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Aug 20, 202124 min read

Recognizing PTSD Endured by Those Born Outside China’s One-Child-Policy: Suggestions for Reparations

Updated: Aug 21, 2021

By: kimcraig

Department of Anthropology, Brandeis University

ANTH 207B: Trauma: Theory & Experience

Dr. Ellen Schattschneider

Wednesday, May 19, 2021


Keywords: PTSD, One-Child-Policy, Heihaizi, China, Trauma, Reparations, TRC, Speaking Bitterness, Big Letter Posters


INTRODUCTION


The passing of China’s Two-Child Policy (TCP) and the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) agreement to grant citizenship to all those excess children who had been living in secrecy was meant to alleviate the burdens the children and their families had suffered over their lifetime. After years of living without any sort of social welfare this move was meant to bring the 14 million 黑孩子 heihaizi (literally “black children”) out of hiding, and offer a pathway to integrate into society as if sudden access to an identification document would make up for an entire lifetime without healthcare, education, or any other government controlled social resources (TIME, 2016; Xu, 2016). The mental and emotional suffering that has resulted from living in hiding has not been recognized by the government let alone addressed. But how would one categorize a lifetime of micro-traumas engendered by a lack of citizenship? Does the Diagnostic Statistical Manual’s (DSM) criteria of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) encapsulate the breadth of the struggles endured by the heihaizi? Using the life histories of several “black children” I will put their lived experiences into conversation with Becker’s 1995 article challenging the DSM’s criteria of PTSD in order to advance the understanding and criteria related to trauma. I will also offer suggestions to how the PRC might go about addressing the collective trauma experienced by not just the heihaizi, but the lives of an entire nation that were affected by the strictest anti-natal policy the world has ever seen.


BACKGROUND


On January 1, 2015, The People’s Republic of China decided to loosen it’s strict birthing perimeters after 35 years and finally let couples have more than one child- for the first time since 1979 (Xu, 2016). While most couples followed the orders of the One Child Policy through systematic pressures of social surveillance, workplace-administered pregnancy tests, quarterly physical exams, voluntary and forced abortions, sterilization coupled with the risk of fines and job loss (Grappe, 2014; Greenhalgh, 2010; Sun et al., 2018). Even still, some were able to evade the system and have more than one child. While the wealthy were able to afford the hefty social compensation fees (Shi, 2017), those of lower socioeconomic status (SES) who were unable to pay the penalties were more likely to hide their excess children, keeping their birth a secret and never officially registering them as citizens (Klemetti et al., 2011). Without the official documentation of recognized citizenship, known as a hukou, unregistered children are unable to receive social services, such as healthcare, education, the ability to legally hold a job, get marry or even board a train (Fong, 2015; Ford, 2015; Manninen, 2019; Xu, 2016). A hukou is the most important document in a Chinese person’s life, essentially functioning as a passport to access basic social welfare; without one, “...one officially does not exist” (Manninen, 2019, p.24). Those unfortunate enough to be undocumented are like ghost-citizens and are referred to as heihaizi, or “black children” (“black” denoting something that is illegal) (Grappe, 2014; Fong, 2015). With the government's move to a two-child policy, those second-born heihaizis born early on in the OCP were well into adulthood and wondered what a Two-Child Policy would mean for them. Could they finally receive their hukou and come out of secrecy (Xu, 2016)?


Two weeks following the lift of the One Child Policy, the State Councils reported that social compensation fees did not need to be paid prior to unregistered people to receiving hukous and the heihaizi were free to “walk out of the shadows” (Xu, 2016). We know from many news reports that the actual implementation of these orders were not as generous (Manninen, 2019; TIME, 2016; Grappe, 2014). The corruption and blackmailing at the local levels is copious and incentivized by an infrastructure where “cities and provinces which set their amounts [for social compensation fees] are earning a lot of money thanks to this system” (Grappe, 2014, 00:25:11). Despite the fact that there is no legal basis to deny hukous, local officials justify their actions of continuing to press parents for fines by saying that they are ‘waiting for the central government to lay out more precise regulations before” handing out hukous (Xu, 2016). In 2014 alone, the local family planning branches, who have become dependent upon these fines (Xu, 2016), collected an estimated 3 billion dollars from these fines (Grappe, 2014; Manninen, 2019). But there is some pushback to the extortion. In one case, Li Xue, a Beijinger in her early 20s who has become one of the most outspoken heihaizi, actually went so far as to sue the local police for illegally denying her a hukou (Ford, 2015; Grappe, 2014; TIME, 2016; Ming, 2016; Xu, 2016).


