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drawing back the curtains of my Shanghai hotel reveals a day like any other； a smoggy haze hangs low over this giant of a city. Luckily， but 90 minutes later， I’m in a car speeding across the newly-constructed cable bridge that connects the mainland to nearby Chongming Island （崇明岛）. The bridge is only 1.2 kilometers long， but passing over the expanse of water feels like traveling of light years. Clear blue skies with wisps of white cloud beckon. Within minutes， the fog surrounding the city behind me is a distant memory. Before me， a blue sky unfolds over a horizon of caramel-colored seawater. Marshland lines the island， guarded by strips of tall wind turbines standing like proud sentries， their arms casually spinning in tandem as if welcoming visitors to pass this way. For many developers， at over 1，400 square kilometers， Chongming Island represents a rare opportunity and case study： the island， once home only to farmers and fishermen， sits on the Yangtze’s alluvial delta and within close reach （especially now with the new bridge） to Shanghai’s bustling metropolis. In 2005， the Shanghai Industrial Investment Company （SIIC） began plans to develop Dongtan （东滩）， an eco-city on the island that would one day be the sustainable equivalent of Manhattan. SIIC contracted Arup， a British engineering consulting firm， to design and develop the plans. Yet in 2010， the development stalled due to corruption charges and funding confusion between invested parties. As a result， Chongming Island is now home to several newly-constructed wide boulevards that are mostly empty， leading to dead-ends. In other words， the future of Chongming Island is still unpaved. Shanghai is home to an astounding 23 million people and surrounded by technological parks， suburban sprawl， and industrial factories. With such an immense population and scale of economic development， China’s environmental challenges are unfamiliar to none—recent woes include a record number of hazardous air days in its major cities（many will remember Beijing’s “airpocalypse”）， and water pollution （CCTV reported that 55 percent of groundwater in Chinese cities is either “poor” or “very poor”）. China’s urban population has grown fivefold in the last 50 years， from 107 million in 1960 to 586 million in 2009. The World Bank estimates that urban populations may increase by another 350 million people in 25 years. City dwellers typically demand more resources than their rural counterparts， thus increasing China’s demand for energy.
Chongming Island’s location and size represent a particular challenge： should it be developed into an eco-island for Shanghai’s vacationers or restored to its original wetland state？ In the larger picture， China’s current national conservation policies are under debate， the results of which will likely speak to Chongming’s future. According to China’s most recent 12th Five Year Plan， which includes many ambitious sustainable energy targets， by 2015 China will establish 100 model cities， 200 model counties， 1，000 model districts， and 10，000 model towns of a green and new energy theme to showcase its achievements in low-carbon development.
Despite these governmental promises， Xie Yan， an ecologist and former China director of the Wildlife Conservation Society， believes one of the most important ways to protect China’s increasingly threatened natural world is to create a widespread national network of conservation areas. While China’s proposed National Heritage Conservation Act attempted to do this， Xie， a member of the Chinese Academy of Sciences， believes the act’s scope is too small and would only further complicate the fractured and ineffective protected areas program. She has now penned a new draft and is in conversations with lawmakers about enacting her proposed policies， the sum of which would provide new protective measures to sensitive wildlife areas previously opened to mass tourism and threatened by illegal construction.
Chongming Island is certainly not undeveloped， but the proposed Dongtan Eco City would have changed the landscape of the island and brought in hundreds of thousands of new visitors. Still， the problems Dongtan Eco City faced， and Chongming Island still faces， may not represent a national discussion as much as a local one.
As academic Yifei Li writes in a chapter of the book Urban Areas and Global Climate Change， “The emergence of low-carbon development in China is not a methodical process across the board... In other words， the environmental state is rendered differently in different local contexts.” For Chongming Island， the answer may not be beyond its bounds but within them.
