For years, China’s ubiquitous dancing grannies have protected their turf. They hurled insults at teenagers over a basketball court. They stormed a soccer field during a children’s match. And they suffered abuse from angry neighbors throwing food — and in at least one case, feces — at them.

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       These middle-aged and retired Chinese women, who take over public parks and plazas around the country to engage in synchronized shimmying, will soon face new restrictions on their right to boogie.

       Under legislation to update China’s noise pollution ordinances, to be sent to lawmakers next week, dance enthusiasts will face limits on the volume of their music and times that they are allowed to occupy public spaces. Fines for individuals range between $30 and $150, and more than $3,000 for groups.

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       “Those who violate the regulations shall be persuaded and educated” by the relevant local government bodies “to correct themselves," the draft legislation says, according to state media.

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       Guangchangwu, or “square dancing,” dates back decades. The practice had its origins in collective public dances during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s and 1970s, and later in the economic reforms of the 1990s that left many city dwellers jobless and in need of low-cost entertainment.

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       Today, the "damas” or “big mothers” as the dancers are known, can be found dancing in the early mornings and evenings, blasting their stereos, waving fans and scarves, while jitterbugging, waltzing and jiving.

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       Over the years their presence has become increasingly polarizing as reports of conflicts between dancers and noise-sensitive residents have become more common. In 2013, a sleep-deprived 56-year-old man fired a shotgun into the air and loosed a Tibetan mastiff on a group of dancers. In Wuhan that same year, dancers were reportedly pelted with feces thrown by angry neighbors.

       In the city of Wenzhou in Zhejiang province, 600 residents banded together to buy a stereo system to drown out the music of the dancing grannies, chanting at them, “Please abide by [the law], and immediately stop illegal activities.”

       China’s war on square-dancing grannies

       The dancing aunties, as they are also known, have fought back. This week, video posted online appeared to show a group of middle-aged women in Chongqing chasing away street cleaners who had disrupted their routine. In September, a group in Hunan province reportedly stormed a soccer field during a game between fourth graders, demanding the space. In 2017, when some dancing aunties — and uncles — in the city of Luoyang clashed with young men over a basketball court, the park had to be closed temporarily, according to a local report.

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       Irrepressible dancing grannies who have taken their routines abroad, taking over plazas outside the Louvre in Paris or Moscow’s Red Square, have been criticized as a stain on China’s image. They have been mocked for their garrulous nature and age; square dancing is sometimes referred to as “menopause dance.”

       Yet park dancing, a pastime for middle-aged Chinese men as well, has become a cultural mainstay, cropping up in viral videos and advertisements and copied by college students.

       It is also a product of China’s demographic changes. Decades of government controls on family size have meant that damas — described by one researchers as “China’s first generation of lonely mothers” — who might otherwise be taking care of grandchildren are instead dancing in the park. As China’s population ages rapidly, elderly people need an outlet for fitness and socializing, supporters say.

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       The coming restrictions, the first on a national level after years of attempts by local governments to regulate the dancing, were welcomed online. “Rejoicing!!!” one user wrote on Weibo, China’s Twitter-like platform, in response to the news. “The law should stop people taking their joy from other people’s pain,” another posted.

       Lyric Li in Seoul contributed to this report.

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       China’s war on square-dancing grannies

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