China’s Patriarchy vs China’s Women

In mid-December 2024, at a bilateral conference, a male Chinese professor from a prestigious university in Beijing stirred controversy with a provocative question directed at the Kazakh host: “I heard that in your country, female college students give birth right after graduation, one child after another… How do we make women reproduce so obediently?”

People were furious on the internet. But all posts related to the controversy were quickly censored across China’s social media platforms.

In the past two years, many universities in China have quietly censored the word “feminism” on syllabi, forcing more liberal professors to opt for the term “gender studies.” In both cases, the censorship reflects that the Chinese government is deeply patriarchal, and it sees women’s rights as a perilous force that can mobilize people politically.

Before 1979, Chinese women during the Mao Zedong era had been immersed in pro-natal policies with national propaganda proclaiming, “more people means more power.” After 1979, the slogans switched to “have fewer children and plant more trees.” The obsession with limiting family sizes resulted in forced abortions across China over the next 40 years.

The one-child policy aimed at curbing rapid population growth, but it resulted in millions of sex-based infanticides and millions of “missing girls” due to a cultural preference for male children. This led to a distorted 110 to 100 male-to-female ratio, creating what is known as “bare stick men,” or poor men in rural China who have no prospects for marriage. The Chinese government has faced an alarming decline in population and related social issues over recent years, prompting it to revise its strict population control regulations, first unveiling a two-child policy in 2015 and soon after a three-child policy.

Today, Chinese women face a dilemma regarding reproduction. On one hand, companies want to reduce transaction costs, and hiring a woman who will step away for maternity leave is seen as a waste of resources. Young childless women are considered ticking time bombs. Company human resource agents ask about women’s marital status and family planning as part of the standard hiring process. Young college women rehearse with peers to prepare to answer direct and confronting questions from HR reps, such as “can you promise not to get pregnant in the next three years?”

Once a woman is hired, business leaders then implicitly pressure their female employees to delay childbearing in private conversations. Meanwhile, the personal opportunity cost for maternity leave is high because jobs that guarantee a woman can return to work after leave are not the norm.

On the other hand, the government pushes women to have children. To further this agenda, pro-natal propaganda has emerged that urges women to consider motherhood as the fulfillment of their roles in society. Giving birth is framed as a contribution to national capacity. The People’s Daily newspaper, a mouthpiece for the Chinese Communist Party, called children “little angels and a source of delight” in a piece titled “having a baby is both a family matter and a national matter.” College administrations are joining in; one campus displayed a comic of a woman in a graduation gown pushing a stroller with two children.

However, the response from the public has been tepid, suggesting the broader trend of China entering a post-industrial demographic transition stage of declining fertility. China now confronts challenges like those faced by South Korea and Japan – countries grappling with their own declining birth rates and the implications of an aging population.

Amid these competing expectations, reproduction is only one of many facets of a broader societal issue: pervasive patriarchal norms grip China from the highest levels of leadership to everyday attitudes in society.

A female comedian, Yang Li, recently gained fame for her incisive humor on this dynamic. Yang asked the question, “Why are Chinese men so average yet so confident?” She answered herself: “Because Chinese men think their opinion will guide the world while mine doesn’t count.”

Although her comments resonated widely with many Chinese people, they also sparked backlash. The Chinese e-commerce giant JD.com cancelled a collaboration with Yang in November after a surge of protests from male users, who threatened to withdraw their user memberships.

This incident illustrates the fragility of women’s voices in the public sphere – perhaps even more than Yang’s joke about the same topic.

Moreover, there are online communities that organize and promote misogynistic views. Some WeChat groups have a dedicated misogynist mission, with regular meetings and guidelines to enforce their ideologies and organized actions to target outspoken women online.

The polarization also pertains to LGBTQ+ communities. The state pursues a heteronormative order that serves the dual purpose of encouraging fertility and reinforcing patriarchy.

Reports over the last five years have hinted at potential changes in the legal codification of LGBTQ+ rights, yet meaningful progress remains slow. A notable moment occurred on August 5, 2019, when the Beijing Guoxin Notary Public Office announced the first notarization of mutual guardianship agreements for “special people” – a euphemism for same-sex couples seeking legal recognition. However, this initiative did not lead to the robust legal recognition that many had hoped for, leaving China’s LGBTQ+ community uncertain about their rights and futures.

Socially, both men and women contend with strong stigmas attached to being single and/or childless. For many Chinese, family remains the fundamental conduit of social pressure. It is not uncommon for lesbian women and gay men to marry to comply with familial expectations regarding procreation while still pursuing romantic relationships outside of their legal unions. Special match-making services for such “performative marriages” (形婚) are booming.

Transgender individuals face an even more challenging landscape, as their identity often comes at a high personal cost. Prominent transgender figures, such as performer Jin Xing, achieved substantial success and visibility in the past, but have recently seen their shows cancelled. Jin has become an icon of resilience, known for selling out concerts and hosting popular dating shows. Yet Jin’s success is an exception rather than the rule. Her shows also reinforce conservative gender roles more often than challenging them.

The resurgence of conservative attitudes and policies has led to fears of a wider crackdown on women and gender minorities’ rights and visibility. Support networks and safe spaces for these groups are ever more critical, yet increasingly scarce. Many express their feelings of isolation and vulnerability. As China steps into 2025, the implications of these societal dynamics carry significant weight. The public’s attitudes are likely to be more polarized, while vulnerable groups fear a regression in the slight gains they had made.