People look on near the Wang Fuk Court housing complex after the deadly Nov. 26 fire, in Hong Kong on Dec. 1.Amr Alfiky/Reuters

Joanna Chiu is a B.C.-based journalist, author of China Unbound and managing partner of Nüora Global Advisors.

As a child, I always felt safe walking under the bamboo canopies that sprouted along Hong Kong’s sidewalks, even when I could hear workers overhead. The same ease followed me through so many parts of my hometown, this vertical city rising higher and higher, constantly in a state of building or rebuilding, thanks in part to these smooth, lightweight, resilient poles firmly rooted to concrete, their earthy smell lingering after typhoon rains.

We visited often after my family immigrated to Canada when I was a toddler, but the energy of Hong Kong called me back after university. I remember bamboo springing up during my reporting on the 2014 Occupy pro-democracy protests: After hours of tense clashes between demonstrators and police, construction workers carrying bundles of bamboo arrived just as the rally began to retreat. Amid cheers, they erected a barricade in minutes. Police dismantled it with chainsaws soon after, but what stuck with me was the sheer efficiency of that moment – and the pride in the youthful crowd as workers applied a craft rooted in ancient China, long predating modern divisions, that has become a part of Hong Kong’s identity, one of the last cities in the world where it is used so extensively.

Hong Kong orders inquiry into city’s deadliest fire in decades that killed 156

On a brief layover last month – my first visit since more than 10,000 people were arrested in connection with 2019’s mass protests – bamboo was everywhere, as usual. I might not have even noticed it if the café where I met friends hadn’t been wrapped in scaffolding, filtering the sunlight. We discussed the city’s mood: quiet, careful, adapting to a drastically changed political environment. In this hypermodern city, the bamboo is a symbol: it........

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