Li Xue is just one of the estimated 13-14 million heihaizi (Fong, 2015; TIME, 2016; Xu, 2016). Because of China’s preference for sons, it is assumed that a majority of those unregistered are most likely women, especially in rural areas. This is due to the fact that men are not only seen as more useful for farm labor, but they are also able to carry on the family's name (Grappe, 2014). China has long been an extremely patriarchal and patrilocal society and women are seen as only being temporary members of the family. There is a common expression, “To raise a girl is to cultivate someone else’s field” (Grappe & Barreyre, 2017, 00:05:10). The idea being that the woman will go and live with her husband’s family after marriage; for this reason, sons were preferred. During the early years of the OCP, in order to ensure that a family’s only child was a boy, sex selective abortions were extremely common (Greenhalgh, 2012, p.141). Even after the central government banned gender screenings in the early 1990s (Greenhalgh, 2012, p.141), the gender imbalance continued to widen. In 2016, there were an estimated 116 men to every 100 women in China (Grappe & Barreyre, 2017). While illegal gender screenings clearly contribute to these numbers, it is also important to recognize that these statistics come from census data which only recognize registered citizens; the millions of heihaizi are absent from these figures.


PTSD


A life lived in secrecy is bound to have effects on one's mental and physical well being. Without a hukou the heihaizi are unable to participate in everyday life and become completely reliant on their hukou holding parents. While less of a problem in early life, as the undocumented child grows into adulthood and the parent into old age, more and more issues occur. The stress of not being recognized as a whole person while trying to remain in hiding can take its toll over a lifetime as we will discuss in the case studies to follow.


While most of the studies of trauma and undocumented populations have centered around the stressors related to migration (Goodman et. al., 2017), I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the heihaizi, despite their assumed stationary lives, have also experienced trauma as the result of structural inequalities. In Goodman’s 2017 article on Trauma among Undocumented Immigrant Women, she and her team used Burstow’s (2003) definition: “Trauma is not a disorder but a reaction to a kind of wound. It is a reaction to profoundly injurious events and situations in the real world and, indeed, to a world in which people are routinely wounded” (p.309). He goes on to specify that this wounding can arise from discrimination or systemic oppression. This is an interesting divergence from a clinical definition of trauma as the DSM-5 defines it in their criteria for PTSD as exposure to “death, threatened death, actual or threatened serious injury, or actual or threatened sexual violence…” (USDVA, 2020). While most of the heihaizi are unlikely to experience these specific forms of trauma listed by the DSM, they are undeniably districrimated against and systematically oppressed. It is very likelihood that they suffer from some form of PTSD (more likely C-PTSD) from being quashed under human rights violations.


The suggestion to revise the way we understand and treat PTSD was addressed in a 1995 article by David Becker. Using case studies, such as the life histories of Chilean families who have been traumatized by political unrest, Becker points out the limits of the DSMs definition of PTSD. He posits that “PTSD, even in its own framework, is not an adequate diagnostic instrument and furthermore that it has ideological implications which are important to avoid when dealing with victims of human rights violation and other forms of organized violence” (Becker, 1995, p.100). According to Becker (1995) “traumatization is characterized by a structure of power within the society that is based on the elimination of some members of this society by others of the same society…[whose] aim is the destruction of individuals, their sense of belonging to the society, and their social activities” (p.107). If we accept that those without a hukou are seen as “not existing” within Chinese society, the PRC’s withholding of the heihaizi’s hukou is essentially akin to eliminating them, if not physically, then socially. In the following sections I will demonstrate how the violence of denied personhood of the undocumented Chinese has surely resulted in PTSD. Building off of Becker’s argument (1995) advocating for a broader understanding of PTSD and the problematics of its name, I will show how the trauma experienced by these individuals is not limited to a single moment in time or a direct threat of physical vitality but instead has resulted from microtraumas that compounded over their entire lifetimes and is even likely to be passed onto future generations.


