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Every September, Terminal 3 of Beijing Capital International Airport turns into Platform 9 3/4 out of the Harry Potter series, with boys and girls running around pushing overloaded luggage carts, nodding and promising their parents to take good care of themselves over the next 10 months. China has become the leading source of overseas students, and these young Chinese are bound for schools around the world. Last year alone, 339,700 Chinese students began studying abroad, according to the Ministry of Education, and an even larger number are applying this year. Studying abroad was not always such a popular or accessible education choice for ordinary Chinese. Over 150 years ago, few understood the necessity of learning from the outside world. Later, only the best students were granted the opportunity, as well as the task, of repatriating knowledge.
Past or present, studying abroad is an eye-opening experience for the individuals involved, and for the country as a whole, overseas education has had a greater effect than one might notice at first glance.
THE GROUNDBREAKER
These days, Chinese students at Yale University are a dime a dozen, but in the mid-19th century, Yung Wing (容闳) was the only Asian at what was then called Yale College. Born a villager’s son on a small island four miles from Macau in 1828, Yung was one of only two male students who attended a missionary school for girls. While his male peers at other schools were trained for the imperial examination, Yung grew up learning the language of the “red-haired people,” a name given to foreigners during the Qing Dynasty (1616-1911).
When he turned 19, Yung bravely accepted an offer from his headmaster, an American missionary, to continue his study in the New World. This was a destination beyond the reach of most Chinese at the time, and little did Yung know that he would go all the way to study at Yale, where by all accounts he became something of a socialite.
As to his academic life, in defiance of the common stereotype of Chinese students, Yung was a total failure in math.
“In my sophomore year, from my utter aversion to mathematics, especially to differential and integral calculus, which I abhorred and detested… I used to fizzle and flunk so often that I really thought I was going to be dropped from the class, or dismissed from college,” Yung wrote in his memoir, “My Life in China and America”(《西学东渐记》X~xu9 D4ngji3 J#). However, Yung was very good at composition, and won first place in school competitions two years in a row.
Yung always planned to return to China, which at the time was embroiled in civil war and border disputes with Russia, and was under constant pressure from colonial powers demanding greater trade privileges. The young scholar hoped the advanced ideas he had learned would help solve some of these problems by modernizing China. After graduating with a Bachelor of Arts degree, Yung returned home to work as an interpreter and a consultant, but his biggest achievement was to initiate the first study abroad program sponsored by the government, which sent over 100 Chinese students to the US.
BOYS’ OWN ADVENTURES
After a 28-day journey across the Pacific Ocean, 30 Chinese boys between the ages of 11 and 15 finally passed under the Golden Gate Bridge one day in 1871. They soaked up the atmosphere of their new host country during a three-day tour of San Francisco, before boarding a train to the east coast and their final destination: Springfield, Massachusetts, home to the Chinese Educational Commission. Yung Wing, now a commissioner of the Qing government, welcomed them with enthusiasm and an extensive education scheme.
Over a four-year period, the mission planned for 120 boys to come to the US and stay for 15 years to complete studies in science and technology before returning to China to take up various government posts. However, things did not go quite as Yung had planned. As the students quickly adapted to American life, conservatives in the commission began to complain of how they were being mismanaged to the point of losing their national identity and patriotism. Students were criticized by Yung’s Chinese colleague for imitating their American counterparts in athletics, going to church and becoming Christians. They messed around more than they studied. They even formed religious and political societies. They failed to respect their Chinese supervisors, refusing to bow down to their seniors and ignoring their advice.
To make things worse, the original plan was for the students to attend US military and naval schools when they came of age. However, according to Yung’s memoir, the students’ school applications fell victim to the anti-Chinese movement of the 1870s, with the US State Department curtly informing Yung, “There is no room provided for Chinese students.” Due to this and the concerns of conservative thinkers within the Chinese government, they were ordered to return to China in 1881, five years earlier than planned. Most of them had to leave their degrees unfinished.
