One-child rule may be eased in China

Government policy no longer necessary, experts suggest

DAFENG, China - When asked why she and her husband don't want a second child, Shi Xiaomei smiles at her pudgy 9-year-old son and does a quick tally of the family budget.

Her salary as a cleaning lady and the income from a mahjong parlor in their spare room barely cover their son's school fees and other expenses.

"With just one, we can give him nicer things. But if you tried to split what we have between two or three, they would all end up with nothing," the 34-year-old says at her home in Dafeng, a prosperous but still-rural county 185 miles (300 kilometers) north of Shanghai.

For years, China curbed its once-explosive population growth with a widely hated one-child limit that at its peak led to forced abortions, sterilizations and even infanticide. Now the long-sacrosanct policy may be on its way out, as some demographers warn that China is facing the opposite problem: not enough babies.

A stroll down the dirt path linking Shi's close-knit neighborhood suggests why.

Though a little-known exception allows a second child when both parents are single children themselves, there are few takers.

"Why would we want another one? That's just looking for trouble," said Huang Xiaochen, 28, mother of a one-year-old son.

"Kids are running in and out of here all the time," her husband Zhu Yingzhun said, pointing to his front door which, like many here, is often left open. "He doesn't need a sibling to have someone to play with."

Officially, the government remains committed to the one-child policy. But it also commissioned feasibility studies last year on what would happen if it eliminated the policy or did nothing. An official with the National Population and Family Planning Commission said privately that the agency is looking at ways to refine the limit — though not get rid of it.

A people shortage may seem unlikely in a country of 1.3 billion, the most in the world. The concern, though, is not with the overall number. Rather, as the population shrinks, which is projected to begin in about 15 years, China may find itself with the wrong mix of people: too few young workers to support an aging population.

It's a combination that could slow or, in a worst-case scenario, even reverse China's surging economic growth. The government and families will have to tap savings to care for the elderly, reducing funds for investment and driving up interest rates. At the same time, labor costs will likely rise as the work force shrinks, squeezing out some industries.

In a survey of 18,638 women in Dafeng and six other counties in Jiangsu province, 69 percent of those eligible to have a second child said they would stop at one, with economics being the major factor. The Chinese Academy of Social Sciences survey did not calculate a margin of error.

"Government control is no longer necessary to maintain low fertility," Zheng Zhenzhen, who headed the study, wrote in the November issue of Asian Population Studies magazine. "A carefully planned relaxation of the birth-control policy in China is unlikely to lead to an unwanted baby boom."

Family size has dropped dramatically since the 1970s, when the average Chinese woman had five to six children. Today, China's fertility rate is 1.5 children per woman. Most families have just one, but exceptions allow multiple children for ethnic minorities and a second one for rural families whose first baby is a girl.

Surplus of malesIf that fertility rate holds, China's population will peak at 1.4 billion in 2026 and then start shrinking, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. By the end of this century, China's population would be cut almost in half to 750 million, according to a model developed by Wang Feng, a demographer at the University of California, Irvine. That would still be two and a half times bigger than the U.S. today.

Wang says the government's focus on slowing population growth has dangerous side effects.

In just 10 years, the age 20-24 population is expected to be half of today's 124 million, a shift that could hurt China's economic competitiveness by driving up wages. Over the same period, the proportion of the population over 60 is expected to climb from 12 percent — or 167 million people — to 17 percent.

"We feel like we're seismologists, you know," said Wang, who has helped lead a data-driven campaign to persuade the government to drop the one-child policy. "This earthquake is happening and most people don't see it. We feel we have the knowledge to detect this and we should tell the public."

Another concern is a surplus of males. Sonograms became more widely available in the 1990s, and some parents who wanted a son aborted their baby if they learned it was a girl.

Though the practice is illegal, statistics make clear that it is widespread. The male-female ratio at birth was 119 males to 100 females in 2009, compared with a global average of 107 to 100.

Experts fear that, in the years to come, the gender imbalance will create a frustrated generation of men unable to find spouses. That in turn could fuel the trafficking of women and girls to be sold as brides.

Still, not all experts agree the one-child rule should be dropped.

‘It's been a tragedy’
Li Xiaoping, a researcher at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, welcomes the coming population decline, saying it will ease food and water shortages and limit pollution. Writing in the state-run China Daily newspaper, Li said the government should stand firm on the one-child limit while finding ways to boost the earning power of a smaller work force.

A change would mark a turnaround from a 30-year-old policy that dates from an era when the Communist Party controlled every aspect of peoples' lives: where they lived and worked, who and when they married, and how many children they could have.

The government credits the rule with raising millions out of poverty by preventing 400 million additional births. But the gains have come at a cost. Families who violated the one-child rule were fined. Some lost their jobs or homes.

Others underwent forced abortions or sterilizations — the subject of well-known author Mo Yan's latest book, "Frog," the tale of a rural midwife who struggles with an emotional breakdown after a 30-year career performing such brutal procedures.

"Yes, our slowed population growth delivered economic prosperity, but needless to say, we've paid a great price," said Mo, whose book was inspired by his aunt, a country doctor. "No matter how you look at it, it's been a tragedy."

 

China's children turn to golf in a bid to get ahead

As China's population continues to soar, wealthy parents who want their children to stand out from the crowd are having to make a special effort. Some, finds Michelle Tsai, are turning to sports that not long ago would have been seen as elitist.

Take-up of golf in China soared in line with the country's economic growth

This looked nothing like the Beijing I knew.

I was just west of Third Ring Road, one of the capital's gridlocked highways, but I could no longer hear the honking cars, rumbling buses, or the rut-tut-tut of the motorised rickshaws.

