Macao | Nagasaki
This text was originally written by the coordinator of the respective volume for the print edition as an introduction to the geographic area in question; the possibility of updating it was left to each author’s discretion. It should be interpreted together with the general introductory text from the respective volume.
With this final sub-section we reach the end of this volume’s journey I just opposite on the meridian (50º28’W) set out in Tordesillas in 1494, which determined the Portuguese and Spanish hemispheres for exploring and colonizing the world. At the time it was not understood that the line was on a sphere and that this would require definition of the anti-meridian (129º32’E) eventually established by the 1529 Treaty of Zaragoza as a corollary to the so-called ‘Moluccas question’. Nagasaki is actually some 22 miles (about 40 km) on the Spanish side of the line, though this cannot be considered relevant, given the navigation instruments then in use (the marine chronometer was only invented in 1764).
But the main reason was not even this, because Portugal’s presence in Japan, essentially undertaken by Jesuit missionaries pertaining to the Padroado, also acquired posts east of Nagasaki. The Spanish expansion was just not interested in or able to carry out the kind of actions needed to develop in an empire so far away, self-centered and shut off from the outside world. Among the tokens of exchange that enabled Portugal to retain the monopoly over the Moluccas Islands and their legendary spice production, partly settled in cash, Spain received the Philippines, which appears rather ironic. It is also a curious to note that, along with that archipelago, Macau and Nagasaki are the only sites with vestiges of a Portuguese presence on the shores of the Pacific. As indicated in the framing text of the previous sub-section, this led to trade connections with Manila and thus contraband links with the Spanish system that stretched across the Pacific to America.
These circumstances are mentioned here to underscore the extent to which Nagasaki’s significance in this volume is essentially symbolic. Actually, the Portuguese presence in Cipangu or Cipan, as Japan was then known, is perhaps the expression of the limit (or beyond) of Portuguese expansion. Limit as border, but also in terms of processes and form. Process – because this was the farthest point the Padroado saga reached in the attempt to carry out its mission by any means in a very hostile environment. With respect to the crown, there was never the slightest imperial inclination toward these places.
Limit also because in a work which as a rule focuses on palpable vestiges of heritage, in Nagasaki’s case such traces are very tenuous, or rather, very arguable. Besides going over the presence in Japan, it is also our intention to present essential information to discuss the question. The site of the early Portuguese presence is acknowledged, yet there are no remaining buildings otherwise known to have had anything Portuguese about them. There is merely the arguable idea, because it is impressionistic, that beyond the choice of location, its morphological layout may show some indication of fundamental decisions made by the Portuguese, if they were the ones that made them. Of the several sites in the far southern and western part of Japan (Kyushu Island) where the Portuguese missionaries and traders settled, Nagasaki is nevertheless the only one where it is still possible to discuss the eventual persistence of Portuguese material vestiges.
But the Portuguese presence in Japan is manifested in other ways, apparent essentially by namban bunka, Portuguese culture, or better, the nambanjin. The language is, perhaps, the most evident and lasting testimony. This is because Portuguese infiltrated Japanese with about 200 different terms. These were not just words, but the concepts, techniques and objects they referred to. This occurred because the Portuguese also introduced new technological knowledge, mainly nautical and agriculture related. Japan was closed off to the world and the Portuguese were the first to attempt an opening, taking advantage of a period of internal struggles.
The first Portuguese contact with Japan took place in 1543 through the private initiative of traders aboard Chinese ships. The late date was due to the difficulty of assuring support at intermediate ports, particularly important because of the weather cycles affecting the voyage, which required stops in safe havens for months at a time. As Luís Filipe Thomaz states: “In immense China, all of it ruled by a formidable bureaucratic machine at the service of the Son of Heaven in Beijing, muted rivalry between ports could not be counted on because they all pertained to one single lord. The [Japanese] empire was moreover self-sufficient in almost everything. […] In practice, however, things were not as severe as on paper.”
Portuguese trading fleets followed and with them the Jesuits, who in 1555 set up their first mission in Hirado. But they were soon expelled by the local daimyo; in 1562 they managed to establish themselves in Yokoseura. The following year, those installations were razed, fragmenting the points of Portuguese trade and missionary contact in the region. In 1569 the Portuguese found a welcoming bay on a sheltered shoreline where there was only a small colony of fishermen. There they received permission to found a proto-urban base to support what would become their main port in Japan: Nagasaki. They attracted the nau do trato (Portuguese trade carrack) – the korofune – which made the annual trip from Macau starting in 1571. Indeed, Portugal’s establishment in Macau as from 1557 created other conditions for the long connection to Japan. Between 1580 and 1587, local governance was even in the hands of the Jesuits, who were then expelled by means of a first edict. In 1614 the order was repeated, this time with extreme resolution and violence. Some continued to carry on missionary work in secret. By the end of the 16th century the Jesuits had converted more than 300,000 people.
