Tunnels of power: The cultural politics of the Beijing subway

Abstract

This article investigates the cultural politics of the Beijing subway. Drawing on diverse sources, we trace the evolution of the subway over the last half-century to reveal that it transcends its fluctuating, time-specific practicalities to serve as a potent conduit through which the Chinese state consistently shapes subjecthood. The article begins with the subway’s Cold War inception as a military enterprise, spotlighting its deliberate concealment to safeguard the echelons of power and obscure both international and domestic tensions. The second section delves into the subway’s rebirth in the wake of China’s opening-up reform and rapid economic rise, as it transforms into a mobile gallery of political aesthetics that extols China’s cultural heritage and triumphs, cultivating national pride under siege from unleashed market and social forces. The final section dissects the subway’s orchestration of undesirable passengers, sculpting a socioeconomic hierarchy in the city’s commuting system. As a multifaceted prism, the Beijing subway encapsulates a range of covert and overt, pragmatic and aesthetic, and inclusive and exclusive elements in the cultural politics of Chinese infrastructure at large; and it illustrates the sustained centrality of state power in shaping individual subjectivities and defining the cultural and representational significance of Chinese infrastructure, albeit amid growing contestation.

Introduction: The biopolitics of infrastructure

In 1969, at the height of the Cultural Revolution and Cold War, China’s first subway was covertly launched in Beijing as a military project to protect top leaders from potential air strikes. The subway was not opened to the public until 1981. Today, the Beijing subway symbolizes Chinese infrastructure and national prowess, serving over 13 million passengers daily.

This article delves into the cultural politics of the Beijing subway, situated at the intersection of China Studies and Infrastructure Studies—a field traditionally rooted in two intellectual traditions. The first explores Large Technical Systems (LTS), examining how emergent technologies contribute to the evolution and governance of complex systems like electrical grids, telecommunication networks, and the internet.¹ The second, more germane to our enquiry, probes human-infrastructure relations, investigating the myriad ways in which social structures interface with infrastructure.² Early studies, including Susan Leigh Star’s pioneering work, contended that infrastructure is ‘invisible’ until it breaks down.³ Yet, such interpretations have been challenged for overlooking political dimensions. Larkin, for instance, emphasizes that such ‘invisibility’ is a luxury afforded mainly to socially privileged groups for whom well-functioning infrastructure becomes inconspicuous. While some public infrastructures, like shopping malls and theatres, primarily function as communal spaces fostering social connectivity and collective life,⁴ others operate as ‘apparatus of governmentality’ steered by underlying political rationalities.⁵

Recent strides in infrastructure studies have underscored the intricate relationships between human interactions, infrastructural development, and state governance. Scholars like Brian Larkin argue that infrastructure not only serves as a stage for human activities but also acts as a complex interplay of political and technological mediations, thereby influencing societal norms and interactions.⁶ Susan Leigh Star and Karen Ruhleder emphasize the contextual nature of infrastructure, highlighting its evolution as being contingent upon the temporal, spatial, and cultural dimensions of the societies they serve.⁷ Keller Easterling coined the term ‘extrastatecraft’ to describe the covert power dynamics embedded within infrastructural spaces, which she contends become arenas for political and biopolitical negotiations, and, often, points of contention.⁸ In his exploration of Mumbai’s water systems Nikhil Anand illustrates how the management and control of basic resources like water become a fulcrum around which notions of citizenship coalesce. In his work, infrastructure emerges not merely as a mechanism for utility delivery but also as a site where identity and civic participation are continually redefined.⁹ Stephen Collier situates post-Soviet infrastructure within the realm of biopolitics, elucidating its transformation as a deeply political act that impacts on citizens’ engagement with their urban milieus.¹⁰

Infrastructure transcends its functional role as a modernizing apparatus to act as a focal point for the crystallization of state ideologies, particularly in the Global South.¹¹ Take, for instance, Indonesia’s satellite launches, which are not merely technological achievements but also potent symbols intended to foster and solidify national unity.¹² Similarly, in Mongolia, the advent of ‘Lenin’s light’—a state-electrification initiative—is not just about providing electricity; it serves as a metaphorical illumination of state-led modernity.¹³ Though infrastructure is often hailed as a marker of modernity and a symbol of national identity, it can also manifest what scholars term ‘infrastructure violence’. Such violence is a form of systemic marginalization and exclusion targeted at specific communities, disrupting their access to services and thereby reinforcing socioeconomic disparities.¹⁴

In the Chinese context, where state agendas heavily influence large-scale infrastructural projects, the Beijing subway provides an illustrative case study. Its meteoric growth is emblematic of China’s transformation and underscores the state’s central role in shaping citizen engagement with such projects. Utilizing a historical lens, this article unearths how state power has been manifested, reinforced, and even occasionally counteracted in this sprawling underground network, providing insights into the larger human-infrastructure interaction within the confines of authoritarian governance.¹⁵ We contend that the Beijing subway, while adapting to varied functional roles across different historical epochs, serves as an arena wherein the Chinese state continually reconstitutes public spaces and individual identities.

The article is structured in three sections. The first concentrates on the subway’s inception during the Cold War era as a military asset, emphasizing the calculated obfuscation employed to protect the upper echelons of political power and mask international and domestic tensions. The second section examines the subway’s rebirth in the wake of China’s opening-up reform and rapid economic rise. During this period, the subway metamorphoses into a mobile gallery for political aesthetics, celebrating China’s cultural heritage and national achievements to foster national pride. This section also probes the growing tensions between state-led objectives and emerging neoliberal impulses and a nascent civil society. The final section dissects the subway’s orchestration of undesirable passengers, sculpting a socioeconomic hierarchy in the city’s commuting system.

