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12/11/1995 TEMPEST IN A GOLDEN URN
Under Beijing's eye, Tibetan monks name a Panchen Lama to rival the Dalai Lama's choice
12/01/1995 LITTLE EMPERORS
Is China's One-Child Policy Creating a Society of Brats?
12/01/1995 Taiwan vote comes in shadow of China

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TEMPEST IN A GOLDEN URN
Under Beijing's eye, Tibetan monks name a Panchen Lama to rival the Dalai Lama's choice

December 11, 1995 Volume 146, No. 24

In the weak light of dawn one morning last week, hundreds of Buddhist monks gathered at the Jokhang temple in Lhasa to select a new Panchen Lama, the second highest religious leader in Tibet. Traditional yak-butter lamps glowed as three ivory markers were placed inside a golden urn. Each marker was inscribed with the name of a Tibetan boy identified, during a six-year search, as a possible incarnation of the 10th Panchen Lama, who died in 1989. The urn was turned several times, and then a senior monk withdrew a marker bearing the name of Gyaincain Norbu, 6, who was quickly ushered into the room in golden robes and a yellow silk hat. Norbu was hailed by the monks and by a man dressed incongruously in a Western-style suit: Luo Gan, a senior Chinese official dispatched to oversee the ceremony. Luo later bent forward, shook the boy's hand and said, "Love the country and study hard."

Norbu looked frightened, as well he should. With the turn of a golden urn and a handshake, he became a central figure in what promises to be a long and bitter war between Tibet and a communist government determined to retain control of the troublesome province, right up to choosing its top religious leaders. For six years, China had insisted on its authority to select the Panchen Lama. But in May, following ancient Tibetan custom and practices, the Dalai Lama announced that he had chosen six-year-old Gedhun Choekyi Nyima as the new Panchen Lama. Officials in Beijing were enraged, and soon thereafter, Nyima disappeared from his home village along with his parents, prompting accusations of a Chinese kidnapping. The communist government declared the Dalai Lama's choice invalid and proceeded with its own selection via the golden-urn method, which some Tibetans claim is used only when all other divinations fail.

China denies having abducted the Dalai Lama's golden child but has started a propaganda campaign against him, saying his family was "notorious among their neighbors" and the boy himself once drowned a dog, which the official Xinhua news agency proclaims is "a heinous crime in the eyes of the Buddha." Such assertions are unlikely to sway Tibetans to Beijing's choice.

By selecting its own Panchen Lama, China seeks not only to reassert its power over Tibet but also to control the education of the boy, who will one day lead the search for the new Dalai Lama, Tibet's God-King, when the current one passes on. From exile in India, the Dalai Lama reaffirmed his choice and insisted, "My recognition of the Panchen Lama's reincarnation cannot be changed." He may have been recalling the words of his own predecessor, who before his death in 1933 gave this warning: "Unless we guard our own country, it will now happen that the Dalai and Panchen Lamas, the Father and the Son, and all the revered holders of the Faith, will disappear and become nameless."

By Anthony Spaeth. Reported by Meenakshi Ganguly/New Delhi and Mia Turner/Beijing

From Time Magazine

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LITTLE EMPERORS
Is China's One-Child Policy Creating a Society of Brats?

By Todd Crowell and David Hsieh in Beijing

IN THE TOY DEPARTMENT of Beijing's Yansha Friendship Department Store, a little boy looks longingly at an electric toy car. His mother tries to gently redirect his attention, but with every tug the child emits a bloodcurdling shriek. Finally, her resistance worn down, the woman rummages into her purse, pulls out a thick wad of bank notes and counts out RMB 4,000 ($480). They walk away with the packaged toy in hand, the mother looking bewildered, the child wearing a grin of triumph.

A similar scenario is being played out at major retailer Beijing Fuxing Commercial City. Amid the stacks of brand-name toys and school supplies, an elderly man is shopping with his granddaughter; or, more precisely, she points at an item, he puts it in their basket. By the time they make it to the cashier, they have culled a selection of goods sure to set grandfather back several hundred renminbi. "I don't know if buying her such expensive things will have a positive effect one way or the other," he shrugs. "I just buy them because she wants them. After all, she's our little precious."

Across the growing ranks of middle-class China, elders are pampering, preening and often spoiling their kids like never before. Parents everywhere, of course, dote on their children. But in China today, a number of factors have converged to make the situation unique. One has been government policies in place since 1979 to encourage one child per family. That has been coupled with an unprecedented rise in prosperity, particularly in the big cities, which in turn has helped spread nouveau-riche-type attitudes among the prospering classes. For many Chinese parents with bright prospects ahead - and memories of a deprived childhood behind them - investing in their only child's future is seen as an increasingly intelligent and noble way to spend their disposable income.

