Kevin McGeary

    IF you know nothing of modern Chinese history, you could do a lot worse than start looking into how attitudes toward farmers and the countryside have changed. One of the most beloved Chinese novels of the 20th century, “Life” by Lu Yao, follows a young man named Gao Jialin who is torn between his aspirations and his love for a girl named Qiao Zhen, who although wise and bright, is uneducated and therefore can only follow her parents in life as a farmer. The incompatibility between aspirations and the countryside is one of the most popular themes of modern Chinese culture.

    Explaining what was the best day of his life, Chen Fei, 31, recalled the day he received his National College Entrance Exam scores. After his father opened the envelope with trembling hands, his mother silently began to cry tears of joy. His scores meant that the stocky, dark-complexioned Chen would be the first in his family to escape life as a farmer. Although his job as a software engineer in Shenzhen is busy, stressful and modestly paid, Chen’s parents are eternally proud of his achievement in getting out of the countryside.

    In the 1960s, to be a farmer was glorious. At that time, Chen’s parents worked alongside urban students who had been exiled to the countryside to learn the ways of the farmer. They would often label their educated peers as 书呆子, or “book-idiots,” for their slim build, timid manner, and inability to perform tasks such as harvest rice or milk cows.

    It is difficult to imagine urban people being looked down on in today’s China, which measures progress in GDP growth, urbanization and opening up to the outside world. Since Deng Xiaoping launched reform and opening up in 1978, the urban population of China rose by 222 million by the late 1990s. A further 243 million people are expected to migrate from rural areas to the cities by 2025. With urban per capita income higher by a ratio of 3.33 to 1, it is perfectly understandable that the people of China continue to aspire toward a prosperous life in the city. Places such as Shenzhen are a monument to this economic and societal development.

    But much of what is distinct about Chinese culture: filial piety, marrying young, the association of manual labor with poverty, is rooted in an agrarian society. Moreover, the problems that China faces now — potential scarcity and rising food prices; a culture that is obsessed with material wealth and ignoring its roots — cannot be solved by mere GDP growth and further urbanization.

    One of the great limitations of urban life is its remoteness from the soil. One can step into a supermarket and enjoy the abundance and variety there, but know nothing of where the food came from, who cultivated the land on which the vegetables grew, or who reared the animals that are now packaged as meat. This creates the illusion that growth can continue forever.

    As food prices continue to spiral, its safety is regularly called into question. As humanity runs out of natural resources and is threatened by imminent ecological disasters, a greater societal understanding and respect is needed for people who know enough about the earth to nurture it, and feed our overcrowded cities. Having dung on the boots does not always equate with having dung on the brain.

    (The author is a Shenzhen Daily senior copy editor and writer.)