Get Rich or Die Trying
China’s population is getting older, but that doesn’t mean it’s getting wiser. It might be getting nastier, too…
Words Robert Foyle-Hunwick
Illustration Giacomo Bagnara
Zhang Yi had the same routine most days. At around 7.30 in the evening, come wind or snow, the 56-year-old would command up to 500 other senior citizens to dance in synchronised rows. Hers was a tradition that seemed as set in stone as the centuries-old Beijing Wangfujing Catholic Church they performed before. After all, Zhang’s fellow pensioners were so invested in their leader that many had entrusted her with most of their life savings.
“Dancing is a social network platform,” says Kuai Dasheng, sociologist at the Shanghai Academy of Social Science, of this uniquely Chinese phenomenon. Dama, as it’s known, attracts an overwhelmingly female, elderly demographic to publicly dance in synchronisation to a range of musical styles that’s as broad as it is loud. For the 100 million-strong over-50s dama set, dancing embraces “cultural exchanges, matchmakers, product promotion and even gangs”.
Zhang Yi, the leader of the Wangfujing dance troupe, was arrested in late 2014 on suspicion of running a Ponzi scheme to which 40 retirees had contributed around $14.8 million. According to media reports (the case has yet to come to trial), Zhang was treated like an empress by her acolytes, who gifted her expensive meals and jewellery, and competed for the opportunity to dance closer to her. The episode speaks to a number of issues typical of Chinese society, including an appetite for obeisance to a leader, the importance of dama society to an ageing population, and the isolation of many of its aged adherents from family, or from those who might have helped prevent such a fraud.
In the Confucian philosophy that many Chinese subscribe to, reverence for one’s elders is a key tenet and the living ideal is that of sishitongtang, “four generations under one roof.” While such a phenomenon can still be found in the countryside, modern urban families usually have only one child and scholars say this looks unlikely to change in the near future, despite changes in the law. In addition, these couples often live away from parents or siblings. According to the sixth national census in 2010, the average household population of China was 3.1 persons; in 2000, it was 3.44. In rural Anhui, the population of sishitongtang is 0.47%, while in the city of Tianjinn the notion of sishitongtang is all but extinct.
The effect has been to isolate China’s ageing population more than at any other time in its history. In the most recent 2008 academic study by Keming Yang and Christina Victor, 29.6% of older people reported feelings of loneliness in 2000, a figure that had nearly doubled from 15.6% in 1992. The reasons for this growing generation gap are multiple: foremost is the one-child policy, introduced in 1979, which has done much to artificially skew the country’s demographics toward an ageing population. It’s predicted that by 2050, for every 100 people aged between 20–64, there will be 45 citizens over 65 years old, around 400 million in total — larger than the current population of the United States.
In addition, life expectancy has also risen dramatically over the last few decades (less famine and war), and older Chinese tend to be both health conscious and active. By early morning, parks across the country are filled with seniors practicing tai chi and other morning rituals and housing compounds are often fitted with outdoor exercise equipment. The flourishing dama culture is clearly part of this health and community drive, but it is also a surprisingly controversial issue for many urban Chinese.
“Confucian teaching may emphasise respect for elders, but it comes at the price of setting a respectful example.”
To the latter, the dancing dama are a serious irritant, whose public displays occupy valuable shared real estate and show little respect for noise pollution. While many choose to bite their tongues rather than rebuke their elders, others have shown no such restraint. In cities like Chengdu in the south west, and Wuhan in central Hubei province, enraged residents hurled water balloons and ‘shit bombs’ at nearby dama. Elsewhere neighbours split the cost of a pair of $40,000 military speakers to blast a group of elderly women bothering them with their dancing. For their part, the dama don’t get their critics’ beef. “Why can’t young people just get up earlier?” responded one perplexed granny in Nanjing.
To more than a few commentators the battle between dama and younger city dwellers is symptomatic of a particular Chinese affliction of the elderly: intolerance. China’s over-60s came of age in an era when traditional values and beliefs were all but destroyed by the political campaigns of Chairman Mao, which encouraged teens to denounce their parents, attack teachers, burn books and precious heirlooms. Then toward the end of the Cultural Revolution, many of these Red Guards were sent to the countryside to “learn from the peasants,” and forsake a normal education. By the time they returned, Mao was dead and the country was set on a path of reform and opening, which effectively renounced Maoist thought for “market reform with Chinese characteristics”. Socialism was out, capitalism was in.
Little wonder that an entire generation exists whose warped values have only one recent constant — the power of money. “It’s not that the old got bad,” as one popular columnist put it, “it’s that the bad got old.” Minor clashes between young and old frequently become major news stories, as observers extrapolate their own point of view from the encounter. Public transport provides a frequent flashpoint, particularly over seating: when one youth in Wuhan was filmed in 2014 being slapped by a group of geriatric passengers for refusing to give up his seat, the Internet erupted in fury at the old men. Why were old people resorting to unruly violence against a teenager?
