In his book Tianjin Cosmopolis, Pierre Singaravélou remarks that “The history of modernity is a history of possible futures as much as a study of the processes of modernization.” Thanks to a new translation from the original French, English readers now have a chance to consider one possible future of China that never came to pass. Hewing to primary sources and refraining from simple narratives, Singaravélou details the agency and dynamism of the late Qing response to Western intrusion.

The megalopolis today known as Tianjin, then called Tientsin, straddles the Hai River between the Bohai Gulf and Beijing—making it a focal point for commercial, military, and diplomatic interests. Under the leadership of Li Hongzhang after 1870, the city became a locus of change: the site of China’s first modern medical school and weapons industry, a key node in the early indigenous telegraph and train networks. When Boxers descended on the city in 1900 and launched a siege of the foreign concessions, they found plenty of recruits among the destitute and working poor. The local merchants and military had less sympathy for the Boxers’ millennial aims, but such distinctions hardly mattered for the allied army that stormed Tientsin on their way to Beijing. 

The invaders sacked that prostrate city in a manner worthy of the Mongols. Western and Japanese forces rampaged for two days, killing and dispossessing civilians and insurgents alike. Li Hongzhang exacerbated such behavior (and advanced his faction’s influence at court) by feeding rumors of massacres in Beijing. For their part, regular Qing forces assisted by killing thousands of Boxers. By the time readers encounter the phrase “collective burials” it feels like the translator’s euphemism for “mass graves”. Having destroyed the city in order to save it, the officers reimposed discipline on their men and the administrators set about their work.

Here Singaravélou reminds readers of the wider context: China’s vast size and population prohibited an Africa-style scramble for territory. A Qing dynasty strong enough to pay reparations but too weak to challenge extraterritorial rights suited the foreigners well enough. Better to steer policy (and monitor Beijing) from a strategically vital city and let the locals have responsibility for maintaining law and order in the hinterlands. Thus, a face-saving “Provisional Government” came to rule Tientsin.

The fin de siècle balance of powers dictated the government’s unique structure: an international council (headed by a rotating presidency) controlled the old walled city, with four surrounding districts allocated to the French, British, Japanese, and Germans. Their remit did not extend to the foreign concessions or the countryside, still ruled by the consuls and Qing, respectively. Within its limited geographic remit, that variegated government would spend two frenetic years imposing “modern” practices on every aspect of Chinese urban life. That experiment achieved greater success than many occupations before or since by combining progressive idealism, pragmatic compromise, and copious violence.

Despite the new rulers’ professed beneficence, some of their constituents begged to differ. To clear such obstructions, the Provisional Government decreed that any armed Chinese would face execution without trial. Displaying their severed heads for ten days guaranteed public awareness of, if not always acquiesce to, the new policy.  The government also destroyed the forts and arsenals near the city, lest they tempt any future resistance. Most contentious of all, laborers disassembled the city walls brick by brick. In consolation, the road laid down in its place opened prime commercial real estate that local vendors swiftly occupied.

The Provisional Government appreciated that commerce also required legal infrastructure. Tientsin had long been an entrepôt for salt; French and Russian troops seized this valuable commodity in the chaotic days after the battle. But when Chinese merchants pressed their claims, the Council recognized their property rights and ordered the soldiers to surrender the stolen goods.  The Council quickly established a land and title registry that not only ensured compensation for expropriated land but even empowered some Chinese to challenge and reverse Council decisions. A prohibition on government officials accepting any gift from local Chinese acted as a brake on petty corruption. Still, Singaravélou notes the occasional conflict of interest, such as the tramway project that stalled until planners specified their preference for goods manufactured in France.

Despite its origins in depredation, the Provisional Government ran a reasonably clean fiscal operation. They also supported cleanliness of the literal sense: outlawing public defecation and awarding Chinese entrepreneurs a franchise for public latrines. The Council imposed mandatory health screening on Tientsin’s brothels and raised the minimum age for prostitutes. During a cholera outbreak in 1902, anyone found hiding a sick relative spent two weeks in the cangue, followed by two months’ hard labor. But the Council also paid handsome bonuses to Chinese doctors for their efforts during the pandemic. 

In writing this book Singaravélou scoured archives across Asia, Europe and the United States. Those variegated perspectives refused to coalesce into simplistic dichotomies. Soldiers of every nation had a capacity for prejudice; calling someone in a different uniform “coolie” set off countless brawls. The author’s citizenship did not inhibit an unflattering portrait of Régis Voyron, French member of the council whose incessant nationalism at times threatened to undermine the entire enterprise. In contrast, no one embodied the ideals of the Provisional Government more than Captain Satō, the Japanese officer in charge of the North Tientsin district. He treated the Chinese with respect while proving a capable administrator in every task the Council handed him.

At its best, the Provisional Government resembled a proto-Singapore; a polity whose legitimacy derived not from votes, but rather from good governance and the rule of law. Of course, these were hardly Western inventions. Time and again, Singaravélou highlights the Council’s continuity with older Chinese institutions such as vaccination campaigns, the citizens’ right to petition, and formal deeds of land ownership. For his part, after Yuan Shikai assumed rule of Tientsin in 1902, he retained many of the new policies and administrators in health, law, and infrastructure. 

While promising, the roots set down in those years could not weather the storms to come. But anyone reading Tianjin Cosmopolis will appreciate that once, amid trying circumstances, Western and Chinese leaders worked alongside one another to better the common weal.

A former US Marine and Iraq war veteran, Dr James Herndon worked in Udaipur, India while completing his PhD in Economics. He currently works as a consultant in Birmingham, Alabama.