The gaokao, exams, and social mobility in Chinese history

Today is the Gaokao (高考) when parents across China send their senior high school students off to take the most important exam of their lives by offering such helpful, encouraging words as, “If you do badly, your mother will die in a pauper’s grave.” Clearly in today’s China-A-Go-Go, competition for elite, urban jobs is intense. You don’t want to be left behind in a rapidly stratifying society, and since every family only has one shot at exam success, let’s just say there are a few stressed-out teenagers and parents around town this morning.

Sam has a great post over at The Useless Tree about how “Confucian” this sort of exam culture really is and it got me thinking about exams and social mobility in Chinese history. As hard as the gaokao is, it’s nothing compared to the ordeal of the imperial civil service examination. For three days exam candidates were locked in a cell and forced to write formulaic essays that required instant recall of the entire canon. But as Sam points out, despite their “Confucian” content, these kinds of examinations are not to be found in the original Confucian classics. In fact, given Confucius’ emphasis on

Xinjiang Hooters

I’ve never done it. YJ has never done it before either. So last night we had a couple of beers and finally took the big step that every couple must before they get married in China…we went to one of those singing-dancing Xinjiang revue restaurants and it was….not as bad as it could have been.

Definitely high kitsch, though. We went to the Xinjiang Red Rose, across from the north gate of Worker’s Stadium. We’d heard it was (slightly) less touristy than Afunti so…what the hell. The mutton was good and comes in three basic sizes: nuggets on a stick, a limb, or the whole damn sheep roasted with what looks like a blowtorch. I also have to say too that Xinjiang beer tastes better. I have no idea why I like it, though I do have a friend who calls it “Chinese Coors Light.” Ouch.

The show was what you think it would be. Lots of belly dancing and Xinjiang folk music. The girls were certainly watchable. And the four–”drunk” really doesn’t do justice–obliterated Uighurs sitting next to us were quite impressed as they shoved 100 RMB notes into the girls’ bras and skirts. Despite the boys, it wasn’t

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