W ith two cars, foreign holidays and a cook for their apartment, one Beijing family epitomizes the new middle class created by China’s decades of rapid economic growth — and its resulting worries.
Li Na, 42, is a caterer at the Beijing Zoo, and her husband, Chi Shubo, 48, works for a state-owned investment company. The couple have seen their fortunes transformed since Li arrived in Beijing 20 years ago from Shandong Province.
Then, she cycled for hours from a shared dormitory to visit her husband’s workplace. Now she commutes in a US-made car and the couple holiday with their 11-year-old daughter in Japan, South Korea and the US.
Tens of millions of other Chinese have made a similar transition. About 10 percent of China’s 1.35 billion people now count as middle class, according to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, a figure that is set to rise to 40 percent by 2020.
However, their concerns about air pollution, food safety and China’s education system show the challenges facing the country’s newly appointed leaders, who have promised a shift away from the model of growth at all costs.
Every year, Li and her husband set a goal to improve their lives.
“We always have a plan,” Li said. “For example, this year I might want a new camera and my husband will help make that come true.”
The family’s four-bedroom apartment in a Beijing suburb was the most important purchase of their lives.
“We struggled half our lives to buy it,” Li said over a breakfast of fried eggs and bacon.
In a picture of comfortable suburban living, their daughter, who goes by the name Nancy, sprawls on a vast sofa opposite a huge flat-screen Sony television, nuzzling the family’s fluffy brown dog.
Li says her top priority is Nancy’s education. It is not a school day, but Li’s iPhone alarm rings to signal that it is time for her daughter’s first lesson.
She steers her Chevrolet Epica sedan past forests of near-identical apartment blocks to the Haidian Youth Palace, a relic of Maoist-era China which now holds classes aimed at boosting children’s creativity.
At weekends, Nancy has lessons in traditional Chinese calligraphy and a badminton class “with a private coach,” Li said.
In the past year, the young girl swapped learning the piano for a new instrument, the ocarina, a pocket-sized flute.
Nancy has only three or four hours of free time a day on weekends, Li said, as she seeks to hold her position in China’s highly competitive education system.
A glut of graduates created by the expansion of China’s university system means that the graduate unemployment rate is higher than that of the general population, making winning a place at the very best colleges ever more crucial.
Getting into a top school is also not always about ability, Li said, with cash donations sometimes involved.
“Sometimes parents need to do extra work, give out red envelopes and even then, success can depend on your contacts,” she said.
This year has bought some more worrying lessons. When thick smog blanketed northern China, sending pollution levels soaring in the capital, Nancy learned about PM2.5, the name given to invisible pollutants which can damage children’s lungs.
She reached into the pocket of her mother’s car seat and pulled out a face mask.
“My mum made me wear this every day in January and February because the PM2.5 was very bad,” she said.