A RED character chai ("pull down") in many old neighborhoods - a familiar sight - is evocative of urban ambition to break with the past.

The single Chinese character conveys succinctly the tone of finality and resolve that is needed in dispatching the business of pulling down.

A news photo in Shanghai Daily on February 7 featured an old building at 180 Changyang Road, once a clinic in the 1930s for Jewish refugees.

It was originally included in another wave of demolition, as suggested by the chai on the exterior of the buildings.

It surprises me that after decades of relentless chai, there are still survivors.

On Tuesday, the Oriental Morning Post reported that some old buildings in Yangpu District set for annihilation turned out to be the property of the daughter of Zeng Guofan (1811-1872), about a century ago. Zeng was one of the most well-known ministers and commanders during the late Qing Dynasty (1644-1911).

Professor Ruan Yisan from Tongji University appealed urgently to relevant authorities, who after studying the situation instructed other authorities to spare the buildings in question.

A casual visit to www.memoryofchina.org yields more pleasant surprises in Shanghai: a pre-1949 clinic's advertisement on a dilapidated wall (ominously right next to a construction site) on 628 Xikang Road, an old "Cafe Atlantic" (run by Jews in 1930s) signboard on Haimen Road, and the name of a blacksmith's shop in Li'anfang Nong (nongtang, or lane, itself is fast becoming obsolete).

As one of the first three municipalities, Tianjin used to be important, but in recent times it has been much eclipsed not only by Beijing and Shanghai, but also by a number of mid-size cities.

For quite a while the city seemed to be immune to the racket, dust and noises that are drawing admiration and exclamation.

But Tianjin has regained its foothold, and is learning quickly.

A city's takeoff usually first manifests itself in soaring housing prices, since much of modern urban growth is fueled by relocation.

The revamping of old neighborhoods is usually outsourced by local governments to property developers, who are proficient at getting things done without hangups.

Property developers first award the relocated residents huge compensation, which can be easily passed on to future buyers of the developed property.

A considerable portion of the proceeds ultimately go to the government or officials in the form of fees or bribes.

Thus a city most celebrated for its growth is usually the one most adept in the art of breaking and remaking.

At least in suburban Shanghai, native residents fall into two classes: those that have experienced kaifa (development), and those not yet blessed, with the latter viewed with particular envy, as compensation has been going steadily up in the past decade.

Armed with the windfall, these relocated households represent the salient elements of what is legendarily known as "rigid housing demand."

By maintaining the rigidity of this demand, local officials manage to leverage housing prices steadily upward.

Incidentally, they also ratcheted up local GDP.

Against this background, the South Weekend newspaper last week devoted one full page to Tianjin's Wudadao area, part of which is at risk of destruction by those whose stated mission is to "protect" it.

Wudadao has more than 2,000 garden-style villas built in the 1920s and 30s in the area of 1.3 sq km, crossed by 22 roads totaling 17 km.

When Mao Zedong mentioned "the siheyuan (four-square courtyard houses) in Beijing and the foreign villas in Tianjin," he clearly had Wudadao in mind.

What is left of Wudadao had reportedly survived two previous waves of relocations, but the third wave is overwhelming.

The current economic crisis gave local planners and regulators such an edge that this time they do not resort to any pretext, evasion, or equivocation, but get down to business straight away, demanding consensus on fast relocations at a time when internal demand badly needs stimulation.

Faceless cities

Tianjin Daily explains that some of these old Wudadao residences must give way to a commercial complex catering to tourist needs for respite, repast, and shopping, as part of an effort to raise a set of "historically exotic buildings that are visible, accessible, and full of anecdotes."

For residents in Shanghai and Hangzhou, this clearly raises the specter of Xintiandi-style property development.

In this style, some contrived Oriental elements in the exterior help titillate Western patrons' craving for the exotic, but the amenities within ensure a totally Western experience.

Conspicuously missing are elements suggesting real life: children from different families enjoying themselves at the narrow lanes, indifferently clad elders sunning themselves, or middle-aged women sauntering about in pajamas and slippers, sharing gossip.

"Do not treat contemptuously the familiar nongtang sight - they are actually the essence of Shanghai redolent of the neighborly amicability in the past, and this should be the basis for empowering us for the future," said professor Ruan Yisan, in an interview with Jiefang Daily last September.

Feng Jicai is a well-known Tianjin-born author who has been a strong advocate for preservation of traditional Chinese architectural styles in cities and villages.

"There are over 600 big and middle cities in China, and they have all grown basically faceless. Dominating now are the copies of Western commercialized buildings, very vulgar, and spiritually and culturally void," Feng commented a few years ago.

He went on to say, "Old neighborhoods are carriers of a city's memory. Stripped of its historical content, a city's life is gone. It becomes a wilderness where nothing has happened. On its ashes can be contrived at will whatever kind of monstrosities."

These new buildings are faithful servants of capital, the result of dubious civic pride allied with commercial boosterism, agents of megalomania, pomp, and grandeur, hostile to any but commercial purposes.

Feng said literary people used to be strong advocates for preservation, but they prove to be no match for the "golden combination" of property developers and officials.