{"id":1684,"date":"2016-11-04T12:49:27","date_gmt":"2016-11-04T16:49:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/?p=1684"},"modified":"2017-04-05T07:56:08","modified_gmt":"2017-04-05T11:56:08","slug":"after-the-one-child-policy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/2016\/after-the-one-child-policy\/","title":{"rendered":"After the One-Child Policy"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Lihong

Lihong Shi joined the anthropology faculty as an assistant professor in 2013. Her first book, on family change in rural China, will be published by Stanford University Press. Photo by Mike Sands.<\/p><\/div>\n

As a teenager in China, anthropologist Lihong Shi<\/strong> was exposed to countless negative stereotypes about small-town life. The stories she heard painted rural areas as uneducated, backward, superstitious and prejudiced against women\u2014seemingly worlds away from her cosmopolitan home of Shenyang, a city of 8 million people in the nation\u2019s northeast.<\/p>\n

\u201cTraditional Chinese society is patrilineal and patriarchal,\u201d she says. \u201cSons have historically been a status symbol for a family\u2014their education and well-being come at the expense of daughters.\u201d<\/p>\n

Compared to their counterparts in urban areas, she notes, women and girls in the Chinese countryside have had limited opportunities for jobs and education. And the situation began to worsen in 1979, when the communist government, citing the need to control population growth, issued its controversial \u201cone-child policy,\u201d a law that forcibly restricted family size.<\/p>\n

The policy, which stayed in effect until 2015, had immediate and unintended consequences, says Shi, who studies reproductive politics and gender relations in China. In a nation that reveres large families and multiple sons, it sent an already male-focused culture into overdrive. When faced with the prospect of having a daughter as their only child, many families abandoned their female firstborns, or chose to abort pregnancies on the basis of sex alone.<\/p>\n

For Shi, the trend seemed inevitable: Since rural families preferred sons, daughters would always suffer. In 2002, however, while visiting a tiny rural hamlet called Lijia, she saw something that caught her off guard. Although the government had eased birth restrictions in the area\u2014allowing families with a daughter to try again for a son\u2014some couples were declining the offer.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was almost culture shock for me,\u201d Shi says. \u201cI started to see parents that had very close ties to their daughters. In some cases, they voluntarily chose to have just one girl, and poured everything they could into her education.\u201d<\/p>\n

The observations stopped her in her tracks. Why were these couples content with a daughter, especially when rural traditions had long valued sons? And why was this happening now<\/em>, decades after the one-child policy went into effect?<\/p>\n

As Shi would soon discover, the social norms of Lijia were undergoing a profound change\u2014one that had as much to do with economics as with culture. Work opportunities and cultural expectations had begun to shift, leaving families favoring fewer children, even if those children were female. Over the following decade, Shi returned to Lijia repeatedly to uncover the reasoning behind this cultural evolution, conducting hundreds of interviews with both villagers and local government officials.<\/p>\n

Immersive Fieldwork<\/h3>\n

Shi hadn\u2019t always envisioned doing this kind of intensive field research. As an undergraduate at China\u2019s Liaoning University, she had studied English literature with a focus on women\u2019s studies. At the time, no graduate programs in women\u2019s studies existed in China, so she came to the U.S. to earn her master\u2019s degree. When, in 2002, she returned to China and went to Lijia for the first time, she was planning to study gender relations for her thesis.<\/p>\n

It was then that Shi noticed that some village families were choosing to have only one daughter. \u201cI knew I was seeing something important,\u201d she says. Her discovery prompted her to switch disciplines and devote herself to anthropology, where she knew she\u2019d learn the skills needed to do immersive fieldwork. By 2004, she was back in Lijia.<\/p>\n

Even with all of her training, Shi says, living in a rural setting required some adjustments. Village homes had no indoor toilets, no running water and no heat other than fires fueled by cornstalks. But it wasn\u2019t only the material conditions in Lijia that Shi had to get used to.<\/p>\n