Confucian teaching may emphasise respect for elders, but it comes at the price of setting a respectful example (something the ancient sage and his followers duly stressed). Months later another dispute occurred on a bus in Zhengzhou between a man in his 60s and a younger passenger that resulted in the older man collapsing and dying. Incidents like these are just a drop in the simmering ocean of tension between the old — who view the modern generation as feckless, materialistic and lacking experience of hardship — and the young, many of whose salaries can barely meet societal expectations that they provide for both children and parents.
Filial piety is both a duty and a battleground. In 2013 the government passed the Elderly Rights Law, through which parents can sue their children for neglect, essentially giving legal backing to a long-cherished virtue. Although the law’s passing was greeted with predictable anxiety over declining moral standards, there have been few cases of its actual application in the civil courts. Of far greater concern for Chinese grandparents has been the loss of an only child, leaving parents without an heir or support. These elders, known as shidu, are thought to number some 1 million families. Attempts by shidu to sue the government for financial and psychological loss over its family-planning policies have been met with obstructionism and, in some cases, harassment.
“China’s over 60s came of age in an era when traditional values and beliefs were all but destroyed by the political campaigns of Chairman Mao.”
There are other problems too, presented by a top-heavy society whose benefits are weighted toward the old, and in which the current retirement age is at a statutory minimum of 60 for men and 55 for women. Greater lifespan also brings additional health burdens like dementia — which tends to affect wealthier societies — of which China already has 9 million sufferers, and is woefully underprepared for, both culturally and medically.
The top concern in Beijing though, is a decreased supply of young labour, leading to wage increases, inflation, and export drops. The other is that this young labour force can no longer afford to join the housing market that will stoke the domestic consumption Beijing needs for transition to a developed society. Chinese still save cash rather than spend, partly to provide for their family, partly to accumulate money for potential bribes and partly as a hedge against the inevitable medical problems that a non-socialist state fails to provide for.
For some developed countries, one solution has been immigration — introducing a younger workforce that can aspire to the citizen rights of their host nation. The US and the UK are examples where this has been demonstrated to varying degrees of success. Many immigrants lead successful, integrated lives that bring economic benefit to their host countries. This is not a ready solution for China. Like Japan, the country has only a recent tradition of immigration and virtually none of assimilation — there is no simple pathway to citizenship. It’s unclear who, or how many, would see Chinese citizenship as a net win, particularly under a current administration which has ruthlessly cracked down on human rights and rule of law.
“The Chinese government is less a technocratic monolith than a conflicted coalition of special interests.”
Of course, some see opportunity amid these tricky scenarios. Although China’s massive, sprawling, corrupt and inefficient healthcare system is in a dire state of repair and requires urgent reform, economists suggest this is a chance for the government to steer the Chinese economy away from housing and infrastructure. “In the future the ageing trend of the Chinese population will be ever-more evident,” says Zhu Zhenxin, a macroeconomist at the Minsheng Bank. “As the percentage of senior citizens will rise and the young ones drop, the real estate industry will gradually recede, while the geriatric and health-related industry will gain big development.”
Nursing homes in particular are a growth sector. In 2013 the Beijing Evening News reported that there were 1,100 beds available in the city’s No. 1 Social Welfare Home and over 10,000 applicants in waiting, while only a dozen become available each year. Not long ago, residential care homeowners were reporting a struggle to fill places — the situation has reversed within just a few years, as the cultural acceptability of nursing care has undergone a dramatic volte face. The No. 1 Social Welfare Home is popular because it is state subsidised and cheaper — at a maximum of $500 a month — than a private home. Luxury retirement homes in Beijing can cost upwards of $3,000 a month. For those with the right bank accounts it’s a perfect compromise between personal success and filial obligation.
For family reasons, China’s age difficulties are acutely felt among its many bureaucrats, some of whom are deeply invested in improving the system. So it’s no surprise that some innovative and advanced ideas are being put forward to tackle the situation. Still, it would be naïve to think that mass logical solutions will arrive imminently. The Chinese government — whatever its cheerleaders might hope — is less a technocratic monolith than a conflicted coalition of special interests. Its leaders will need to put aside some of those differences, otherwise China faces a stagnant future in which the country gets old long before it gets rich.
What now?
The Old Man Who Does as He Pleases: Lu Yu, Burton Watson
An anthology of poems by the 12th-century Chinese poet who mostly worked in later life. One of his best is Written in a Carefree Mood, about an old man ‘whooping with delight’ when picking mountain fruits.
To explore the subject of ageing we teamed up with The Powerful Now, an IDEO + SYPartners initiative poised to creatively redefine ageing as a path of continual growth instead of decline. Together we wanted to explore the ways in which health, money, work and communities will exist in our future, and initiate discussions to find radical new solutions.
This article is taken from Weapons of Reason’s third issue: The New Old. Weapons of Reason is a publishing project to understand and articulate the global challenges shaping our world by Human After All design agency.
