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Wednesday, 19 November 2008
Pursuit of money has pushed aside Maoist principles
“Many Chinese now judge an individual’s success and contribution to society by their personal fortune, and everyone dreams of becoming rich overnight,” she said.
Pursuit of money has pushed aside Maoist principles
Fiona Tam 19 November 2008
Shekou , China’s testing ground for economic reform, gave early settler Fang Xiao a pleasant surprise when she first arrived in 1985. The then 27-year-old saleswoman at the industrial zone’s first state-owned department store received 270 yuan (HK$307) for her first month’s work - six times her earnings as a junior laboratory technician in her hometown in rural Guangdong.
Her pay packet was half the mayor of Shenzhen’s monthly wage of 490 yuan and higher even than that of a deputy minister in Beijing.
Seven years later, the high-school graduate struck it rich again by buying and selling initial public offering (IPO) shares from the newly established Shenzhen stock exchange. In her most profitable deals she made more than 50 yuan a share, 10 times the original value.
But economic modernisation didn’t always mean easy money. Ms Fang was laid off in the late 1990s when many companies in the industrial park were reshuffled during Shekou’s downturn.
And her marriage ended in divorce after her husband, made rich by the stock market, took a young mistress.
Ms Fang moved to Shekou for a promising future. Now 50, she says the historic reform changed her life values and erased Maoist principles from the second half of her life.
“We have been overwhelmed by numerous unexpected freedoms and opportunities since the economic reform launched in Shekou,” she said. “But many have also lost their inner peace and traditional values amid dazzling fortunes.”
She said Chinese people had become frenzied for money since bonuses and incentive payments were introduced to Shekou in 1979.
“And you never forget seeing the whole town turn out to queue for an IPO in front of the Shenzhen stock exchange for four days and four nights. More than a million people ate and slept on the street for a better position, fearful of losing any chance to get rich.”
A bottle of water would sell for 15 yuan in the queues with a small bun for 5 yuan, at a time when a worker’s average monthly income was 495 yuan.
Scalpers sold train tickets from Guangzhou to Shenzhen for 500 yuan, as many migrant workers returned to their hometown to rent ID cards from villagers to increase their chances of buying shares.
“Many Chinese now judge an individual’s success and contribution to society by their personal fortune, and everyone dreams of becoming rich overnight,” she said.
Ms Fang said traditional Confucian values had gradually vanished from the public over the past 30 years.
“In 1985, we didn’t dare watch Hong Kong TV programmes after arriving in Shekou. People were afraid this might be a political mistake or harm our socialist society. Now there’re very few things you can’t trade for money.”
In Shekou, red-light districts exist with a tacit police understanding, and some undergraduate students facing a poor financial situation consider becoming a mistress as a way to make ends meet.
Ms Fang said a great number of her schoolmates and neighbours suffered setbacks in their marriages due to growing temptations.
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Pursuit of money has pushed aside Maoist principles
Fiona Tam
19 November 2008
Shekou , China’s testing ground for economic reform, gave early settler Fang Xiao a pleasant surprise when she first arrived in 1985. The then 27-year-old saleswoman at the industrial zone’s first state-owned department store received 270 yuan (HK$307) for her first month’s work - six times her earnings as a junior laboratory technician in her hometown in rural Guangdong.
Her pay packet was half the mayor of Shenzhen’s monthly wage of 490 yuan and higher even than that of a deputy minister in Beijing.
Seven years later, the high-school graduate struck it rich again by buying and selling initial public offering (IPO) shares from the newly established Shenzhen stock exchange. In her most profitable deals she made more than 50 yuan a share, 10 times the original value.
But economic modernisation didn’t always mean easy money. Ms Fang was laid off in the late 1990s when many companies in the industrial park were reshuffled during Shekou’s downturn.
And her marriage ended in divorce after her husband, made rich by the stock market, took a young mistress.
Ms Fang moved to Shekou for a promising future. Now 50, she says the historic reform changed her life values and erased Maoist principles from the second half of her life.
“We have been overwhelmed by numerous unexpected freedoms and opportunities since the economic reform launched in Shekou,” she said. “But many have also lost their inner peace and traditional values amid dazzling fortunes.”
She said Chinese people had become frenzied for money since bonuses and incentive payments were introduced to Shekou in 1979.
“And you never forget seeing the whole town turn out to queue for an IPO in front of the Shenzhen stock exchange for four days and four nights. More than a million people ate and slept on the street for a better position, fearful of losing any chance to get rich.”
A bottle of water would sell for 15 yuan in the queues with a small bun for 5 yuan, at a time when a worker’s average monthly income was 495 yuan.
Scalpers sold train tickets from Guangzhou to Shenzhen for 500 yuan, as many migrant workers returned to their hometown to rent ID cards from villagers to increase their chances of buying shares.
“Many Chinese now judge an individual’s success and contribution to society by their personal fortune, and everyone dreams of becoming rich overnight,” she said.
Ms Fang said traditional Confucian values had gradually vanished from the public over the past 30 years.
“In 1985, we didn’t dare watch Hong Kong TV programmes after arriving in Shekou. People were afraid this might be a political mistake or harm our socialist society. Now there’re very few things you can’t trade for money.”
In Shekou, red-light districts exist with a tacit police understanding, and some undergraduate students facing a poor financial situation consider becoming a mistress as a way to make ends meet.
Ms Fang said a great number of her schoolmates and neighbours suffered setbacks in their marriages due to growing temptations.
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