When the Green Netting Caught Fire: Hong Kong’s Bamboo Scaffolding Reckoning
Night in Tai Po can be ordinary and incandescent at once: hawkers frying fishballs under yellow lights, the thrum of minibuses, children’s laughter carried from nearby high-rises. Then, somewhere along Wang Fuk Court, a different light began to glow—hungry, unnatural, licking through the familiar green construction netting that wraps scaffolding like a second skin.
Neighbors tell versions of the same scene. “It looked like a dragon had come down and taken the building,” said Lam Mei-han, a retired teacher who watched the blaze from across the street. “The mesh went up so fast—green to orange to black in minutes. Bamboo poles were falling, sparks like fireworks.”
Images from the site showed exactly that: bamboo lattices aflame, bound together by nylon cords, collapsing in a rain of embers. Authorities have not publicly declared the cause. But the spectacle threw into sharp relief a more enduring vulnerability—the combustible marriage of centuries-old craft and synthetic construction materials in one of Asia’s most densely built cities.
The Quiet History Behind the Poles
Bamboo scaffolding is not a quirk of Hong Kong’s skyline; it is a living craft, a tradition that reaches back to building techniques across China. Bamboo, prized for its tensile strength and flexibility, is as much cultural symbol as construction material—long associated with resilience and moral fortitude. It also became practical: cheap, renewable and fast to assemble in cramped city conditions.
Even today, official figures say Hong Kong still registers roughly 2,500 bamboo scaffolding masters. The number of metal scaffolders is about three times that, reflecting a gradual shift. Small teams still climb façades and lace buildings in a matter of weeks, pausing the city with canvas, tarpaulins, and those ubiquitous green nets that keep dust and debris from spilling into the busy streets below.
What the Numbers Tell Us
- Approximately 2,500 registered bamboo scaffolding masters remain active in Hong Kong, official figures show.
- There are about three times as many metal scaffolders, indicating growing adoption of non-flammable systems.
- Between 2019 and 2024, 22 deaths involved bamboo scaffolders, according to government records.
- In March, the government announced that 50% of new public works contracts would require metal scaffolding—shifting policy, slowly.
Tradition Meets Risk
To many locals, the sight of bamboo is ordinary, comforting even. “You see it and you know life carries on—shops reopen, repairs happen,” said Mei-han. But the green nets that cover bamboo scaffolds are often synthetic and flammable. When they ignite, the fire spreads along the scaffolding like dry brush on a slope. That rapid transmission is precisely what observers said happened at Wang Fuk Court.
“Of course, metal scaffolding is less flammable. That’s a fact,” said Chau Sze Kit, chair of the Hong Kong Construction Industry Employees General Union. “But proper management matters too. Fires usually start because debris—paper, towels, discarded clothing—builds up on the scaffold. Poor housekeeping, bad oversight: that’s how small sparks turn into large tragedies.”
Chau’s point hints at a bittersweet truth: many of the risks are human and systemic, not merely material. The city’s Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) has opened an investigation and the Chief Executive—John Lee—has established a task force to probe the incident and to examine whether scaffold mesh across projects meets recognized fire-retardant standards.
Voices from the Ground
There are also voices that have been peering at the city’s scaffolding for years. Jason Poon, a whistleblower who has previously highlighted shoddy construction practices, says he warned authorities last year about non-fire-retardant netting at another housing estate—and was met with silence.
“I sent emails, photos, everything,” Poon said. “They told me they’d look into it, then nothing. People down here aren’t thinking about standards until things burn.”
Community groups have noted additional fires this year, including a dramatic blaze at Chinachem Tower in the central business district that sent flames climbing external scaffolding. The Association for the Rights of Industrial Accident Victims said there were at least two other scaffold-related fires in recent months—an alarm that speaks to patterns rather than isolated bad luck.
Regulation, Labor, and the Cost of Change
Hong Kong’s authorities are now considering tighter controls, including potentially mandating metal scaffolding. In March, the government pushed a policy that half of new public works contracts must specify metal scaffolding—a partial shift that emphasized worker safety but left lingering questions about flame risks on older projects and private developments.
Changing practices is not simply a matter of swapping materials. Bamboo scaffolding sustains livelihoods. “This is our craft,” said Wong, a 42-year-old scaffolder who asked that his family name not be used. “My father taught me how to tie the knots. Metal takes longer to set up and costs more. If the government forces us overnight, many small teams will be out of work.”
Economic realities—tight margins, rapid project timelines, and a dense urban environment—help explain why the old and the new coexist. But when lives are at stake, many argue the calculus must shift.
What Experts Say
Fire safety specialists point to two parallel tracks: stricter material standards and improved site management. “We need verified fire-retardant mesh, regular on-site inspections, and enforced removal of flammable debris,” said Dr. Eliza Chan, a fire engineer who consults for urban redevelopment projects. “And beyond materials, it’s about culture—holding contractors accountable and training workers in prevention.”
Beyond Hong Kong: A Global Question
What happens in Hong Kong matters beyond its borders. Dense cities across Asia grapple with similar trade-offs between traditional techniques and modern safety standards. As urban populations grow and infrastructure ages, the tension between cost, heritage, and safety tightens into a global conversation.
Would you accept the visible traces of a city’s past—bamboo poles, hand-tied knots—if they came with risks? Or does public safety trump cultural continuity? The question sits uncomfortably between nostalgia and pragmatism.
What Comes Next
Investigations will unfold. Regulators will test mesh, review contracts, and perhaps phase in firmer mandates. Families of victims will grieve; workers will worry about livelihoods; residents will demand reassurance.
“We have to keep the craft alive, but not if it kills people,” Lam Mei-han said, softly, as the smoke from the Wang Fuk Court blaze still hung in the air. “There has to be a smarter way—respect for the old, safety for the living.”
In the end, the green netting that once symbolized progress—the ongoing maintenance of a city—now symbolizes an urgent debate: how to modernize with care, how to value tradition without courting danger, and how a crowded city finds the balance between the speed of change and the human cost of delay.
If cities are made of people as much as concrete, then the scaffolding that supports them must stand for more than expedience. It must embody a commitment to life, craft, and a future where both the skyline and the hands that build it survive the tests of heat and time.