In fact, I could not even see the massive buildings that dominate this section of the city.

In front of me was one huge expanse of manicured green grass, an anomaly in this megalopolis of concrete.

The only sounds? The thwacks of golf balls being struck.

I was at a golf course in downtown Beijing, and striding toward me was Eddie Shi, who had arrived to fine-tune his long game.

He was flanked by his regular entourage: his father, his translator and his caddy, all of whom towered over him. Because Eddie is eight years old.

Competitive edge

With their wallets fattened by decades of unprecedented economic growth, wealthy Chinese parents have been trying to find new ways to give a competitive edge to their little ones.

One of the latest trends is enrolling children in sports more often associated with well-heeled Westerners, than China's new middle-classes.

Every week Eddie and his father, Shi Jian, make the three-hour drive from the nearby city of Tianjin.

They come to this course for the experienced coaching, Shi Jian, a manager at a Swiss pharmaceutical company, told me.

Here the coaches are foreign, which means Eddie can improve his English while he tinkers with his swing.

"Why would a Chinese eight-year-old like golf?" I asked.

"It's a gentleman's sport," Eddie told me, sounding more like one of those bow-tie-wearing, flannel-suited commentators from decades past.

Then he skipped off to fetch a golf ball printed with the Japanese robot cat Doraemon.

His father had these specially made as a reward, after Eddie hit a hole-in-one a few months ago.

On this Saturday, Eddie's lesson started with practice chips at the driving range.

"Aim for the marker," said his coach, a tall Australian.

I suspected that this was all too easy for Eddie, who has played golf since he was four and heads to a driving range most evenings after finishing his homework.

The previous week he hit a ball 190m with a driver.

Upward mobility

When Shi Jian was growing up, he played football with the kids in his neighbourhood.

Now, he says, there are fewer kids - the result of China's one child policy.

It's hard to get two teams together.

Eddie happens to play golf, but in today's China, cultivating your son or daughter is the true national sport.

Parents hope their daughters' musical skills will help them find a husband

The eight-year-old also takes private lessons for jazz percussion, maths and English, but his parents expect golf to make the biggest difference in his life, and help dispel the stereotype that Chinese people don't know how to have fun.

"China's future is an international one," said Shi Jian.

"If Eddie goes to the US in the future, he'll have more to talk about with his friends there."

Upward mobility doesn't come cheap though.

At this particular school, SGA Golf Academy, a 10-hour package of one-on-one sessions costs 10,000 yuan - two-thirds the average annual salary of an urban worker.

When the lesson ended, I asked Eddie what the hardest thing was about golf. He answered like a pro.

"The bunker," he said. Then he ran off to play video games, free for a little while.

For the first time that afternoon Eddie seemed like a regular kid, someone who gets silly and jokes around.

And although he appeared content during his lesson I couldn't help but wonder if Eddie wouldn't rather be less serious about the sport.

In another district, Shunyi, plots of farmland mix with international schools and gated communities. On weekends, children come here for the Equuleus International Riding Club.

The entrance sits across the road from farm stands selling fruit and vegetables, but inside it feels more like the grounds of a boarding school.

On a recent morning, I watched young equestrians on horseback in the indoor arena. Proud parents looked on from the side.

One student, a beginner, didn't appear to be doing anything. Then I realised he was so young that his lesson involved just sitting astride the horse.

Brutal cycle

I met a 12-year-old who was about to head home after her trotting lesson. This girl was the picture of a genteel sportswoman: a riding crop in one hand, her long hair tucked under her riding hat, and cheeks pink from the chilly air.

Her proud mother, government worker Su Lin, rattled off a list of her daughter's accomplishments.

She has mastered all four swimming strokes, has excellent posture, practices tai chi, and has studied books of etiquette and ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arrangement.

These skills will help her get ahead, and maybe even secure a successful husband one day.

Su Lin acknowledged that everyone is caught in a brutal cycle here.

"There are too many people in China. There's little living space and everybody wants to move up. So everyone works harder, which just makes the competition worse," she said.

"What kind of activities did Su Lin do as a teenager?" I asked.

"None," replied the state worker. "I only studied."

Ancient map with China at centre goes on show in US

A historic map of the world, with China at its centre, has gone on display at the Library of Congress in Washington.

The map was created by Italian missionary Matteo Ricci in 1602. It is one of only two copies in existence in good condition.

Because of its rarity and fragility - the map is printed on rice paper - the map has become known as the "Impossible Black Tulip of Cartography".

This is the first time it has been on public show in north America.

Ricci created the map at the request of Emperor Wanli who wanted it to help scholars and explorers.

'Revered by Chinese'

The map was purchased by the James Ford Bell Trust in October for $1m (£0.62m), making it the second-most expensive rare map ever sold.

It denotes different parts of the world with annotations and pictures.

The map had China at the centre of the world to underline its importance

In the Americas, for example, several places are named including Chih-Li (Chile), Wa-ti-ma-la (Guatemala) and Ka-na-ta (Canada), and Florida is described as "the Land of the Flowers".

Ford W Bell, a trustee for the James Ford Bell Trust, told the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review newspaper, that the map was "one of the two best in terms of quality, as far as we know".

"Ricci was a very smart missionary. He put China right at the centre of this new universe, this new globe, to underscore its importance," he said.

"Ricci, of course, was the first Westerner to enter Beijing. He was revered by the Chinese, and he was buried there."

The first secretary for cultural affairs at the Chinese embassy in the US, Ti Ban Zhang, said in a statement that the map represents "the momentous first meeting of East and West".