Education
Open Educational Spaces. Rethinking the Classroom
10 December 2024
China faces a stark gender imbalance – a legacy of its one-child policy that has skewed the nation’s demographics. In response to this crisis, Beijing is orchestrating a curious rebranding effort. Rather than encouraging young women – now in short supply – to marry, it shames them with the label ‘shèngnǚ’ (leftover women). Chinese feminists, however, are definitely reclaiming the term.
In 1979, alarmed by the specter of overpopulation, the Chinese government implemented the infamous one-child policy. With few exceptions for rural families and ethnic minorities, couples were restricted to a single offspring. This policy led to the dehumanization of women on an unprecedented scale – forced contraception, abortions, and sterilizations became commonplace. When the sole child was a girl (traditionally less desirable than a boy who would carry on the family line), infanticide, abandonment, or trafficking often followed. Through abortions and killings, China lost an estimated 30 million female citizens.
The policy was gradually relaxed: in 2015, all married couples were allowed two children; by May 2021, three; and just two months later, all restrictions were lifted. However, decades of the one-child rule have left China grappling with low fertility rates, an aging population, and a severely distorted sex ratio. Today, rather than discouraging procreation, the government is desperately trying to boost birth rates. But generations of only children, raised in a world without siblings, show little interest in rebuilding the nation’s population.
As Roseann Lake notes in her book Leftover in China: The Women Shaping the World’s Next Superpower, the gender disparity was particularly pronounced in rural areas during the policy’s enforcement. There, having a male heir was crucial – not only for farm labor but also to “bring home” a wife who would care for his aging parents. An old Chinese proverb captures this sentiment: it is more profitable to raise geese than daughters. Since newlyweds traditionally live with the husband’s family, raising a daughter is akin to “tilling someone else’s field.”
More girls were born in large urban centers, where parents held more progressive views. As only children, these daughters were raised with privileges historically reserved for boys. Families invested heavily in their education, sending them to extra classes and even abroad. Christy Yang, interviewed by Lake, admits that despite its many evils, “China’s one-child policy had an unexpected outcome. It forced parents to value their daughters.”
Despite China’s surplus of at least 30 million adult men, most eligible bachelors inhabit a world utterly foreign to urban Chinese women. The nation’s matrimonial market is bifurcated into two parallel realities: the countryside, where young men fruitlessly seek brides capable of rural life and farm work, and the metropolises, where women vie for the few men meeting their exacting standards.
Lake observes that in the West, most women now marry men with less education than themselves. This trend bypasses China. Young Chinese women – financially independent, well-educated, and rich in life and work experience – refuse to “marry down.” Accustomed to being the apple of their parents’ eye, they expect similar treatment from a husband. Financially self-sufficient, many prefer to wait indefinitely for an ideal partner, risking spinsterhood rather than compromising. Bachelors wait in the countryside, but women are loath to relinquish urban lifestyles.
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In rural areas, entire families pool resources to buy a young man a house (three stories necessarily, even if the top floor remains empty and unfurnished) to enhance his marital prospects. If necessary, they will chip in for a bride too. Farmers who have squirreled away $10,000–$20,000 can import a wife from Myanmar, Pakistan, Vietnam, or Indonesia. It is a simple matter of finding a broker and paying the bride’s father. Women arrive on visas that prohibit employment and require annual renewal, leaving them entirely dependent on their Chinese husbands.
Such marriages of convenience carry significant risks of abuse. Women are often treated more as unpaid domestic help and breeding machines than as life partners. Many flee, despite the legal complications. Moreover, desperate and penniless men may resort to kidnapping urban women and spiriting them to the countryside. It is also an open secret that most North Korean defectors are women sold into Chinese marriages. Uyghur women, too, are forced into unions with Chinese men, often as an alternative to labor camp internment.
In every major Chinese city, one can find parks that transform on weekends into bustling matrimonial marketplaces. Middle-aged parents, on a mission of filial importance, circulate with an air of urgency. They come armed with posters or photo albums showcasing their adult offspring’s credentials: education, profession, personality, and – crucially – age. For women, academic achievements, career success, or worldly experiences pale in comparison to the paramount virtues of beauty and youth. The magic number? No older than 26.
Chinese feminists, however, scoff at the notion that their “sell-by date” expires at 27. They proudly embrace the shèngnǚ label. Beyond financial independence and marital freedom, Chinese feminism tackles issues of sexual harassment, domestic violence, and workplace inequality. In Betraying Big Brother: The Feminist Awakening in China, Leta Hong Fincher details the persecution of activists and the state’s censorship of feminist movements – from deleting #metoo posts to shuttering feminist social media groups. Rather than supporting women’s emancipation, the government orchestrates campaigns to nudge these “leftover women” towards motherhood for national glory. Hong Fincher marvels that, despite the oppressive state apparatus, feminism in China persists – a minor miracle.
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Despite their scarcity, young women in China find themselves at a disadvantage in the marriage market. To appeal to men, they are expected to shrink themselves – becoming quieter and more domesticated, like huā píng (flower vases), or plain yogurt, waiting for a man to add his preferred toppings. Men expect to be the “dominant” partner, maintaining decision-making authority in relationships. Roseann Lake argues that, beyond patriarchy, Confucian values shape Chinese marital dynamics. The closest familial bonds are between father and son, and between brothers. “Any man who deviated from the norm and appeared openly affectionate with his wife was seen as someone of weak character,” Lake writes.
Decades of the one-child policy not only created a massive gender imbalance but also produced three generations for whom being an only child is the norm – a new cultural paradigm. Unfortunately, fertility rates cannot be decreed, and government campaigns attempting to portray women as incomplete without a man by their side are falling flat. China’s only daughters have discovered their feminine power and will not be easily corralled back to the kitchen. Is China on the brink of a new cultural revolution?
Translation: Klaudia Tarasiewicz
Polish version: Nie chcieli mieć córek, dzisiaj są bezcenne. Co się dzieje w państwie środka?
Truth & Goodness
05 December 2024
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