As a multifaceted tapestry, the Beijing subway encapsulates a range of covert and overt, pragmatic and aesthetic, and inclusive and exclusive elements, situating it firmly within the expansive landscape of Chinese cultural politics around infrastructure at large. It illustrates the sustained prominence of state power, albeit not without resistance, in shaping individual subjectivities and defining the cultural and symbolic ramifications of Chinese infrastructure. As China amplifies its global infrastructural footprint through initiatives like the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB),¹⁶ the nuanced and deep-seated impacts of these endeavours—particularly as they permeate local societies—are shaped by the sorts of cultural politics posited in this article.

A secret underground: Military enterprise and controlled (in)visibility in the Maoist era

While railroads epitomize a nation’s industrialization, subways represent urbanized prosperity in early modern metropolises. Chinese interest in subways began in the late Qing era, with media coverage on subways in cities like New York, Tokyo, Paris, and Moscow. In 1897, the Shanghai-based Shenbao reported on the 42-mile New York subway with curiosity and admiration.¹⁷ From the 1910s, Chinese news increasingly highlighted rigorous requirements for subway construction, reflecting Chinese elites’ appreciation of advanced foreign technology and their aspiration to catch up with developed nations. For instance, the Paris subway was praised for preventing ground collapse and ensuring proper ventilation while moving underground soil with machinery.¹⁸ Likewise, the Tokyo subway, operating in 1927, was lauded for solving underground lighting challenges.¹⁹ Subway construction showcased a state’s capacity, ideology, as well as technological prowess. In the 1930s, the Soviet Union completed the Moscow subway in just three years as part of its five-year plan, impressing the Chinese media, including even Little Friends, a magazine for Chinese youth.²⁰ In 1945, the communist Liberation Daily hailed the Moscow subway as the world’s best, crediting its success to Soviet regions collaborating to contribute the best materials.²¹ After the Second World War, China began designing its own subway: Shanghai proposed one for its post-war economic recovery in 1946,²² while Beijing’s government suggested a western city subway connected to a railway.²³ However, these plans were suspended due to the Second Chinese Civil War.

It was not until the Communists came to power that China’s subway construction materialized. In contrast to the economic motives behind the construction of most subways, however, the Beijing subway in Communist China was aimed at military defence against possible airstrikes from regime enemies—the Nationalists or the United States. After the Korean War in September 1953, a report titled ‘Key Points of the Draft Plan for Reconstruction and Expansion of Beijing’ was submitted to the central government, which mentioned that ‘…in order to provide urban residents with the most convenient and economical means of transportation, especially in order to meet the needs of national defense, we must plan the construction of underground railway as soon as possible’ (our emphasis). Clearly, with Beijing’s permanent population numbering less than three million at the time, transportation was not a primary reason for subway construction. According to Xie Rende, the chief engineer of the subway preparatory office, Premier Zhou Enlai stated that ‘Beijing’s subway construction is entirely for combat readiness. Any transportation needs can easily be met by buying two hundred buses.’²⁴ In the 1950s, the Soviet Union led subway construction projects within communist blocs,²⁵ to demonstrate socialism’s superiority over capitalism.²⁶ Soviet experts were sent to help design the Beijing subway in 1956.²⁷ Plans for the subway remained confidential but were hinted at in a 6 July 1958 Beijing Daily report on Sino-Soviet scientific collaboration, which mentioned that China was sending experts to study ‘the design of ocean dry cargo ships, electrified railways, mainline electric locomotives, and underground railways…’.²⁸ However, China’s political economy suffered under the subsequent Great Leap Forward, and the project halted in 1961 when the Soviet Union split with China, withdrawing all its technicans and scientists.²⁹

In 1962, as China began to recover from famine and economic recession, the country resumed subway construction with a focus on defending itself against nuclear threats from not only the United States but also the Soviet Union. In 1964, top Chinese officials Li Fuchun, Bo Yibo, and Luo Ruiqing submitted a ‘Report on How National Economic Construction Prepares for Enemies’ Sudden Attack’ to Mao Zedong. It provided rationales for China’s construction of infrastructure during the Cold War, recommending that it be built ‘close to the mountains, scattered, and hidden’ to minimize damage from enemy attacks.³⁰ Factories, especially military and mechanical ones, should move to inner regions, creating a ‘Third Front’ against potential invasion.³¹ Although the report called for the suspension of several projects, it recommended the continuation of the Beijing subway as a defensive measure. The subway exploited vertical space to ensure the safety of Beijing or at least facilitated the evacuation of Chinese top leaders in case of an air or missile attack.³² This massive infrastructure project, reflecting Cold War anxieties, was known to a select few top leaders and elites, and kept secret from the public. This secrecy aimed to relieve security anxieties among the informed while concealing them from the masses by controlling the visibility of the underground space.