The new port in Japan soon became an international entrepôt for the region, where ships from China, the Philippines, Malaya, Cochin China and Siam converged. Another novelty was the permission given to Japanese traders to trade with the mainland. Because of this, the Goa-Nagasaki route was for decades one of the most lucrative in Portugal’s trading system in the Orient. The Portuguese presence catalyzed what would be the first episode of cosmopolitanism in Japan’s history, which continued there in various ways after its founders were expelled in 1639. Three years beforehand they were confined to the limited area of Deshima, an artificial island created from landfill for that purpose, where Europeans were shut in at night. They were replaced by the Dutch.
That century thus saw one of the most interesting meetings of civilisations in the history of humanity, although in terms of common knowledge it remains one of the least known. This is despite much research and publishing efforts under way for many years. Indeed, the specific bibliography for this area is extraordinarily vast. In more recent time the research, publication, dissemination and training work carried out by João Paulo Oliveira e Costa is particularly noteworthy. It seems clear to me that the gap between public recognition and the knowledge produced by qualified historiography (as set out in the list that follows this text) is mainly due to the almost total inexistence of material vestiges on the ground, i.e. a built heritage. This is explained not only by the short periods of sovereignty over the area (1580-87 in the city and 1636-39 on the island) and the destruction caused by the atomic bomb in 1945, but essentially because efforts have always been made to insert European use programs in the local architectural and construction canons.
The same is not the case with Macau, the last ever European colony and, after Goa (by just nine years), the longest-lasting. As noted above in the words of Luís Filipe Thomaz, it was not easy for the Portuguese to find a site and means to set up a base on the lengthy Chinese coast. This explains how, with entirely different expression and for different reasons, and unlike Nagasaki with respect to Japan, Macau ends up representing a specific and autonomous presence, not a Portuguese presence in China.
The attraction to mythical Cathay was instigated in Western culture by various accounts and most especially the late 13th century book by Marco Polo. Among many other things, they clearly indicated the trade potential of those faraway places; this was certainly kept in mind by those keeping an eye on navigation as it progressed along the African coast until reaching the Indian Ocean. During the reign of King Manuel the Portuguese established contacts with China, obviously via their base in Malacca. These first contacts were of a diplomatic and military nature and resulted in a firm reaction and closure of the ports. Given this lack of success, in the mid-1520s the strategy was reversed and redirected to focus entirely on trade. The first Chinese porcelain made to order for Europe dates from 1531, proof that stable trade relations had been established. Portuguese junks at the ports of Fujian (Fukien) and the Guangzhou (Canton) area in Guangdong province became a recurring reality along with Chinese junks in Malacca.
But a fixed base was necessary. This became more urgent because of the discovery of trade with Japan (potentially more interesting than with China), which required a logistics base in China. Ningbo (Liampo) in Zhejiang province, Quanzhou (Chinchew) in Fujian, Longpekau (Lampacao) and Shangchuan (Sanchuao) – the island near Macau in Guangdong province where Francis Xavier died in 1552 – marked some of the provisional attempts, sometimes truly clandestine or supported by the avarice of one or another mandarin. In 1557, after drawn-out negotiations with the mandarins of the Pearl River Delta and some precarious visits, the merchant Leonel de Sousa, authorized to command his own trading armada (an innovative administrative experience that made its course), was allowed to establish a Portuguese merchant colony on the small peninsula of Macau, flanked by islands. With neither a treaty nor even a document, trade with China and the journey to Japan finally gained the necessary stable logistical support.
Although it was Portuguese, the urban establishment of Macau was not a sovereign Portuguese space, it was just a ‘gateway’, and indeed the place name in Mandarin means just that. But it was also not like the populated areas Portuguese pioneers had infiltrated in Coromandel and Bengal, that is, autonomous and sometimes opposed to the crown. The intermediate solution found, vested in the figure of chief captain [capitão-mor] of the trading armadas, gave the territory the necessary authority to assure that the site would not become an unruly pirates’ den. Of course, in practice, the established order did not depend on the intermittent presence of the captain when he anchored there, but on the resident merchants who organized themselves and established a system that was undeniably Portuguese inspired. Indeed, and as has already been written, it became a ‘Republic of [Portuguese] Merchants’ or, maybe better, a ‘Municipality of Merchants’ – the role eventually assumed by its Council Senate, known as the Leal Senado (Loyal Senate).
