Raised by grandparents in a mountain village and educated in a sheltered environment, Zhong Fangrong's choice to major in archeology has stirred social media debate.
The front gate of Zhengyuan School in Hunan. Photo by GAO Jia.
By GAO Jia, XIAO Qi
Edited By LIU Haichuan
A few weeks ago, ZHONG Fangrong took the gaokao (national college entrance exam). She did well and chose archeology as her future major.
This simple story quickly shot to the top of the trending list on Weibo, a social media platform, gaining 420 million clicks overnight.
Zhong had scored 676, the fourth-best score among the two hundred thousand liberal-arts test-takers in the province. Her score was high enough to get her into any course of her choosing. What stirred debate on social media was her choice to study archeology at Peking University and her family background.
Chinese parents, and perhaps to a lesser extent, Chinese students, are almost obsessed with gaokao and rather ingenuously believe that the test score has a determining effect on the students' futures.
If it were any other kid, the choice would be unorthodox enough to engage a small crowd of curious onlookers. But Zhong is a “left-behind” child. When she was only a toddler, her parents joined the millions of migrant workers who find their livelihoods in urban factories, leaving her in the care of her grandparents in an impoverished mountain village. The odds for academic success and an ensuing “prosperous life” for left-behind children are usually grim.
The Heroine
The online opinion was divided. Some comments were pragmatic, and others were cynical. “She should have chosen a major with more lucrative prospects and lift her family out of poverty.” “Kids from poor families should be careful not to dream. When harsh realities clash with her ideals, she will be crushed!” Among her few supporters was FAN Jinshi, a renowned archeologist and honorary dean of Peking University’s Archeology Department. She cheered Zhong’s courage to pursue knowledge and truth.
Zhong, ponytailed and bespectacled, has remained largely unflustered at the center of the swirling events. When she learned of her score, she didn’t even rush to tell her parents, only texting her best friend that “my score is better than yours.”
When a group of teachers, fearing that she might be lonely with both her parents away on her big day, went to her spartan home to congratulate her, she looked unsmiling, reserved to the point of being uncaring. “It’s just her personality,” one of her teachers said. “She is not easily swayed by other people’s opinions, or what happens around her.”
“She told me long ago that she wants to study archeology since it doesn’t involve dealing with people," said MAO Miao, her good friend, who described her as blunt, and "not very socially versatile”.
Those close to Zhong are not surprised either. She has always kept a sixteenth-century travelogue called “The Night Ferry” on her desk. “The whole world opens up for me when I read history,” she would say.
For many involved in the online discussion of Zhong's choices, her decision is not as simple as a passion for culture and history. It’s about an aspiring young generation torn between academic pursuits and economic reality. It's about primeval prejudices that continue to shape individuals and society.
Several thousand students, many left-behind, study in Zhengyuan School in Hunan province, where gaokao prep is taken up with military rigor from the seventh grade. Boarding students live a cloistered life, not unlike that of an army camp.
Zhong likes watching and editing animations, and some of her friends are into lighthearted novels. On school days, however, the only entertainment allowed is TV news and magazines that focus on current affairs and international business. Teachers believe these will help with the exams. Home visits and other “benign entertainment” are for the weekends.
“It’s very quiet," one student said of life in Zhengyang. Quiet, that is, except for the night before gaokao when the entire school came out to cheer for the test takers. Many were so disoriented by the cheering and nervous about the exam that they only got a fitful night's sleep, even after taking vitamin pills disguised as anxiety medication dispensed by their teachers. Teachers at Zhengyang also serve as these teenagers’ caretakers and have their complete trust.
In the last academic year before gaokao, after rounds of grueling tests and assessments, a small group with the best chance to shoot for the top colleges are put into three elite units, two for sciences and one for liberal-arts students. Zhong got into the latter.
The goals of students and teachers are singularly aligned. For students, gaokao is the first real chance to rise above their current socioeconomic positions. For teachers, getting students into Tsinghua or Peking, the top two universities, is the crowning glory of their professional lives. LU Jianjun, head of this year’s liberal-arts elite unit, said in his first-day prep talk that “everyone should set Peking University as their one and only goal in gaokao.”
Sheltered from all distractions and exposed only to a narrow set of incentives and information, students tend to have a homogenous view of the world and their futures. In one writing assignment, almost all the students cited the same news program they watched together the night before. After reading a profile of Fan Jinshi in one of the approved magazines, many students said they were inspired to study history or similar subjects in college.
“History has always been highly regarded among us,” a student said. “So it’s no big deal that Zhong chose archeology.”
Not all students follow their academic dreams.
KUANG Xuemei, another top student in the elite class, had wanted to study philosophy at Peking University. She enjoys the rigor and comprehensiveness of dialectics. But Lu, the headteacher, persuaded her to pick “a less lonely major with better job opportunities.” As a result, she put down journalism and international relations on her application.
Another, ZHOU Xiaohong, a classical literature enthusiast with, in her own words, “a soft spot for poems,” ended up majoring in business management.“Literature was just a pleasant pastime in our grinding gaokao prep life,” she said. “I probably won’t even like my major much.”
Zhong, however, stood firm, despite the slew of harsh criticism and kind suggestions. Even her parents, who strongly objected to her decision after learning of it from the news, could not make her change her mind. “I like it. That’s a good enough reason,” she said.
“She knows what she wants,” said LIU Chen, a student at Zhengyuan unsurprised by Zhong’s decision. Last year, Zhong was the only liberal-arts student selected for short-term study at another elite high school, but she came back two months earlier than planned.
“It was unthinkable for the rest of us. She just said that the program there was too fast-paced and didn’t suit her that well. That is so cool," said Liu.
Being a left-behind child since a very young age means living in the sheltered environment of boarding schools with kids of similar backgrounds.
LIU Zhiwu, who has been teaching at the school for fifteen years, shares his observations. He said. “Students here are simple, perhaps more so than kids in other places. They spend a lot of time in a vacuum, insulated from the complex social interactions other kids are exposed to. As a result, these kids are, emotionally and intellectually, more idealistic and less pragmatic. In a sheltered environment, these students are free to dream. If they like a subject, nothing should stand between them and the knowledge they seek.”
Since the initial controversy subsided, people have begun to see Zhong’s decision in a more positive light. Internet users have fondly nicknamed her the “archeology ninja”. Museums and research institutions around the country have sent their best wishes.
When reexamining the realities, people are coming to see that archeology and the preservation of China's heritage are now taken more seriously by both the authorities and the public. There are plenty of opportunities, less competition than in other endeavors, and a clear career structure. What many fear as the worst that could happen to Zhong, to become a high school history teacher, will still be a substantial step up from the situation she was born into. If she follows her current academic trajectory, just like in any other career, the sky is the limit.
Fan Jinshi, whose life story inspired Zhong, sent her a signed memoir, along with a letter encouraging her to “cherish her original visions and dreams.” Even Zhong’s parents, who had insisted that Zhong should switch to business majors, have come to think of archeology as “the right choice” for their daughter.
“Our generation is different,” Zhong said. “Our parents are more concerned about having a respectable job and making money. For us, there’s also something called a dream.”
