, functions within the same space. The basketball court and its surroundings were essential not only for recreation but also for practical uses such as parking cars, facilitating drop-offs and pick-ups for a medical station, sun-drying grains, and serving as a passageway for tractors. Balancing these needs while ensuring the area remained safe and enjoyable for children became a key design focus.

To address these challenges, we worked creatively with the children and their environment. One idea involved the back wall of the village committee building, where we envisioned installing low basketball hoops for younger kids. Additionally, we engaged the children to create visual elements that could be used in murals that extend onto the ground, transforming it into an interactive play zone and attract them to the side of the space with less vehicular traffic.

Lifu, Han's colleague at the village committee, played a dual role during our stay—acting not only as a government worker but also as the cook who hosted our meals in his home. Over shared dinners, he offered personal insights, speaking as both an official and a young father, adding depth to our understanding of the village's needs and aspirations.

By the end of the four-day event, more than 20 children and over 30 adults had participated. The owner of the local construction team also joined, sharing valuable knowledge about local building traditions and materials. Together, we refined details of the design with the budget in mind and created a cardboard model to collect further feedback from residents.

The final day, designated as “Sharing Day” followed tradition: we invited top officials from Renhua County, donors, and local leaders to review the work. But this time, the event drew an even larger crowd. Word had spread about the village coming together to design its park, attracting leaders from nearby villages as well as university teachers and students. To accommodate the unexpected turnout, we moved the sharing session outdoors.

We led the group on a walkthrough of the proposed changes, starting and ending under the banyan tree. Along the way, we presented our findings and shared sketches for future possibilities. After completing the circle around the basketball court, vibrant discussions erupted under the banyan tree, with excitement palpable among the attendees.

Amid the animated chatter, I glanced at Han. She stood confidently, passionately sharing her vision for the space with representatives from the Women’s Federation. It was then I realized how clever her decision had been to repaint the basketball court—a change that was both the most visible and the least contentious. In hindsight, it had likely bought us the time and trust needed to prepare for the co-design process.

Third week of October

In my experience engaging with bureaucracy, I’ve noticed that power from above is often exercised through control of the timeline. Inspections, which are typically rushed and superficial, create immense pressure on village leaders to show visible progress. And with narrow windows for action, superficial change are often prioritized over substantive change. Leaders fear that if no changes are evident, they will be perceived as inactive or ineffective.

Zhou’s research describes a behavior known as quasi-exit, a set of mechanisms agents (the village committee's most likely role) use to respond to undesirable or impossible top-down directives (Zhou, 2022). These mechanisms, similar to the “weapons of the weak” proposed by Scott (1985), include informal and subtle forms of resistance such as distortion, sabotage, or “collective inaction” (Zhou 1993).

What Han and her colleagues did demonstrated a clever alternative to passive resistance. Instead of avoiding action, she strategically engaged in visible yet low-stakes activities, like repainting the basketball court, to satisfy inspection requirements while preserving the opportunity for deeper, longer-term engagement. This was a constructive form of resistance, a kind of “busy slow-walking.”

This experience also prompted me to reflect on my own psychological and emotional responses to the constant pressure for visible and fast results. The possibility of plans changing at any moment often led me to condense schedules, sacrificing deeper engagement with locals. I started questioning whether I had internalized the perception of co-design as “slow” and whether I had begun to see "slowness" as a weakness.

Are there alternatives in putting up an active defense for co-design's deliberative and inclusive pace when satisfying the expectations of fast and visible change looms in the air? Are there other, more subtle tactics as effective as painting a basketball court?

Later in the same week

At the wrap-up of the co-design event, and after minor budget adjustments, construction was scheduled to begin immediately. Yet, once I returned home, the construction team sent a message explaining that everything had to wait another week or possibly two—to allow for grains sun-drying around the basketball court to first have their time.

Works Cited

Scott, James C. 2008. Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Zhou, Xueguang. 2022. The Logic of Governance in China: An Organizational Approach. 1st ed. Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009159418.

Zhou, Xueguang. 1993. Unorganized Interests And Collective Action In Communist China American Sociological Review. 58: 54-73. DOI: 10.2307/2096218