Articles in this document:

 

·          The road ahead for China

China's rural landscape has been transformed by road-building projects that have brought new wealth to remote villages

·          When capitalism and communism collide

23-year-old Cathy Huang tells Jason Burke why she sees no contradiction in being a communist and an investment banker

 

 

The road ahead for China

China's rural landscape has been transformed by road-building projects that have brought new wealth to remote villages

 

Jason Burke in Xin Cun

Guardian - UK

July 18, 2008

 

A road has finally come to Xin Cun, a hamlet perched on a sandy ridge beneath a blank grey sky in China's Shaanxi province. On one side of the village, the slope slips away to a wooded valley. On the other, the haphazard apple orchards stretch down to a river, swollen after recent sharp and heavy rains. In either direction the horizon is a mass of similar hills, valleys and apple trees.

 

But this is no rural idyll. The river leads to an oil refinery and a vast new chemical factory. It is the latter that has brought the road - and its trucks coughing exhaust fumes into the heavy, humid air 24 hours a day. They pass a few metres from the doors of the house of Dong Pang's parents-in-law.

 

Dong Pang, in his neat trousers and clean shirt, stands out among the farmers of the village. He is visiting his wife's former home and is quick to point out that he now lives in the city of Xi'an in an apartment and works as a paediatrician. He sits gingerly on the edge of the single bed in the one-roomed home, a vaulted single chamber with patchy electricity and sanitation which, built half into the hillside, is known as a "cavehouse".

 

"I like to come back and visit the simple people of the countryside," he says. His wife sits quietly on a thin plastic mat stretched over the surface of the brick and plaster platform that serves as a bed. An iron stove is built into it, a traditional way of combining cooking and heating. There is little else in the house – an old television, two carved wooden chairs and two large and garish posters. One is of a large and very chubby baby, the other of an array of plastic fruit and bottles of European brandy. Dong Pang's wife turns away and holds a small child to her breast. A small cat crosses the vegetable garden outside the house and stretches in the evening sun.

 

The villagers of Xin Cun are very happy with their new road, Dong Pang's in-laws say when they come back from the fields. Now they can take their apples to local markets rather than wait for the buyers to come to them. As a result they get three times as much for their produce – 60,000 yuan (£4,500) annually - and this year their entire crop is being bought up by the government. "Something to do with the Olympics," they add.

 

A hundred miles north and east of Xin Cun is another village, Zaho. Here, too, ranks of ridged hills stretch away to the horizon and the slopes of sandy soil are terraced into thin orchards curling along the contour lines. And here, too, a road is coming. The village lies at the end of a 100 mile stretch of bitumen currently being rammed through the gorges and the hills. With its dozens of bridges, its cuttings, its scores of bulldozers and hundreds of workers, the road would be a major national engineering feet almost anywhere in the world – except in China where it is the equivalent of a bypass extension in rural Wales.

 

Zaho used to be a tobacco village. "Conditions were very tough," says Wang Zhi Hong, the 44-year-old local village head. "We used donkey carts to bring the water up for irrigation." But tobacco earned just 500 yuan a month - £37 - so they also turned to apples. Zaho is still dirt poor – most villagers eat meat merely on festivals a dozen times a year - but much more money is coming in.

 

New water mains run to the village fields and, though Zaho's 280 inhabitants are too poor to pay the fee to have their homes connected, pipes now irrigate the fields. Those fields are an increasingly rare commodity. Desertification, reforestation schemes, urbanisation, road-building and a host of other factors has resulted in a shortage of farmland in China. From the 120m hectares that remain – seen as a crucial national security asset - somewhere between 500,000 and 1m hectares are lost each year.

 

As China gets richer food demands are changing. Many outside the country fear that the new appetites and the new wealth of 1.3 billion people, whether in Zaho or in Shanghai, will drive up global food prices. In fact, some economists argue, the situation is more complicated and the impact of emerging economies on the world's food prices is exaggerated.

 

Firstly, they say, studies have shown that it is not the amount of food that is changing but the type. The Chinese now want more higher-quality products, more processed food, more meat and more dairy products - but not simply more food. The country remains more or less, self-sufficient and is likely to be so for the next decade. So the apples produced in Zaho and Xin Cun go some way to off-setting a big deficit in oil seeds, for example. Even the new appetite for dairy products may well be satisfied by increased internal production.

 

Yet, for anyone used to travelling in India or Indonesia, it is not the absence of land but the absence of the crowds, of people or of livestock, in China that is striking. Wang Zhi Hong himself has had four children – a flagrant breach of the country's one-child policy that has resulted in a series of onerous fines – who have all left the village to work in local towns or faraway cities. What is needed, the economists say, is to increase the productivity of the 320 million people, 43% of the active population, who work the land. But no one is sure if the Chinese government want to sacrifice their self-sufficiency in low-yield grain to risk higher-value crops whose price is heavily determined by international commodity markets.

