Joining the Club
Ancient guildhalls once home away from home for visitors from the provinces
The emperors were as wary as China’s modern rulers of citizens who organised themselves into groups or societies of any kind. But association based on a common trade or point of origin was not regarded as subversive in those pre-revolutionary days, and towards the end of the Míng dynasty lodges called huìguǎn (会馆), which were home to tóngxiānghuì (同乡会), associations of people from the same native place, began to appear.
Displaced to the outer city by the Manchu Qīng after 1644, they began to develop again once foreign rule had been accepted, increasing to nearly 400 towards the end of imperial rule and to 510 by 1929, during the Republic. They were mainly concentrated in areas outside the Xuānwǔ, Zhèngyáng, and Chóngwén gates, with slightly more on the west side in the Xuānwǔ district.
Their original purpose was to provide a meeting place and accommodation for visiting officials and for students coming to take the imperial examinations, although there was some involvement from merchants.
Officials might visit the capital for an audience with the emperor every few years but not stay long, while students up for the imperial examinations might spend six months in the city waiting to be appointed to an administrative position if they passed. Merchants, however, might well spend most of their lives there importing goods from their home regions or running other businesses.
The Chinese are traditionally clannish and as quick if not quicker than others to stereotype people according to their place of origin. So it’s hardly surprising that Chinese outsiders in Běijīng would search out others had the same accent or spoke the same dialect or language, ate the same food, and who could be convivial in the same way. Even today, when Běijīng is awash with several million migrants, the remark, ‘We’re both from village x [city y, province z] so we should help each other!’ can often be heard. The same applies amongst Chinese residents overseas, when merely being from the same country overcomes what might have been cultural differences sufficient to cause suspicion back at home.
Having a Shanghainese accent in Běijīng, for instance, will still raise prices and make you more likely to have trouble with taxis. And outsiders from different parts of China have cornered different bottom-rung jobs Beijingers don’t want to tackle, with rubbish recycling being cornered almost exclusively by people from a particular Héběi village, for instance. Dormitory shanty towns form a ring around the metropolis, each harbouring migrants from one particular area. City and provincial governments maintain representative offices in Běijīng that often also contain hotels and restaurants serving favourite flavours from back home (see Where to Eat). Perhaps backpacker hostels have the same function as huìguǎn for budget travellers to Běijīng today, as do certain bars for foreign residents.
Those at the upper end of the social scale often had difficulty obtaining adequate accommodation, so the huìguǎn helped solve that problem, although even at their height few guilds could afford their own premises, and usually rented space, typically from temples. Very few indeed were as luxurious as the Húguǎng, and even those with stages for their own local opera styles would usually have them outside in a courtyard.
Lodges would often begin by representing entire provinces (the Húguǎng represents two; provinces often came in pairs under one governor in imperial times), but divide or exist in parallel with others serving the citizens of individual cities or prefectures, or pairs of smaller towns, as they became successful. A new arrival might have a choice of joining a guild associated with his profession, or his province, prefecture, or town, if his native place’s economy was sufficiently thriving to be represented in the capital.
Women did not gain posts as officials, take the imperial examinations, or travel on business, so the tóngxiānghuì were all-male affairs, which tended to enhance their respectability. They had rules as to who might join and how they were expected to behave, and from the early 19th century began to have these regulations carved in stone. These stelae are often all that remain, and several examples can be found at the Five Padoga Temple.
Some of the ancient premises still stand, usually hiding behind relatively unassuming frontages. They are now home to many families, or operate in some local administrative capacity, their former purposes remembered only on a plaque.
The Xuānwǔ district government in particular has been taking an interest. Over the last few years at some former guildhalls it has been offering businesses the chance to pay compensation to clear out existing residents and have the sums spent deducted from rent for long-term contracts. Whether substituting businesses for residents will make the halls any more accessible isn’t clear, but it does mean that as some old buildings are bulldozed, others are being renovated.
▶ For a hútòng walk that links the remains of several guildhalls, see Out Clubbing.
Next in South of Qián Mén: Out Clubbing (walk)
Previous: Húguǎng Guildhall
Main Index of A Better Guide to Beijing.