The bright side is that a large portion of the urban family income is being spent on such things as special schools, tutors, computers, piano lessons and other extracurricular activities for the kids. The less bright side is that parents are buying ever more fancy clothes, toys and special snacks for their little precious - while paying precious little attention to their own needs and desires. That is creating a nation of "Little Emperors," a notion observers have long noticed, but one which researchers and marketing specialists are only just beginning to confirm. Psychologists are warning about the detrimental effects of such overindulgence, but their cries are falling largely on deaf ears. One Beijing mom out shopping with her boy sums up the spirit of the times: "You can't refuse to buy things for your child when you only have one," she says, as her kid clamors for a present. "You don't want them to feel deprived."

The effects of this attitude can be seen throughout urban China. Take, for instance, the huge McDonald's on Beijing's grand Changan Blvd. In this bastion of mass consumerism, where a meal can easily cost the equivalent of an average day's wages, some parents can be seen watching their children gobble a burger while they eat nothing. One woman, a book-stall manager, complains that she has become almost a slave to her middle-school daughter, who constantly pesters her for money. "If it isn't 10 yuan [$1.20] for a party with her classmates," she says, "it's 20 yuan for school outings during the summer." Once the girl asked her for 200 yuan because it was her turn to treat friends at McDonald's. "I work from early morning to late evening, and I only make so much," the woman says. "But it seems that everything I earn goes to my child."

At the nearby Mickey's Corner, the local outlet for Walt Disney products, Mickey Mouse-style paraphernalia sucks up millions of renminbi. Because many kids have no siblings to play with, toys have become an integral part of their early childhood. Still, parents sometimes get a little carried away with their generosity. "I can't imagine how much we've spent on Disney products - books, videotapes, balloons, masks, watches, pencil sharpeners, towels, socks, candy, drinking glasses, puppets, photo albums," Beijinger Li Jeifei recently complained. "They're everywhere around the apartment."

Clothes and shoes also need to be continually upgraded. The little darlings must look sharp or they and their parents might lose face. New Year's, Children's Day (June 1) and birthdays are occasions to buy new outfits and discard old ones. Studies show parents rarely say no to children's requests for magazines, books or pens. Then there are big-ticket items such as pianos, bicycles and computers. Experts believe that the average middle-class couple may spend as much as 40% to 50% of its combined disposable income on their child.

Catering to the Little Emperors and Empresses can add up to big money. More than $4 billion is spent on snacks in China. Toy sales are expected to reach $1.4 billion this year and $3 billion by the turn of the century. What's more, young kids are collecting an estimated combined income of $5 billion in the form of weekly allowances, gifts from elders and, in some cases, payment for chores they do at home. Such spending power has not gone unnoticed. Disney, for example, had serious reservations about its ability to protect trademarks in China. But in the end, it decided that this was a market that it could not ignore and licensed its first outlet in Beijing in June 1993. "Within a year, we got a grip on the market and soon opened up representative offices in Guangzhou, Shanghai, Wuhan and Shenyang," says Mickey's Corner general manager William Chang. "Now we have more than 100 stores."

"Chinese children have enormous economic clout," says James McNeal, professor of marketing at Texas A&M University. He says that single children hold the key to their parents' pocketbooks. His seminal study of consumption behavior and preferences, conducted earlier this year in greater Beijing, showed that children's preferences determined 69% of the family's overall spending. That compares with American kids, who have an "overall influence rate" of 40%.

Social psychologists suggest the numbers may be highest among Chinese adults who grew up during the Cultural Revolution era; they most exhibit what psychologists call a "compensation syndrome." These parents attended political lectures instead of taking piano lessons. Universities were viewed as bastions of "bourgeois ideals" to be avoided rather than avenues of personal advancement to travel. Many look back sadly on their lost childhood and are determined to make sure their kids won't have to endure anything like those bleak years.

"I went straight to work in a factory [after high school], still believing in the revolutionary rhetoric," says Yang Wei, a 36-year-old primary-school teacher and mother of one. "Now times have changed, and I feel I was deprived." She makes amends by spending her evenings tutoring her son; on weekends she escorts him to the local youth recreation center for drawing lessons. Even though the family income is about $200 a month, dad recently bought a $900 computer for the home so the boy will be able to learn more through CD-ROM reference searches.

This mania for education often begins at birth. As soon as Little Precious emits his first cry, many parents and grandparents have already mapped out a long-term education plan. Many start with various pre-pre-school training schemes that will, with luck, lead to the ultimate goal: a post-graduate degree from a prestigious foreign or domestic university. Parents also push their children into extracurricular activities in an effort to nurture flickers of talent in such areas as music, dance, painting and computer skills. In Heilongjiang province in the northeast, a survey of 100 nursery-school children showed that 90% took lessons in piano, electric organ, painting or dance. Not only could they add and subtract up to 20, but many could recite Tang and Song dynasty poetry.

Of course, it is not so easy being the focus of parents' attentions and ambitions. Peek inside the backpack of Zhou Tao, a middle school student at Beijing's Shijingshan school, and you'll find four grammar texts, three math texts, one chemistry book, two books on physics, five on English, three on political science, not to mention an array of extracurricular and tutorial books. The girl spends Sunday mornings attending English classes and afternoons studying art. "I've just about had it," Tao sighs. "Every day is spent going to classes and doing homework. I can't even relax on Sunday."