All of this made up the unique and exclusive status the territory always enjoyed under various forms over the centuries. It was so unique that there is no word in the diplomatic lexicon that defines it precisely. Protectorate, for example, is not appropriate, as it calls into question the sovereignty of China, which would not otherwise accept the idea that there was another sovereign on the face of the Earth. Basically, the Portuguese were always tolerated there and Portugal never considered the territory entirely its own, even when in 1887 it was able to obtain formal donation of the tiny territory, similarly to what had occurred in favor of other Western powers at the time. In 1967 the Cultural Revolution reversed that procedure. Basically and in absolute terms Macau was never a colony, although in many periods and aspects of its history it inevitably seemed to be one.
A Misericórdia charity institution, hospital (1569) and bishopric (1576) were established early on, as well as an ombudsman’s office [ouvidoria] (1580), which clearly represented the crown and overruled the judge elected by the residents. At their instigation the local council was established (1583) and it was then that the complete version of the city’s name was consecrated, the Cidade do Nome de Deus (de Macau) [City of the Name of God of Macau]. Significantly, that act implied a request for authorization from the king, who responded positively in 1586, confirming to us the ambiguity of the administrative system in question. In 1562 the position of land captain [capitão-de-terra] was established, with few powers. It nevertheless indicates the intention to institutionalize a political/administrative system.
Due to the threat from the Dutch, whose most violent attack took place in 1622, the next year a resident governor emerged with the title of captain-general [capitão-geral]. But this did not happen without some resistance from the local, already Macanese population. It should also be noted that thus far the Chinese authorities had put a stop to any kind of fortification activity on the peninsula, which was essentially defended by naval equipment. From then on the scant defensive structures developed and multiplied, as indicated in the respective entry and also in the drawing by Pedro Barreto Resende (c. 1635).
The conflict between the people of Macau and the central administration mentioned above would last until the triumph of liberalism in Portugal in the 1830s, as only then did the governors start carrying out the duties and responsibilities usually associated to that role. Until then the merchants, generally via the Senate, made sure to safeguard their autonomous rights, which were all the stronger due to the frail nature of the concession with respect to China.
By various means, China never failed to recall the extent to which Portugal’s establishment in Macau was precarious and dependent on its good will. The episode in 1749 is noteworthy: stones engraved in Portuguese and Chinese were respectively placed at the Senate building and the Patio of the Mandarin, setting out the rules governing relations between Portuguese and Chinese authorities. These rules were not new, but making them explicit in this way was due to a hardening of Chinese positions, which led to a decline of the influence and presence of the Padroado’s Jesuits in Guangzhou and Beijing. It was just one of many episodes in which the gates linking the territory to the mainland were closed, the ports essential to Macau’s trade were closed and ships were burned, etc. Strong Dutch competition had meanwhile emerged. In order to withstand all of this a great deal of diplomacy and sacrifices of adjustment were needed.
A brief aside for a note about the Jesuits’ role in the Chinese Imperial Court, which might have merited a few more entries in this volume if all the material traces had not been destroyed. The figure of Father Tomás Pereira, who had close contacts with the Chinese emperor for three decades, particularly stands out. Among other achievements he managed to secure tolerance for Jesuit missionary activities throughout the Empire (1692). Another exemplary feat was the creation of an astronomical observatory inside the Forbidden City. But besides mathematicians, there were also musicians, painters and literati. Macau was obviously the entry point of that missionary corps, which carried out its work across much of China. Saint Paul’s College functioned as the site of preparation, but also where many Chinese students could receive a Western education. It thus became a veritable university whose teachers included the likes of Alessandro Valignano, Matteo Ricci, Michele Ruggieri and Alexandre de Gouveia, still well-known today.
Alessandro Valignano was posted as Visitor of the Society of Jesus. He served in Macau (responsible for the crucial initiative to teach Chinese to missionaries) and with particular fervor in Japan, where he developed his controversial missionary methodology of ‘adaptionism’, i.e. the need for Catholic rites to emulate local beliefs to a certain extent, in order to gain access to peoples and cultures. His thoughts and mission left a legacy of several works, including an important account referenced in the bibliography. The Padroado and the Portuguese presence in Japan cannot be properly understood without having knowledge of his activity. He was also very practiced in architectural matters, as already mentioned, having drawn up plans at least for Old Goa.
