Shanghai 2006  
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Reflecting on China's One-Child Policy
    Here's the text of David's May 30, 206, commentary on Charlotte public radio station WFAE.

            Living in Shanghai, China, this year with two young daughters has given Davidson resident David Boraks a unique perspective on one of China’s most notorious government edicts, the one-child policy.
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Commentary:
Chinese we meet marvel at the sight of 8-year-old Emma and 4-year-old Mathilde, with their blue eyes and western looks. They’re even more curious that there are two of them. “Are they both yours?” they ask.

In urban China, two-child families are rare because of the government’s one-child family planning policy, which was adopted nearly three decades ago to control growth in the world’s most populous country. There are exceptions to the rule: Rural farmers, for example, members of ethnic minority groups, and couples who both come from one-child families.

Some of the luckiest parents in the country may be those with twins.

But most Chinese are bound by the rules, which are enforced by social pressure, hefty fines and other deterrents, such as the loss of jobs and homes.

There’s no question the policy has slowed China’s growth, and presumably helped lift at least some Chinese out of poverty. But limiting families to a single child also has enormous social costs.

One is a growing imbalance in the number of male and female births. Chinese traditionally have favored male offspring, who later on are expected to care for aging parents. China says 117 boys now are born for every 100 girls.


But the policy’s most far-reaching effect may be the creation of a generation of only children. They are lavished with attention, gifts and pressure to succeed by mothers, fathers, grandparents, and aunts and uncles. Chinese themselves joke that their children are “little emperors” because of the way they control the adults around them.

As they get older, these only children notice something is missing. One 20-year-old woman we know told us she has always felt lonely as an only child. Multiply that by millions and you have a nation’s worth of loneliness.

I don’t mean say to there’s anything wrong with single-child households; I’ve known plenty of happy, intelligent, and well-adjusted only children both in the US and here in China. And a close friend often can be just as supportive as a sibling during life’s trials and triumphs.

But I can’t help thinking how different life would be without my younger brothers and sister, Pete, Mike and Mary.

Growing up, we were constant companions, schoolmates, playmates, and of course, rivals, challenging one another to achieve.

As adults, we’ve remained close, despite geographical distance. We share career and financial advice, celebrate one another’s successes and provide a sympathetic ear when needed.

When our dad passed away recently, six years after the death of our mother, the four of us gathered at his house to console one another and remember him.  I imagine grieving alone for a parent would be even harder.

Here in China, government officials claim their policy is “widely accepted” and say the country is better off. But most people here don’t seem resigned to it.

China’s new rich, who work in the private sector, can afford the fines and don’t have government jobs at risk. For them, extra children have become a new badge of wealth.

Scholars and some officials actually debated the issue, quietly, at a conference in Beijing last December. But the government later chose to reaffirm the policy.

Nearly every time we go out, someone tells us how wonderful it is that we have two children, or how much richer our girls’ lives will be because there are two of them.

Based on my own experience, I can only agree.

Our 8-year-old Emma already understands this. With a sister, she says, “Playing is an everyday thing, not a special treat.”
           

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