Rethinking the Narrative of China’s Park History

For generations, scholars of modern Chinese history have maintained that public parks were a Western import, first appearing in Shanghai’s foreign concessions during the late Qing dynasty. This conventional wisdom, echoed by prominent historians like Lei Yi and Zhang Ming, suggests that while imperial and private gardens flourished in ancient China, the concept of public recreational spaces open to all citizens only arrived with Western influence in the 19th century. However, a closer examination of Song dynasty (960-1279) records reveals a strikingly different story – one that challenges this established narrative and uncovers China’s indigenous tradition of urban public parks.

The Flourishing of Junpu: Song Dynasty Municipal Parks

During the Song period, Chinese cities developed sophisticated public recreational spaces called junpu (郡圃) or zhouyuan (州园), sometimes explicitly referred to as gongyuan (公园) in contemporary records. These were not private retreats for officials but genuine public amenities funded and maintained by local governments. Northern Song poet Lü Tao wrote seventeen poems collectively titled “Seventeen Poems on the Public Park of the Scholar Yugong in Yangchuan,” using the term “public park” to describe Yangchuan’s junpu – suggesting the concept predated later Japanese linguistic influences.

These municipal parks typically adjoined government offices but served the broader populace. The Jingding Jiankang Zhi records the Qingxi Garden in Nanjing, while the Ming dynasty Min Du Ji preserves illustrations of Fuzhou’s Chuntai Pavilion and Ouye Pond. These spaces featured elaborate landscaping with pavilions, bridges, and waterways designed for public enjoyment rather than official exclusivity.

Democratic Leisure: Evidence of Public Access

Literary and historical sources provide compelling evidence of these parks’ public nature. Northern Song poet Zhang Lei’s “Drunk in the County Garden” describes “visitors and wine drinkers” enjoying the grounds. Yang Wanli’s poems reference scheduled opening times, while other works by Su Song, Dai Fugu, and Cao Guan depict citizens of all social strata – scholars, merchants, women, and commoners – gathering in these spaces during festivals and holidays.

Local gazetteers offer even more definitive proof. The Yuandade Nanhai Zhi records Guangzhou’s park opening during festivals “for the people’s enjoyment.” The Qiandao Siming Tujing describes Ningbo’s Zhongle Pavilion becoming a popular gathering spot where “men and women beat drums and sang continuously during spring and summer.” Shaoxing’s West Garden hosted dragon boat races during its annual “Opening the Dragon’s Mouth” festival, while Yongjia’s Zhongle Garden operated seasonal food and drink stalls for visitors.

Architectural Philosophy: The “Shared Joy” Ethos

What distinguished Song parks from earlier imperial gardens was their underlying philosophy. As Han Qi explained in his “Record of Dingzhou’s Zhongchun Garden,” these spaces were created so that “during fine festivals and holidays, the governor can share a day’s leisure with officials and commoners.” This ethos of “shared joy between officials and people” (与民同乐) became a hallmark of Song urban planning.

Numerous park inscriptions emphasize this public purpose. Liu Chang constructed Dongping’s Lejiao Pavilion because “scholars had nowhere to tour, distinguished guests nowhere to visit, and officials and people nowhere to enjoy themselves.” Ouyang Xiu recorded how Zhenzhou’s East Garden was built for “guests from all directions.” Even in northern cities like Xiangzhou (modern Linzhang), Han Qi’s Kangle Garden attracted crowds where “county residents, regardless of age, jostled shoulder to shoulder to visit our garden.”

The Chengdu West Garden: A Song Dynasty Entertainment Complex

Some Song parks developed remarkably modern features. Chengdu’s West Garden, described in the Yuan dynasty Suihua Jili Pu, operated seasonal entertainment districts with wine shops, flower markets, tea houses, and food stalls surpassing the city’s famous silk markets. During its month-long spring opening, the garden hosted comedy competitions where audiences voted for performers by awarding small flags – a participatory entertainment model that would feel familiar to modern park-goers.

Why Song Parks Disappeared from Historical Memory

Following the Song dynasty, this vibrant public park tradition faded. Ming and Qing scholars like Wang Fuzhi criticized Song parks as wasteful expenditures that encouraged idleness. Many former public gardens became exclusive spaces, like Chaozhou’s West Lake Mountain, which transformed from a bustling recreational area into an official retreat after Ming urban renovations.

By the late Qing, even educated Chinese believed public parks were foreign innovations. Officials like Duan Fang, encountering Western parks during overseas missions, lamented China’s supposed lack of comparable institutions, unaware of their own country’s Song-era precedents. This historical amnesia reflects broader patterns where later dynasties failed to maintain Song advancements, creating the illusion that modernization required Western inspiration.

Beyond Parks: Song Innovations in Public Space

The Song’s public orientation extended beyond parks. The imperial Yujin Garden functioned as a zoo displaying exotic animals like lions, rhinos, and elephants – with seasonal public access. Japanese monk Jōjin’s diary details visiting the Yingtianfu elephant park, where keepers trained elephants to perform tricks for paying visitors. Capital residents regularly watched elephant performances near the Xuan De Gate, though provincial visitors sometimes mistook the massive creatures for “large-nosed donkeys.”

Conclusion: Recovering China’s Park Heritage

The Song dynasty’s extensive network of municipal parks – documented in poetry, paintings, and local records – demonstrates that public recreational spaces were not foreign imports but indigenous developments within China’s urban tradition. These spaces embodied a distinctive Song philosophy of shared urban enjoyment that would not reappear until modern times. Recognizing this history allows us to appreciate China’s sophisticated pre-modern urbanism while understanding how later dynastic shifts obscured these achievements. As contemporary Chinese cities continue developing their public spaces, they might find inspiration not only in global models but in their own rich, if forgotten, tradition of democratic urban leisure.