 

Behind the doors of their mud-and-brick homes, the people of Zaho refer obliquely to the problems so common in the countryside everywhere in the emerging world: corrupt or self-seeking officials, brutal police, avaricious relatives, poor schools and worse medical care. "I'm a member of the Communist party but that doesn't help much round here," said Wang ruefully. Some talk about the famines and random violence of the years of the 1966-76 Cultural Revolution or even the widespread starvation of the earlier Great Leap Forward. Those days were safer, surer, more equal, even if people were poorer, they say. Then they pause, reflect, and return to praising the new road and the price of apples.

 

As elsewhere in China, slogans are painted on walls. "Rule of law keeps the village well-run," the side of one Zaho farm reads. The road back to the nearest city is lined with more injunctions. "Oil and coal strengthens the country", "Openness is the driving force" and "Fruit and vegetables make us rich".

 

guardian.co.uk

 

When capitalism and communism collide

23-year-old Cathy Huang tells Jason Burke why she sees no contradiction in being a communist and an investment banker

 

Jason Burke in Beijing

Guardian - UK

July 17, 2008

 

Ask Cathy Huang if there is any contradiction between being a member of the Communist party of China and working for big Wall Street investment banks and she won't answer immediately. Not because she is formulating a clever response but because she is genuinely wondering about a question that has never occurred to her before.

 

Cathy is the new face – or at least one of the new faces – of the 73 million-strong Communist party, which she joined last year. Her name is actually Huang Zhaoying but, like many of the westernised elite, she uses an "English name" based loosely on the Chinese original.

 

But she hasn't always been a member of the elite. Cathy, 23, is from the southern Fujian province, where her mother works for a state-owned factory that produces air-conditioning units and her father is a policeman. Born nearly a decade after the death of Chairman Mao, Cathy grew up in the China transformed by late leader Deng Xiaoping's economic reforms. And her story reveals much about modern China.

 

Helped by private tutors, a decent school and natural talent, she came first out of 300,000 in Fujian's college entry exams, winning a place and a scholarship to the prestigious Beijing University. Now Cathy is in her second year of a course in international finance and business management in a new "experimental faculty". Tuition is in English by teachers with American educational backgrounds. She has recently completed an internship at Goldman Sachs, the American investment bank, and with Lehman Brothers, in London.

 

"My future is in corporate finance," she says, and she is probably not wrong.

 

Like many, Cathy joined the Communist party at university. The party is represented in every school and university – as it is in every factory, major business or association nationwide. Teachers or professors or commissars suggest to likely recruits that they might like to think about taking the tough entry exams.

 

Through this system, the party - founded in 1921 - aims to capture the best and the brightest, those with most initiative and executive capability. Its members are the pool from which the economic, military and political leaders of the country are drawn, so the advantage in making that reserve as deep as possible is clear. Party members are overwhelmingly urban and educated, largely from the upper-working or lower-middle classes - exactly the social strata that could pose the most threat if they were not given a strong stake in the current system.

 

Ideology has been relegated to second place. Instead, a sense of duty, excellence, cooperation and, above all, patriotism are stressed. So if you thought that there was an inherent contradiction between being a communist and working for American or British corporate finance houses, think again. Cathy certainly sees no tension. "I didn't study Marxism too much," she says. "And you don't have to apply historical dialectic materialism to daily life."

 

Being a member of the party, she explains, is not a political choice but is about "contributing to China" - about "standing up and being counted". So when the recent earthquake struck, Cathy contacted other party members working for her investment bank and started raising relief funds.

 

And it is also about being part of the elite – and about networking. "Joining the party is very popular," Cathy said. "If you got top marks then you definitely apply. So here all the top students are members … and a majority of the business school."

 

In the cafeteria of another Beijing university, four other students echo Cathy's words. All are between 21 and 23 and have recently joined the party. They come from similar backgrounds to Cathy, with parents who are government officers, teachers or middle managers in state-owned enterprises and often party members themselves. None of their parents has a degree, not least because they were of college age during the violent anti-intellectual fervour of the 1966-1976 Cultural Revolution.

 

Their views are similar to Cathy's, a mixture of the open, the ideological, the idealist, the dogmatic and the nationalist. Asked why they joined the party, they cite the influence of their parents, of the history of their "great leaders" taught at school, of how being a member helps get government jobs. They say that to be a member of the party is "an honour". "You cannot deny what the party has done for China," says Wang Yuqin. "Look at the difference in the management of the Sichuan Earthquake and of Hurricane Katrina."

 

And they agree with Cathy that there is no tension between working for a major American investment bank and being a Communist party member. "If a socialist country wants to develop, it needs finance too so banking should not be a symbol of capitalism," says Xue Yan-wen.

 

And the repression of the democracy movement in Tiananmen Square in 1989? Like Cathy – and so many Chinese when conversation comes close to politically dangerous terrain – they profess ignorance: "We were two years old. We do not know much about it. We have no opinion on that."

 

Mentioning Tibet provokes a slew of interesting comparisons overseas. "Why focus on Tibet," asks Tong Jingjing. "Why not Quebec, Northern Ireland, Texas, Chechnya or Kashmir?"

 

Of the five, Cathy, with her internships in the US, the UK, Hong Kong and elsewhere, is the best travelled. "The further I have been the more I have felt my Chinese identity," she says. "I have heard a lot of criticism of China, a lot of critical voices … but that has merely strengthened my sense of being Chinese."

 

guardian.co.uk