The Beijing subway became part of China’s third Five-Year Plan in 1965, with the foundation stone-laying ceremony held on 1 July of that year. Due to a lack of lifts and strict steel requirements, however, shallow tunnels were used despite deeper tunnels being more defensively effective.³³ Military personnel spearheaded the construction and enlisted civilian technical experts,³⁴ ensuring rapid, high-quality construction while further militarizing the subway.³⁵ However, their efforts were not publicized. The lack of reporting, rather than obscuring the visual politics of the Beijing subway actually illuminated it. David Pietz notes that China’s technological complex ‘connotes the entire range of goals, actors, material, institutions, and tools organized to support a single project or a set of projects’.³⁶ The Beijing subway provides a unique, visual insight into this complex, as this massive infrastructure was deliberately kept hidden, despite consuming huge human and natural resources. In just four years, China completed its first 23.6 kilometre-long subway with 17 stations as a gift for the twentieth National Day in October 1969.³⁷ The trial operation began on 15 January 1971, with tourist tickets made available to only a select few with letters of introduction from their working units. It was not until 15 September 1981, 11 years later, that the subway was signed over to the Beijing municipal government and opened for public commuting.³⁸

In Maoist China the Beijing subway was shrouded in tension and mystery. From September 1973 to September 1974, subway services halted to prepare for the fourth National People’s Congress conference, amid rumours about the cancellation of the president’s position. The subway covertly transported delegates behind the scenes. A military veteran working on the subway recounted participating in ‘war preparation’ when the conference took place in 1975.³⁹ On 4 January, all subway stations conducted comprehensive security checks. The government only announced the existence of the conference to the public after it had ended, just 40 minutesafter the delegates were transported to the Great Hall of the People. It turned out that Premier Zhou Enlai was so ill that he could only read the beginning and end of his report. The secrecy surrounding the Beijing subway mirrored the heightened insecurity and vulnerability of Chinese politics during that era.

After Mao’s death in 1976, China began to open up and embrace modernization and economic development, lauding other countries’ subway projects as symbols of self-reliance and technological capability. For instance, in 1978, Liberation Daily covered North Korea’s subway, emphasizing its self-developed technology.⁴⁰ Similarly, People’s Daily praised the Bucharest subway in Romania: ‘…All the equipment required for the subway, including electric trains, were designed and manufactured by Romania.’⁴¹ Articles about the Beijing subway began appearing in Chinese newspapers, shedding its secretive past.

However, the demilitarization and publicizing of the Beijing subway caused confusion. In 1980, a People’s Daily article questioned the subway’s function and which agency should be in charge of it.⁴² Both the Beijing municipal government and the central government’s Department of Railroad hesitated to take charge due to mounting costs. The article’s author pointed to the general needs of the public and advised that the Beijing subway would be more suitable for civilian use, and that eventually it should become a civilian project with constant maintenance and investment. Eventually, in 1981, the Beijing municipal government established the Beijing Subway Company and officially opened the subway to the public. Nonetheless, Line 1 (red in Figure 1) primarily served central city residents near Chang’an Avenue and key political organizations like the People’s Congress at Tiananmen Square. Despite adding Line 2 (blue in Figure 2), China’s first circular subway line, in 1984 to connect the city centre to the northern suburbs, the subway system remained limited to central city residents throughout the 1980s and 1990s.

Figure 1. Beijing subway map in 2001. Source: ‘Illustrating the great changes of the Beijing subway’, available at https://m.focus.cn/bj/zixun/69ca32571bf2f744.html, [accessed 29 April 2024].

Figure 2. Beijing subway map in 2008. Source: ‘The development of Beijing subway during the Olympic Games’, available at https://baijiahao.baidu.com/s?id=1685774810243180965&wfr=spider&for=pc, [accessed 29 April 2024].

As the Beijing subway transitioned from its military roots to becoming a public transport system, the 1989 Tiananmen protest reactivated its militarized role. Through the subway tunnels, small numbers of troops managed to reach Tiananmen Square, when trains and trucks were shut down or blocked by crowds.⁴³ A subway driver, in his memoir, described this transport of troops as the biggest ‘test’ (kaoyan 考验) of his life, recalling the secretive transportation of National People’s Congress delegates in the 1970s. He recognized that running Beijing’s subway required not only professional commitment, but also political loyalty.⁴⁴ This event underscored the subway’s oscillation between military and civilian functions. One month after the protest, the government decided to expand the Beijing subway system.

However, the rapid expansion of the Beijing subway only came after the city won the bid for the 2008 Olympic Games in 2001. For China, ensuring the success of the 2008 Beijing Olympics was not merely about sport; it was an opportunity to demonstrate its ascendancy on the world stage and its capabilities as a global power. Central to this endeavour was the effective facilitation of public transport to accommodate increased demand during the Games, epitomized by the expansion and modernization of the Beijing subway. Line 13 (yellow line in Figure 2) and Line 5 (purple line in Figure 2) were built to connect the densely populated northern residential areas to the central business district within an hour. The subway also added Line 10 (turquoise line in Figure 2) and the Olympic Line (green line in Figure 2), connecting the Olympic stadiums and the Olympic Forest Park to the network. This expansion highlighted China’s commitment to improving air quality, demonstrating engineering prowess, and promoting economic growth through infrastructure development.

After the 2008 Olympic Games, the Beijing subway continued to expand, with suburban lines such as Line 6 connecting the western and eastern suburbs to the city centre and improving access to downtown workplaces for those living in Hebei Province with its lower housing costs. Lines like Yizhuang, Daxing, and Fangshan further linked less-developed regions to the city centre (Figure 3), enhancing access to jobs, education, and services for those communities. The 2016 announcement of a Municipal Administrative Center in Tongzhou spurred further subway expansion, with a proposed Line 22 extending into Hebei Province for the first time by 2025.⁴⁵ The expansion has transformed suburban areas into bustling satellite districts, replacing traditional neighbourhoods with high-rise apartments and commercial centres, and altering the city’s skyline. Moreover, the artistically designed subway stations added a visually appealing aspect to the city’s infrastructure for both residents and tourists.

Figure 3. Beijing subway map, 2018. Source: ‘Beijing published subway opening plan for 2018’, available at https://item.btime.com/302s2f8ibpp8i7qd0tgbrt3nvdo, [accessed 29 April 2024].

