FOR a capital city unusual, and perhaps unique, in being situated neither on a coastline nor along the banks of a big river, Beijing has been under water a lot of late. Violent summer rainstorms flooded the city in June of last year, overwhelming the antiquated drainage system, flooding roads and paralysing the normally bustling city. On July 21st Beijing was struck again by an even more devastating rainstorm. According to official monitors it was the largest the city has suffered since records began to be kept in 1951. Thirty-seven deaths have been blamed on the storm. This has raised questions about whether money spent on such prominent “vanity” projects as skyscrapers and Olympic parks might have been better spent on basic infrastructure and on improving disaster preparedness. A more common problem is a shortage of water. Beijing is perched precariously on the edge of the Gobi desert, and for centuries planners have been preoccupied with how to bring water into it, not divert it elsewhere. Guo Shoujing, a 13th-century scientist and hydrologist, is still revered for designing a network of lakes, weirs and artificial waterways. These not only watered the palaces of Kublai Khan and his descendants but also allowed barges from the southern parts of the empire to bring "tribute" to their imperial masters and grain to the people of the capital. Drainage was left to open sewers, sluices and canals, none of which was particularly effective when rains came. Over the past 1,000 years, the city has suffered 140 serious floods. Inundations in 1626 and 1890 were especially calamitous. Both of those floods came towards the end of dynasties, when corruption, neglect and mismanagement sapped the government’s ability to maintain public works.

The current drainage system dates from the 1950s and is based on a Soviet design, which relies on pipes rather than sewers to direct excess water. As 20th-century planners filled in many of Beijing’s canals, moats and waterways, residents were forced to rely on this creaky relic of Sino-Soviet co-operation to keep their streets from flooding when it rained.

This infrastructure, self-evidently, is no longer good enough. This time, as the rains fell, Beijing’s residents sprang into action, opening their homes and businesses to victims of the flood and using the internet and microblogs to direct volunteers. Citizens used their cars to provide a free shuttle service for the thousands of passengers stranded at Beijing’s airport. Online, moving images appeared of ordinary people plunging into flooded roadways to rescue motorists who were trapped in their cars by the rising waters.

In a since-deleted essay posted on his microblog, Li Chengpeng, a social critic, praised the heroism of the volunteer rescue workers, and castigated officials for not having done more. “It never occurred to them that in addition to making the city beautiful, they should also have built a working drainage system. They only know how to turn on the tap of positive propaganda, not realising that public opinion is the most important drainage system.”

Stressing the “historic” nature of the huge storm, the government tried to redirect public attention towards official clean-up efforts. But many Beijingers remain sceptical. In a microblog post translated by the China Digital Times, one user wryly commented: “In my brief existence, a once-in-a-century solar eclipse has happened twice, a once-in-500-year flood has happened ten times, and a once-in-a-millennium earthquake has happened twice. The only thing that hasn’t happened is the once-every-five-year general election.” The post was swiftly removed by online censors.

Though life in the centre of the city soon returned to normal, some parts of the outskirts were very badly affected. With many in Beijing convinced that far more than the official count of 37 people lost their lives in the disaster, criticism of the government’s role in the disaster is likely to mount.