“POST”


The “P” in PTSD stands for “Post”, as in an event that happened in the past. As if the trauma is over now. As if the past doesn’t affect the present. In his article, Becker (1995) notes that “patients experience cumulative and continuous trauma” (p.101) and asserts that the “post” actually marks the beginning of trauma (p.102). This is evident in a quote from psychotherapist and Auschwitz survivor, Gabriel Dagan, where he remarked “I have survived hell but I have not been released from it; it is still inside me day and night” (Becker, 1995, p.103).


Applying this idea to the heihaizi, I will return to the case of Li Xue, the young woman who sued the local Beijing municipality for denying her a hukou. Her story was well documented as it was covered heavily by foriegn reporters (Grappe, 2014; TIME, 2016; Ming, 2016; Xu, 2016). We know from the interviews of her and her family that Xue went through recurrent bouts of serious depression and hopelessness or in DSM terms:


  • Overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world

  • Negative affect

  • Decreased interest in activities

  • Feeling isolated

  • Difficulty experiencing positive affect


Her despair is evident in her mannerisms. Her mother described the differences between her eldest daughter (who is registered) and Xue in an interview with French filmmaker Marjolaine Grappe (2014): “Our eldest is very talkative… but Li Xue doesn't dare to speak… She does everything to be discreet… so as not to create a problem” [translated from French]. (00:06:08). But what single past event can be blamed for these symptoms? Was it when her father lost his job due to having a second child without permission and was then unable to provide for his family (TIME, 2016)? Or the first time Li Xue realized she would not be able to attend school like her older sister (See Figure 1) (Grappe, 2014)? Or when her parents realized that they would have to stop eating and drinking in order to even begin saving for the 5,000 yuan ($760) in social compensation fees (Xu, 2016) when their family was only making 60 yuan ($9) per month (Grappe 2014). Perhaps the moment of trauma was her birth? Or when the couple learned they were pregnant? Or even September 25, 1980, the day the One Child Policy was implemented on a national level (Pletcher, 2020)? Whatever moment we decide to mark the trauma, it’s clear that the past has snowballed and most definitely affected her present mental health status.


Before her father passed away prematurely, Li Xue rarely dared to even leave the house (Grappe, 2014) (see Figure 2), but shortly thereafter began to grow more bold and assertive in her fight for citizenship (TIME, 2016). No lawyer dared to defend her, as such an attack on the state would be far too dangerous for any prosecutor, but that hasn’t halted Li Xue’s determination (Grappe, 2014). Using her elder sister’s library card, she spends her days teaching herself law in order to defend herself in court (Grappe, 2014; TIME, 2016). In a 2014 interview she declares, “I will finally be able to go to court to prove that I do exist. They will be forced to write that the complainant responds to the name of Li Xue, my identity will appear on the documents. So in a way, this may be the first day of Li Xue's existence.” (Grappe, 2014, 00:32:50).


“TRAUMATIC”


The “T” in PTSD stands for “Traumatic”, as in experiencing a horrifying event. This implies a level of intensity that causes “injury and discontinuity” severe enough to produce a “perceived sense of irreparable tear of self and reality” (Becker, 1995, p.105). Part of what makes a situation traumatic is the unpredictability. Becker cites Bruno Bettelheim describing his experience in a concentration camp, “What characterized it most was it’s inescapability, it’s uncertain duration, but potential for life; the fact that nothing about it was predictable; that one’s very life was in jeopardy at every moment and that one could do nothing about” (1995, p.105). While the heihaizi may not be fearing for their lives on a daily basis, there is a constant fear of being caught and a dread of a future with no prospects. Bettelheim’s description of the uncertainty of fate is most definitely something that the heihaizi can relate to. Especially once the OCP was overturned and the potential of receiving a hukou was dangled before them.