Against the fraught backdrop of the Cold War, marked by pervasive apprehensions of threat and annihilation, the Beijing subway’s covert construction, initially conceived as a military enterprise, was a deliberate strategic move, deeply anchored in the era’s geopolitics. Ensuring the subway’s invisibility served dual purposes: it shielded this critical infrastructure from potential external threats and espionage, while also allowing the PRC, in its nascent phase, to cautiously mould its image as a state without laying bare its insecurities to its populace. It was this very cloak of invisibility that mirrored Maoist China’s underlying fears, vulnerabilities, and precarities, heightening a sense of political mystery and encapsulating the antagonistic Cold War ethos. By the 1980s, as the shadow of the Cold War began to wane, albeit non-linearly, the once clandestine Beijing subway transformed from an imprint of political anxiety to a showcase of cultural heritage and national achievement, offering both Chinese citizens and global audiences a tangible testament to the country’s progress and aspirations.

Visualizing nation: Mobile gallery and political aesthetic in the post-Mao era

The Beijing subway transitioned to disseminating cultural values after its military function diminished in the late 1970s. In 1984, Hu Qili, a senior Communist Party official, stressed that it was important for the Beijing subway to ‘have some fresco, sculpture, and the artists can sign their names on their paintings’.⁴⁶ This contrasted with Deng Xiaoping’s 1965 statement that subway construction should be ‘simple, elegant, firm, and functional, but not luxurious’.⁴⁷ The shift from practical functionality to a cultural and aesthetic value mirrored China’s broader transition from a Cold War antagonist mentality to a more cooperative mindset as the country opened up to the world.

Henri Lefebvre’s seminal distinction between the city as ‘a present and immediate reality, a practico-material and architectural fact’ and the urban as ‘a social reality made up of relations which are to be conceived of, constructed or reconstructed by thought’ underscores the significance of the cultural dimensions of infrastructure. He highlights that these dimensions extend beyond the mere physicality of buildings and transport systems.⁴⁸ Zachary M. Schrag’s thorough examination of the Washington, DC metro system demonstrates how innovative design, specifically a user-centric mapping and routing system, cultivates varied social interactions, fostering a deep sense of community that spans diverse socioeconomic backgrounds.⁴⁹ Similarly, Stefan Höhne’s investigation into the New York City subway system reveals the power of artistic representations, such as the evocative photographs by Walker Evans and the poignant paintings by George Tooker. These works challenge and upend established prejudices and societal perceptions, sparking reflection among urban commuters.⁵⁰ As it evolved into a mobile art gallery, the Beijing subway offered its passengers access to curated art installations, thereby nurturing refined aesthetic appreciation and fostering a sense of national identity during China’s era of reform and ascendancy.

This intertwining of art and public transport was not an isolated phenomenon in China. The 1980s witnessed a ‘culture fever’ where the younger generation’s growing affinity for Western intellectual traditions led to multiple cultural movements. These ranged from a fascination with thinkers like Sartre and Nietzsche to broader movements such as the root-seeking literature phenomenon and the Qigong craze.⁵¹ Within this milieu, public art gained traction, not just as a form of aesthetic expression but as a potent symbol of public culture. As observed by Wu Hung, public art in Beijing occupied a unique nexus between state-sanctioned narratives and individual artistic expressions. Temporary art installations, often anchored to significant national events, transformed iconic spaces like Tiananmen Square. Beneath their celebratory veneer, they often bore nuanced political subtexts.⁵² However, the artistic landscape of Beijing and other Chinese cities was not monolithic. While some artists conformed to state-sanctioned themes, experimental artists operating on the fringes of mainstream art institutions used public art as a medium to introduce avant-garde paradigms, occasionally challenging the very orthodoxy within which they existed. The duality in public art, oscillating between state-driven narratives and avenues of sociopolitical critique, was not confined to Beijing. Drawing on this, Jane Zhang argues that urban sculptures in Shanghai served dual purposes. They were not only emblematic representations but also pedagogic tools, harmonizing seamlessly with the city’s cultural ambitions.⁵³ Similarly, Han Cheng and Julian Worrall contend that Chinese public art resonated deeply with the local populace’s passion and expertise, cultivating a participatory civic spirit and fostering community-driven public culture.⁵⁴ Taken together, these scholarly insights underscore the multifaceted nature of public art in China. It was a dynamic tapestry where government directives, societal conventions, and individual inventiveness coalesced, shaping urban spaces that echoed both the historical legacy and forward-looking aspirations of their communities.

The artworks of Beijing subway became a platform for Chinese passengers to reflect upon and appreciate China’s culture amid the influx of Western influences, while also introducing foreign visitors to Chinese culture and achievements. Line 2’s Xizhimen Station hosted the first subway murals by renowned artist Zhang Ding, who helped design the Chinese national emblem. The murals ‘Yanshan Great Wall Map’ and ‘Great River Going East’ exemplify traditional Chinese art, characterized by ink and brush on paper or silk and capturing the subject’s essence over realism. The 70-metre murals, initially designed on paper, were carved on bricks using advanced epoxy resin materials. Zhang’s artwork uses symbolic brushstrokes to convey love for the motherland, with ‘Yanshan Great Wall Map’ (Figure 4) highlighting the Great Wall’s majesty through scorched ink landscape painting, the winding city wall, and the sturdy beacon tower, and ‘Great River Going East’ highlighting natural scenes such as mighty rivers and magnificent mountains and canyons, reflecting the momentum of ‘big waves flowing eastward’.

