As the final notes of China's national anthem faded, a flurry of wings swept past the giant portrait of Chairman Mao and disappeared over Beijing's rooftops. Spectators applauded as the birds made their way home — most arriving within minutes, well before the crowd began to disperse.
Li Zhaoli, a 79-year-old retired boilermaker and veteran pigeon keeper in the Xicheng district, said his birds can return even before the broadcast announces their release. "They land directly on top of the loft. Once you open the door, you don't have to do anything – they just go inside by themselves," he said.
Li's birds did not take part this year, but he has contributed dozens to past releases over the past 40 years. He keeps his pigeons in a loft-style cage above his 22-square-metre flat, where he has lived for decades. The street below now hosts boutique coffee shops, a wine bar and a steak restaurant — signs of the gentrification that has swept Beijing's hutongs, the ancient alleyways winding through the imperial heart of the city.
Li belongs to a shrinking group of tradition-keepers who tend flocks on the courtyard rooftops of the hutongs. Fellow keeper Zhang Jianquan, also a veteran, lets his pigeons roam the skies twice a day. Almost all return to their loft cage, suggesting the deep bond between keeper and bird that makes the National Day release possible.
The annual pigeon release has become a signature moment of China's National Day, relying on the skills and dedication of these old Beijingers who continue a practice that is both intimate and spectacular.