Why Hutongs?

Modern cities are so focused on economic development and sustainability that they often forget what cities fundamentally are: large human settlements. In rapid urbanization, housing, the most basic function of any city, is sometimes overlooked or sacrificed.

I was certainly influenced by this mindset when I first visited the Beijing Hutongs in 2016. The environment struck me as unpleasant: exposed electric boxes and wires hung low above the streets, while bicycles and motorcycles packed tight alleyways, leaving little space for pedestrians. Many homes lacked private bathrooms; entire neighborhoods relied on shared public facilities. Therefore, I wondered why these areas hadn’t yet been redeveloped into commercial or fully tourist-centered districts.

I didn’t return for a long time. Not until my uncle and aunt began renovating their courtyard in the Hutongs. A few months ago, they invited me to visit the completed space. Honestly, I was reluctant at first. But to my surprise, the courtyard was beautiful. A blend of modern convenience and historical character. We grilled skewers in the open yard, surrounded by centuries-old walls. It was tranquil, private, and unexpectedly comfortable.

But I quickly realized their courtyard was an exception. Most residents didn’t have the means to renovate. Unlike my uncle and aunt, many families shared courtyards, and few owned the entire space. Without ownership, individual renovations were difficult or impossible.

I found myself increasingly curious: why do people still live in the Hutongs? What draws them to stay, despite the discomforts and inconveniences? I decided to investigate, to visit more regularly, to talk to people who lived there, and to uncover what I, as an outsider, couldn’t see.

When I returned, I noticed more clearly the difficulties of living there. The narrow alleys made it nearly impossible for cars to pass, and the sheer number of bikes and motorcycles added to the congestion. Shared courtyards meant little privacy. These were not ideal living conditions by most modern standards.

Yet, people stayed. I wanted to understand why.

I visited a community center in the Hutongs and spoke with Mr. Ma, a local volunteer. His stories and perspective changed everything I thought I knew about the Hutongs.

Mr. Ma and I

Mr. Ma had lived in the Hutongs since childhood but recently moved out. He acknowledged that the Hutongs fall short in meeting certain needs of modern life. “Yes, it's evolving with the times, right? Perhaps 30 years ago, people's material desires and needs were different than they are now, right? So back then, for example, there were schools in the hutongs, right? There were shops, hospitals, and everything in between. Back then, for those of us living in this area, our material needs were met.”

That was something I could see. What I hadn’t fully realized, though, was how the narrow alleyways and dense layout of the Hutongs created an irreplaceably close-knit community. The Hutongs were living examples of what Jan Gehl described in Cities for People – how urban design can shape human connection. “When I was young, technology wasn't as advanced as it is now. We didn't have cell phones, computers, or the internet. So back then, it was more about just meeting up with friends, playing together, going to school together, and doing homework together. So, there was more communication between people than there is now.” This was something that did not exist, or not as often, in modern residential apartments.

Lastly, I asked, “What do you think the future of these Hutongs will look like, say, in a few decades or so?” His response struck me.

“In my opinion, the hutongs are the skeleton, while the flesh and blood, are the people who live here.”

My chest tightened, and I felt my heartbeat pound heavily. His words had landed with such unexpected force.

“If the hutongs are truly developed into commercial properties with no residents, then in my opinion, the hutongs will lose their soul. So, from a personal perspective, I believe we should adopt a combination of protection, improvement, and moderate development.”

This metaphor was so powerful. The Hutongs as merely a skeleton, lifeless without the people who inhabit them. It’s the community that breathes energy into the bricks and walls. Take that away, and all that’s left is an empty skeleton, devoid of any significance.