Figure 4. Xizhimen station’s mural, the first in Beijing’s subway. Source: Photo taken by Xu Lixin on 9 November 2021.

Jianguomen station features a tile mural created in 1985 depicting ancient China’s Four Great Inventions—papermaking, commercial printing, gunpowder, and the compass—and traditional Chinese ways of life such as family interactions and holiday celebrations, reminding passengers of the glory of China’s traditional civilization. The opposite side showcases traditional Chinese mythology and contemporary China’s ambitious space programme (Figure 5). By incorporating cultural values in the subway system, the government aimed to foster a sense of national unity and identity among its citizens, while sharing its rich cultural heritage with the world.

Figure 5. The 1985 mural in Jianguomen station integrates traditional Chinese cosmology with the modern Chinese ambition to explore outer space. Source: Photo taken by the authors on 20 July 2019.

The accelerated expansion of the Beijing subway network in the 2000s brought new opportunities for artistic expression and cultural dissemination through the subway ‘museum’. Liu Qi, then party secretary of Beijing, supported the inclusion of more artwork in the subway,⁵⁵ leading to an expansion of the scope and depth of the stations’ design in the newly constructed lines. Since the 2000s, subway art design has expanded to cover the entire train station, including lifts, ceilings, pillars, and entrances, offering an immersive experience of local history and culture. Designs now include curved roofs, intricate tilework, and sculptures, offering a three-dimensional vision of the subway, contrasting with the two-dimensional mural design of the 1980s. For example, at Gulou (Drum Tower) station, a golden low-relief carving of the tower is featured (Figure 6), while abstract strokes portray nearby traditional Chinese hutongs, reminding passengers of the historical traditions in the vicinity. Similarly, at National Library station, Chinese calligraphy on the walls and lamps serves as decorative patterns, illuminating the cultural connections to the station and inviting passengers to explore China’s largest library above ground (Figure 7).

Figure 6. Visualization of three-dimensional architecture and traditional culture in Drum Tower station. Source: Photo taken by Xu Lixin on 12 November 2021.

Figure 7. Chinese calligraphy showcases the educational background of National Library station. Source: Photo taken by Xu Lixin on 12 November 2021.

Beijing subway stations have also incorporated designs that promote an appreciation for nature and history. Forest Park South station features tree-like pillars and ceilings depicting branches, while Lincuiqiao station showcases traditional paintings of birds in a forest, illustrating the harmony between human and nature. The subway’s immersive architecture and natural imagery encourage environmental consciousness in a fast-paced urban setting. Yuanmingyuan station on Line 4 features tile murals of the ruined Old Summer Palace, destroyed by French and British troops during the Second Opium War in 1860 (Figure 8). The Beijing municipal government rebuilt Yuanmingyuan village in the early 1980s and transformed it into a memorial park in 1988 to preserve the historical and cultural heritage of the Old Summer Palace and educate visitors.⁵⁶ The design of Yuanmingyuan station serves as a poignant reminder of China’s past humiliation and failure, as well as its progress since then, rallying Chinese citizens around nationalism.⁵⁷ This allows the subway station to be more than just a transportation hub, but also a place of remembrance, reflection, and education on Chinese history.

Figure 8. The tile murals of the ruined Old Summer Palace in Yuanmingyuan station serve as a reminder of a traumatic period in Chinese history. Source: Photo taken by the authors on 20 July 2019.

The Beijing subway incorporated local perspectives and artistic expression into its station design, reflecting a shift towards a more inclusive approach to infrastructure development. In the 1980s, Beijing subway station designs were primarily conducted by the government and cultural workers from the Central Academy of Fine Arts. However, recent projects incorporate local input and cultural representations. For example, Nanluoguxiang station, located in one of Beijing’s most famous historic neighbourhoods, consulted local residents to collect symbolic cultural materials that were digitized and displayed on the walls of the subway stations, preserving the local area’s cultural memory and history. Passengers can learn about the site’s history via a QR code.⁵⁸ The beautiful artwork in Nanluoguxiang station captures the essence of old Beijing, inspiring passengers to take photos and share their experience with others. The use of traditional kites and images of hutongs not only evokes a sense of nostalgia, but also encourages people to appreciate and preserve the unique history and cultural charm of the area (Figure 9). The station serves as a testament to the importance of maintaining a connection to the city’s storied past, while embracing the modern advances of urban life. While the subway serves as a symbol of urbanization, it now also addresses urbanization’s side effects by safeguarding cultural relics, craftsmanship, and traditions, effectively combining modern infrastructure with cultural preservation.

Figure 9. Passengers taking photos of traditional kites in Nanluoguxiang station. Source: Photo taken by Xu Lixin on 14 July 2021.

In the early 2000s, the Beijing subway witnessed a surge in public art, largely fuelled by efforts to amplify the city’s unique cultural signature. The Beijing Municipal Commission of City Appearance and Environmental Sanitation was established to steer this artistic surge, resulting in spectacular installations throughout the city. Notable among these are the ‘Cultural Heritage’ sculpture in Ritan Park, the ‘World Peace’ edifice at the Wukesong Cultural and Sports Center, and the ‘Gate of the Orient’ centrepiece at the China National Convention Center. Today, the subway exudes the ambience of a dynamic museum. Each station presents a medley of artistic styles and themes, from the cultural to the natural and from the ancient to the contemporary, all echoing state-approved stories. Commuters, as they traverse this subterranean world, inadvertently find themselves ensconced within an artistic haven.