Changes in the balance of power between the governor and the Senate, driven by liberalism, included Macau’s gaining administrative autonomy with respect to Goa. In 1844 Macau became a province of the Portuguese Empire, which made Portugal’s colonial aims for the territory increasingly clear. Under the governance of Ferreira do Amaral (1846-49) far-reaching administrative reforms were implemented, along with changes that included the effective occupation of the islands of Taipa and Coloane, beyond the bounds of the original peninsula. This was not entirely abusive only because there were no agreed terms regarding the territory’s concession. China’s involvement in the Opium War (1840-42) was a decisive factor in this process. That reformist was also responsible for introducing gambling, which eventually became the territory’s economic mainstay.
As we have seen, four decades later China donated the territory to Portugal. Development thenceforward became unstoppable, even though the Chinese role grew proportionally and miscegenation was not sufficiently widespread as to enable construction of an identity that might be considered intermediate, as in Goa. China’s reclamation of the territory in 1967 was a surprise but caused no great uproar. The process was negotiated and came to an end in 1999, when the small territory, which for 442 years had been under Portuguese administration, gave way to the Macau Special Administrative Region. Its position as the gambling capital of the Orient was enhanced and since then colossal casinos have sprung up on new landfill areas in the Outer Harbour. The transition was also preceded by a major program of improvements carried out by the Portuguese authorities, confirming its position as a territory which beyond being transformed was essentially built.
That program means that the following entries on Macau have a particular chronological focus on the final decades of the 20th century, following a unique set of programs. Indeed, in no other part of this volume are there entries on bridges and airports, nor do housing projects achieve the richness and variety of those covered here. It is also interesting that this does not overshadow the relevance of some buildings and urban activities that emerged beforehand and which are also impossible to ignore here. Basically, Macau’s icon continues to be the façade of the Church of the Assumption of Our Lady and adjacent college, commonly known as Saint Paul’s, one of the oldest existing buildings dealt with here. Curiously, it is no more than a monumental front, a surviving vestige of the fire that consumed the large wooden and rammed-earth church. The complex was recently subjected to an interesting architectural intervention that highlights its use as a public space.
The history of Macau counts a lengthy bibliography and its heritage has also been studied by numerous specialists. For the period before 1911, Pedro Dias’s book, listed below as one of the general references for this part of the volume, is an excellent summary. But an in-depth and methodologically up-to-date study focusing on urban heritage is still lacking, given that buildings and areas still exist which make the feasibility and usefulness of undertaking same quite clear. This gap is inevitably reflected here. More knowledge is fortunately available about more recent times, and it is still possible to learn details from people involved in the respective decision-making, planning and construction; indeed, some continue to live in the territory. Some of the publications most referenced by the authors of the entries were also added to the general list at the end of this text, along with some historical reference works that do not specifically focus on matters of urbanism and architecture.
This final sub-section of the volume thus encompasses two of the most extreme examples of the built legacy of the Portuguese presence in Asia: the one, where material traces are practically non-existent; and the other, where in the wake of a major public works program the Portuguese Empire came to an end forever as the second millennium drew to a close. The two cities are Macau and Nagasaki, though it is inevitable that the former here symbolizes the importance of civilization-associated relations with Japan. For the Portuguese, Nagasaki was the gateway to Japan, an island chain unified under a regime that was traditionally closed to the outside until several decades beforehand.
The destinies of the one and the other are linked, as Japan was hard to reach mainly due to the lack of permission to use intermediate ports, all of which were part of a self-sufficient China unified under a single power. This basically led to a lack of competition between ports and created access problems for foreigners. Unlike in all other parts of the Empire, in these cases there were almost no opportunities to take advantage of local rivalries and imbalances with a view to setting up installations.
The justification for this last section of the volume is therefore not just the need to have some balance in the publication, but essentially the absolutely singular and extreme nature of both locations, as well as the enormous significance of both due to their isolated positions at the outer edges of two of the oldest, most isolated, significant and long-lasting civilizations in the history of mankind. China and Japan are two areas of the Portuguese expansion where there were never imperial inclinations; rather, the relationship was marked by intense and profitable openness and exchange. More than in any other part of the former Portuguese space beyond Europe, the reciprocal influence of that openness on the world is nowadays a reality that supersedes all memories of conflicts. Macau and Nagasaki are, after all, on the edge of the Pacific Ocean.