The Rise of Coastal Resistance

In the mid-17th century, as the newly established Qing dynasty consolidated its rule over China, its most formidable opponents emerged not from the mainland but from the coastal waters. The 1659 Yangtze River campaign led by Zheng Chenggong (Koxinga) and Zhang Huangyan, though ultimately repelled at Nanjing’s walls, sent shockwaves through the Qing court. This naval assault demonstrated the enduring strength of anti-Qing forces along the southeastern coast and revealed something far more alarming – widespread support from coastal gentry and commoners alike.

The sight of communities rising to support Zheng’s forces made Qing rulers realize their coastal territories had become dangerously porous. Provincial reports described bustling markets where “rice, hemp, bamboo, firewood, and oil” flowed freely to rebel forces, with local officials too intimidated to intervene. By 1661, facing what they perceived as an existential threat, the Qing government made a radical decision: the forced evacuation of all coastal populations inland, a policy that would become known as the “Great Coastal Evacuation.”

The Evolution of a Draconian Policy

The Coastal Evacuation policy didn’t emerge overnight. As early as 1655, the Qing had attempted coastal controls, banning all maritime activity under severe penalties. But these measures proved ineffective. Provincial officials like Cai Xingxin of Zhangzhou reported how coastal markets operated with impunity, supplying Zheng’s forces while authorities turned a blind eye.

Two strategic proposals crystallized the Qing response. Wang Qizuo, a censor, advocated a “scorched earth” approach – constructing walls and forts along the coast to deny resources. More extreme was the suggestion from Huang Wu, a former Ming official turned Qing collaborator, who proposed evacuating all coastal populations to starve out Zheng’s forces. The most influential recommendation, however, came from Fang Xinghuan (also recorded as Fang Xingye), a former captive of Zheng’s forces who understood their supply networks intimately. His proposal to create a depopulated buffer zone along the entire coast found eager reception among Qing leadership.

Implementing the Unthinkable

In August 1661, the Qing court dispatched officials to implement what would become one of history’s most brutal population transfers. The policy varied in intensity by region – strictest in Fujian, Guangdong, and Zhejiang where Zheng’s influence was strongest, relatively milder in Jiangsu and Shandong. The standard evacuation zone extended 30 li (about 15 km) inland, though in practice this varied wildly based on terrain and official whim. Some areas saw boundaries moved repeatedly further inland, up to 50 or even 100 li.

The human cost was staggering. Residents were given just three days to abandon homes they’d occupied for generations. Eyewitness accounts describe families fleeing with whatever they could carry while Qing soldiers torched everything left behind. Those who hesitated were driven out at swordpoint. In Guangdong’s Xiangshan County, officials massacred thousands who sought to remain by luring them to a false census. Coastal regions that had thrived for centuries were reduced to wastelands overnight.

Economic and Social Catastrophe

The evacuation’s economic impact was devastating. Approximately 5.76 million mu (950,000 acres) of fertile farmland were abandoned in Fujian and Guangdong alone. Salt production collapsed as 29 of Guangdong’s salt fields fell within prohibited zones. Fishing communities were decimated by the ban on all maritime activity. The Qing’s own tax revenues plummeted – Fujian reported losses exceeding 4 million taels over two decades.

Displaced populations faced unimaginable hardship. Contemporary records describe families selling children for handfuls of grain, mass suicides, and epidemics sweeping refugee camps. Some turned to banditry; others joined Zheng’s forces in Taiwan. The policy created a vicious cycle – as production collapsed in evacuated areas, the tax burden increased on remaining populations, leading to widespread resentment against Qing rule.

The Military Paradox

Ironically, the evacuation failed in its primary military objective. Rather than collapsing, Zheng Chenggong’s forces adapted brilliantly. In 1661, they successfully invaded Taiwan, expelling Dutch colonists. Zheng reportedly remarked: “If we don’t determinedly expand eastward…we’ll be laughed at for letting them bind us.” His son Zheng Jing established new trade networks, with smugglers routinely bypassing Qing defenses. Coastal markets reappeared in evacuated zones, with Qing soldiers sometimes covertly facilitating the trade they were meant to prevent.

The Policy’s Eventual Collapse

By the 1680s, the evacuation’s futility became undeniable. Officials like Wang Lairen and Shi Lang openly criticized it as strategically flawed. When Taiwan finally fell to Qing forces in 1683, it was through naval invasion, not economic strangulation. The evacuation zones were gradually reopened, though the policy left scars that endured for generations.

Historical Legacy

The Great Coastal Evacuation stands as a cautionary tale about the human cost of security policies untethered from reality. For twenty years, it transformed China’s most dynamic regions into desolate buffer zones, stifling maritime trade and technological development. The Qing court’s subsequent silence about this episode in official histories speaks volumes about its recognition of the policy’s failure. Yet it also inadvertently spurred Taiwan’s development, as Zheng’s forces turned the island into a thriving base that would later be reintegrated into a unified China.

This tragic chapter reveals the tensions between centralized control and coastal vitality that would continue to shape Chinese history. Its lessons about balancing security with economic reality remain relevant for coastal nations to this day.