Berkley Center

When someone asks me where I’m from, I say Massachusetts. Though I have national pride, my home state is primary in framing my identity. In my interactions with Chinese people, I’ve noticed that they often distinguish themselves in the same way. When asked where they’re from, Chinese people generally respond with the name of a province: Hebei, Guizhou, Sichuan, etc. According to one of my professors here at East China Normal University, Chinese regionalism is a relatively new phenomenon.

After the People’s Republic of China was established in 1949, the Communist Party of China decided to establish the Household Registration System (hukou), which barred rural residents from moving to urban areas. The party intended this system to foster economic development, but it has since had other unintended consequences. Because of the restrictions it has placed on residency and occupation based on where one is born, it essentially created a caste system.

After China’s economic reforms in 1979, many peasants left their rural home provinces in search of more lucrative work in cities. Once in urban areas, these people were unable to establish new permanent lives. Under hukou, they were not eligible for city citizenship and therefore lived as illegal immigrants within their own country.

Today, migrants continue to flock to Chinese cities in search of work. The extent of China’s migrant phenomenon is most evident during Chun Jie, the Spring Festival, or New Year’s holiday, when nearly all migrants journey back to their home provinces to celebrate with family members. Millions of Chinese take to trains, planes, and boats in the largest annual human migration in the world.

Though migrants often find better opportunities for work in China’s cities, their children suffer due to a lack of access to education. Since migrants don’t have residency, their children are frequently cast aside by the school system. Many migrant communities throughout China have addressed this problem by forming their own ad hoc schools, but these are generally understaffed, overcrowded, and disorganized. In a country where students’ future success is determined by highly competitive examinations, these poor educational conditions place migrant children at a severe disadvantage.

Recently, some cities in China have begun to absorb the responsibility of educating migrant children. Shanghai has been a model in promoting the education of these children, who enjoy greater opportunities here than in other cities such as Beijing. While migrant students are often educated separately from local children, they have enjoyed better facilities, supplies, and instruction than in previous years.

While studying in Shanghai, I have begun volunteering once a week at a school for migrant children by teaching English to a class of about 50 fourth-graders. I work in tandem with two other American students, and together we craft lesson plans that revolve around subjects such as fruit and sports. We engage the students by playing games like hangman and telephone, and get them to say simple sentences such as “I like basketball. Do you like basketball?” Though my conversations with the students have not been incredibly profound, my experience at the migrant school has given me a lens through which to view China’s migrant phenomenon.

Given my previous knowledge of the subject, I was surprised by the school’s fine condition. The building appeared newly constructed and was well kept. All the students had their own supplies: books, bags, pens, and pencils. The classrooms were also well stocked with equipment. The teachers seemed dedicated, organized, and earnest. The children were just like any other forth graders: excitable, eager, and sometimes a bit naughty.

But as I began to teach, I noticed a huge gap in the language skills of the students; some children were excellent at English while others struggled tremendously. This was not a reflection of the students’ ability, but rather a product of their families’ transient lifestyles. All of the students entered the school at different times and with varying levels of English experience. Those who entered a step or many steps behind had little hope of catching up in large classrooms where there was little time for one-on-one attention.

Despite my concerns about certain students’ progress, I see hope in Shanghai’s education system. Although initially treated like second-class citizens, migrant children have gradually gained the rights of other children. I can only hope that this push for migrant equality in China will continue despite the growing social tension caused by regionalism.