As he stands on his roof, scanning the horizon of Yangshan Park, Sun Yonglian knows the clock is ticking. With only 100 days to go before the Olympics begin in the city, the final preparations are underway.
At the entrance, workmen heft paving slabs, eager to finish one of Beijing’s last beautification projects. There’s just one problem: Sun’s house is in the way.
Three years ago, this wasteland was a bustling village. But grassy slopes, lakes and walkways will soon erase all trace of his house. Hundreds of his neighbours have already made way for the new park. Last week officials threw out Wang Lianmin and tore down his home. Days later, Su Xiangyu caved in to the pressure and left. With even those diehards gone, Sun is the last man standing.
The Olympic construction boom has displaced tens of thousands of Beijingers and destroyed numerous traditional neighbourhoods. Most residents gave up the fight long ago.
But as a bulldozer rakes what remains of his neighbours’ homes, Sun continues to watch and wait for the first glimpse of an eviction party.
“They might demolish the house at any time. I feel very scared in my heart - scared and lonely,” he says. “If they come by force I will try my best to negotiate with them. If they don’t negotiate with me, I have no other way. I can only pour petrol [around] and be burnt together with the people who have come for us.
“I can’t let them do this - take my things so easily and cheaply.”
He speaks calmly, but has covered the building with dry branches and stored jerry cans of petrol in a sideroom. His parents in law and young son have been sent to the countryside for safety. Now only Sun, his wife Chen Zongxia, her cousin and his wife are left. The family were doing well before the demolition notice arrived. His mother in law was born here and the house has sheltered four generations, providing not just a home but a livelihood. Renting out the spare rooms earned enough to support the household of seven.
But Yangshan is opposite the main Olympic park and the Chaoyang district government said the village had to go. It offered Sun’s family 4,300 yuan (£310) a square metre in compensation, but he says housing nearby costs 12,000 yuan and even further out in the countryside it would be 8,000 yuan.
“Renting out our rooms meant I could stay at home to look after my parents and children. If we went to the countryside, I would have to try to find a job and there would be no one to care for them,” said Chen. “Our son’s school is here and we would have to pay new fees for a school in the countryside - and it wouldn’t be as good.”
Most of the village’s 550 households moved away three years ago, but a handful of homeowners were determined to fight. They hoped that a legal claim for increased compensation might resolve the situation. But while the offer increased slightly, the forced evictions also began.
“One day in 2006, four families were forced out. Ambulances and fire trucks came and in all there were about 200 people,” he recalled.
“The situation was very frightening. Some villagers tried to film what was happening but the police grabbed their cameras away.”
Then, last month, a notice arrived to warn the last households they had three days to leave. Their water was cut off at the start of April. The bulldozers arrived days later.
“Everything started shaking - it was like an earthquake. Parts of the ceiling fell in,” Sun said, showing the hole where a lump of plaster broke off.
“I feel very anxious every day. I spend all my time waiting.”
North Star, the company developing Yangshan, told the Guardian it had strictly followed the government’s policies.
Its spokesman Mr Luo, who did not give his full name, added: “We are very careful about this job and we accept supervision. There should not be problems if the residents accept the government’s regulations. If there is a problem, it is usually because they asked more than the government’s policies promised. Both sides can negotiate within the policies.”
Some Beijingers have welcomed resettlement, even if it meant exchanging homes in the centre for housing in the suburbs. Those who got adequate compensation could swap cramped, dilapidated conditions for clean, new flats with modern facilities.
At a briefing on the issue earlier this year, Beijing officials said that compensation was set at market rates and that some people gained extra rights to welfare by being allowed to register as urban rather than rural residents for the first time.
But in the same month, the grassroots organisation Citizens’ Rights and Livelihood Watch warned: “Although the government made some efforts to compensate for the losses of these villagers, many incidents of deprivation and abuses occurred and villagers’ efforts to seek redress were suppressed. Reportedly, villagers were not compensated fairly and adequately.”
To add to their anger, those removed from Yangshan - and other areas - fear that Olympic projects are clearing the way for lucrative future schemes.
Sun says that the developers plan to build on the south side of the new park, and that the first resettlement notice made no mention of the Games.
“When the Olympics were given to Beijing we were extremely happy,” he said. “But this area is neither a stadium nor an Olympic park. It’s only a business project.
“When the local government acts like this under the name of the Olympics, my feelings are inexpressible.”
