I well remember casually asking a pregnant Chinese friend where her child would be born. She replied: “Here in Beijing. But the baby will not have the ‘hukou’ of Beijing.”
I was intrigued by the emphasis that the Chinese woman from Yunnan attributed, in her reply, to the city that would appear on her son’s residence register. The reference to “hukou” opened my eyes to the importance, in China of 2021, of this kind of internal, Soviet-inspired passport established in the 1950s.
The “hukou” determines in which city a Chinese person has access to public services such as education, health and housing subsidies. If you choose to migrate to another city, the individual does not enjoy the same rights as his compatriots who have the local “hukou”.
It is very difficult to change the registry. Sometimes a job in a state company or marriage to a partner of another “hukou” gives this right. News of corruption and forged unions due to the registry are not lacking.
The official justification for the “hukou” is to promote the orderly urbanization of what is the most populous country in the world and where, until 2010, amazingly, the rural population still outnumbered the urban one. Many defend the system as a necessary evil, including to prevent the emergence of slums in cities.
For others, the system creates second-rate citizens within the country. Such an internal passport especially harms workers who come from the countryside in search of better opportunities in the cities.
The problem extends to the families of these migrants. A legion of children are left in the care of grandparents and relatives in the countryside because, in cities, life is especially expensive without certain services.
The drama of the so-called “left-behind children” is not trivial. There are about 31 million away from both parents. Usually, reunions occur only once a year, on the Chinese New Year holiday. The lucky ones find themselves two or three times. The “hukou” certainly doesn’t explain everything, but it is an important part of the problem.
Of course, there are those who resist abolishing the registration of residence. Not only the rich, but especially the urban middle class are afraid that the quality of services offered by the state will decline. Officials in coveted cities reinforce the concern.
Around the edges, some changes are introduced. Cities of up to 3 million inhabitants had to relax the rules. Beijing and other larger municipalities are seeking to offer more services to those without a registration, without, however, giving up the system. This year, Jiangxi Province in southeastern China decided that, within its territory, the people of the province can have the “hukou” of the city they want.
It’s not enough given the size of the challenge. Today, internal migrants account for 40% of the urban workforce. The number will grow, also because there is still room for urbanization in China.
If nothing changes, the Yunnan couple’s son, born in the Chinese capital, will not be able to attend high school in a public school in Beijing. In an eventual health problem, parents have to bear the expenses even in a public hospital, unlike what happens with a child from a local “hukou”.
The alternative is to seek treatment in a city 2,000 km away. Or pay for private insurance. When he grows up, the boy will have additional requirements if he wants to buy a property where he was born.
If China really intends to attack inequalities and promote the so-called “common prosperity”, it cannot avoid a real reform of the residence registration system.
As long as a conversation about the birth of a baby is associated with which “hukou” the baby will be entitled to, the problem persists.
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