Embedding public art in the Beijing subway also signifies resistance to the homogenizing force of global neoliberalism that can erase the uniqueness of urban spaces. As the Marxist geographer David Harvey elucidates, neoliberalism manifests as a spatial strategy, reshaping urban terrains to bolster neoliberal economic principles.⁵⁹ Indeed, as post-socialist Beijing leans further into consumerism, the sanctity of subway art may come under siege. Electronic billboards and commercial screens, which in part fund station operations, have begun to replace paintings and tile murals, immersing passengers in consumer culture. Younger commuters, notably those in their twenties, regularly interact with QR codes of products, events, or services advertised, seamlessly blending their digital and physical worlds. Such interactions signal the deeper meshing of technology within urban experiences and the evolution of a consumer identity that is symbiotic with the city’s infrastructure. Line 10, which encircles Beijing’s emerging business hubs, has birthed a distinct ‘subway work culture’. Here, it is common to observe commuters engaged in work-related tasks during their journeys, whether they are fine-tuning slideshows or conducting telephone meetings. The discussions about introducing free Wi-Fi on the Beijing subway further encapsulate how infrastructure can shape work habits and, by extension, worker identities.⁶⁰ These dynamics, not entirely intended by the state, are largely driven by market forces.

The Beijing government’s decision to replace subway station names translated into English with Chinese pinyin, and its ensuing reversal, highlights the intricate choreography of present-day Chinese cultural politics. Increasingly, the state may find itself in negotiations or contestations with an expanding, though still embryonic, civil society. Scholars like Bourdieu have discussed the linguistic landscape as a critical terrain where power and identity dynamics play out.⁶¹ The move to pinyin, transcending simple semantics, showcases the state’s ongoing efforts to reassert Chinese cultural identity. Such manoeuvres echo broader indigenization efforts in countries contending with the stranglehold of English-centric globalization.⁶² However, faced with substantial online backlash, within a year the Beijing subway discreetly reverted to its original design, restoring English translations for station names.⁶³ This rollback demonstrates that the state cannot always simply impose its will; in this case, it must navigate a delicate balance between global appeal and preserving local heritage, especially when societal pushback is potent.

As the number of passengers swells, the challenge emerges of aligning the state’s steadfast commitment to maintaining a rich cultural heritage with the ever-changing demands and aspirations of modern urban life. Serving as a mobile museum for state-sanctioned artistic expressions, the Beijing subway is poised to undergo continual transformation. This metamorphosis will catalyse both intentional and incidental shifts in passenger identities, encapsulating the tensions between neoliberal drives and their counterforces. Most crucially, even amid escalating influences from market and social forces, the subway persists as a dynamic tableau upon which the state delineates its evolving vision of modernity, tradition, and the global-local continuum.

Infrastructure violence: Undesirable passengers and social exclusion in the post-Olympic era

The expansion of the Beijing subway system over the years has elicited intricate dynamics of accessibility, manifesting in distinct policy shifts that unveil the underlying tendencies of social exclusion and state control. As passenger numbers burgeoned, so did concerns about access for the city’s urban poor and beggars. In the lead-up to the late 2000s Olympics, ticket prices were recalibrated as part of Beijing’s broader push towards eco-friendly transportation, underscoring China’s commitment to international decarbonization initiatives. Yet, by the mid-2010s, a rise in ticket prices was rationalized by the authorities on the grounds of overcrowding and aspirations to situate Beijing as a world-class city. This decision, however, also had the unintended consequence of sidelining those deemed ‘undesirable’ by the state, pushing the urban poor and beggars towards the peripheries of societal visibility.

The accessibility issues surrounding the Beijing subway, particularly the orchestrated removal of beggars and the stringent crackdown on the ‘low-end population’ (diduanrenkou 低端人口), are emblematic of deeper urban management practices and social injustices entrenched in Beijing’s sociopolitical fabric. On the surface, these measures seem intent on refining the city’s façade and operational efficiency. Yet, they also inadvertently underscore a latent tension: the clash between the urban development drive and the rights of the city’s most vulnerable. In its quest for a pristine urban image, Beijing’s governance often pushes to the margins those who diverge from its idealized progress narrative. This trend transcends the confines of the subway, mirroring a larger urban governance approach that often forsakes inclusivity for the sake of aesthetics and order. With Beijing’s ambitions ever-increasing, it becomes imperative to discern the true societal costs of such policies and to reckon with the realities faced by those eclipsed by these advancements.

Broadening the dialogue, the evolving global discourse on citizenship has extended beyond the traditional triad of civil, political, and social rights to incorporate the concept of ‘mobile citizenship’, positioning mobility as a form of access. This perspective amplifies the myriad barriers individuals face in accessing a spectrum of ‘activities, values, and goods’ that are pivotal for full societal membership. The crux lies in surmounting the diverse financial, physical, organizational, and temporal challenges that impede such access.⁶⁴ The nuanced policy alterations of Beijing’s subway system provide a window into social injustice. They tacitly suggest that public infrastructures, exemplified by the subway, are not genuinely inclusive spaces for the entire public, but rather are tailored for a select, often more affluent, populace. Such infrastructural exclusions intensify societal disparities while simultaneously signalling a nuanced, yet potent, exertion of state control. In this light, infrastructures like the subway become a locus where the broader structural dynamics of social stratification and injustice are both manifested and reproduced.