Though the plan was curtailed, their overseas education still spurred many of the students to have a great influence on Chinese society. Among them were China’s first railway engineer, Zhan Tianyou (詹天佑), the president of China’s first modern university, Cai Shaoji (蔡绍基) and the first Prime Minister of the Republic of China(1912-1949), Tang Shaoyi (唐绍仪).
THE POPULARIZATION OF OVERSEAS EDUCATION
As it emerged from the destruction wrought by civil war, the newly founded People’s Republic of China was eager to catch up with the rest of the world, and picked out the former Soviet Union as the perfect example to follow. In the 1950s, China engaged in a love affair with all things Russian—reading Soviet novels, singing their songs and watching their movies were the most popular activities among young people.
Studying abroad was considered a great honor, but the opportunity was also seen as part of students’ duty to the motherland, and from the late 1940s to the 1960s, approximately 10,000 young Chinese were selected to study in the former Soviet Union and Eastern European communist countries. The central government orchestrated the scheme as a means of revamping a nation devoid of modern industry and lacking the human capital necessary to develop one.
The selection process was strict: applicants had to pass a background check, physical examination and written test. In 1952, only half of the applicants qualified. Archives at the Chinese Academy of Sciences suggest that the majority chose to study engineering or other sciences, while the remainder pursued economics and the liberal arts.
The sense of honor and responsibility was further emphasized by a speech given by Chairman Mao Zedong during a visit to Moscow University in 1957. In the speech, he famously compared the young generation to the sun in the morning, and said, “The world is yours [the younger generation] and ours [the older generation], but eventually yours… the future lies in your hands!” (世界是你们的，也是我们的，但是归根结底是你们的。你们青年人朝气蓬勃，正在兴旺时期，好像早晨八九点钟的太阳。希望寄托在你们身上。 Sh#ji- sh# n@ men de, y0 sh# w6men de, d3nsh# gu~ g8n ji9 d@ sh# n@ men de. N@men ni1nq~ngr9n zh`oq# p9ngb5, zh-ngz3i x~ngw3ng sh!q~, h2oxi3ng b` ji^ di2n zh4ng de t3iy1ng. X~w3ng j#tu4 z3i n@men sh8nsh3ng.)
The study abroad program was interrupted by the deterioration of Sino-Soviet relations in the early 1960s, but it had already achieved its goal. All the students returned, and many became founders and leaders of various industries. Up until 1997, nearly 80 former students had become members of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, and 63 were members of the Chinese Academy of Engineering. China’s former president Jiang Zemin (江泽民) and former premier Li Peng (李鹏) were also among the returnees.
RETURN TO THE WEST
After almost 30 years of isolation from the Western world, the ice was finally broken by Reform and Opening-Up (改革开放 g2ig9 k`if3ng) in the late 1970s. One of the direct results of the new policy was exemplified by a group of 52 Chinese visitors to the US. On December 26, 1978, the group set out to Washington D. C. to begin their two years as visiting scholars. Upon arrival, they made a statement to the press: “We are here not only to study the science and technology of America, but to strengthen the friendship between the people of the two countries.”Four days later, the US and China announced the establishment of diplomatic relations.
Strictly speaking, the visitors were not students, as their average age was 41. Already experienced researchers, engineers and medical doctors, they were believed to be in a better position to understand the advanced science and technology of the US. Yet the experience still proved quite a shock. One of the 52 scholars, Liu Baicheng(柳百成), recalls in an interview republished in The Global Times that he had never seen a computer before the trip, while his American landlord’s third-grade son played with his Apple computer like it was a toy.
Liu, who is now a member of the Chinese Academy of Engineering, set great store in his experience abroad, and was particularly proud that he earned the opportunity based on his own ability.
“The primary standard was language skills, not political views, as was emphasized in the past,” he said in the interview. “Compared to the Cultural Revolution period, it was a great change and it inspired me, because a new era had arrived when a man could excel with his own ability.”