I’m here on Chongming Island for a reason—I want to witness for myself the newly-developed Dongtan Wetland Reserve （operated， ultimately， by the SIIC， the same entity overseeing the as-yet-failed Eco City of the same name）. After reaching the end of several uncompleted paved roads and even some off-road driving， my driver asks a van full of farmers how to reach the island’s easternmost wetlands. They say they’re heading in that direction， so we follow them along a series of bumpy but clear roads， farmland and small towns surrounding us， the occasional signpost of a sketched white egret pointing the way to a natural promised land. Dongtan Wetland Reserve opened in 2010 after nearly a decade spent restoring the park’s lands to a natural state. Originally reclaimed wetland， the area is now host to over 1 million migrating birds who visit the golden marshes as well as 150，000 annual human visitors. Upon arrival， I am immediately struck by two things： the sharp-looking khaki ranger suits all employees wear and the stringency of the entrance’s security guards. Turns out both are for a good reason： the employees （numbering roughly 135） are meant to blend in naturally with their surroundings as well as take pride in their naturalism； the wetlands， being strictly protected， can only allow entrance to an enforced number of visitors per year. Mr. Zhu， the marketing manager， tells me they want no more than 250，000 annual guests in order to preserve the integrity of the environment. Driving into Dongtan is like arriving at an Audubon nature center in the Florida Everglades. The welcome center’s roof is swathed in eco-friendly grass to cool temperatures in the summer and solar panels for green energy usage. Guides transport visitors by boat， batterypowered golf cart and bicycle. The project is ultimately a Chinese state-owned company， but the wetland park itself operates thanks to visitor fees.
In truth， the reserve feels like an anomaly so close to crowded， bustling Shanghai. Furthermore， the attention to green details—like solar panels atop research stations， hay-roofed viewing platforms， and educational signs alerting visitors to the species of birds in view—seems out of keeping with the typically-garish displays of development in Chinese nature areas.
Deputy director of the reserve’s office， Mr. Tang Chengdong， says that while other wetland reserves in China do a lot of cultural and educational outreach work， at Dongtan， the goal is to maintain a balance between the local ecology and economic constraints. He cites that “pressure on resources from nearby Shanghai are too large， so Dongtan must serve as an example of how to properly employ green and solar energy as well as sustainable practices like reclaiming waste water.”Indeed， Dongtan is almost entirely self-sustainable， even the foods served at the welcome center restaurant are mostly farmed from Chongming Island’s land and canals. Likewise， 70 percent of the reserve’s employees are Chongming Island residents—giving new meaning to the idea of sourcing locally. Tang says that he and Dongtan’s planners hope for the reserve to be representative for other wetland and natural parks in China， drawing from tenets of both environmental sustainability and social responsibility. On the national scale， conservationist Xie Yan herself says that“environmentalists in China are feeling braver.”
Still， returning to Shanghai in the late afternoon and driving west on the cable bridge， I notice the quickly-forgotten smog on the horizon and a shifting landscape from wind power to noxious factory plumes. I hear rumors that Chongming Island is being scouted as a location for a Chinese Mainland Disneyland， and I wonder how this will impact Dongtan’s restoration plans， the ecological balance， the migrating birdlife. As the car continues its press deeper into the city streets， I wonder if， for China， places like Chongming Island and the Dongtan Wetland Park are far-off dreams or nearby realities that truly represent the best of what’s to come.
Despite these governmental promises， Xie Yan， an ecologist and former China director of the Wildlife Conservation Society， believes one of the most important ways to protect China’s increasingly threatened natural world is to create a widespread national network of conservation areas. While China’s proposed National Heritage Conservation Act attempted to do this， Xie， a member of the Chinese Academy of Sciences， believes the act’s scope is too small and would only further complicate the fractured and ineffective protected areas program. She has now penned a new draft and is in conversations with lawmakers about enacting her proposed policies， the sum of which would provide new protective measures to sensitive wildlife areas previously opened to mass tourism and threatened by illegal construction.
