at home… in China

Fewer daughters will raise women’s value

http://opinion.globaltimes.cn/foreign-view/2010-01/501145.html

The Chinese countryside is scattered with posters urging people to remember that “Girls are just as good as boys,” but the surplus of men keeps rising.

According to a study released in April 2009 by the British Medical Journal, currently, 117 boys are born in China for every 100 girls, a rise from earlier figures of 108 to 100.

Gender screening during pregnancy, and follow up abortions, may be illegal, but they’re still common. Traditional thinking has combined with modern tools to create a gender gulf. But what impact will the imbalance have on Chinese culture?

Traditional Chinese society placed higher value on men, and thus sons. It was the sons who would continue the family name, go on working with their parents and support them. This is not just an aspect of Chinese culture, but is common in other societies as well. In fact, when my brother married and took his wife’s family name, some people asked me if I now had to keep mine – at which my mother immediately shook her head.

Women still face the “glass ceiling” in many careers too. Even in school, it is common to assume that men have more aptitude for the “important” subjects such as mathematics and sciences, whereas woman are better in the “soft” subjects such as languages. Often, this even goes to the point where it is thought that men were simply more talented and intelligent.

From actual data, however, we increasingly see that it is, in fact, the girls who study better at school, let alone at university.

Yet, there are still more boys than girls being born, because education isn’t the only value here. The one-child policy is clearly having an effect; families may only value boys a little more than girls, but if they only have one chance, they don’t want to waste it.

Another quality of Chinese social thought is the high value placed on family. A life is seen as incomplete without marriage and children. Typically, parents are also looking for a great match for their child. A potential husband has to be able to care for his wife, while a wife has to be cultivated, a good mother, and preferably pretty.

A part of that traditional thought is also that love takes second stage, at best, after practical considerations. The two potential partners have to be seen as fitting together. Character plays its part in that, but so do material, social status, and ethnic background.

Where does that leave the millions of Chinese men who, by 2020, will not be able to find a Chinese wife? What effect will this have on the culture?

Clearly, something has to give. Most analysts writing about this issue have been somewhat pessimistic, predicting a rise in human trafficking and prostitution, especially the import of foreign women from poorer countries and regions, such as Southeast Asia and eastern Russia, into China. Increasing numbers of young men may also make society more aggressive.

But let’s take a more positive approach. Regard for daughters will probably rise as well, as people recognize that daughters are usually easier than sons to raise into good adults who will learn well, work hard, and not forget about their parents. Most importantly, as the rarer of the sexes, they will have a better shot on the marriage market.

For the men things will get harder: The chances that the woman will have to be a foreigner will be better as there are simply too few Chinese women. The men will have to work particularly hard to attract and keep their partner, whether Chinese or foreign, since the women will have more choice.

The sooner it is realized that it is increasingly better to have a girl than to have a boy, and the sooner the old prejudices against women being educated too highly or reaching too powerful positions are abolished, the better it will be for China.

Women can’t be seen just as producers of the next generation of sons. Culture may change slowly, but the regions of Hong Kong and Taiwan, with similar cultures and traditions, both have low birth-rates and balanced gender ratios. The Chinese mainland clearly has the potential to change fast.

As the winter is at its peak, China experiences a mass migration compared to which even the great migration of peoples is but a shadow. The trek home for a family reunion at Spring Festival (Chinese New Year) is one of those things that have to be experienced, and which are pertinent reminders of cultural values.

Here at university, the importance is easily apparent.
In contrast to Europe and the USA, where spring break is also important, but has nothing to do with that “family” festival of Christmas (let alone New Year’s), Chinese students’ spring break can end up being as long as summer break; it is the time for family reunion in celebration of the new year, and marks much more of a turning point in the annual cycle.
A small sign of that is how students can get train tickets to get back home a bit more easily than others. This is what we can see in the “20 sec China” video: As the local train station is not in operation now, ticket booths were opened on campus itself.

(more…)

It’s just students waiting in line to get train tickets? Yes. And no.

One obvious thing first: it seems common for Chinese *not* to wait in line but to follow a “me first”-attitude. Obviously, it’s not always so.

Secondly, if you ever had to buy train tickets in China as spring break is getting closer, you would appreciate being cut a bit of slack. Sorry, but it’s just for the students, and only because Xiangtan train station currently doesn’t operate.

And, anyways: why does everyone have to get back home for spring festival? Read more on Chinese New Year and what it tells about China’s society here.