All 52 scholars returned to China as planned. People’s Daily records suggest that most of them became university professors, researchers and leaders in their respective fields 30 years later.
D.I.Y. ABROAD
In 1981, a new policy allowed students to independently finance their education overseas, opening up new career paths for many students, and democratizing the study abroad landscape to include more than just an elite few selected by the government.
That same year, the TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) exam was introduced to China. Many students began to take the exam and submit their scores, along with other materials, to apply for scholarships at overseas universities.
Ministry of Education statistics show that from the Reform and Opening-Up until 2011, a total of 2.25 million students went overseas. The loosening of policies and management governing their activities meant they were able to pursue careers and lives in their host countries, an appealing prospect given the poor economic and living conditions back in China. “Study abroad”ultimately became a way of saying “move abroad” during the 1990s, illustrated by the fact that only 26 percent of these students returned to China upon finishing their studies.
The number of overseas students has increased exponentially since the late 1970s, as a booming economy, frugal spending habits and the One-Child Policy have given middle-to-upper class Chinese families the means to afford sending their only child to study abroad. Disappointment with the domestic educational experience has made parents and students all the more willing to trade a Chinese diploma for a foreign one. The motivations behind the choice to study abroad are manifold and disparate. While the majority of students give due consideration to what and where to study, there are those who do not, and those for whom the decisions are entirely out of their hands.
“I want to study in America because their education is better,” says Pan Jinwei, a 21-year-old man from Jiangsu Province with carefully styled hair and black-framed glasses. What he really means, however, is that according to his father’s friends, American education is superior.
Laying out his transcripts and award certificates from high school on the table, he explains that they were collected on the instruction of his agent, who assisted him in submitting his college applications. Knowing almost nothing about the admissions process, Pan and his father were forced to use the agent’s RMB50,000 (US$7,700) service to proceed with the application.
Pan has just completed three months studying at New Oriental English, a popular language training institute, but his TOEFL score remains unsatisfactory. While he has been conditionally admitted to North Carolina University, he will have to spend another six months working towards college-level English proficiency. Though he is leaving home for the first time, he says he is unafraid.
“There are a lot of Chinese there,” he points out. “I already talked to some on QQ [instant messenger]. They will help me.” As for his future plans, “Jinwei wants to study engineering,” states his father. “After graduation, he will work in my company.”
Like Pan, Yi Shan, a 20-year-old from Beijing, finds the struggle with English to be the hardest part of studying abroad. She attended high school in Beijing and with encouragement from her family applied to Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, where she is now a sophomore.
“It’s hard for me to participate in class discussions, or join my classmates for a chat,” she explains. “It’s the spoken English.” Yi studied hard, spending most of her time reading textbooks or finishing assignments. In her spare time, she plays online games and hangs out with a group of Chinese friends. They have dinner parties or go to karaoke in Chinatown.
Yi believes the annual cost of US$47,000 for her undergraduate overseas education is worth the steep price, saying, “I get to broaden my horizons.” While she envisions a future back in China—“I miss the food so much!”—her plan is to first work in Canada for two or three years. “I will stay for the good work opportunities,” she says.
Yi credits her study abroad experience for teaching her how to live independently outside a family structure. Though still supported by her family financially, she feels the pressure of the tuition and living expenses in Ottawa.
Alexandra (or Xiaoxuan) Shi wants to start a blog called“Loser in Between.” It’s a misnomer—the 23-year-old has worked as a coordinator for TED×Beijing and a news assistant for CNN.
“My boss used to tease me by saying, ‘Do I have to teach you everything about American culture?’” she says. Shi speaks almost perfect English, and language has never been an obstacle for her, but culturally, she says she believes herself to be trapped between China and the West; she understands both cultures, but has never felt completely comfortable with either one. “I like to hang out with my foreign friends in Beijing because we can identify with one another’s crosscultural experience,” Shi says.