Understanding accessibility requires a multifaceted lens, as it is shaped not only by deliberate design but also through everyday interactions among diverse users.⁶⁵ As Daniel Muñoz posits, rooted in the idea that infrastructure melds both social and technical aspects, accessibility emerges as an intricate interplay of factors, blurring distinctions between the ‘social’ and the ‘technical’.⁶⁶ Alex Cockain’s seminal work on the Shanghai subway underscores how the subway, far beyond its functional utility, becomes a space of everyday encounter, where urban denizens navigate not just physical terrains but also sociocultural norms, forging distinctive urban identities in the process.⁶⁷ Drawing from Rashmi Sadana’s ethnographic study of the Delhi Metro’s ‘social lives’, it becomes evident that urban mobility transcends mere transport. While enhancing urban connectivity and offering greater access to opportunities, services, and cultural experiences—especially for marginalized communities—urban mobility delves deep into the intricate emotional and psychological facets of individuals’ personhood as they traverse and envision metropolitan landscapes. The women-only compartment in the Delhi Metro serves as a poignant example. It represents not just safety, but is also a symbol of empowerment, reshaping women’s interactions with urban spaces and their perceptions of self.⁶⁸ However, such segregation also underscores the unique challenges women face in public spaces, highlighting the constant negotiation between empowerment, inclusion/exclusion, and infrastructure.

Within the particular context of the Beijing subway, the state’s approach to fare policies and marginalized populations exposes its agenda of social regulation. In 1978, the Beijing municipal government introduced affordable monthly subway tickets, granting passengers unlimited access for a month.⁶⁹ However, rising popularity led to price increases from 18 Yuan in 1991 to 80 Yuan in 2000, diminishing support for the poor. In 2006, two Renmin University professors claimed that the monthly ticket was being abused, potentially costing the subway one billion Yuan annually, and recommended ending it to ‘ensure justice’.⁷⁰ In September 2007, a year before the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games, the Beijing government held a hearing to balance operational costs and the needs of the poor.⁷¹ Despite objections, the monthly ticket was abolished. A flat rate of two Yuan per ticket was introduced, which allowed unlimited transfers within the city.⁷² Following the central government’s guidance for the Olympics, the Beijing subway’s rhetoric shifted from profit-driven to inclusive and environmentally friendly.⁷³

For the 2008 Olympics, Beijing’s subway system became emblematic of China’s burgeoning strength and its aspiration to seamlessly mix with the international upper echelons.⁷⁴ The city’s vision of a ‘Green Olympics, High-tech Olympics, and People’s Olympics’ was epitomized by the subway, which underwent remarkable expansion, more than doubling its length to cater to a surging influx of international attendees. This infrastructural enhancement was not just a logistical decision but a strategic one, projecting China’s prowess in urban development and planning. In fact, Beijing’s ambitious moves set it apart in terms of Olympic preparations. While cities like London, in 2012, primarily refined their existing transport systems, and Rio de Janeiro, in 2016, extended its metro to connect key Olympic sites, Beijing’s strategy was unparalleled. Daily services were enhanced on key routes such as Line 1 and Line 13, enabling the transportation of an additional 5,000 people daily,⁷⁵ culminating in nearly four million passengers during the Olympic period, as reported by People’s Daily.⁷⁶ However, in a nod to the exclusivity of the event, the line specifically crafted for the Games was reserved solely for athletes and media personnel.⁷⁷

After the Olympics, the subway was hailed as a means to build an underground city, accommodating a large number of migrants and resolving congestion issues. This development embodies David Nye’s ‘technological sublime’, inspiring awe through gigantic and powerful machines.⁷⁸ In the context of the Beijing subway right after the Olympic Games, a strong technological optimism materialized in grand visions for cities, realized through integrated infrastructural and urban planning. A state-endorsed documentary, entitled Super Project: Beijing Subway Network, hails the subway as a ‘second city’.⁷⁹ The documentary claims that Beijing has attracted numerous migrants, with one out of three Beijing residents being ‘outside visitors’ (wailaike 外来客), causing the city to expand quickly. While implying that these ‘outside visitors’ can be a burden, the documentary suggested that the subway could provide a solution to the expansive city of migrants.

However, a few years after the Olympic Games, increased passenger numbers were no longer seen as a symbol of strength and inclusiveness. The Beijing subway shifted from promoting inclusiveness to ‘purifying’ itself by removing beggars who were viewed as damaging the city’s global image. Local news reports revealed that the Beijing subway had mapped out sites where beggars frequently congregated, presenting them as a threat to the public interest.⁸⁰ Beggars were criticized for annoying passengers with their intrusive actions such as begging for money by touching passengers’ clothes and blocking paths, creating difficulties in evacuating passengers in case of emergencies. Dennis Rodgers and Bruce O’Neill coined the concept of ‘infrastructure violence’ to explore how infrastructure excludes the poor and disadvantaged populations. They argue that infrastructure can act not only as a material embodiment of structural discrimination against the poor, but can also serve to ‘reinforce social orders, thereby becoming a contributing factor to reoccurring forms of harm’.⁸¹ The infrastructure violence was evident as beggars, often from poor, agriculture-dominated provinces, were stigmatized and demonized. Anti-rural bias in Chinese cities has its roots in the early Maoist period and has only intensified over time.⁸² Research shows that the Chinese government used coercive methods to control the urban floating population in the post-socialist era.⁸³ The process of disappearing the poor from the public eye is fuelled by stigmatizing them. Newspapers labelled beggars as lazy, troublesome, and morally corrupt, reporting that adults exploited children by making them beg during school holidays. The urban poor in Beijing embody not just urban problems, but also nationwide, systemic discrimination against rural migrants.

