Back to the USA: Thoughts and the future

Giving the final presentation

I am sitting writing this post not from my dormitory room in Shaoyuan at Peking University in Beijing, but from my home in suburban Washington, DC. I arrived back in the United States on Thursday, December 15^th after about 17 hours of air travel.

My final week in Beijing was spent on writing a summary paper on my independent study, this project, to find some conclusions about the project and, in turn, demonstrate what I had learned over the past 3-½ months. Although in that paper I did make conclusions about Beijing’s migrant worker population, especially in terms of filial piety, a recurring theme here, education, and the adjustment from rural to urban life, I find a different purpose in the stories I have told in the past semester.

Yes, we can draw conclusions about China as a whole through these experiences. However, a part of me also says that instead of limiting our view to one nation, we should put these stores in context of the world’s workers. Look at these stories and compare them to your own country or community. I hope that they can serve as a tool for inspiration and action.

Along with my arrival, back in the United States comes the end of this chapter in the Pillars in Motion project. Although I will no longer be able to directly interview migrant workers, I hope that this blog can remain a place for discussion and the sharing of information. It is also my hope that the stories collected here can remain as somewhat of a historical record of the conditions of a few individuals in the Beijing of 2011. China (and our globe) is going through massive shifts very quickly, and the sociopolitical landscape displayed in these individuals’ lives may be quite different in a few years.

It has been an extraordinary opportunity to write about these workers over the past few months and it is an experience that will shape my worldview for the rest of my life. Before I wrap this post up, I just want to throw in a few acknowledgments:

This entire project would not have been possible without the help of my graduate research tutor/advisor, Ren Xiaoshuai (Helen). Helen was vital in finding interviewees and translating, as well as providing background research. If Peking University is supposed to have the best Chinese students, then Helen is proudly carrying that legacy!

Additionally, I want to thank all of the Pitzer College in China program staff for approving my crazy idea of a project, as a blog about migrant workers is far from standard ethnographic research.

My biggest thanks to my friends and family: from all of you on the Pitzer in China program with me, to those of you in Claremont and Washington, DC, your support helped me through every day of my experience.

Finally, I thank you, the reader, for taking the time to read these pieces. I know that time is valuable and the amount of information to consume is endless, so I will be forever grateful for you taking the time to read these works.

As I end this chapter of the project, a quotation comes to mind that my core course professor at Peking University, Lan Laoshi, would often cite during his seminar:

“Respect Complexity” – David Brinkley

 Interviewing migrant workers, and indeed, being in China, provoked more questions than provided answers. Instead of finding that frustrating, we might come to accept this inherent complexity and, in turn, relish it.

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Thanks again for reading! For my other blog, check out http://thericepapers.wordpress.com

As always, I appreciate any comments, questions, or feedback you have; feel free to post in the comments of any post or email me directly, jonathan_rice13@pitzer.edu

Barbershop: Small business success and the migrant worker

Mr. Z

When most people think of China and its often-controversial communist government, the last thing on their minds is small business. However, in reality, small family owned businesses play a central role in China’s cultural and economic life. These businesses come in all shapes and forms: restaurants, markets, and, of course, barbershops.

Pan Wei, an outspoken “pro-China” professor of political science at Peking University, remarked during a recent lecture that over 90% of the businesses in China are family owned. While it is debatable what constitutes a family business, the fact remains that in any city in China, there are many more shops that are owned by locals rather than large corporate conglomerates.

About a ten-minute walk from the iconic west gate of Peking University, one young man is continuing this tradition of family business and entrepreneurship. Mr. Z is a hairdresser originally from Zhangjiakou, a city in Hebei, the province that surrounds Beijing. He has been in Beijing for six years, since 2004.

After middle school, Mr. Z began hairdressing. He worked at this job and, after two years, saw that it could a be decent career opportunity. Since then, he has worked in five or so different shops around Beijing, Up until recently, he had spent the majority of his time at a shop at the south gate of Peking University.

Mr. Z learned haircutting through apprenticeship. In the beginning, he actually paid a shop to be an apprentice. For the first six months, he received no pay for the work he did. It could have been much longer than this period of time, but the owners saw his talent and began paying him sooner.

