COMMONING: Community Co-creation and Shared Spaces (Expanded Edition) brings together nine case studies and three thematic discussions, collaboratively written by faculty and students from the Department of Cultural Studies at Lingnan University. The book examines the current state, challenges, and possibilities of Hong Kong’s commons. Since its publication, the question most frequently asked has been: What exactly is commoning?
In this interview, we speak with Pun Ngai, one of the book’s editors, about commoning projects around the world, the unique difficulties of commoning in Hong Kong, and the complex relationship between commoning and the political left.
Q: Typesetter Publishing
A: Pun Ngai
Q: As I understand it, your work has long centered on labour issues. How did you come upon the ideas of commons and commoning? Why do you find this theoretical framework significant, and how did this turn in your thinking emerge?
A: I wouldn’t quite call it a turn; rather, it feels like a continuation, a thread that extends from earlier concerns while opening onto new directions that might, in fact, take root in Hong Kong. The city’s intellectual and institutional environment has never been particularly hospitable to labour or to labour studies. My own research began in mainland China, focusing on workers and migrant labour. It was modest in scale at first, but over the span of decade or so, the field gradually took shape and found solid footing.
Labour, for me, has always been a central concern. Yet in Hong Kong, it is almost as if labour did not exist—at least not as a visible or sustained object of inquiry. It is difficult to build a research culture around it quickly. And when I became department head, I had no wish to seem as though I were promoting a personal agenda or compelling colleagues to steer toward my own topics of interest. I wanted instead to explore whether there might be something more “on trend”, something that could invite dialogue across different fields.
I have been thinking about what can still be said, or thought, within Hong Kong’s post-2019 social landscape. The ideas of commons and commoning seem to open a small aperture for imagination—an invitation to test new vocabularies, to spark dialogue, and perhaps to glimpse what other forms of possibility might still be possible here.
Q: As I understand it, Hong Kong’s social movements have long carried a notion of the “shared”—something that belongs neither to the public nor to private interests, but rather a space that can be practiced collectively. The commons and commoning you speak of now, are they related to that idea of “shared”?
A: I think notions such as shared spaces or the sharing economy have long been co-opted, for example, by large corporations and capital interests. They have already absorbed the language of “sharing.” In contrast, commons and commoning remain unfamiliar and somewhat alien to people today. Precisely because of their unfamiliarity, they have not yet been taken up or co-opted by big business, capital, or the state.
That unfamiliarity, in fact, gives these terms certain advantages at the level of discourse. Of course, the drawback is that people often have no idea what they mean—but that also opens up an opportunity: when someone asks what commoning is, it offers me the space to explain it. By contrast, when we talk about things like the “sharing economy” or “shared spaces,” people assume they already know, and there is no further conversation to be had. I think one of the virtues of cultural studies is precisely its capacity to generate discourse—it stays attuned to the present moment, quick in its sensitivities, and able to locate a point of intervention in the world.
My decision to work with the concepts and theoretical framework of commons and commoning also comes from their potential to enter into dialogue with the anti-institutional leftist traditions of May ’68 in France. In Hong Kong, we rarely revisit the philosophical legacies of ’68 from our present vantage point, yet they remain immensely rich. In mainland China, for instance, anyone who identifies as leftist cannot do so without engaging with what the “New Left” stands for. Recently, with the appearance of a new translation, there’s even been a renewed interest in reading Louis Althusser’s On the Reproduction of Capitalism: Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses. Many of students I know are now reading it, telling me why its discussions of “production” and “reproduction” feel so crucial—it’s not only a critique of production itself, but also a critique of the family system, of the school system, and the ways in which power relations continually reproduce the prevailing socio-economic order. For them, such a framework feels penetrative, systemic, and acutely attuned to the present.
The reason I hold on to these keywords is that they make it possible to sustain an ongoing dialogue with the broader left, allowing us to revisit and rework leftist traditions. Following these threads, I hope to think more deeply about: why the world has come to its current condition, why we now find ourselves in such extreme forms of populism and fascism, and why nation-states across the globe have come to resemble one another so closely. Without drawing on the cultural resources of the left, I believe it would be difficult for us to grasp, let alone respond to, these questions that lie ahead.
Q: You’ve mentioned the term “the left.” How do you understand what “the left” means? You also brought up May ’68, which was sixty years ago. How is it still relevant to our contemporary moment?
A: I think the fundamental vision, or the basic ground, of the left lies in addressing social injustice. More precisely, it has never abandoned the class perspective as a way of understanding the world. From a class perspective, we can see that the existence of capitalist society is by no means inevitable, nor is it as reasonable or natural as it is often assumed to be.
For the past two centuries, the leftist tradition has been consciously committed to transforming the capitalist order. In my view, May ’68 represents a pivotal moment in this tradition—it challenged the establishment, as well as the dominant ideologies and operative logics of capitalism. The problems we confront today are, in a sense, the very problems that May ’68 sought but failed to resolve. Unless we return to those fundamental questions and address them anew, we have no chance to really move forward.
