In China’s Tiananmen Square, patriotism snaps in the wind

Lou Hongfei is playing tour guide. His girlfriend has just arrived in the capital from the provincial city of Chongqing and he wants to show her the urban wonders of Beijing.

So he has brought her to Tiananmen Square for a patriotic experience many Chinese tourists liken to the thrill of walking the Great Wall or viewing the terra cotta warriors: the quiet majesty of the flag-handling ceremony in one of the world’s largest public spaces.

Twice a day, out-of-towners flock to the square’s imposing expanse of concrete to watch the soldiers tend to China’s iconic flag -- red with five yellow stars -- as it is unfurled at dawn and calmly taken down at dusk.

On national holidays, tens of thousands congregate to watch the ceremony. “For us,” Lou says, “that flag symbolizes hundreds of years of Chinese history.”

The event is akin to such tourist attractions as the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, Old Faithful’s eruptions in Yellowstone or the New Year’s Eve ball drop in Times Square.

“It’s right up there with all the other top attractions of Beijing,” says Michael Sichter, a U.S. law school student watching the ceremony. “It’s just a cool touristy thing to do.”

For the Chinese, the pageant is as patriotically intimate as a sun-splashed Fourth of July in the American heartland, a moment that brings a lump to their throats.

Zhou, a 40-year-old manufacturing employee who didn’t give his first name, has brought his wife and young daughter to the square with about 1,000 others, stamping their feet in the 18-degree late-December chill.

Flanked by the Great Hall of the People and the mausoleum where Mao Tse-tung’s body lies in state, Zhou revels in the unlikely sense of rural vastness afforded by the urban space. As someone shouts “It’s starting! It’s starting!” he lifts his daughter to his shoulders, teasing, “You’re too heavy!”

The square suddenly becomes quiet as two columns of white-gloved soldiers, ceremonial white rifles raised, goose-step the perimeter of the towering flagpole.

Rush-hour traffic on the adjacent Avenue of Eternal Peace halts as many soldiers place their hands on their hearts. Then, with precise jerks, two soldiers lower the wavering banner. They don’t fold it, but wrap it around a staff. The crowd murmurs. Fezia Tyebawly and friend Adnan Asgerali, tourists from Singapore, aren’t sure what to make of the nationalistic show in a square many foreigners associate with the government’s bloody 1989 crackdown on pro-democracy activists.

They wince at being photographed by two men in dark jackets who they’re convinced are state security guards. They see a Chinese woman mysteriously stuffed into a patrol car and driven away after she raises her voice to shout some muffled objection.

“That was so weird,” Tyebawly whispers. “I thought, ‘Should we even be here?’ ”

They only relax when a Chinese man asks Tyebawly to take his picture. He then drops on one knee and proposes to his date. The marriage proposal, many Chinese believe, is just part of the magic of the flag ceremony.

As quickly as they appeared, the soldiers march away. The flag is gone. Traffic resumes.

Almost immediately, the souvenir vendors move in to hawk Communist Party buttons and hats. They are soon joined by a platoon of police cars, megaphones blaring.

“Dear visitors,” a message plays in Chinese and English, “Tiananmen Square is now closing. Please collect your things. Thank you for your understanding.”

john.glionna@latimes.com

Kuo is a special correspondent.