The ways of arbitrary powers

Whenever we organize a co-design activity in a village, I always notice the presence of "nonparticipants". These are the onlookers—people who lurk in the background but rarely respond to our invitations to share their opinions. Yet, I know they have thoughts, as they often seek information from their neighbors, all while keeping a safe distance.

This year, I found myself in a similar position—an onlooker in a project I had no desire to participate in. Surprisingly, I became deeply engaged in the experience, which transformed how I understood the ways how design decisions may come about in local villages.

Below is my record as an onlooker over the past half year.

Part 1: Design Intent

The residents of X Village take great pride in their 7,000-square-meter children's park, which may be the largest of its kind in a rural community in the city of S, southern China.

Even by urban standards, the park is impressive for its size and amenities. It features a large wading pool encircled by a sandbar, along with various play structures like slides, swings, a seesaw, a climbing net, and a trampoline. The village continues to invest in its beloved park, keeping the garden well-maintained and the water clean. Last year, as part of an elderly-friendly co-design workshop we were invited to organize, solar lamps, and additional seating areas were installed to further enhance the space. At dusk, when children finish school but are not yet ready for dinner, the wading pool reflects the pink-hued sky often seen in the Danxia Mountain Region, creating a scene reminiscent of moments of The Grand Budapest Hotel.

Built in 2020, the park was a collaborative effort between a local NGO, the government, and the villagers, transforming what was once a neglected plot of farmland—referred to locally as "dirt land"—into this vibrant community space. What makes this transformation particularly well-known in the area is its history in land acquisition. Fifteen households in the village donated the land to the village collective so that the park could have its space, an achievement made even more impressive by the fact that, in other villages, even convincing one household to rent 3 square meters of yard space (with compensation) to expand a community area has proven difficult.

In March of this year, I was immediately curious as I gazed across the park and noticed a large pile of construction materials on the far side. Are they building a large brown jumbo gym over there?

So, as any curious onlooker, I approached someone I trusted for intel. Q, a girl who works in the village committee, told me that they are building an observation deck.

"To look at what?"

"The step terraces across from the park, I guess."

"Who's going to look at that from there?"

"Tourists, they think."

"What tourists?"

"They think it might attract tourists, I guess."

I was having a hard time understanding which "They" would invest in providing invisible tourists with an observation deck to watch over unimpressive step terraces. After all, the village had many other things to discover, and the strategy had always been to attract tourists to have a meal or buy produce from the tens of households that renovated their backyards in a previous "backyard economy" effort.

Seeing I was obviously unconvinced, Q finally shared the real reason: the observation deck was "ordered" by the township mayor because "he saw the adjacent town had one."

"When will it be done?"

"I don't know, because we ran into some design problems."

I was so excited.

According to Q, when the township mayor ordered this construction and approved the budget, the village committee hired its go-to local contractor for these types of small projects, Mr. L (we call him Teacher L), to do the design and construction. Teacher L inspected the area and had the idea of building a low circular observation deck around a big tree. However, after construction had started, the township major then had a chance to look at the design sketches and expressed his expectations that the deck had to be at least two stories tall (again inspired by his neighbouring counterpart), and asked the village committee to tell Teacher L to alter the design.

I found the opportunity to gain firsthand insight from Teacher L, with whom I’ve collaborated on several projects. During our conversation, he openly expressed his anger and frustration. He explained that his original design focused on a large banyan tree. The concept was to create a low platform gently spiralling around the tree where the children and the elderly could rest, utilizing the natural shade provided by the tree. Based on his verbal description, I created this mental image of his original design.

To make the deck two stories tall meant they would have to remove the tree. Reluctantly, Teacher L altered the design to include two levels connected by two flights of staircases. He later described his new design to me as follows.

Teacher L's new design was ultimately approved by the township mayor, and the project was a go. The banyan tree was moved to a nearby spot and replanted.

To me, this is a classic example of how the Chinese bureaucratic system functions. It seems that any leader at a higher level can intervene in decisions made at lower levels, at any time. As Xueguang Zhou , a leading scholar on Chinese governance, explains in his influential work *The Logic of Governance in China*:

Historically, there have been two kinds of power in the Chinese polity (Kuhn 1990): One is the bureaucratic power based on administrative positions, rules, and procedures; the second is the arbitrary power of the supreme leader(s), who can intervene into the bureaucratic processes at any level and at any time. At the core of the centralization of authority in China, the latter always trumps the former.

In my view, this is a micro-level example of this arbitrary power trickling down to the lowest levels of the bureaucracy.

Part 2: The ways of arbitrary powers

A couple of months later, I visited X village again, expecting to see the two-level observation deck completed. Instead, the site was still occupied by a pile of construction materials. This struck me as unusual since the entire 7,000 square meter park had been completed in just a month.

I asked Q if there was another design issue. She told me there was now a "coordination problem." In fact, the entire observation deck project was in the process of being scrapped, and the village committee was dealing with the administrative procedures to officially drop it.

'The township mayor doesn't want it anymore?' I asked.

'No, it's Big Brother H—the owner of that backyard restaurant near the well. He and some other villagers didn’t want it there,' she replied.

Curious for more details, I turned to Teacher L again. Still visibly angry, he recounted the story. One day, while his crew was working on the first level of the observation deck, Big Brother H and a group of village aunties showed up and protested against the construction. To avoid conflict, the construction team negotiated with the protesters, eventually agreeing to finish the first level but halting further work until the village committee could resolve the issue.

This protest is what brought the construction to a standstill.

I found myself both amused by the entire fiasco and feeling sorry for Teacher L at the same time. But one final, burning question rolled off my tongue.

'What gives Big Brother H the power to overrule the township mayor’s wishes?'

After all, even the village committee had no say in the matter.

Q and Teacher L both answered:

'He just said it would be bad Fengshui.'"

Part 3: When your design has Bad Fengshui

Bad Fengshui.

Wait, I have struggled with this firsthand!

Last year, we were invited by an upper-level government official to design an outdoor activity area for another village. After many rounds of visits and negotiations, we were finally told to prepare the contract one morning. But by that same afternoon, the potential client called in a hurry and asked us to scrap the entire project. The reason? "Some elderlies in the village said there was a Fengshui problem with using that plot of land."

In most cases, I would try to negotiate and see what design changes could meet the client’s needs. But after some thought, I realized this was not really about the design. It was an artful way for the village to reject the plans imposed by their bureaucratic superior and take back control over their land. A co-worker, who grew up in a traditional village, even suggested that we could hire a more powerful Fengshui master to counter the claim. But of course, I was more than relieved to decline and let the local Fengshui masters maintain their authority.

Is this what Fengshui really is? It is not just a traditional Chinese practice trying to legitimize itself as a philosophy, or something dismissed by people like me as mere superstition.

Could it also be a form of arbitrary power of "the weak'?"

A couple of weeks ago, I saw photos of the completed observation deck in X village.

It was not the low platform around the tree for everyone to enjoy. And it was not a tall tower that could put neighboring town in shame.

It had only one level, it was tall, but it stopped there.

A bit more about Fengshui

Recently, I encountered another situation with Fengshui that left me even more confused. In a village where we did end up working, we had hoped to plant a tree over a small children's play area to provide some shade. However, the idea was disapproved by an uncle who lived next door, citing bad Fengshui.

He explained that the tree, being directly visible from his gate, symbolized the Chinese character 困 (kun), which means “to be trapped” or “stuck”. The character is associated with difficulty and hardship, making the tree's placement "unlucky".

As a result, we had to move the tree to a corner, leaving the play area stuck under the scorching sun all summer.