How intense does an experience need to be in order to be irreparably torn? In 2010 17-year old Shi Chen found his experiences living as an undocumented child so unbearable that he escaped the country and attempted to seek asylum in the United States (Sykes, 2010). At his trial his attorney made the case that his legal status offered no options for his future, stating: “As a member of the heihaizi, Chen asserts that he is denied access to health care and other governmental services; is excluded from higher education and many types of employment; and will be denied the right to marry and have children, the right to own property, and the right to freely travel within and outside of China… As a penalty for his unlawful birth, his mother was forcibly sterilized, and his parents were required to pay a large fine that equaled the family's annual income” (Sykes, 2010). The US government ultimately denied him amnesty concluding the persecution he faced was not severe enough as he had been able to attend school through middle school, he had never been detained, and the economic suffering of his family was not grounds enough for relief (Sykes, 2010). Based on this ruling it seems that the U.S. and the DSM-5 have similar definitions of what constitutes a traumatic experience and years of systematic oppression does not count.


“STRESS”


The “S” in PTSD stands for “Stress”, as in external pressures placed on the body that limits its capabilities. Becker points out the irony of “trauma” and “stress” being coupled in the term PTSD as he sees them as contradictory. Whereas trauma can be interpreted as a catastrophic threat followed by a chaotic response leading to a structural breakdown, he sees stress as a considerable yet manageable pressure that does not lead to systematic failure (Becker, 1995, p.105). The stress that the heihaizi bear on a daily basis is undeniable.


Though less severe than trauma, stress is not benign, and can have deleterious effects on physical, mental, and emotional health (Gonzales et. al., 2013). For undocumented children, this may occur as soon as they realize their legal status, and are pressured into maintaining their secret. A study led by Roberto Gonzales, examined undocumented children in the US and found that many of them realized their status when they were unable to participate in the same rites of passages as their peers due to their lack of documentation (2013). This stressful (dare I say traumatic?) event was evident in the interview with Li Xue’s mother when she described her daughter’s moment of realization: “When the others went to [school], she asked me: “Mom, they're going to school, why can't I go?” I had to tell her: “You're not like the others, you don't have the right to go because you don't have an identity card. You are different…She [Li Xue] burst into tears…” (Grappe, 2014, 00:06:08).


These kinds of everyday stressors lead to anxiety, frustration and stress and provoked a social distancing out of fear of being discovered (Gonzales et al., 2013). Gonzales and colleagues (2013) found that substance abuse, self-harm and suicide attempts were higher than their native and documented peers and the mental anguish of chronic stress became physically embodied in the form of higher blood pressure, headaches, decreased cognitive performance, and decreased impulse control. Though the circumstances between the undocumented children in China and those that are undocumented as a result of immigrations in the US differ in many ways, their shared experience of living a life in secrecy is applicable.


To see what some of these everyday stresses might entail, we can look to a woman who some may call an“excess-birth guerilla” (Shi, 2017, p.542). A woman named Mrs. Wang didn’t just have one child outside of the policy, but six. A mother of seven children, she has been struggling to get them registered for decades. She originally had planned to stop at three but after the local authorities failed to make good on their promise of granting all of her children hukous if she agreed to abort her fourth child in the last trimester of her pregnancy, her sorrow turned to rage and she decided to retaliate the only way she knew how: “This is my revenge...as an ordinary citizen and a woman I had no other way to rebel than to have children” (Manninen, 2019, p.27). As seen in the chart below, all of Mrs. Wang’s children have had very different struggles as heihaizi, but the thing they all share in common is that their stress has derived from their lack of citizenship.