Chongming Island is certainly not undeveloped， but the proposed Dongtan Eco City would have changed the landscape of the island and brought in hundreds of thousands of new visitors. Still， the problems Dongtan Eco City faced， and Chongming Island still faces， may not represent a national discussion as much as a local one.
As academic Yifei Li writes in a chapter of the book Urban Areas and Global Climate Change， “The emergence of low-carbon development in China is not a methodical process across the board... In other words， the environmental state is rendered differently in different local contexts.” For Chongming Island， the answer may not be beyond its bounds but within them.
I’m here on Chongming Island for a reason—I want to witness for myself the newly-developed Dongtan Wetland Reserve （operated， ultimately， by the SIIC， the same entity overseeing the as-yet-failed Eco City of the same name）. After reaching the end of several uncompleted paved roads and even some off-road driving， my driver asks a van full of farmers how to reach the island’s easternmost wetlands. They say they’re heading in that direction， so we follow them along a series of bumpy but clear roads， farmland and small towns surrounding us， the occasional signpost of a sketched white egret pointing the way to a natural promised land. Dongtan Wetland Reserve opened in 2010 after nearly a decade spent restoring the park’s lands to a natural state. Originally reclaimed wetland， the area is now host to over 1 million migrating birds who visit the golden marshes as well as 150，000 annual human visitors. Upon arrival， I am immediately struck by two things： the sharp-looking khaki ranger suits all employees wear and the stringency of the entrance’s security guards. Turns out both are for a good reason： the employees （numbering roughly 135） are meant to blend in naturally with their surroundings as well as take pride in their naturalism； the wetlands， being strictly protected， can only allow entrance to an enforced number of visitors per year. Mr. Zhu， the marketing manager， tells me they want no more than 250，000 annual guests in order to preserve the integrity of the environment. Driving into Dongtan is like arriving at an Audubon nature center in the Florida Everglades. The welcome center’s roof is swathed in eco-friendly grass to cool temperatures in the summer and solar panels for green energy usage. Guides transport visitors by boat， batterypowered golf cart and bicycle. The project is ultimately a Chinese state-owned company， but the wetland park itself operates thanks to visitor fees.
In truth， the reserve feels like an anomaly so close to crowded， bustling Shanghai. Furthermore， the attention to green details—like solar panels atop research stations， hay-roofed viewing platforms， and educational signs alerting visitors to the species of birds in view—seems out of keeping with the typically-garish displays of development in Chinese nature areas.
Deputy director of the reserve’s office， Mr. Tang Chengdong， says that while other wetland reserves in China do a lot of cultural and educational outreach work， at Dongtan， the goal is to maintain a balance between the local ecology and economic constraints. He cites that “pressure on resources from nearby Shanghai are too large， so Dongtan must serve as an example of how to properly employ green and solar energy as well as sustainable practices like reclaiming waste water.”Indeed， Dongtan is almost entirely self-sustainable， even the foods served at the welcome center restaurant are mostly farmed from Chongming Island’s land and canals. Likewise， 70 percent of the reserve’s employees are Chongming Island residents—giving new meaning to the idea of sourcing locally. Tang says that he and Dongtan’s planners hope for the reserve to be representative for other wetland and natural parks in China， drawing from tenets of both environmental sustainability and social responsibility. On the national scale， conservationist Xie Yan herself says that“environmentalists in China are feeling braver.”
Still， returning to Shanghai in the late afternoon and driving west on the cable bridge， I notice the quickly-forgotten smog on the horizon and a shifting landscape from wind power to noxious factory plumes. I hear rumors that Chongming Island is being scouted as a location for a Chinese Mainland Disneyland， and I wonder how this will impact Dongtan’s restoration plans， the ecological balance， the migrating birdlife. As the car continues its press deeper into the city streets， I wonder if， for China， places like Chongming Island and the Dongtan Wetland Park are far-off dreams or nearby realities that truly represent the best of what’s to come.