MORE than 50,000 college entrance examinees in Shanghai got their results on June 23, which determines the university they can attend. And as one Chinese saying goes: “Some were happy, some were sad.” Some students were guaranteed to go to the universities of their choice while others had to choose an alternative or study for another year after failing to get the results they needed.

China’s toughest national college entrance exams, or gaokao, are often described as dreaded and grueling. The tradition of a single exam that decides a young person’s prospects has a root in antiquity in China. The imperial examinations, or keju, which tested applicants for government office, was introduced in the Han dynasty (206BC to AD220). Examinees were required to write papers called an “eight-legged essay.” This was an argument in eight sections that elaborated on a theme while quoting from the classics such as Confucius and Mencius. This examination was the only opportunity students, from a poorer background, had to secure a decent position in imperial government.

Keju was abolished in 1905 and replaced by the national college entrance exam in 1952, after an over 50-year blank in China’s official education system. Gaokao gives an overall test on candidates’ knowledge, covering: Chinese, mathematics, politics, history, geography, physics and chemistry. It was suspended during the “cultural revolution” (1966-76) when many schools were closed and many intellectual elites were marginalized. Gaokao was reinstated in 1977 under Deng Xiaoping and is credited with helping China advance and provides a backbone for today’s rapid growth.

Critics say gaokao burdens students with undue stress and rewards rote memorization over genuine learning. Some criticize that this one-shot opportunity robs Chinese students of their curiosity, creativity and childhood. However, though tough and burdensome, for many Chinese, especially the early gaokao takers after its resumption, the exam is still a life-changing and irreplaceable memory.

Born in 1957 in Nanjing City, Wang Ningjun was among the 6.1 million young people who sat the second gaokao in 1978 and was admitted to Anhui University’s Foreign Language Department. “When I was informed of the resumption of gaokao in 1977, I was on a business trip in Nantong, Jiangsu Province,” Wang said. “I rushed back but with no review material and limited time, I failed.”

In 1977 only 230,000 students passed out of 5.7 million.

Wang prepared well the following year and was one of 402,000 top scorers who were enrolled. Before he passed the exam he worked as a mechanic in a factory in Weifang, Shandong Province, and later a clerk in education bureau in the same city. Now Wang serves as a senior in a Shanghai-based newspaper.

“In my class, there were soldiers, peasants, workers and educated youths sent to countryside,” Wang told Shanghai Daily. “One of them used to be a miner for seven years. Without gaokao, millions of young people at that time would still have to work in rural areas without a choice to do what they want.”

Like Wang, in a recent speech, Yuan Zhenguo, a professor at East China Normal University, told graduates that he was working on a farm when he received an invite by Yangzhou University to sit the exam. “At the news, I put down my hoe and rushed away,” he said.

Four decades ago, only 5 percent of the students taking gaokao got admission to colleges. Today, the percentage is at 80 percent in some areas, with the gross enrollment rate nationwide now being more than 40 percent. Gaokao helps millions of poor children in rural areas to get a higher education in large cities. Some of them even go on to get a masters or a PhD, others try to find a job in the city or return home for urban construction.

But with the passage of time, it seems gaokao’s power of giving people a better future is weakening. There is no longer “a test decides your life.” Instead, China’s education shifts from elite to public and the society values practical skills as well as knowledge.

Nowadays, attending college is not the only choice for Chinese students. More high schoolers decide to attend vocational school to ensure a well-paid job after graduation or study aboard to gain various kinds of higher education. The declining attraction of gaokao is the inevitable result of China’s rapid social and economic development.

Meanwhile, to break the high stakes brought by the one-shot exams, many universities offer their applicants independent enrollment chances — exams or interviews given by universities themselves whereby the candidates don’t need to take gaokao — and many regions or cities in China come up with reforms to gaokao.

Shanghai is among the cities which actively prompt reforms to the gaokao system. In 1987, Shanghai put forward a “3+1” model (three required and one electives) which requires students to take three tests for their majors — Chinese, English, Mathematics — and one test for elective — selected from politics, physics, biology, chemistry, history and geography.

Thirteen years later, a “3+x+1” model replaced the former one in 2001. Here the “x” means a comprehensive test covering the six electives. But for science students, their test will value more on liberal arts, the same as liberal art students. The comprehensive test was abandoned in 2012 and the current model is a “3+3” one, which takes effect from this year, This allows students to have their three elective tests before gaokao and divides the English test into two times.

Although each reform triggered both praise and criticism, it meant students in Shanghai had one test removed from their three-day gaokao schedule. Unlike Shanghai, for students in a distant area, like Tibet Autonomous Region, gaokao might still be the sole gateway for their future. According to Pan Cheng, a high school teacher at Shanghai Experimental School in Shigatse, Tibetan parents and children, in major cities like Lhasa, Shigatse and Nyingchi, value gaokao very much. “They know education is the best way to shape the destiny. Many parents hope their children can enter a good college through gaokao and then find a decent job, like a civil servant,” said Pan.

Not the end

Although the gaokao season is almost over, students who passed the exam need to know that admission to university is not the end of their studies. It is only the start. The cultivation of independent and critical thinking seems increasingly important to college students when the label “Made in China” — with insinuation of copy — has been not only put on our products, but also on our thinking ways.

A study conducted by researchers at Stanford University found Chinese students have strong critical thinking skills in the world. But the findings also show that Chinese students lose their advantage in critical thinking in college, which was described as “a sign of trouble inside China’s rapidly expanding university system” by the New York Times.

According to the New York Times, the study found Chinese freshmen in computer science and engineering programs began college with critical thinking skills about two to three years ahead of their peers in the US and Russia but made virtually no improvement after two years of college, while their American and Russian counterparts made significant strides.

Instructors were blamed of failing to attract the attention of students and reading out of a book, while students were said to lack motivation, which was caused by the vanishing of pressure.

Students’ interest in study should be cultivated in their growth. Only when a student wants to study on his or her own, then he or she will study better. Teachers can lead students to find out their own interests in study and encourage them to raise questions and criticism, even if there are some ridiculous ones. When Copernicus put forth his heliocentric theory, in a society everyone believed in a geocentric model, no one believed him. But now, we all know planets in the solar system revolve around the sun.

My ideal model of academy is the School of Athens and the Chinese Hundred Schools of Thought in the Warring Period. When one student brought up a topic, the others can offer their perspectives freely and question each other’s views.

Eight years ago, when I clutched my plastic bag, containing my ID card, test admission, black pen, pencil and eraser, and walked in to sit the gaokao, I never imagined today I would be sitting here and writing my own story. Since I chose physics as my elective, I was supposed to be a science student and have less connection with liberal arts. However, I continued writing and became a journalist. My exploration on philosophy and literature never stops, and neither does my rational thinking

Some anti-gaokao voices may question: is it too cruel to soak students in an ocean of papers and train them as a test machine? Why don’t you let students choose the subjects they interested in?

As for me, I’ll answer: I remember the pain when I was a senior in high school, but a student truly needs a balance between science and the liberal arts in his or her study. That will not reflect on the knowledge he or she may have, but on the way of his or her thinking — a person needs both rational and emotional thinking. As Nicholas of Cusa and Descartes can connect mathematics with philosophy, I feel every subject can have a link with another. When you learn more, you will feel the link of everything in the world and touch the world.