Z graduated high school at age 17, and, not attending college, his parents offered him financial support. He expressed great enthusiasm in his parents support, suggesting that the familial bond is strong. This support culminated in opening his own barbershop with a friend on National Day of this year. Mr. Z says it took seven years of conceptualization and planning to open his own shop.

His shop is tiny and tucked away, but customers seem to be quite enthusiastic about Z’s work. He says that much of this early success comes from repeat customers following him to the new shop. Naturally, this loyal following keeps him busy; the new shop is open from 9:30 am to almost 11:00 pm each day, with some nights not ending until 2 am. If a customer shows up near closing, Mr. Z and his three employees accommodate them. Z and his wife work so hard in the shop that they do not even have time to cook their own meals, resorting to many of the food stands and restaurants surrounding the shop.

The Shop

Even with the recent opening of the shop, his eyes are already on the future. He says that he cannot see a career change occurring until he is 30, and being 24, that is some years away. Z says that he will only change jobs if the money is good. His parents are “peasants” who farm in his home village, and he cannot yet provide for them. That said, if he had money he says he too would live a simple lifestyle.

Family pressure is also high. Being newly married in September, both sets of parents are hoping for grandchildren. These family expectations, combined with the stresses of opening the new shop, leave few moments for reflection and relaxation.

It seems that, at times, the entrepreneurial spirit in China is more focused than in America. Curiously, however, Mr. Z contrasts this with the better wages in the United States; “America is good because hairdressers get paid well,” he remarks. Even so, because of traditional values and high social mobility, young people seem more motivated to work and rise up in Chinese society.  For Mr. Z, his small haircutting business is a means to an end.

It is easy to assume that migrant workers who come to the city work low-paying jobs with little self-determination, but migrants like Mr. Z show that stereotyping China’s “floating population” as menial is shortsighted.

This group can make a large impact, not just in supporting the country’s growth, but in defining it.

Down in the Dump

Yours truly with “May”

Across from one of the supermarkets at Peking University, a brick warehouse houses a number of large trash dumpsters.  However, it also houses a family.

Inside the smelly building, a mother, father, young daughter and grandfather live their lives. They are not squatting in the trash facility; in fact, this is their home and stepping stone to a chance at a better life.

The “Lu” family, originally from Shangdong province on the eastern coast of China, moved to Beijing in 1996. Like many other migrant workers, they were also farmers. Due to only 7% of China’s land being arable, they found themselves without a consistent source of income.

Inside the trash facility, there are two small rooms beside the dumpsters. One is a kitchen, while the other is a small multi-purpose room used for eating, for the grandfather to sleep, and to watch TV. As the family crowds into the small room to discuss life in Beijing, the daughter tries out her English, better than one would expect for a young Chinese girl.

As farmers, the Lu’s knew that it was going to be difficult to stay in their profession. A neighbor soon introduced the idea of moving to Beijing, and the couple set off. After arriving, they began to work at Peking University. The couple started as gardeners on the campus and over time shifted to various positions. Today, the mother is a cleaning attendant in some of the dormitories, while the father is the head of the trash center.

Finding affordable housing in Beijing is very difficult, even more so when you are a migrant family with a young daughter. In a good turn of events, the rooms they now live in are provided as part of the compensation for work at the University. Although the rooms are small and, from the outside, few would assume that a family with child would inhabit such a place, they call it home.

The daughter of the family, “May,” was not born until after the migrant couple arrived in Beijing. This makes for an interesting comparison between the impressions that the parents have of Beijing in contrast with the child. May’s mother sees living in Beijing as a practical issue, as do many other migrants. “Staying at Beida is better for making money,” she says pragmatically. May, on the other hand, sees being in the capital city as a matter of pride, “Of course I like Beijing! I am Chinese!,” says the eighth grader.

Today, the family says, life is much easier than in 1996. In the early years, wages were very low, making only 1,100 RMB in one month, housing not included. Hours were also very intense; because May was not in school yet, it was a juggling act between work and child rearing. Now, the family makes approximately 1,500 RMB per month. Although this is still a low salary, it includes housing, taking away a big part of the stress that comes from trying to find a place to live in the city.