For example, once you try to act, to take a concrete step, you start to sense the tensions and limits that arise in specific practice. Cultural studies, in my understanding, is precisely about examining such specificity, reflecting on one’s specific engagements and how things work, or fail to work, in practice. Yet for me, this still feels insufficient. I always find myself pushing from the specificity toward the broader relations of production, the very structures that constitute contemporary capitalism. I say this not to erase specific local situations, but to ask whether these specific situations might be understood within a larger framework, one that allows us to discern the connections among them.
Q: You just mentioned that the most fundamental concern of the left is class equality. How does that relate to what you’ve been saying about the commons?
A: Once you adopt a class perspective, you begin to see things across multiple layers. Take environmental issues, for example: affluent districts usually enjoy better environmental conditions than others. Viewing through a class lens makes it immediately clear where the problem lies. Class, then, is not only about labour issues or grassroots struggles; once you develop that awareness, you realise that class relations permeate virtually every sphere of life.
Q: If I were to follow classical Marxist reasoning, breaking through the limits of capitalism would mean seizing the means of production—returning them, along with the resources, to the workers.
A: To everyone, according to Negri (Antonio Negri). (laughs)
Q: Would you say that this constitutes what you call the process of commoning?
A: Of course, that’s precisely one of its most essential dimensions! Commoning can certainly be discussed on various levels: cultural, intellectual, economic, and political. But ultimately, we must return to the material base. To me, the transformation of the mode of production represents the most material and fundamental change of all.
The first wave of socialist movements saw many failures, mistakes, and limitations. But to sum it up—well, I can’t give a full lecture here, so let me just put it briefly (laughs)—I think it was, at its core, a failure in class antagonism. Our desire to share resources and spaces, to live together in a more decent way, requires particular conditions and social rooms to be realised. Yet the forces opposing those conditions were simply too powerful. To me, this is the fundamental problem, and those opposing forces are precisely what I would call the reaction of class force. So if we want to confront the root issue, we must find ways to constrain that power rather than shy away from engaging it.
Of course, addressing the main issue doesn’t mean that other problems are unimportant—everything, after all, accumulates and unfolds over time.
Q: From your observation, whether in Hong Kong or the surrounding regions, are there any concrete examples that have managed, at least partially, to change the mode of production?
A: In fact, there are many good examples around the world. But I’d point to Japan’s Seikatsu Club Consumers’ Co-operative Union (see jccu.coop), as Hong Kong readers might find it easier to relate to. I often mention this case because it’s relatively close to us—easy to refer to and to learn from.
The Seikatsu Club was initially established to address employment problems among workers in ordinary communities. However, since this was during an economic crisis, the union soon discovered that addressing employment meant addressing production itself. It was meaningless to simply urge the working class to keep producing, because what they produce might not have a market. To make production meaningful, it was necessary to connect it with consumers. So the association took a reverse approach: it restructured the relationship between production and consumption by establishing consumer co-operatives. Members of the club needed necessities such as bread and eggs. Based on these needs, the Seikatsu Club built a consumption network. For instance, it would organise residents within a community to calculate how much bread was needed, then connect that demand to producers—often people who were unemployed or struggling to find stable work—thereby linking production and consumption in a self-sustaining cycle.
Commoning is a movement. It’s not just about the quantity of production but also about cultivating consciousness and collective awareness. Only with this conscious participation can genuine, organic, and sustainable social transformation take place. Many commoning projects fail precisely at this point, collapsing into the logic of “doing business for the sake of doing business.”
The Seikatsu Club, however, has maintained this philosophy. It allocates resources to educational and cultural initiatives—such as publishing, organising educational programs, and issuing a monthly bulletin. It has also established funds to support social movements, as well as artists and art collectives. While most people regard a co-operative as an economic enterprise, the Seikatsu Club understand itself as a political one. Although it is not a political party, it has supported the election campaigns of up to a hundred legislators. To me, this is a comparatively successful example.
Of course, such scale brings its own risks. Some co-operatives in Japan have over a million members, making the transmission of core values extremely difficult. The Seikatsu Club, by contrast, maintains around 400,000 members—small enough to preserve its values, yet large enough to sustain a “mini-society”, a small but resilient market where its founding ideals can endure.
Q: There are a few common criticisms of commoning. The first is that such projects are always small in scale—only a few dozen or a few hundred people. The example you just mentioned actually refutes this point, since co-operatives can grow to tens or even hundreds of thousands of members. The second criticism concerns the question of value transmission: it takes a very long time to spread values, and changing people’s mindsets requires enormous effort.
A: The scale of commoning projects can vary widely. In Hong Kong, the scale tends to be smaller—perhaps due to our limited capacity and resources—but in Spain, such projects may involve millions of participants. The Japanese example I mentioned has about 400,000 members, while some agricultural co-operatives have tens of millions. The scale depends on how much energy and commitment we invest.
