LETTER FROM BEIJING
By Helen Gao
1 In April, I started a job teaching English to two Chinese employees at the Beijing branch of a multinational company. I
imagined my students would be recent graduates, around my age, and eager to learn how to actually speak the
language they have spent their life studying. It turned out, however, that Ken and Margaret are both in their 40s, hold
senior positions at the company, and speak confident English, though slightly accented.
2 With a firm handshake, Ken, a new employee at the firm, told me he wanted to improve his English pronunciation so
that his European colleagues would not “mistake me for a minor executive at the company.” Margaret explained that
before “selling my company to international clients, I would like to sell myself.” Both Ken and Margaret stay in the office
after 10pm on weekdays to take lessons with me.
3 Although western culture is still viewed with some suspicion, learning English has long been a national obsession. In
wealthy middle-class families, tiny children who have only just begun to speak a few words in Chinese are soon sat down
in front of Disney movies and enrolled in bilingual kindergartens. At school, English is taught from a young age and is a
required subject on the university entrance exam. Diligent learners like Margaret and Ken continue to pursue English
long after school, hoping it will give them an advantage in the workplace.
4 Recently, however, a reaction against English learning has developed. Late last year, education authorities in Beijing
said they would diminish the weight of English in the college admissions process, with the purpose of “reducing
academic pressure for high school students.” The announcement was met with many cheers online: some, championing
the value of traditional Chinese culture, believe subjects such as classical Chinese and calligraphy deserve more
attention than English. Others argue that English proves useful for only a small fraction of Chinese students after
university, too few to justify its mandatory status.
5 A few saw it differently. Some commentators wondered if the proposal reveals the insecurity of the Communist Party,
at a time when the country’s elite are emigrating en masse and intellectuals are relying on foreign media sites to access
unfiltered news. “Are you afraid that we will all flee to the US after we master English?” one suggested. “It is another way
of keeping us stupid and uninformed,” another said. “It’s the same as building the Great Fire Wall for our internet… It’s a
step backward, motivated by political conservatism.”
6 Most parents and educators doubt the policy will reduce people’s enthusiasm towards English in the long run. The
tangible benefits that proficiency in English can bring—admission to western universities and jobs in multinational
firms—are strong incentives, as is the popularity of western pop culture. But there are subtler advantages, too. Younger
generations are striving to refine their increasingly cosmopolitan image, and English serves as a symbol for this ambition
as well as a tool to realise it. Nothing better announces cultural distinction than the ability to quote from Downton
Abbey with a flawless British accent or to order from an English menu at an upscale Shanghai restaurant.
Adapted from mêçëéÉÅí, July 2014
With respect to the current reaction against the English language in China, the article mentions all of the following as possible reasons except