The pressure intensifies as students prepare for entrance exams for the more prestigious institutions. Many parents try to improve their chances by enrolling their children in the growing number of private academies that cater to the elite. The route to success is not an easy one. "I was really tired last year and fully resigned to go off to the Balkans to die," said one 13-year-old Beijinger after she passed the entrance exam for a middle school attached to the renowned People's University. In contrast, the girl's parents were ecstatic. "The kid did good," exclaimed her mother.

For many wage earners, the cost of maintaining their mini-imperial courts can put a severe strain on family finances. As one man says of his only son: "In order to buy a piano for him, I didn't eat any meat in my unit's mess hall for two years." Since the amounts that parents feel they must spend on their children's education can exceed what they earn from normal salaries, many have to dig deep into savings or borrow from friends and relatives.

Though the single-child policy is more successful in the cities, one can find similar patterns in rural areas. In a village in Hubei province, a woman who made money raising silk worms and planting tea spent a good part of her profits making sure her daughter learned how to use a computer. She says 14 other families have bought computers too. "Peasants are more sophisticated these days," says Wang Qin, a math teacher in a Hubei village school. "They feel their kids should not have to suffer even if they have to scrimp."

Where in the world is this all leading? Li Qingshan, a social psychologist at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, speculates without comment that the grown-up Little Emperors will treat their own children much as they were treated. But others are not so sure the coming generation will even want kids. "I can't imagine what these egotistical, selfish and moody brats are going to be like when they grow up," says one school counselor. Still, she hazards a few bleak predictions. "I think this generation will be the most self-centered in Chinese history and will turn traditional Chinese ethics and morality on their heads." As the speculation continues though, everyone seems to agree on one thing: China will never be the same again.

Brat Facts

How are the progeny of China's one-child policy affecting urban consumer patterns? James McNeal of Texas A&M University and researcher Shushan Wu oversaw a rare survey of 1,496 Beijing households that have only one child aged 4 to 12. Here are some of the findings:

In a typical urban Chinese family, children influence purchases 69% of the time, compared to about 40% in the United States.

Children in the big cities have an aggregate yearly income of $5 billion in terms of weekly allowance, gifts from elders and pay for chores - a sum roughly equivalent to Mongolia's gross domestic product.

In terms of food and beverage purchases, Chinese children influence their parents roughly twice as much as kids in U.S. families.

Kids influence their parents 86% of the time when it comes to choosing toys and leisure-time activities.

Parents rarely say no to children's requests for magazines, books, pens and pencils. But they shun writing materials with cartoon characters because they think the drawings will distract the children from their studies.

From Asiaweek

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Taiwan vote comes in shadow of China

December 1, 1995 Web posted at: 11:30 p.m. EST (0430 GMT)

From Correspondent Andrea Koppel

TAIPEI, Taiwan (CNN) -- A scant eight years ago, Taiwan was under martial law. But on Saturday, voters there go to the polls to elect the island's highest legislative body. And the ruling Kuo Min Tang (KMT) Party -- the Nationalist Party -- faces the real possibility of losing its majority for the first time in five decades.

KMT favors eventual reunification with mainland China, which still considers Taiwan to be a renegade province. The rival Democratic Progressive Party wants a national vote on declaring independence from the mainland.

Democratic Progressive candidates such as Chai Trong, from the southern city of Chiayi, are leading the charge for the independence vote. "China has tried to squeeze Taiwan in the international community," he said.

On the other side in Chiayi, a city of average working people, mostly ethnic Taiwanese, is KMT candidate Vincent Siew. A three-time cabinet member who has hobnobbed with leaders around the world, Sieuw is reluctantly doing something he's never done before: grass-roots hand shaking and baby kissing for the Chiayi seat.

"As far as my career is concerned," he said, "I have no other choice.

Many KMT candidates fear the prospect of a direct vote on Taiwanese independence would provoke the ire of Beijing, which has threatened an attack if Taiwan declares independence. The party is pulling out all the stops to win; even Taiwanese President Lee Ten-hui has joined in the campaign. But in light of last week's Chinese military activities off Taiwan's coast -- the third since President Lee's trip to the United States last June -- it is unclear how much help he can provide.

The activity has given a boost to the Democratic Progressive Party, and observers say this is the first time in the more than 40 years since Chiang Kai-shek and his nationalist troops lost the Chinese civil war and fled to Taiwan that voters will be going to the polls with China's reaction on their minds.

"The response by the missile exercises is a shock for ordinary people because that means China is very much frustrated by what we are doing here," said Andrew Yang of the Chinese Council of Advanced Studies.

Saturday's election will have 400 candidates from three parties competing for 164 legislative seats. Many frustrated former KMT members will be voting for the Democratic Progressives.

It's the loss of their votes that for the first time has the KMT frightened about losing its legislative majority. But even if that doesn't happen, it is clear that China will continue to influence Taiwanese politics whether the Taiwanese like it or not.

From CNN

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Copyright DateRichard R. Wertz