The thing about foreign countries seems to always be, well, that they are foreign, strange – or, once you are able to switch to a point of view that does not have you yourself at its center, that you are the foreigner, the stranger there.
This is the well-clichéd problem behind many issues: from culture shock to society’s acceptance of outsiders (or lack thereof), from the instant mojo of the new hire from far-away great countries to the aura of leprosy that sometimes seems to surround the stranger.

So, what does it take to feel at home; does it make any sense for me to be writing a blog entitled “at home in China”? (I realize one issue with the latter is that I haven’t been the most prolific writer; it’s my unmade new year’s resolution to write regularly.)

Let’s get to two quotidian, and at the same time central, issues first: language and food.

Chances are, when you go to a foreign country, you are and feel like an adult, but you are also rather like a small child. After all, you can’t talk yet. Even having studied the language, you talk differently, in ways that are not quite conventional and probably don’t (immediately) understand all that much. In China, in particular, there are different regional variations of the Chinese language, and even more dialects. Of course, one can still live comfortably in many places, knowing just the basics – if that. Thinking of deeper issues, however, the importance of language returns with a vengeance.

In my case, being here as German teacher, there is way too much contact with languages I already know, and far too little need to go beyond the bare essentials of Chinese. I am working on it, and noticing more and more just how appropriate the Chinese way of learning (which seems to be one of the main impediments to foreign language studies in China) is to the study of the Chinese language. There is a very strong need to sit down and practice writing, review and practice by reciting, go on – and review, then repeat…

The other major issue one encounters more than once-a-day is, of course, food. There is no coming home in a different place if it is not accompanied (or, more likely, preceded) by a liking for the food. In a place like China, this can be particularly striking.

Much non-Chinese food is hard to come by outside of the bigger cities in China, and when it can be found, it’s very expensive in comparison to normal food.

Tastes are also, of course, noticeably different; Chinese sweets are oftentimes decidedly not-sweet to the European palate, meats on the market are oftentimes so fresh, they could still run (or fly, or jump, or swim) away, and people actually like to see that meat is not grown in a vat – so, of course there are bones (and fish heads, and chicken feet).
Meat is also a more-expensive ingredient, and therefore oftentimes used as more of a spice, cut very small, in as many dishes as possible. The importance is best illustrated by the variety of fake meat dishes one often finds around Buddhist temples. No meat in them, but at least the taste of it – surely, you wouldn’t want to do without that, would you?

Then, there is the issue of the rather peculiar tastes and things one may encounter. Hunan’s chile pepper-laden dishes are not a problem for me, they are a reason I’m here; but, of course, not everyone would concur. At the beginning of my time here, I was decidedly not fond of chou doufu (“stinky tofu”). To the uninitiated, it’s a great dieting method: sniff, and you don’t feel hungry anymore. Except, I recently noticed my mouth watering upon a waft of freshly frying chou doufu…

Lastly (at least for now), there is the matter of conditions and orientations: Speaking as an ecologist and anthropologist, this is particularly fun for it is, in a way, a matter of environment and adaptation; the bread and butter of my disciplines.

As for environment/conditions: living in China makes it obvious that China is, in most respects, still a developing country. Most of the time, the accusations which are leveled at the country don’t play much of a role. Youtube and Facebook are blocked, but basically all news sites can be accessed; you have a one-party government, but usually what counts is that the situation is stable. Still, it is cold now, and of course there is no heating, basically no insulation to the houses; electricity sometimes gives out, and so on…

Not least, the country’s opening has not been far enough back for foreigners to have become a truly normal sight. Thus, and also given that further socio-cultural aspects make for a society that manages to be rather closed and over-accommodating at the same time, one is not usually integrated too well.
Still, it is possible to work with cultural competence, and be made to feel very well at home. The language, of course, is a major influence in this regard.

Personal orientations, in the end, play at least as much of a role as the host societies’ openness: Some (many, actually) expats apparently come to China for the adventure, feel quite at home in the bars, and think they have experienced China; some (maybe) want to be accepted and treated as absolute equals, without any cross looks and comments about the “laowai.”

My personal attitude, maybe due to personal factors, definitely also a side-effect of my professional training, is that there needs to be a second socialization into a host culture, and that – as long as it is open enough for that – it is always possible to reach a point where one is culturally competent enough to be a functioning member of that society. So far, I’m definitely just at the point of being able to take (most) things as they are, go on, and feel at home notwithstanding the downsides and paradoxa there are.