Life in Beijing for this migrant family is a balancing act. Now in eighth grade, May has high hopes for her future. She spends about nine hours each day at a public middle school, about six bus stops away from the campus. Previously, she was in a migrant primary school, but with her successful studies, she is now able to go to a public local school. She is visibly motivated as she continues to persevere with using English. She claims she wants to study hard, go to a good high school, and go to an even better college. With the parents getting older, they look towards her success as well.

Although the Peking University job has provided a good opportunity for the family to live and work in Beijing, this opportunity has its limits. At age 50, the policy is that the couple must leave their jobs on campus, losing both their housing and employment simultaneously. This is not retirement; they will receive no compensation, pension, or otherwise when this day comes. The mother speaks fondly of moving back to Shangdong to continue a farmer lifestyle, but whether this plan will work out, they do not know.

The Lu family may be in an actual dump, but this does not overshadow that moving to Beijing has given their family great chances for success. From the motivation and successful education of May, to having consistent work and housing, the gamble for the Lu’s paid off; Beijing has been a city off opportunity.

So while students who walk by the trash center may not be aware of May and her parents, inside is a friendly and compassionate family who work hard to both improve the Peking University campus and their own livelihoods. It just goes to show that even if you are down in the dump, quite literally, you can still have a positive outlook. And that’s something that all of us, including the migrant workers in China, could use.

Reflections from the field: Indifference

I spent much of my time in the past week writing a paper based on My Country and My People, a book about Chinese culture and society written by Lin Yutang 1935. The book has rather controversial views, both from its place as one of the first books about China that was written for a Western audience by a Chinese author and its age.

For our paper, we were expected to compare and contrast Lin’s views on a number of topics with our experiences in China during the past semester: what we “read, felt, saw” etc. Although I picked a few topics from the book to write about, one struck me most:

Indifference.

In his text, Lin basically argues that Chinese people are indifferent, especially towards politics, as a “survival-method.” This, considering China’s 5000 year history, makes some sense. Although it raises questions about the nature of universal human rights and multiculturalism, a passive view towards government is not the worst thing imaginable.

However, what is of concern is the way that indifference seems to have spread as a social value throughout Chinese society.

When I have spoken with many Chinese people about my independent study of migrant workers, they seem a little surprised. They have a look in their eyes which reads “Why, that’s interesting, I didn’t even think about them.”

This kind of indifference does not make the average Chinese citizen unaware, but I believe it reveals a systematic desensitization to the workers. Now, hailing from a very labor-aware campus where substantive interactions with staff come frequently, I am certainly biased. The complete lack of interaction with workers in China, nevertheless, is stunning. This is not to say that the Chinese people are rude, but it does say how society has compartmentalized the working class.  I would even argue that this effects the self-esteem of workers themselves. For example, when I offered a simple xie xie ne (thank you, in Mandarin) to a worker, the reaction I received was one of shock. I received a quick bu kechi (your welcome) back. This may be because a laowai (foreigner) spoke Mandarin to them, but after talking with students, I believe that the reaction came from an expectation of not being thanked for work. Their level of work is so low, that we do not thank them, nor do they even expect thanks, for their work.

This phenomenon is certainly not unique to China; indifference in the United States, especially to workers, is also an issue, but it is more unexpected here. Under Mao, the working class was considered glorious. Lin wrote of the social classes in China falling into a distinct order:

1. The Scholars

2. The Farmers

3. The Artisans

4. The Merchants

Today’s order is quite different, if not almost completely reversed. In modern China, the merchant class, which we can rename as “The Businesspeople,” are at the top of the heap. Farmers have been moved to the bottom spot. Is it a coincidence then that most of the migrant workers I have met started out as farmers?

A shift in the social classes combined with a new level of social indifference will have far-reaching implications for China’s future. As social mobility grows, traditional Chinese values are threatened by consumerism. Collectivism challenges individualism. Allegiance to the nation dwindles in favor of allegiance to the self.

I am not saying that all of these things are happening right now on a grand scale: that is too vast a generalization. But, there are questions about indifference arising each day. Most recently, Little Yue Yue, a Chinese girl, was run over by a truck and then left on the street while 18 people passed by, in almost a Kitty Genovese-like fashion. This and other events have prompted the Chinese government and people to ask:

Have we become too indifferent?

The treatment of migrant workers may be a good thermometer for that very question.