In contrast to Pan, Shi disagreed with her parents on a number of issues, including her own education and career choice. She spent a summer at Cambridge University studying literature, and speaks of this experience as her inspiration to pursue a master’s degree in the US.
“I realized at that point what I had missed during my college education,” Shi says. “Attending classes [in China] was never as interesting or rewarding. Teachers would tell students what to think rather than engaging them in discussion,” she adds.
Shi’s parents initially had a different view of overseas education: they believed it to be a shortcut for those who couldn’t pass the gaokao to get a college degree. They also disapproved of Shi’s internship in a public relations company, insisting that it was not an appropriate profession for a young woman. But Shi knows exactly what she wants in life. Now enrolled in the broadcast journalism program at Boston University, she will return to Beijing in two years, when she intends to launch her own talk show.
“I have accumulated resources over the years; I know people here,” she says confidently.
Wu Feifei’s experience of overseas education is somewhat different. The 24-year-old attended an international high school in Chile, where her father was working, and went on to study at Wesleyan University in the US, where she majored in sociology and psychology. She loved her alma mater for its small community and liberal political views. Her memories of her elementary and junior high school years of Chinese education are vague, but she does remember one thing: “You know Chinese kids have to do a lot of homework?” asks Wu. “I used to hate that.”
Still, she returned to Beijing, where she now works as a paralegal and has experienced quite a bit of reverse culture shock. The level of intolerance in society surprises and worries her.
“People are constantly judging,” she says, referring to the online discourse on major social media. “They make a big fuss out of very small things that are not even their business.” She also feels deeply for the disadvantaged: “It’s the powerlessness of these people that pains me. It shouldn’t be like this.” With her graduation thesis focused on Chinese petitioners from rural areas, Wu found her passion in law. However, her Western education sometimes puts her thinking at odds with the ideas behind the establishment of local laws.
“For instance, the criminal law that was amended last year basically states that you have to incriminate yourself under certain circumstances, and that is a big step backwards for our judicial system,” Wu explains. She plans to apply for law school in the US next year, and hopes to contribute to positive social changes given the opportunity.
One thing Wu does regret about going abroad is missing the opportunity to make lifelong friends back in China, but she has the support of both her parents, and will continue her journey to become a lawyer.
The only person really unhappy with this arrangement is her grandmother. “Find a boyfriend first!” she demands, like any old-fashioned grandparent would do.
Past or present, studying abroad is an eye-opening experience for the individuals involved, and for the country as a whole, overseas education has had a greater effect than one might notice at first glance.
THE GROUNDBREAKER
These days, Chinese students at Yale University are a dime a dozen, but in the mid-19th century, Yung Wing (容闳) was the only Asian at what was then called Yale College. Born a villager’s son on a small island four miles from Macau in 1828, Yung was one of only two male students who attended a missionary school for girls. While his male peers at other schools were trained for the imperial examination, Yung grew up learning the language of the “red-haired people,” a name given to foreigners during the Qing Dynasty (1616-1911).
When he turned 19, Yung bravely accepted an offer from his headmaster, an American missionary, to continue his study in the New World. This was a destination beyond the reach of most Chinese at the time, and little did Yung know that he would go all the way to study at Yale, where by all accounts he became something of a socialite.
As to his academic life, in defiance of the common stereotype of Chinese students, Yung was a total failure in math.
“In my sophomore year, from my utter aversion to mathematics, especially to differential and integral calculus, which I abhorred and detested… I used to fizzle and flunk so often that I really thought I was going to be dropped from the class, or dismissed from college,” Yung wrote in his memoir, “My Life in China and America”(《西学东渐记》X~xu9 D4ngji3 J#). However, Yung was very good at composition, and won first place in school competitions two years in a row.
Yung always planned to return to China, which at the time was embroiled in civil war and border disputes with Russia, and was under constant pressure from colonial powers demanding greater trade privileges. The young scholar hoped the advanced ideas he had learned would help solve some of these problems by modernizing China. After graduating with a Bachelor of Arts degree, Yung returned home to work as an interpreter and a consultant, but his biggest achievement was to initiate the first study abroad program sponsored by the government, which sent over 100 Chinese students to the US.
