Lindsey Hilsum charts the Chinese government's ambiguous relationship with ancient buildings

In Zhuhai, a prosperous city neighbouring the former Portuguese enclave of Macao, the Chinese government has built a replica of the Old Summer Palace so Chinese tourists can learn about history.

The original was destroyed in 1860. First French forces and then the British attacked Emperor Qianlong's pleasure dome. The instructions to burn it down were given by the 8th Lord Elgin - son of the 7th Lord Elgin of Marbles fame - who was leading British forces in the Second Opium War. The ruins lie just outside Beijing.

Today, young Chinese wander amid the white columns and wedding-cake architecture of the new, fake palace. The aim is to ensure that today's Chinese understand and learn from their humiliating colonial past. But the government has an ambiguous relationship with historic buildings.

Two miles down the road, in the village of Shanchang, bulldozers have reduced to rubble 21 houses dating from the Qing and Ming dynasties, which had been slated by the local culture department for preservation. On a recent Thursday morning, the first day of the month in the lunar calendar, I watched a procession of local people walk down the path between mounds of broken bricks and tiles to the one remaining complete structure: a small Taoist temple. They lit incense sticks and burnt paper money, praying for peace, health and prosperity as they have on this site for more than a thousand years.

The Taoist god Beidi, who resides in the temple, is meant to protect the village; but even he could not control Zhuhai city planning department. The villagers fear that developers will now destroy the temple as well. "It's unusual to have a thousand-year-old temple," said an old lady in a sparkly pink T-shirt. "Does the country really need to tear it down? This is our gift from history."

The scandal of Shanchang has been exposed by a local man, Wu Liufang, who asked the elders of the village about its past when redevelopment was first mooted last year. Although he had no background in history - he runs a computer support company - he was inspired to turn to the archives, where he learned that Shanchang was the earliest village in the region, a unique monument. Wu bought a video camera and began to film the intricate wooden carvings and stone work in the old citangs or "ancestor halls", hoping to persuade the local authorities to preserve them. He was disappointed.

"I asked the cultural department, but they said they had submitted a report and it got buried in an official's drawer," he said. "They said, 'What can we do? We want to keep our jobs.'"

Wu's footage shows the bulldozing of houses that had been marked in red with a character indicating that they should be protected. He saw thieves making off with antique carvings and granite pillars.

As real-estate prices have shot up all over China, developers and local officials collude to maximise short-term profit.

"Shanchang village has been reduced to rubble because government officials don't care about heritage and culture," he said. "Officials focus on political achievements in the short time they're here. They want everything to look uniform and brand new when they're in power, and then they move on to other posts."

The villagers of Shanchang have been rehoused in high rises; for many, this is an improvement, because the old houses had fallen into disrepair. But the old people, at least, know they're losing something irreplaceable.

Believing Shangchang to be lost, Wu has turned his attention to the village of Huitong a few miles away. He spends his days filming the intriguing mixture of colonial and Qing Dynasty buildings that are slowly rotting among the tropical foliage. He has the co-operation of 63-year-old Mo Hui Wen, the great-great- granddaughter of Mo Shiyang, who built the grandest structures in the village in the 19th century, using money he earned as a comprador, a commercial intermediary for a British Hong Kong company.

She has been approached several times by developers who want to knock down the village and build factories or apartment blocks. "I can't agree," she said. "I don't want the next generation to say that granny sold the village."

She has also had offers from those who want to help her renovate, but local officials would not allow her to use private money for preservation. She owns the buildings, but the government owns the land, so she knows that in the end she may have no choice. "An official told me that our village is like a beautiful maiden," she said. "They're just waiting for the right suitor."

Meanwhile, there's a new plan for Shanchang: instead of covering the site in high-rises, they're thinking of building a museum.

Lindsey Hilsum is China correspondent for Channel 4 News

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