\u201cI basically had to\u00a0learn to live like a farmer,\u201d she explains. \u201cVillage life in China is very different from\u00a0life in urban areas. We may speak the same\u00a0dialect,\u00a0but their way of life is very different. To understand it, I just did whatever my host family did\u2014I would help them cook meals, eat with them, work in the fields with them or travel to visit with friends and relatives in other villages.\u201d<\/p>\n

Once she started conducting interviews, Shi\u2019s skills were tested on a daily basis. \u201cAt the beginning it was awkward!\u201d she says, laughing.\u00a0\u201cI didn\u2019t feel comfortable, or people didn\u2019t want to talk to me. Some of them thought I was an insurance sales\u00a0agent visiting each family.\u201d Fortunately, her grandfather, who was from the county seat, was able to ease her introduction to the community through his sister-in-law\u2019s brother, and over the next several months, she slowly started gaining the trust of Lijia\u2019s residents. \u201cMy relative would help me choose families he was close with. If I wanted\u00a0to interview an elderly person, he would take me to a family with an elderly person; if I wanted\u00a0to interview a younger\u00a0family, he would ask his granddaughter for suggestions, and we\u2019d branch out from there.\u201d<\/p>\n

During her longest stint in the village, Shi stayed with her host family for nearly 12 months, becoming close friends with many of the residents and gradually recording their stories. Yet even after her neighbors began opening up during their conversations with her, Shi says they still seemed somewhat bewildered by her pointed questions.<\/p>\n

\"After

After more than 30 years of the one-child policy in China, the fertility rate has declined, and the older population has increased significantly. Meanwhile, the working-age population is starting to decline. China Statistical Yearbook, National Bureau of Statistics of the People’s Republic of China.<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cA few of them said, \u2018Why study us? What is there to study?\u2019 I tried to explain that they were making certain choices, only having one daughter, and I wanted to\u00a0understand why. They didn\u2019t see anything important to study about their lives. A lot of the time, they were more curious about me\u00ad\u2014<\/em>they wanted to know about the foods I ate in the U.S., whether my friends in the States celebrated Chinese New Year or even just how American farmers operated.\u201d<\/p>\n

Still, Shi kept returning to her questions, and over time she acquired a fuller understanding of how the rural families\u2019 reproductive choices have been influenced not only by government policy, but also by economic and cultural forces in the new China. She will analyze the impact of these forces in detail in her upcoming book, Choosing Daughters: Family Change in Rural China<\/em>, which will be published by Stanford University Press.<\/p>\n

Consumer Culture<\/h3>\n

Ironically, in a nation that\u2019s officially communist, Shi found that money is proving to be a major factor in the social fabric of Lijia. Over the past few decades, as manufacturing and global trade have expanded in China, material goods have become more and more available, even to citizens with modest incomes. As a result, a sort of consumer culture is emerging in the village.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the past, having a son was almost a marker for a family\u2019s status,\u201d says Shi. \u201cWithout one, they were considered \u2018finished\u2019 in the community. Today, though, wealth has become a new marker for family status.\u201d<\/p>\n

This focus on wealth has slowly begun to change family dynamics, she adds. Instead of choosing to spread an already modest income among several children, many parents prefer to stop with one child\u2014even if it\u2019s a girl\u2014in order to devote more of their financial resources to her well-being. Ideally, Shi notes, the goal is to give their only child a comfortable lifestyle, complete with a cellphone, leisure time and an advanced education.<\/p>\n

\"These

These propaganda posters, photographed in the city of Giulin in 1984, encouraged compliance with the Chinese government\u2019s family planning policies. The daughter in the poster on the left is holding a one-child certificate\u2014a fact announced in the caption. Parents who signed such a document became eligible for certain benefits. In the poster on the right, the caption reads, “Respond Actively to the Call That Each Couple Should Have Only One Child.” Photo by Alice de Jong.<\/p><\/div>\n

Residents of Lijia are quite open about this sort of thinking, says Shi. As one villager told her, a couple with only one child could afford to buy a motorcycle, whereas a larger family would have to save money in order to support its children. In this way, China\u2019s growing market economy seems to be having a profound impact on reproductive choice.<\/p>\n