BOYS’ OWN ADVENTURES
After a 28-day journey across the Pacific Ocean, 30 Chinese boys between the ages of 11 and 15 finally passed under the Golden Gate Bridge one day in 1871. They soaked up the atmosphere of their new host country during a three-day tour of San Francisco, before boarding a train to the east coast and their final destination: Springfield, Massachusetts, home to the Chinese Educational Commission. Yung Wing, now a commissioner of the Qing government, welcomed them with enthusiasm and an extensive education scheme.
Over a four-year period, the mission planned for 120 boys to come to the US and stay for 15 years to complete studies in science and technology before returning to China to take up various government posts. However, things did not go quite as Yung had planned. As the students quickly adapted to American life, conservatives in the commission began to complain of how they were being mismanaged to the point of losing their national identity and patriotism. Students were criticized by Yung’s Chinese colleague for imitating their American counterparts in athletics, going to church and becoming Christians. They messed around more than they studied. They even formed religious and political societies. They failed to respect their Chinese supervisors, refusing to bow down to their seniors and ignoring their advice.
To make things worse, the original plan was for the students to attend US military and naval schools when they came of age. However, according to Yung’s memoir, the students’ school applications fell victim to the anti-Chinese movement of the 1870s, with the US State Department curtly informing Yung, “There is no room provided for Chinese students.” Due to this and the concerns of conservative thinkers within the Chinese government, they were ordered to return to China in 1881, five years earlier than planned. Most of them had to leave their degrees unfinished.
Though the plan was curtailed, their overseas education still spurred many of the students to have a great influence on Chinese society. Among them were China’s first railway engineer, Zhan Tianyou (詹天佑), the president of China’s first modern university, Cai Shaoji (蔡绍基) and the first Prime Minister of the Republic of China(1912-1949), Tang Shaoyi (唐绍仪).
THE POPULARIZATION OF OVERSEAS EDUCATION
As it emerged from the destruction wrought by civil war, the newly founded People’s Republic of China was eager to catch up with the rest of the world, and picked out the former Soviet Union as the perfect example to follow. In the 1950s, China engaged in a love affair with all things Russian—reading Soviet novels, singing their songs and watching their movies were the most popular activities among young people.
Studying abroad was considered a great honor, but the opportunity was also seen as part of students’ duty to the motherland, and from the late 1940s to the 1960s, approximately 10,000 young Chinese were selected to study in the former Soviet Union and Eastern European communist countries. The central government orchestrated the scheme as a means of revamping a nation devoid of modern industry and lacking the human capital necessary to develop one.
The selection process was strict: applicants had to pass a background check, physical examination and written test. In 1952, only half of the applicants qualified. Archives at the Chinese Academy of Sciences suggest that the majority chose to study engineering or other sciences, while the remainder pursued economics and the liberal arts.
The sense of honor and responsibility was further emphasized by a speech given by Chairman Mao Zedong during a visit to Moscow University in 1957. In the speech, he famously compared the young generation to the sun in the morning, and said, “The world is yours [the younger generation] and ours [the older generation], but eventually yours… the future lies in your hands!” (世界是你们的，也是我们的，但是归根结底是你们的。你们青年人朝气蓬勃，正在兴旺时期，好像早晨八九点钟的太阳。希望寄托在你们身上。 Sh#ji- sh# n@ men de, y0 sh# w6men de, d3nsh# gu~ g8n ji9 d@ sh# n@ men de. N@men ni1nq~ngr9n zh`oq# p9ngb5, zh-ngz3i x~ngw3ng sh!q~, h2oxi3ng b` ji^ di2n zh4ng de t3iy1ng. X~w3ng j#tu4 z3i n@men sh8nsh3ng.)
