The gods and goddesses of the new China

In the wake of an affirmative answer earlier this year as to whether China will continue with the so-called “one Child Policy”, Western concern seems focused mainly upon the gender imbalance which has resulted since this policy was first implemented between 1981-83.

Only the Boston Herald of January 24, 2007 gave any hint that there were more far-reaching concerns than the ratio of 130 males to 100 females which has resulted in some provinces: - it quoted Zhang Weiqing, of the National Population and Family Planning Commission: “China’s only boys and girls are certainly not as scary as some people say, like those who call them Little Emperors or Little Titans who can’t tolerate authority.” (Even the fact that Zhang unconsciously employed two male metaphors rather than the usual “little princes and princesses” was not remarked upon by the Herald).

Of course Zhang is correct: there is nothing at all “scary” about the first generation to come to adulthood under China’s strict population control regulations. But there is a worrying trend discernable in these 20-somethings who will soon be the ruling class of the new China. Just as there is a worrying aspect to the current school-based youngsters and the small but growing second generation to be born under these regulations. It’s an aspect that transcends gender lines.

Going through life myself without siblings, I have been treated to much ad hoc speculation from both informed and uninformed sources as to the eventual characteristics which emerge in the “single child”. The prognosis is usually harmful for those deprived of the rough and tumble of sibling rivalry, the sharing of both emotions and possessions or the continuing relationships and responsibilities with family after parents have died.

Very rarely is the heightened burden of parental expectation ever considered.

But with these Chinese youth the strain of these expectations can be seen to have had, in many cases, deleterious effects which seem to have been overlooked by many.

Very few of my 3rd and 4th year students at this large University three hours from Shanghai have ever had contact with a Westerner. They are surprised by the fact that I have no siblings as they assume this is an exclusively Chinese dynamic. But this perhaps is the reason they are more open with me about their feelings than is usual with Chinese people.

However, the stress under which they were living became apparent long before they ever trusted me enough to speak about it.

Culturally, family honour or "face", has always been an imperative of Chinese society. It was one of the reasons big families have always been desirable.

Sons have traditionally been needed to carry on family businesses. One son could stay at home to work with his father, while another could be sent to carry the business into other regions. Another, for example, would assiduously study commerce and strategies, or open subsidiaries. If, as sometimes happened, one son was found to have no business interest he could still develop his own skills and increase the "face" of the family and the business.

Girls were useful to unite various dynasties, to increase ties and to bring "face" through successful marriages.

With various modifications this system was used throughout all of Chinese society down to the peasant class, where strong healthy sons and fertile daughters could often be the difference between subsistence living and a chance to become small-holders.

The regulation of family size has not diminished the family honour system. The difference now, however, is the upholding of these traditions now devolves upon the single offspring of the modern family. Each single child from birth carries the weight of this burden.

The astounding and radical change in society that has led, in the last ten years, to a giant step from an agrarian to a capitalist society has resulted in disorientation for many families. Couples who started married life scratching a living in the village of their ancestors, now find themselves living in a Western-style apartment and driving a late model car to work. Elders can no longer advise or hand on learned wisdom as the sudden change has opened up chasms over which the generations cannot cross. Multi-story apartment blocks do not provide the support or security found in a small village where most people are bound together by family ties.

Marooned in apartments from which they can view their childhood being torn apart by wrecking balls and bulldozers, many parents now rely on their children to pull them across the great divide into the modern world.

The added expectation that their offspring will chart the shoals of this new society for parents often leads to a complete role reversal. I have, for instance, been to formal dinners and business functions where the teenage child of a wealthy business person attends as the spokesperson for the parent. These children often come to believe that it is upon them that the responsibility for a positive outcome rests.

In my classes students whose grandparents were illiterate and whose parents attended only rural elementary schools are expected to bring educational laurels to the family. Those whose interests or abilities do not fit them for academic life are nevertheless expected to graduate with high marks. No matter in what direction their skills lie they are all impelled to study in the direction their parents have chosen for them. Failure is the biggest shame they could bring upon their family. Mediocrity is not even contemplated. Life for these children is a serious responsibility.

Sympathetic to these parental goals and bound in their own culture of honour and "face", the schools and universities strive to turn out high achievers with the excellent grades that will attract a continuous supply of pupils from the best families. From primary school onwards students work diligently from early morning to late evening, living on-site in segregated dormitories. Anything that will detract them from serious study is frowned upon.

Even university students adhere to ten o’clock curfews. The penalties for exceeding curfew by even a few minutes are grave - those who miss curfew altogether are liable for expulsion. With the hopes and expectations of their entire family embedded in them it is not difficult to demand compliance to what Western students would consider draconian rules.

