But there is
something I thought was missing among its people — the spirit of Yú Gōng (愚公).
Why do I say
this?
It is in their
rural roads!
I like to think
of myself as a voluntary champion of Chinese thought. Perhaps I can help many
in the West understand something of what drives the Chinese mind.
Let me begin
with an idiom: 愚公移山
(Yú Gōng Yí Shān) — literally, "The Foolish Old Man Who Moves the
Mountains."
The story comes
from the ancient Chinese text Liezi (列子), traditionally associated with the
philosopher Lie Yukou (列御寇).
An old man
known as Yugong (愚公)
lived facing two great mountains, Taihang (太行) and Wangwu (王屋), which obstructed his family's
passage. Instead of resigning himself to going around them forever, he decided
that he and his descendants would remove the mountains, basket by basket.
A supposedly
clever old man, Zhisou (智叟),
mocked him. How could an ageing man possibly move two mountains?
Yugong replied
that although he would die, his sons would continue, then his grandsons, and
generation after generation. The mountains, meanwhile, would not grow any
larger. Eventually, therefore, they could be removed.
That is the
wisdom of the story. It is not about brute strength, but determination,
continuity across generations, and refusing to be intimidated by the scale of a
task.
Mao Zedong made
the expression especially famous in modern China. In 1945, he used it
metaphorically to describe the two great "mountains" weighing upon
China — imperialism and feudalism.
The Indus
Civilisation, of which present-day Pakistan was a part, is older than China's
civilisation in some respects. The ancient Silk Road also passed through the
region. Yet much remains to be done to improve its infrastructure.
We Chinese have
a saying: 要想富,先修路
— "If you want to become rich, build the roads first."
I do not mean
to glorify the Chinese, but the following achievements certainly speak volumes
about the spirit of 愚公移山.
They represent undertakings too large for one generation, but achievable when
successive generations continue the work.
The Yellow River (黄河) is literally becoming less yellow.
Historically,
it acquired its colour from the enormous quantities of fine loess soil washed
down from the Loess Plateau, particularly in Shaanxi, Shanxi, Gansu and Inner
Mongolia.
At its extreme,
the river carried more than two billion tonnes of sediment annually. Recent
studies suggest that sediment transport has fallen dramatically, by roughly 90%
since the 1980s.
China attacked
the problem at its source rather than merely dredging the river.
It undertook
extensive revegetation of the Loess Plateau, converting steep agricultural land
into grassland and forest through the Grain for Green programme (退耕还林还草). Hillsides were terraced to slow
runoff, while tens of thousands of small check dams (淤地坝) were constructed across gullies to
trap eroded soil before it could enter the river.
Interestingly,
when these dams fill with sediment, they often create flat, fertile land
suitable for cultivation. Thus, the programme simultaneously reduces erosion,
protects the Yellow River and creates farmland.
Large
reservoirs such as Xiaolangdi also help regulate water and sediment flows.
What impresses
me is the philosophy behind the undertaking. China recognised that the
fundamental problem was not the river itself, but the landscape feeding
sediment into it.
Instead of
fighting the consequences endlessly, it sought to eliminate the causes.
There are still
environmental challenges, and recent studies suggest that the decline in
sediment has begun to level off in some stretches. Nevertheless, the
transformation of the Loess Plateau remains one of China's remarkable
environmental achievements.
It demonstrates
what sustained intervention over several decades can accomplish.
The Yangtze River was another source of recurring calamities for China.
Historically,
devastating floods regularly struck the middle Yangtze, particularly around
Jingjiang and Wuhan. The great floods of 1931, 1935 and 1954 caused enormous
loss of life and destruction.
Even as
recently as 1998, while the Three Gorges Dam was still under construction,
catastrophic flooding claimed thousands of lives and caused economic losses
estimated at RMB166 billion.
The Three
Gorges project fundamentally changed China's ability to manage such floods.
Its reservoir
has approximately 22.1 billion cubic metres of dedicated flood-control storage,
allowing floodwaters to be held back and released gradually, greatly reducing
the danger to downstream cities and farmland.
But flood
control is only one of its contributions.
With an
installed generating capacity of 22.5 gigawatts, Three Gorges produces roughly
90–100 billion kilowatt-hours of electricity annually.
It has also
transformed navigation along the Yangtze. Before the project, shipping between
the eastern seaboard and Chongqing was severely constrained by difficult river
conditions. Today, enormous quantities of cargo move through the Three Gorges
navigation complex, connecting inland western China to Shanghai and the sea.
The reservoir
also releases water during dry periods to support agriculture, industry,
drinking-water supplies and navigation.
There is no
simple way to calculate its total economic contribution. Electricity revenues
alone are substantial, but the value of preventing even one catastrophic flood
could exceed many years of electricity earnings.
To me, its
greatest achievement is the combination: a river that periodically threatened
to devastate central China has become an infrastructure asset providing flood
protection, electricity, inland navigation and strategic water storage.
Three Gorges
represents the philosophy of managing an entire river basin rather than
treating the river as an isolated engineering problem.
Dujiangyan
(都江堰)
— Ancient Chinese Wisdom
If Three Gorges
represents the enormous scale of modern Chinese engineering, Dujiangyan
represents something perhaps even more remarkable — the wisdom of ancient
Chinese hydraulic engineers.