Shi also found that the new emphasis on obtaining material comforts for one\u2019s family does not end when the children become adults. As more \u201cstuff\u201d becomes the norm, social obligations like weddings grow in their scale and cost.<\/p>\n

Parents are expected to provide lavish celebrations and gifts for a son\u2019s marriage, arranging huge receptions and banquets, and in some cases even building a house for the newlyweds. Over the past 30 years, however, these expenditures have become increasingly extravagant. \u201cWhen I gave birth to my son, 10,000 yuan [$1,500] was absolutely enough for a son\u2019s wedding,\u201d a Lijia resident told her. \u201cNow it is so much more, and who knows how much more it will be when my son is ready to marry.\u201d<\/p>\n

By 2006, Shi says, the average price for a wedding had grown to more than 100,000 yuan [$15,000]. \u201cThat\u2019s an astronomical sum for most of the families in Lijia, but there\u2019s a lot of social pressure to pay for wedding expenses,\u201d she explains. \u201cThat has trapped many families in severe debt.\u201d<\/p>\n

Financial pressure may be one reason Lijia\u2019s residents are less inclined to value sons exclusively. But the uptick in wedding expenses is just one of many factors driving a change in village culture. Equally important, Shi notes, is a shift in the social contract between sons and parents.<\/p>\n

It is customary for a son in rural China to take care of his parents in their old age, providing financial and other support. This ethic of filial piety, however, seems to be undergoing a significant transformation. In a communist society, collective farming\u2014a communal effort to bring in a crop\u2014has replaced traditional family-based farming, which was controlled by an elderly patriarch. Meanwhile, Shi says, an emerging market economy, largely powered by manufacturing, has given young villagers a new opportunity to earn a living on their own. As a result, Shi says, parental power has declined and intergenerational relations have been renegotiated.<\/p>\n

\u201cA son\u2019s filial support can no longer be taken for granted,\u201d she explains. \u201cParents often say that \u2018If sons aren\u2019t filial, it is no use having a son.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Instead of assuming they can rely on a son, an increasing number of couples have started finding alternative ways to prepare for their old age. They take out insurance policies, make investments and cultivate close ties with daughters, Shi notes.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe majority of couples I interviewed believed that daughters exceeded sons in expressing intimate care, showing respect and providing financial and physical support to parents,\u201d she reports. \u201cThere\u2019s a saying in the region that \u2018A daughter is like a little quilted vest to warm her parents\u2019 hearts.\u2019 Just as a vest offers warmth in a cold winter, a daughter shares an intimate bonding with her parents.\u201d<\/p>\n

Shi is quick to note that although her observations in Lijia are striking, they aren\u2019t necessarily applicable to the entire country. Chinese society remains extremely diverse. In some areas, a strong preference for sons is alive and well, but in others, local cultures are clearly shifting away from patriarchal traditions. Shi has sought to illuminate this trend by documenting the experiences of individual families.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to create a nuanced view of the impact that a market economy has on reproductive choice,\u201d Shi says. \u201cIt\u2019s a huge privilege to know these families and share in their stories. Now, I have the responsibility to tell others what their lives are like.”<\/p>\n

David\u00a0Levin\u00a0is a freelance science and technology reporter based in Boston.<\/em><\/p>\n

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\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

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As a teenager in China, anthropologist Lihong Shi<\/strong> was exposed to countless negative stereotypes about small-town life. The stories she heard painted rural areas as uneducated, backward, superstitious and prejudiced against women\u2014seemingly worlds away from her cosmopolitan home of Shenyang, a city of 8 million people in the nation\u2019s northeast. …Read more.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":97,"featured_media":1805,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":""},"categories":[43],"tags":[],"acf":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/artscimedia.case.edu\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/147\/2016\/11\/06101640\/Lihong-Shi_thumbnail.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1684"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/97"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1684"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1684\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1963,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1684\/revisions\/1963"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1805"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1684"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1684"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsci.case.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1684"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}