The second criticism—concerning value transmission and sustainability—really depends on the strength of a society’s underlying foundations. Take Italy, for example: in some towns, almost every part of the local structure operates as a co-operative, which makes value transmission and sustainability truly viable. When we reconsider how such values can be transmitted and put into practice, one principle is crucial: everything has to start from actual needs. If a project is rooted in actual needs, it’s far more likely to succeed; but if it’s built around what only a few people believe to be a good idea—something others don’t really need—then the process of value transmission will inevitably be slow.
That’s why many public or community spaces later face criticism for being “petit bourgeois”—initiated by small groups of people with slightly more resources who simply want to live an alternative lifestyle. The commoning projects that emerge from this often end up aesthetically polished but socially limited. By contrast, if the co-operative movement seeks to address working-class unemployment or job insecurity faced by recent graduates, the commoning that emerges should engage directly with the needs of everyday life. What we currently lack, I think, are projects that can respond to situations where market mechanisms fail—when downturns or crises occur and the market no longer functions.
Some of our graduates have returned to mainland China and are experimenting with exactly this kind of initiative. Take, for instance, the issue of sanitary pads—many commercial brands in the market are reportedly unhygienic. These students sought to establish a co-operative focused on women’s awareness and health, producing their own line of sanitary pads. Given the vast size of the Chinese market, such a project can use organic cotton while still keeping prices affordable. I believe opportunities like these truly exist.
Q: In your example, then, where exactly does the common lie? One could also argue that this simply follows market logic: women have specific health and hygiene needs, and producers respond to those needs. Isn’t that just a perfectly market-oriented business model?
A: It’s different from the basic philosophy and starting point of big corporations. Those students wanted to bring gender education into the business itself and to connect women workers’ production co-operatives with consumer co-operatives. Larger corporations would never build such connections—they simply aim to attract customers to buy their health products, as long as you can pay a bit more. The students, however, even envision establishing a museum in the long run, beyond the production or women’s co-operative, where people could visit and learn. They’re not doing this for capital accumulation.
Q: In that sense, they could already be considered activists in a broader sense—advocating certain values within a particular field or industry.
A: Yes. They respond to some of the most pressing needs in Chinese society today, such as food safety and food security. There are many co-operatives in rural areas, yet few people have linked them to the needs of urban consumers. If we can develop the capacity to bridge these needs, the process of value transmission would no longer be so slow—in fact, it could unfold quite rapidly.
Q: Let’s come back to Hong Kong. It could be said that Hong Kong is one of the hardest societies in the world to break through.
A: The logic of capitalism in Hong Kong is extremely entrenched. It’s not only a way of thinking but also a system firmly supported by powerful business interests. So it’s everywhere, embedded in everything. Take the real estate sector alone: it already makes most things impossible. I completely agree that doing commoning in Hong Kong is very difficult.
Q: How do you face the challenge of continuing to discuss commoning or labour issues in Hong Kong’s current context?
A: As long as social problems persist—like inequality or labour issues, such as taxi drivers in their seventies or eighties still having to work—there will always be opportunities for socially conscious young people to start asking: how can we solve these problems? Many people begin by thinking in terms of social policy, calling on the government to introduce better protections. But the government will not act on its own; such changes depend directly on the presence of organic social forces. If the government continues to remain inactive, then we need to ask ourselves whether there are civic forces that can take the lead in launching pilot projects that might later serve as examples for the government to follow.
Q: Another difficulty I face is the strong sense of failure. People have tried, but after two or three years, things often fall apart.
A: In my understanding, in many cases they’re simply exhausted and need a break, rather than that the project itself is truly unsustainable. The real question is: when someone gets tired and wants to rest, why is there no one to step in and keep the project going? I’ve seen quite a few projects that could have continued, but the organisers were just too worn out. Ultimately, this reflects the lack of support within Hong Kong’s social community. We need more effort to build broader participation. When some people feel tired, others should step up and say, “Take a break. I’ll take over and keep this going.” Otherwise, it becomes a dead end. It’s indeed difficult under these conditions: high labour costs, expensive rents, and little policy support from the government.
But I believe there will always be certain groups in any society—perhaps small in number—who want to live lives that are less mainstream, or who seek to pursue ideals beyond the ordinary. What’s less common, however, is the imagination of how they might connect with one another, and whether there can be a platform through which resources can be shared.
Q: Finally, could you recommend some related readings?
A: In terms of theory, Commonwealth by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri is an important work. It helps readers understand what the commons truly are. As for practical cases, The Commune Form: The Transformation of Everyday Life by Kristin Ross is an excellent book. It’s concise yet rich, exploring everyday communal life and social solidarity across different places and times. It also serves as a valuable complement to our current publication, COMMONING: Community Co-creation and Shared Spaces.
* The interview was conducted in Cantonese and translated to English by Typestter