The study abroad program was interrupted by the deterioration of Sino-Soviet relations in the early 1960s, but it had already achieved its goal. All the students returned, and many became founders and leaders of various industries. Up until 1997, nearly 80 former students had become members of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, and 63 were members of the Chinese Academy of Engineering. China’s former president Jiang Zemin (江泽民) and former premier Li Peng (李鹏) were also among the returnees.
RETURN TO THE WEST
After almost 30 years of isolation from the Western world, the ice was finally broken by Reform and Opening-Up (改革开放 g2ig9 k`if3ng) in the late 1970s. One of the direct results of the new policy was exemplified by a group of 52 Chinese visitors to the US. On December 26, 1978, the group set out to Washington D. C. to begin their two years as visiting scholars. Upon arrival, they made a statement to the press: “We are here not only to study the science and technology of America, but to strengthen the friendship between the people of the two countries.”Four days later, the US and China announced the establishment of diplomatic relations.
Strictly speaking, the visitors were not students, as their average age was 41. Already experienced researchers, engineers and medical doctors, they were believed to be in a better position to understand the advanced science and technology of the US. Yet the experience still proved quite a shock. One of the 52 scholars, Liu Baicheng(柳百成), recalls in an interview republished in The Global Times that he had never seen a computer before the trip, while his American landlord’s third-grade son played with his Apple computer like it was a toy.
Liu, who is now a member of the Chinese Academy of Engineering, set great store in his experience abroad, and was particularly proud that he earned the opportunity based on his own ability.
“The primary standard was language skills, not political views, as was emphasized in the past,” he said in the interview. “Compared to the Cultural Revolution period, it was a great change and it inspired me, because a new era had arrived when a man could excel with his own ability.”
All 52 scholars returned to China as planned. People’s Daily records suggest that most of them became university professors, researchers and leaders in their respective fields 30 years later.
D.I.Y. ABROAD
In 1981, a new policy allowed students to independently finance their education overseas, opening up new career paths for many students, and democratizing the study abroad landscape to include more than just an elite few selected by the government.
That same year, the TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) exam was introduced to China. Many students began to take the exam and submit their scores, along with other materials, to apply for scholarships at overseas universities.
Ministry of Education statistics show that from the Reform and Opening-Up until 2011, a total of 2.25 million students went overseas. The loosening of policies and management governing their activities meant they were able to pursue careers and lives in their host countries, an appealing prospect given the poor economic and living conditions back in China. “Study abroad”ultimately became a way of saying “move abroad” during the 1990s, illustrated by the fact that only 26 percent of these students returned to China upon finishing their studies.
The number of overseas students has increased exponentially since the late 1970s, as a booming economy, frugal spending habits and the One-Child Policy have given middle-to-upper class Chinese families the means to afford sending their only child to study abroad. Disappointment with the domestic educational experience has made parents and students all the more willing to trade a Chinese diploma for a foreign one. The motivations behind the choice to study abroad are manifold and disparate. While the majority of students give due consideration to what and where to study, there are those who do not, and those for whom the decisions are entirely out of their hands.
“I want to study in America because their education is better,” says Pan Jinwei, a 21-year-old man from Jiangsu Province with carefully styled hair and black-framed glasses. What he really means, however, is that according to his father’s friends, American education is superior.
Laying out his transcripts and award certificates from high school on the table, he explains that they were collected on the instruction of his agent, who assisted him in submitting his college applications. Knowing almost nothing about the admissions process, Pan and his father were forced to use the agent’s RMB50,000 (US$7,700) service to proceed with the application.
Pan has just completed three months studying at New Oriental English, a popular language training institute, but his TOEFL score remains unsatisfactory. While he has been conditionally admitted to North Carolina University, he will have to spend another six months working towards college-level English proficiency. Though he is leaving home for the first time, he says he is unafraid.
“There are a lot of Chinese there,” he points out. “I already talked to some on QQ [instant messenger]. They will help me.” As for his future plans, “Jinwei wants to study engineering,” states his father. “After graduation, he will work in my company.”