It is not therefore unusual for university students, on being asked about their plans after graduation, to preface their answers with “When I grow up I want to …”. It is not conceived as paradoxical that, bowed down under the weight of parental and family obligation, shouldering immense workloads and adult stress levels, these young adults are nevertheless treated as children by parents and faculty alike.

Treating them as children is perhaps understandable when parents will never have another child; it also helps to maintain school and university discipline. It further ensures that adults of 23 or 24 still giggle and scuffle about seating arrangements in class to segregate the genders; sex and bodily functions remain impenetrable mysteries; and no one questions the curfew rule.

It is, however, yet another pressure with which young adults contend: not having an understanding of the bodily changes they undergo, having no outlet for the sexual tensions and frustrations for which they have no language and uneducated about hormonal influences, many are emotional roller-coasters.

It is not at all uncommon for female students to break down at inopportune moments or for male students to engage in the kind of hysterical bouts of horseplay usually outgrown with sexual maturity. Many of them have confided that they feel frightened and anxious about their mental stability or that they feel there are two distinct people at war within their bodies.

They are anxious and emotionally confused and exhibit the kinds of symptoms which, in Western countries, would be associated with acute depression. These fears and burdens are all the more frightening for them in a society culturally restrained from free and open discussion of such matters.

I was at first horrified when, in attempts to put them at ease, I would ask various young people in the prime of their youth to list their hobbies and would get the answer “Sleeping. Eating”. The only variations were that some would not mention eating or others would include shopping. Checking with colleagues I discovered that sleeping was listed as the number one hobby throughout their classes as well, with eating a close second and shopping a variant.

This universal need for sleep and comfort food in young, healthy adults at first puzzled me. Students in the West also study long hours, often combining this with part or full time work and arduous travel. Yet most still have active social lives and take part in other activities. Why, I wondered, are these students so different?

It was in drama classes that I gained further insight into how seriously the lives of these little princes and princesses have been affected.

One warm-up exercise I had planned was a variation on the childhood game of “Tag” .But I was met with blank looks when I explained this. “Oh come on!” I exhorted them “It isn’t so long ago that you were all playing it in the schoolyard”. Still they looked blank. Suspecting a language error I explained very simply and carefully, waiting for comprehension to dawn. Slowly I looked around and saw their faces hadn’t changed. Neither did they when I explained Hide and Seek, Red Rover, Statues - the repertoire of games which, though known by different names in different countries, I knew from experience were universal.

I realised finally that these young men and women had, in their constant striving for academic excellence, never before learnt how to play.

Playtime in the lives of young people has been proven to be an indivisible part of the development of the ability to problem solve, to co-operate, to strive for common goals or outcomes, to learn to disagree without confrontation, to confront with meaningful outcomes, to accept losing as well as winning and to develop imagination. All of these skills are lacking in large numbers of the students whom I teach. When coupled with apathy and inertia it is inevitable that these deficiencies will impact negatively upon the futures of many.

In the competitive world of globalisation innovation, the ability to problem solve and the speedy processing of complex new strategies are all necessary skills. Most importantly, however, cause and effect, projected outcomes and a sense of national - not just familial - responsibility will be needed when this generation takes its place as the ruling class of China. Nothing in their lives has prepared them for thinking beyond the family or of their responsibility towards a greater good.

Exhausted before they even begin life most are apathetic towards politics, ignorant of the arts, disinterested in anything other than perpetuating and passing on the family burdens they have upheld alone.

Never before has the country had to deal with a generation such as this so there are no precedents to follow.

Belatedly some people and organisations are becoming aware that new strategies are needed to deal with the results of the one child policy. Unfortunately, this need does not have equal importance with the continued implementation of the policy itself.

At an international symposium in China I recently delivered a paper stressing the need for reading and literature to be made an integral part of the curricula in Chinese schools.

The paper mentioned that reading has traditionally been the past-time of offspring who have no siblings in the West. It also stressed that, though vicariously, children gain not only knowledge, increased vocabulary and verbal skills, but learn to utilise imagination, gain skills in problems-solving and share experiences and feeling previously considered to be unique to each one of them through books. As a foreigner I felt hesitant at perhaps being seen to criticise the country in which I currently both live and work.

To my surprise not only was the paper met with acclaim but many of the educators present approached me during the conference to add their support. It is therefore obvious that those of us dealing with the children of this successful policy to limit families share concerns about their immediate and future well-being.

Discussing the little princes and princesses theory one of my students, himself chaffing under the bonds of a restrictive and over-protective father, once said to me wryly: “princes and princesses? What - didn’t you know that we’re the gods and goddesses of the new China?”

Unless steps are taken it is possible that these new gods and goddesses will find themselves going the way of all the gods and goddesses who went before them - deposed by the demands of the modern world.