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Squalor behind garden points to divide
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WALKING recently along a newly landscaped riverfront, as I approached a bridge sitting astride a river called Yangjinggang in Pudong, I found myself in an exquisite Chinese garden.
There is an apparent attempt on the part of the designers to emphasize such Chinese elements as grove of bamboos and shrubs. There is even an empty wood hut, with an extensive wood courtyard, which brings off the impression of a sequestered garden estate.
Placed in such an environment, it is difficult not to succumb to the ambience of leisured luxury. It is a result achieved by unstinted pursuit of effect, regardless of cost. Near the bridge is an elegant wall topped with green tiles which, while artistic in itself, doubles as a partition that defines the limits of the garden.
But if you refuse to have your attention thus confined, and peep through the small ornamental windows on the walls, you gain a glimpse into another world.
In the run-up to the river, as the bridge steadily gains in elevation, it leaves under it a considerable empty space. The space had been partitioned and repartitioned into numerous cubicles. These are not refuges for tramps, but a dormitory for workers responsible for “greenification.”
In other words, these workers are exactly those responsible for gentrifying the aforementioned riverfront, weeding the lawns, pruning the shrubs, watering, picking up the litter, etc.
So when a steady stream of people take to the riverfront for relaxation after supper, these workers are, after a hard day’s work, mostly taking refuge in their abode under the bridge.
In this glittering image of modernity, facade is often more important than substance, and virtues of work do not always earn you respect as it should. I chatted with one of the workers surnamed Huang, who is a native of Fuyang in Anhui Province. He was put up in the dorm under the bridge with his wife. At 47 and making 2,000 yuan (US$322) a month, he explained that only elderly people like him would accept this kind of job here, while their children were generally working elsewhere at more promising jobs.
Lack of hukou
An ex-peasant, Huang explained apologetically that he lacked the credentials that might make him more profitably employed. But that is probably just an excuse that can be conveniently cited to a stranger.
It is hard to tell the number of Shanghainese residents in the prime of their life whose chief employment is playing mah-jong and exercising their dogs.
They might cheerfully compare notes about the amount of dibao (social security) they are entitled to, but it would be an insult to suggest to any of them the kind of job Huang has.
The real credentials that Huang and his colleagues lack is the urban hukou, a largely inherited status that makes it impossible (or possible) for people to avoid certain jobs in big cities.
Trade-offs
A number of developments have induced the likes of Huang to give up their soil, their family and relatives for a noisy city of strangers where their only worth is their readiness to be employed as they are.
There have been murmurs about social stratification or the perpetuation of the social divide as the vested interests become entrenched. But this discussion is mainly confined to urbanites. We are less aware of a divide no less gaping and substantial — the rural-urban divide.
In a sense, both the migrants’ presence and invisibility are necessary for “harmony.” While the migrants’ services make the city appealing to visitors, our sense of decency requires that hypocrasy is needed to prevent our peace of mind being disturbed by the migrant squalor.
A thing that quite puzzles me is their capacity for good humor. When I offered to take a picture of Huang, he was beaming broadly, while his colleagues around made fun of him.
The special niche they occupy in society, while it insulates them from the more dignified segments of the society, also spares them some of the pains common to the more privileged.
Having little to lose, they are never afraid of being left behind.
I once overheard an exchange between a migrant laborer in our canteen and her supervisor. When she received a severe dressing down, she jumped at the manager in self-defense, fearless and vehement, effectively defusing the confrontation by challenging him that he could fire her there and then if he found her so undesirable.
It is a scene you would only see in the canteen floor in this office building of over 40 floors.
Apparently the life of these simple laborers is conducted in reference to much simpler principles, and their simplicity affords them a kind of dignity denied to their more privileged compatriots.
Whether property price is going up or down, that’s none of their concerns. But this hidden compensation is no excuse for our not heeding their plight.
We should not allow a segment of our compatriots doing a valuable service to our society to be effective social outcasts, shunned, despised or, worse, made invisible.
We have heard frequent promises about creating conditions that would allow the honest laborers to live in dignity.
Lao Huang and his comrades are putting the promise to the test.
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