The government provided beggars with only ten days of aid before returning them to rural villages,⁸⁴ where they may have lost their homes, jobs, or family members, offering little hope upon their return. Urban residents are also unwelcoming to them. A local Beijing newspaper documents the story of a beggar who lost her home due to an earthquake in Gansu Province. Despite receiving partial government assistance for reconstruction, she still needed to take a high-interest loan to make a living, which eventually bankrupted her.⁸⁵ When she arrived in Beijing, she brought her children with her to help her beg for money. When in 2014, the Beijing subway replaced the flat-rate two Yuan ticket with a flexible mileage-based pricing system, ranging from a minimum of three yuan to an uncapped maximum, the price changes disproportionately impacted on the urban poor. Additionally, an overtime fee system was introduced, targeting beggars, which charges a minimum one-way ticket price of three yuan if a passenger’s time in the subway network (departure time minus arrival time) exceeds four hours. The Beijing government claimed that raising ticket prices would ease the city’s financial burden and prevent congestion. Officials argued that the government lost almost half a Yuan for every kilometre a passenger travelled on the subway.⁸⁶ When residents requested the city to issue monthly tickets for the poor, the proposal was rejected.

The Beijing subway, which represented inclusiveness during the 2008 Olympics, became increasingly exclusive in the mid-2010s when the Beijing municipal government adopted aggressive policies towards poor migrants. In 2016, People’s Daily even labelled poor migrants in Beijing as ‘lower-rank people’, leading to their eventual removal from the city.⁸⁷ The government prioritized Beijing’s status as a political, cultural, and international exchange centre, displacing migrant workers’ small businesses under the pretext of building ‘the core area of the capital’. In examining the forced displacement of local residents during dam-building, Rob Nixon highlights that ‘If the idea of the modern nation-state is sustained by producing imagined communities, it also involves actively producing unimagined communities. I refer here […] to communities whose vigorously unimagined condition becomes indispensable to maintaining a highly selective discourse of national development.’⁸⁸ Rob Nixon suggests that the grandiose rhetoric of national development often overlooks disadvantaged communities’ interests. Poor migrants, including Beijing subway beggars, were deemed not to fit the city’s ambition to become an advanced international metropolis. Newspapers reported harsher punishment for ‘professional beggars’, such as a mother who begged with her three children and was arrested.⁸⁹ Citing safety and social order, the Beijing subway company hired staff to remove beggars, primarily from the iconic and earliest subway lines, Line 1 and Line 2.

The Beijing subway’s transformation into a modern and efficient public transportation system has been celebrated as a symbol of China’s economic growth and urban development. While the affluent can afford private cars and the ultra-poor were expelled, the working class rely on the crowded subway for daily commutes, forming a socioeconomic hierarchy in the commuting system and highlighting the inequalities that persist in Chinese society. Despite its crowdedness, the Beijing subway remains the most popular means of transportation for commuters.⁹⁰ The government has continued to invest in its expansion and modernization, and has reframed the underground space to align with its political and economic objectives, reminiscent of earlier tactics. As such, the subway’s transformation highlights how celebrating the public infrastructure’s grandeur can come at the expense of the most vulnerable and unimagined.

Conclusion

Originating during the Cold War as a discreet defence undertaking, the Beijing subway has metamorphosed into a vibrant showcase of national pride, cultural heritage, and environmental commitment. While the surge in passenger numbers was initially lauded as a testament to China’s strength and inclusiveness, it later became seen as an impediment to Beijing’s global city ambitions. Throughout its storied evolution in the past five decades, the Beijing subway stands as emblematic of the interplay between infrastructure and politics in China. This article highlights the Beijing subway as a rich tapestry, encapsulating hidden and overt, pragmatic and aesthetic, and inclusive and exclusive facets in the cultural politics of Chinese infrastructure at large. Amid the shifting currents, however, a singular constant stands out: the subway’s embodiment of state power, capturing the nuances of Chinese governance—its capacity for adaptability, its propensity for control, and its adeptness at weaving and reweaving narratives to resonate with prevailing political winds.

The dance playing out in the tunnels of Beijing reveals the intricate choreography of Chinese statecraft: fluid, transformative, yet consistently anchored within the assertion of state power. This insight is essential for comprehending China’s escalating global influences, particularly through its expansive infrastructure projects across the globe.⁹¹ Take the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), for instance. This multibillion-dollar venture is not only a major trade route but is also a testament to the deep bond between China and Pakistan. While it fortifies Pakistan’s geopolitical significance, the swift execution of CPEC has nudged regional policymakers towards a centralized, infrastructure-focused trajectory. However, beneath its sheen, there is palpable local tension. While CPEC has undoubtedly created employment, it has also been met with local resistance, especially over land disputes and concerns about environmental impacts. These anxieties underscore the importance of local agency and its capacity to shape, refine, and sometimes even resist overarching narratives. In a parallel vein, the Addis Ababa-Djibouti Railway, funded by Chinese resources, embodies Africa’s drive for modernity and China’s commitment to its partners. For many Ethiopians and Djiboutians, this railway is both a conduit to global markets and a mark of their nations’ ascending international relevance, rendering China’s state-driven strategies enticing to some African figureheads. Yet, the local narrative is multifaceted. There are concerns about wage disparities, limited opportunities for local workers, and an increasing sense of marginalization, leading to social fissures.

Mega-infrastructure initiatives do more than just establish routes for connectivity and economic advancement. They serve to weave complex sociocultural tapestries that inscribe new narratives and identities upon diverse local communities. As shown in our study of the Beijing subway, these projects, more than mere bricks and mortar, stand as symbolic arenas where cultural, social, and political destinies are cast and recast. When other countries encounter Chinese infrastructure, these arenas often become vibrant grounds of nuanced negotiation and contestation, mirroring the complex dance of aspirations, concerns, and visions between local stakeholders and China’s global ambitions.