Mrs. Wang’s Children and the Stress Endured Due to Hukou Status


NAME/AGE (as of 2015)/SEX/BIRTH-PLACE/HUKOU STATUS/STRESSERS


Songtao/31/F/hospital/Hukou since birth/Afraid to date because she is “afraid a potential boyfriend's family would be shocked by her family. It is the duty of a married couple to help their relatives as long as they live.” (p.35)


Zejin/29/M/secret home birth/Promised hukou after sister was forcefully aborted, but officials did not keep their promise. Finally received hukou in 2015 after the family's story went viral on Chinese social media.Was unofficially married and had a baby boy. His son fell ill and couldn’t be hospitalized because, like his father, he had no hukou. Zejin’s wife and son left him shortly thereafter. Before obtaining a hukou, he could not legally work and his only option was to work alongside his father on their family farm.


Zelong/23/M/secret home birth/Promised hukou after sister was forcefully aborted, but officials did not keep their promise. Finally received hukou in 2015 after the family's story went viral on Chinese social media.Before obtaining a hukou could not legally work and his only option was to work alongside his father on their family farm.


(forcefully aborted child)/0/F/hospital(N/A)“...the doctors stuck a needle in the head of the baby in Mrs. Wang’s womb. The next day she gave birth to a dead baby. She saw the body and the sight still haunts her… ‘I was sad for a long time’.” She had recurring nightmares about the baby....eventually “her sorrow turned to rage...she refused to be sterilized and instead planned to have as many children as she possibly could.” (p.31)


Jinxin/21/F/hospital/No hukou/The hospital where she was born has no records of documents from before 1996. Without a birth certificate, authorities will not grant a hukou.She dropped out of school as she didn’t see a point as she would never be able to attend college without a hukou. Unofficially married a man she met on the internet and had a baby girl. Because Jinxin lacked a hukou, her daughter was unable to get one as well. Her husband's family eventually kicked her out of their house. She is now severely depressed and on antidepressants.

In the interview with the family, Manninen mentioned Jinxin was hunched over and did not speak for the duration of the conversation, only shrugging her shoulders to respond.


Zedong/18/M/secret home birth/Finally received a hukou in 2015 after the family's story went viral on Chinese social media.Teased for not having a hukou. Attempted suicide at 17.


Xiaomin/11/F/hospital/Finally received a hukou in 2015 after the family's story went viral on Chinese social media.Wearing tatters clothes during interviewXiaoman9FhospitalFinally received a hukou in 2015 after the family's story went viral on Chinese social media.Wearing tatters clothes during interview


NOTE. From “Chapter 1: Undocumented” of Secrets and Siblings: The Vanished Lives of China’s One Child Policy by Mari Manninnen.


At the time of Mari Manninen’s (2019) interview with the family in 2015, the author noted that “The future for her other six children looked bleak, nonexistent as a matter of fact.” (p.32). Between a lack of job prospects, failed marriages, dropping out of school, a generalize sense of hopelessness, depression, and a suicide attempt, Mrs. Wang’s six undocumented children were not thriving. Even the eldest, who was registered, was struggling due to the guilt she felt because of her family’s situation. Because most of the children were unable to legally work, the collective family earnings were less than 8,000 yuan ($1,200 USD) per year. Meanwhile they owed more than 600,000 yuan ($93,000 USD) in social compensation fees (Manninen, 2019, p.36). The financial stress alone of trying to raise a family of nine on such a meager income is onerous.


But these stresses aren’t limited to the individual’s experience as many studies show that embodied health can be passed intergenerationally (Carpenter, 2017; Kuzawa & Sweet, 2009; Ratnasiri et al., 2018; Walters et al., 2011). One of which, led by Karina Walters (2011), found that “powerful stress environmental conditions can leave an imprint of mark on the epigenome that can be carried into future generations with devastating consequence” (p.184). With the immense number of stressors and health risks the first generation of heihaizi is liable to be exposed to over their lifetime, there is great danger of passing some on. So, even though Mrs. Wang’s two grandchildren are no longer being raised by their heihaizi parents, they will most likely experience effects from Zejin and Jinxin’s lives in the shadows.

