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More Chinese college students dive into the big, bad world every
June – this year, there are more than 4 million. What’s
involved in bridging the gap between campus and working life?
The arresting red and white banner stretched across the stage
reads: “Commencement for the Graduates of 2006.” Tears
well up in the eyes of proud parents that readied their children
for this moment at great financial and emotional expense. Baccalaureates
bellow from the loudspeakers, before tutors approach the students
below. Degrees are conferred; tassels are flicked from one side
of the cap to the other, and cameramen both professional and amateur
get busy with their instruments. The just-graduated crowd then
shuffles outside for a group photo, and thus four years of study
in a Chinese university culminates in success.
But then it’s out into the big, bad world. The Ministry
of Education estimates that 4.13 million Chinese students will
attend their graduation ceremony this June before trooping out
into real life, armed only with a brainful of academic facts.
Existence on and off campus, they rapidly discover, is poles apart.
Those that have already secured a job enter a greatly different
environment, while the remainder must trudge on in the battle
to find one. Having depended on either Mummy or the campus canteen
for sustenance thus far, almost all will burn the baozi in their
own apartment. With reality fast approaching from all angles,
what are the unfamiliar currents that these students must learn
to navigate?
Jobs R Us
As China’s economy belts on apace, and high tech and business
parks mushroom all over the country, final year students should
be able to march into a job. But try telling that to the 930,000
students that failed to secure working contracts upon graduation
in 2005 – almost 28 percent of last year’s 3.38 million
bachelors. Says Li, who has just been promised a job in an online
media organization, “They face an uncertain future. The worthwhile
jobs are snapped up in the months before graduation, so those
who haven’t found one by then have a dilemma: Should I settle
for an inferior position, or wait until my ideal job opportunity
arises?” Most will choose the latter.
Chinese students must also quickly learn to differentiate between
worthwhile job agencies, and those less reputable. Surging job
demand in the past few years has spawned thousands of recruitment
agencies in China. While some like Zhaopin and 51job have built
up a solid reputation, there are plenty of smaller fly-by-night
operations that swindle naive students out of their money but
give them in return a rude awakening to life as an independent
adult. Says Ye Kunyi, a Ningbo-based student who graduates this
year, “Students desperate to find work will explore any possible
option, including dodgy job agencies. I have heard lots about
students being cheated on the job market – they lost their
money, their confidence, and even the trust they used to have
in society.”
Yet of all the trials ahead for this year’s Chinese graduates,
the job hunt is probably the one for which their universities
have prepared them best. Says Li, “My University helped me
to organize a number of internships during the college years,
so I had some experience when I formally went job hunting. It
also provided plenty of information on job fairs and other opportunities.”
Competing in the Rat Race
Though they can help students to land their first job, Chinese
universities provide far less guidance for the ensuing rat race.
Such survival skills must be developed on one’s own –
a daunting task indeed for the mollycoddled graduate. In Chinese
companies, newcomers are sometimes perceived as a threat by existing
staff, particularly those less competent. Says Jane from Shanghai,
“In China, interpersonal relationships in offices are much
more complicated than they are in college. Most of my colleagues
put on a friendly face to mask their real agendas, especially
where competition for promotion is intense.”
Li meanwhile says the placid personalities commonly developed
through school and college life do not help Chinese students in
the workplace. “Generally speaking, Chinese students are
shy, are used to being looked after, and are not accustomed to
teamwork. A more aggressive attitude is necessary in today’s
workplace, but it is very difficult to adjust deep-rooted behaviors
in a short period of time.” Some, however, have happy tales
to tell about their breaking into the work force. Says Shanghai
white collar Maggie Xu, “Though I was quite nervous when
I started my new job, my colleagues went out of their way to help
me feel part of the scene. They patiently and kindly showed me
the ropes, so that I could do a better job.”
A more grueling weekday also frustrates the fresh worker. When
living on campus, most students can roll from the bed to the classroom
in 15 minutes. In the real world, many must commute long distances
from home to office. Says Jane, “Shanghai is China’s
most populous city; it’s crowded. Even though my company
operates a shuttle bus service, it still takes me two hours to
get from my flat to my office. I am often jaded by the time I
reach my desk.” What’s more, siestas are out of the
question in the white-collar world. Says Wang, a bank clerk in
Beijing’s CBD, “In college, I used to take a nap after
lunch to recharge my brain for classes and study in the afternoon
and evening. These days, I get an hour lunch break, and I often
find myself dozing off at about 4 o’ clock.” It is therefore
no surprise to see queues of caffeine junkies at Starbucks et
al every lunch hour waiting for the fix that will help them through
the afternoon.
Life in the Concrete Jungle
Not so long ago, finding accommodation was no headache for fresh
Chinese employees – they all lived in a dormitory provided
by the state-run company they worked for. Not any more –
white collars these days have to find, and pay for, their own
pads. Both bona-fide and sham agencies are again involved. With
spiraling rent prices in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou, those
at the bottom of the corporate ladder are often forced to rent
dingy apartments outside of the CBD, usually sharing with a number
of flat mates.
Sharing a flat is no major problem, at least in terms of confined
living spaces and privacy. Having spent four years cooped up with
three to nine other students in a campus dorm, learning to live
with new flat mates is easy, says Wang, but sharing out the bills
is another matter. “A classmate and I moved into an apartment
with another recent graduate. We had all just started work, so
our salaries were quite low. Rent was paid up front, but when
utility bills came, there were arguments over who should pay what.
For instance, our flat mate once refused to pay an equal proportion
of the water bill, claiming that he showered just once a week.”
Says Ye, “Living expenses are a big burden for many fresh
graduates, but I wouldn’t say I panic at these things. Instead,
I will try to prepare for these burdens that I will have to carry.
The easiest way to deal with this is to earn enough money to pay
all the bills, but that’s easier said than done. The average
university graduate in Beijing earns around RMB 2000 a month,
and that can’t cover all the living expenses. I think I am
well prepared psychologically, but time – and money –
will tell if things turn out as I expect them to.”
Western readers may well wonder, “What’s so strange
about this? I had to find a job, rent a flat, and get used to
paying bills.” But there is another facet here in China that
most Westerners have never known: the direct and indirect urgency
to achieve applied by the parents of a generation of only children.
Plenty of Western graduates these days are more concerned with
applying for visas to strange and exotic countries than for work
at home, and even when they do return, many aren’t in a hurry
to established themselves in society. Young Chinese graduates
know well that they will be solely responsible for their aging
parents’ looking after – that’s two sets of parents
when they marry – and are considerably more eager to dive
straight into their future.
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