In China there is a phenomenon called the dingzihu, or the ‘nail house’. Dingzihu are real estate hold-outs: homes of people refusing compensation from corporations or mandatory acquisition by the government in order to make way for development. Their houses stand stark amid the mud and rubble of the construction site: isolated by deep trenches; flanked by bitumen and concrete; shadowed by a network of overpasses. A shack stands awkwardly by the entrance to a shiny mall forecourt. A tiny cottage with a vegetable patch blocks the path of traffic on a freeway. In some cases, whole apartment blocks are demolished, save for a single sliver of plaster and brick, ragged walls trailing loose wires.

Visually striking and eminently newsworthy, the dingzihu phenomenon has received a significant amount of media coverage in China and around the world. After all, tenacious residents hold out against isolation from amenities, sabotage, harassment, extortion attempts, assaults and enormous political pressure. When, in 2007, a three-year conflict between developers and a woman named Wu Ping in Chongqing made international news, the Chinese government banned local media outlets from reporting on the story. Nevertheless, polls of the Chinese public showed overwhelming support for Wu, and bloggers around the country championed the case as an example of ordinary people standing up for their rights against the increasing power of big business. The house was eventually demolished after Wu and the developers reached a settlement. Nevertheless, pictures of Wu’s house, perched on a mound of land surrounded by 17-metre deep excavation, are still some of the most recognisable dingzihu images on the internet.