Built around
256 BC under the Qin official Li Bing (李冰) and his son, Dujiangyan is a
2,280-year-old river-control and irrigation system that continues to function
today.
It was designed
to tame the Min River (岷江),
which rushes down from the mountains into the relatively flat Chengdu Plain,
frequently causing floods while other areas suffered from inadequate
irrigation.
Li Bing's
solution consisted of three ingenious components:
- Yuzui (鱼嘴), or Fish Mouth, which divides the
river into two channels, directing water towards irrigation systems while
allowing excess flows to continue downstream.
- Feishayan (飞沙堰), or Flying Sand Weir, which
releases excess water and sediment back into the main river.
- Baopingkou (宝瓶口),
or Bottle-Neck Channel, which regulates the quantity of water entering the
Chengdu Plain.
The genius of
Dujiangyan lies in its use of natural topography, river velocity and hydrology
rather than simply overpowering the river with a massive barrier.
The system
transformed the Chengdu Plain into one of China's most productive agricultural
regions, earning Sichuan the name 天府之国 — "Land of Abundance."
The
agricultural surplus also strengthened the Qin state, helping it eventually
unify China in 221 BC.
What is
extraordinary is that Dujiangyan never became merely an archaeological
monument. More than two thousand years later, it continues to irrigate vast
areas of farmland.
There is a
wonderful ancient maxim associated with its maintenance:
深淘滩,低作堰
— "Dredge the riverbed deeply; keep the weir low."
In other words,
do not simply keep raising barriers. Maintain the channels properly and allow
nature to do much of the work.
That is more
than two thousand years of systems engineering wisdom.
Three Gorges
demonstrates how an enormous structure can control a river. Dujiangyan
demonstrates how understanding a river allows us to work with nature rather
than against it.
To me, that
distinction is profound.
Another remarkable undertaking is China's Three-North Shelterbelt Programme (三北防护林工程), popularly known as the Great Green Wall.
Started in 1978
and scheduled to continue until 2050, it stretches across northern China,
covering a planned programme area exceeding four million square kilometres.
Its objective
is to combat desertification, protect agricultural land and settlements, and
reduce the devastating sandstorms that periodically affect northern China.
The programme
is often described as planting trees across deserts. But that oversimplifies
the undertaking.
China
discovered through experience that planting trees indiscriminately in arid
regions could be counterproductive. Unsuitable species often died, while others
consumed scarce groundwater.
The strategy
consequently evolved into something much more sophisticated:
Where rainfall
permits, plant trees. Where it does not, use shrubs and grasses. Where even
those cannot survive, stabilise the sand mechanically and preserve the existing
desert ecosystem.
The programme
combines vegetation restoration, grazing restrictions, agricultural
shelterbelts and mechanical sand barriers.
One
particularly impressive achievement came in November 2024, when China announced
the completion of a continuous 3,046-kilometre sand-blocking belt around the
Taklamakan Desert in Xinjiang.
The objective
is not to turn the desert into a forest. It is to stabilise its margins,
protect the surrounding oases and prevent shifting dunes from swallowing roads,
railways, farmland and settlements.
China's
statistics indicate substantial improvements in vegetation cover and reductions
in desertified land, although drought, climate variability and ecological
constraints remain serious challenges.
The Yellow
River rehabilitation and the Great Green Wall are, in fact, complementary
undertakings.
One prevents
soil from being carried away by water; the other prevents it from being carried
away by wind.
Both illustrate
a common philosophy: rather than endlessly fighting nature's consequences,
understand its processes and intervene at their sources.
Conclusion
The Three
Gorges project was one of the most criticised undertakings in modern China,
particularly by foreign observers, although there were also strong objections
domestically.
The criticisms
were not without substance.
More than a
million people had to be resettled. Towns, villages, farmland and historical
sites disappeared beneath the reservoir. Environmentalists expressed concerns
about sedimentation, landslides, water pollution, fisheries and ecological
disruption.
Engineers
questioned the risks associated with a structure of unprecedented scale, while
economists debated whether smaller dams might deliver similar benefits with
fewer social and environmental consequences.
These were
serious issues, and the costs should not be dismissed.
Yet the project
has unquestionably delivered the principal benefits its advocates promised:
enormous quantities of electricity, dramatically improved Yangtze navigation
and, most importantly, substantially strengthened flood protection for the
middle Yangtze.
China knew the
social and environmental costs, but it also recognised the enormous strategic
benefits the project could bring.
And isn't the
bottom line obvious for all to see?
Looking across
these undertakings, I see something distinctive in the Chinese philosophical
mindset: the willingness to conceive and pursue projects not merely for a
five-year political cycle, but across several generations.
The story of 愚公移山 is therefore not merely an ancient
fable. It is a living philosophy.
It teaches that
seemingly impossible tasks become possible through persistence, patience,
accumulated knowledge and the willingness of successive generations to carry on
what their predecessors began.
The Yellow
River, Three Gorges, Dujiangyan and the Great Green Wall are examples of that
philosophy in practice.
And why am I
not particularly worried about ASML and the likes that seem to be holding back
China to some extent today?
Because I know
China will overcome!
End







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