A LETTER FROM CHINA 4 June 2013 The Changing Face of China’s Countryside Most people will be aware of the huge changes that have taken place in China’s cities over the past 20 years; even James Bond has used the futuristic towers of Shanghai as a backdrop for his brand of mayhem (though in the Chinese version he doesn’t shoot the Chinese guard). Less well known, perhaps, are the changes taking place in China’s countryside. This is not surprising: foreigners’ visits tend to be confined to the big cities, and even local commentators can be rather urban-centric. However, it is important given the scale involved, a scale that is evident from the window of any Chinese high-speed train, as hour after hour of well-populated rural landscape flashes by. But I am not going to write about macro trends. I am going to write about one small village called Mulangou. The name can be translated as “Peony Gully”, but also summons up the ghost of the famous woman warrior hero Mulan. I first visited Mulangou in 2004. As a personal investment, I rebuilt a farm there in 2005 and have been back regularly ever since. Even using Shandong’s fine and lightly trafficked motorway system, Mulangou is a full hour’s drive from Yantai, a minor port and the local administrative centre. When I first saw Mulangou it had only a mud road. After a heavy rain the tricky slope up from the neighbouring village became impassable to vehicles. Neither were there any street lamps; when the sun went down it was very dark – nice for star gazing, but little else. Nearly everyone was (and still is) called either Huang or Gong; I made the classic error of befriending the village head Huang and thus immediately alienating the other half of the village. The population seemed to be made up of the very old (or prematurely aged by working in the fields) and the very young. Men’s clothes were the standard blue cotton or khaki, and transport was the walking tractor, ancient bike or muddy motorbike. A car meant that a party official was visiting. The author, his wife and friends outside Mulanguo in 2005. Village head Huang is on the far left. Progress was initially gradual – a distant reflection of the Hu/Wen administration’s efforts to improve the lot of the farmers by boosting food prices and improving social security. In 2005 village head Huang suffered a nasty motorbike accident. Like many accidents it happened in the afternoon after a liquid lunch (the Shandong farmers like their baijiu) and without the beneficial intermediation of a helmet. The burden of his hospital treatment fell almost entirely on his family (a daughter who worked in the city). Today Mr. Huang would have received some help from the national rural health-insurance scheme, but that was not in place in 2005. The main road was paved by 2006 (and lined with trees). I contributed some funds to buy a few street lights and was then sent the bill for the electricity. The makes of motorbike were upgraded. Some farmers bought proper tractors. The quality and variety of younger people’s clothing improved. But not all progress is positive. Litter became a terrible problem. Previously, farmers’ garbage was largely organic, but now they were shopping at supermarkets. With no rubbish collection, discarded plastic bags and packaging blew across the fields and snagged on the apple trees. We cut forward to 2013 and to some photographs taken in Mulangou last week. The photo below may look dull at first glance but look again. Solar-powered street lighting! (China has a surplus of solar cells to make use of). And a garbage bin – the local township has now started collecting the rubbish. You will also note that a number of side roads have now been paved. \ Mulangou in 2013, complete with bins, paved side-roads and solar-powered street lights The number of cars in the village has increased many-fold, especially at the weekend. A car is no longer a sign of a visiting official (though this is still a good bet if it is a black Audi) but of owner-drivers from Yantai or Penglai who are making a family outing to the countryside. A number of the more enterprising farmers now offer genuine countryside lunches, where the visitors can eat very well for Rmb50. A little garden has been laid out in the village centre with, bizarrely, a full set of gymnastic equipment with instructions in English. None of it is ever in use when I pass. The village is now a veritable hive of construction activity. A new government-sponsored irrigation system has been installed. The hills are dotted with windmills (it is unclear whether any are connected to the grid). A new village hall is being constructed to replace the old one, on which faded red characters exhorting the farmers only to have one child can still be made out. This is an object of pride for the new village head (the only political position in China for which candidates are chosen by popular election). More esoterically, the local businessmen have sponsored the rebuilding of a Taoist temple, knocked down at the time of the Liberation. The philosopher so honoured, one Qiu Chuji, who lived here in the thirtheenth century and advised Genghis Khan, has his birthday in January. When I first arrived this was celebrated by a hundred or so villagers, a bonfire and some fireworks. Now it is a two-day festival, with opera performances and Mulangou’s only traffic jam. The local party officials regard the temple as nothing more than a tourist attraction, but I think something more interesting is happening here. I cannot claim that there have been any major advances in agricultural technology or mechanization – the close-planted apple and peach trees do not lend themselves to this. But there seems to be a revival of pride. Although the process of urbanization will continue, and perhaps even accelerate if the new administration brings in hukou reform, the countryside may no longer be just a place from which to escape. Chris Ruffle www.odfund.com The author with Taoist monks Mou and Cai .