Like Pan, Yi Shan, a 20-year-old from Beijing, finds the struggle with English to be the hardest part of studying abroad. She attended high school in Beijing and with encouragement from her family applied to Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, where she is now a sophomore.
“It’s hard for me to participate in class discussions, or join my classmates for a chat,” she explains. “It’s the spoken English.” Yi studied hard, spending most of her time reading textbooks or finishing assignments. In her spare time, she plays online games and hangs out with a group of Chinese friends. They have dinner parties or go to karaoke in Chinatown.
Yi believes the annual cost of US$47,000 for her undergraduate overseas education is worth the steep price, saying, “I get to broaden my horizons.” While she envisions a future back in China—“I miss the food so much!”—her plan is to first work in Canada for two or three years. “I will stay for the good work opportunities,” she says.
Yi credits her study abroad experience for teaching her how to live independently outside a family structure. Though still supported by her family financially, she feels the pressure of the tuition and living expenses in Ottawa.
Alexandra (or Xiaoxuan) Shi wants to start a blog called“Loser in Between.” It’s a misnomer—the 23-year-old has worked as a coordinator for TED×Beijing and a news assistant for CNN.
“My boss used to tease me by saying, ‘Do I have to teach you everything about American culture?’” she says. Shi speaks almost perfect English, and language has never been an obstacle for her, but culturally, she says she believes herself to be trapped between China and the West; she understands both cultures, but has never felt completely comfortable with either one. “I like to hang out with my foreign friends in Beijing because we can identify with one another’s crosscultural experience,” Shi says.
In contrast to Pan, Shi disagreed with her parents on a number of issues, including her own education and career choice. She spent a summer at Cambridge University studying literature, and speaks of this experience as her inspiration to pursue a master’s degree in the US.
“I realized at that point what I had missed during my college education,” Shi says. “Attending classes [in China] was never as interesting or rewarding. Teachers would tell students what to think rather than engaging them in discussion,” she adds.
Shi’s parents initially had a different view of overseas education: they believed it to be a shortcut for those who couldn’t pass the gaokao to get a college degree. They also disapproved of Shi’s internship in a public relations company, insisting that it was not an appropriate profession for a young woman. But Shi knows exactly what she wants in life. Now enrolled in the broadcast journalism program at Boston University, she will return to Beijing in two years, when she intends to launch her own talk show.
“I have accumulated resources over the years; I know people here,” she says confidently.
Wu Feifei’s experience of overseas education is somewhat different. The 24-year-old attended an international high school in Chile, where her father was working, and went on to study at Wesleyan University in the US, where she majored in sociology and psychology. She loved her alma mater for its small community and liberal political views. Her memories of her elementary and junior high school years of Chinese education are vague, but she does remember one thing: “You know Chinese kids have to do a lot of homework?” asks Wu. “I used to hate that.”
Still, she returned to Beijing, where she now works as a paralegal and has experienced quite a bit of reverse culture shock. The level of intolerance in society surprises and worries her.
“People are constantly judging,” she says, referring to the online discourse on major social media. “They make a big fuss out of very small things that are not even their business.” She also feels deeply for the disadvantaged: “It’s the powerlessness of these people that pains me. It shouldn’t be like this.” With her graduation thesis focused on Chinese petitioners from rural areas, Wu found her passion in law. However, her Western education sometimes puts her thinking at odds with the ideas behind the establishment of local laws.
“For instance, the criminal law that was amended last year basically states that you have to incriminate yourself under certain circumstances, and that is a big step backwards for our judicial system,” Wu explains. She plans to apply for law school in the US next year, and hopes to contribute to positive social changes given the opportunity.
One thing Wu does regret about going abroad is missing the opportunity to make lifelong friends back in China, but she has the support of both her parents, and will continue her journey to become a lawyer.
The only person really unhappy with this arrangement is her grandmother. “Find a boyfriend first!” she demands, like any old-fashioned grandparent would do.