A COUPLE of years ago I wrote an apology for Zhao Benshan, a rustic comedian accused of low taste and obscenity.

I pointed to the need for tolerance of an uneducated performer's eagerness to entertain China's multitudes of peasants. They deserve to enjoy some light moments from time to time.

Today no one dares accuse of Zhao of being low-brow.

He is now the boss of a media group, a fancy restaurant, and an exclusive club.

To enter that club costs a minimum 180,000 yuan (US$28,500) membership fee.

That's a huge sum, though insiders comment that Zhao's club membership fee is not particularly prohibitive in comparison with similar clubs mushrooming in the capital.

Still, the inauguration of the club on August 16 caused a great sensation.

A glamorous Hong Kong superstar who was involved a few years ago in a leaked sex video scandal was transported in Zhao's 200-million yuan (US$31.3 million) private jet to add luster to the already star-studded opening ceremony.

To ease traffic for the troop of visiting luminaries attending the ceremony in the heart of the capital, a bus lane was taken out of operation and turned into a dedicated VIP limousine lane.

While 54-year-old Zhao was hobnobbing with those dignitaries, he had already experienced a metamorphosis, from a humble, rustic skit performer to an entertainment tycoon mired in luxury.

In this metamorphosis, Zhao's native simplicity and rustic qualities have been totally bleached away by commercial capital.

The explosive growth in his wealth has afforded the shrewd entertainer a unique insight into the interplay between money and power in a country breathless for growth.

A club, named after a character in his successful TV serial comedy, would intensify that interplay.

Does he still remember those peasants whose simple laughs first built his fortune?

In Liaoning Province where Zhao was born, the official per capita rural income was 6,908 yuan last year. That was about 1,000 yuan higher than the national average.

A newly minted member of the bourgeoisie, Zhao needs not defend his vulgarity any more, nor does he need to justify his extravagance and ambition in this gilded age, but he still has to confront annoying accusations from time to time.

According to recent media reports, Zhao's exclusive club is housed in, among other things, a siheyuan (a quadrangle of houses with a four-square courtyard) dating 278 years back to the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). The whole complex covers over 10,000 square meters and is located in the prime Qianmen area, south of Tian'anmen Square.

The siheyuan in question was listed in 2004 as a site under protection of the Chongwen District, later incorporated into Dongcheng District.

In other words, the listed compound is part of the state's assets, and by law Zhao has no rights to alter, renovate, damage or add anything to the existing structure.

But converting the ancient compound into a fancy club involved two months of intensive renovation, at a cost of 60 million yuan.

Among the new creations are a swimming pool of over 60 square meters within the listed siheyuan, and a superstructure atop the compound.

In the face of growing public discontent, that superstructure was quietly removed this week.

The whistle blower is Zeng Yizhi, a dedicated campaigner for the protection of old buildings, who as early as April first alerted the district cultural relics protection department of Zhao's illegal renovations.

This August 8, Zeng inquired as to the result of her complaint.

Instead of hearing anything from the department, she received a call the next day from a representative from Zhao's media group who offered to communicate with Zeng face to face.

Apparently, instead of taking any moves to investigate Zhao's renovations, the district's relics protection authority had alerted Zhao of the whistle blower.

That explains why at first the district's watchdog seemed to be either ignorant of, or totally approving of, Zhao's two-month revamp.

Of course, under pressure from growing public indignation, the local authority suddenly woke to Zhao's illegal actions, and vowed to undertake a thorough investigation.

Ma Zishu, chairman of the China Culture Relics Protection Foundation, said this week that the loft and the swimming pool have fundamentally changed the original appearance and environment of the siheyuan.

Huisuo (exclusive club) is a fairly new concept in a nation that once take pride in proletariat status.

When those get-rich-first Chinese realized that they could not overestimate the importance of guanxi (connections) in China, the emergence of such exclusive clubs meet a widely felt need.

Successful people (business or otherwise) prefer to view club memberships as a sort of investment, rather than an outlay.

Networking with the moneyed elite can create more business opportunities.

More important, these huisuo provide successful or aspiring people the opportunity to foster ties with powerful government officials.

Comedian Zhao may have very humble origins, but he is reputed to enjoy great popularity, not just among the peasants and migrants, as illustrated by this anecdote:

On May 2, Zhao's private jet made an unscheduled landing at Changde in Hunan Province due to poor weather while en route to Guangzhou.

Upon hearing of the arrival, the mayor of Changde rushed to the airport to show his respect for the comedian.

The airport manager was also called in to take charge of the air-traffic control.

Although the real intention of these clubs is to cultivate ties that might lead to further accumulation of wealth, they tactfully mask these crude intentions by emphasizing the cultural elements on offer.

That's why such clubs are usually situated in scenic areas, or ancient buildings. Sometimes these clubs are described as gathering places for art aficionados.

A couple of years ago, the Hangzhou government launched a campaign of returning the West Lake to the people by pulling down illegal buildings.

At the end of the campaign, locals found to their dismay that the best lake side views have been monopolized by a cluster of expensive clubs.

Recently similar clubs have also been exposed in Beijing's Palace Museum and the former summer residence of the Qing emperors at Chengde, Hebei Province.

These blatant renovations could not have been carried out without the full knowledge or complicity of those departments entrusted with the job of protecting the relics.

The seeming paradox between the vaunted mission of protecting traditional Chinese culture and the real acts of destroying it can be explained by the all-consuming, national impulse to turn a good profit by monetizing whatever assets are at one's disposal.

Sadly, these impulses to make money have gained increasing political correctness and respectability in such slogans as "deepening the industrialization of cultural enterprises."

In the case of Zhao's club, the local relics protection departments stand to share in Zhao's profits.

That's why to avoid similar mistakes we must look beyond the comedian and the Dongcheng District government.

We must examine the policies that make state assets so vulnerable.

These policies are also responsible for the more damaging systematic pulverization of Beijing's many siheyuan that used to characterize old Beijing.