“DISORDER”


The “D” in PTSD stands for “Disorder”, as in something in the brain is malfunctioning. In his article, Becker builds on arguments made by K.R. Eissler, who points out the absurdity to label victims of political repression as “disordered”, noting that “to call it disorder repeats the denial initiated by victimizers and thereby deepens the trauma” (1995, p.103). He suggests that it would make more sense to say someone “is disordered if they did not become ill after such experiences” and points out that it is not the individual that is disturbed but a person that is suffering from “the consequences of a disturbed society” (Becker, 1995, p.104).


To put this into context with the heihaizi, one of Mr’s Wang’s children, 18 year old Zedong, had gotten to the point where he had such little hope that at 17 he attempted to kill himself. The 5th of seven children, only one of which had hukou, he had plenty of examples from his elder siblings of what his life could be and none of them looked appealing. In an interview he stated, “I felt like I had no worth. Even dogs have papers, but I had nothing. Everyone looks down on me...it’s not my fault I don’t have [a] hukou”. (Manninen, 2019, p.35).


To call Zedong’s urge of not wanting to live a disorder does not recognize his experience of the world. Thoughts of suicide is not an abnormal reaction to a lifetime of being forced to live in the shadows of a disturbed society. As if not being recognized as a person is something that one should be joyous about. I think Becker would agree that, while grim, Zedong’s loss of a will to live is a “perfectly normal reaction after the suffering of a life without basic human rights.


Zedong was not traumatized by each individual roadblock he faced due to his lack of hukou, but was ultimately traumatized by the accumulation of oppression which led to his breakdown and suicide attempt. Becker notes that “extreme traumatization is never only individual destruction or only a sociopolitical process it is alway both” (1995, p.107), which is to say it was not simply Zedong’s mind that acted on his body which caused his suicide attempt, but the interplay between the social life of an oppressive policy and an individual caught under its restrictive thumb.


MOVING FORWARD


Becker notes that we should not determine treatment and aid of PTSD by whether or not a person is experiencing symptoms but rather if they have suffered political repression (1995, p.108). In this case, all heihaizi can be assumed to have some form of PTSD due to the structural violences they faced. After a lifetime of stress living in hopelessness and uncertainty associated with being undocumented, a sudden granting of hukou status will not erase the years of trauma sustained on those children whose only crime was being born. The trauma stays with us and is written into our genes (Walters et al., 2011), as well as our nervous system (Van Der Kolk, 2014).


As of 2016, we know that Li Xue and all but one of Mrs. Wang’s children were able to get their hukous (TIME, 2016; Manninen, 2019). While this did revolutionize the Wang family’s financial situation, as the older sons are now able to legally hold jobs, the registration alone did not solve everyone’s problems. We know from the TIME documentary (2016) that even with a hukou Li Xue is still missing certain paperwork that grants her access to all social welfare. The opportunities in education and socialization that all of the children missed will forever haunt them. In order to heal the mental and emotional scars associated with their assumed PTSD more reparative actions must be taken by the PRC. With that in mind, I would like to offer some suggestions for responses that the PRC might implement.


While the past can not be changed, there are pathways to brighter futures. To begin, the trauma endured by Chinese people resulting from the country’s family planning policies must first be recognized. The success of slowing down it’s population growth and nearly meeting its goal of staying under 1.2 billion by the year 2000 (Grappe & Barreyre, 2017; 00:04:30) were only made possible due to the harrowing sacrifices made by the Chinese people. With this in mind, I suggest three proactive measures that allow the government to admit it’s part in its nation’s suffering, while also allowing those who have been traumatized to voice their grievances.


Firstly, the PRC could look to South Africa’s national healing project meant to handle the tensions between black and white South Africans post-apartheid with the Truth and Reconciliation Committee hearings (TRC) (Hoffmann & Reid, 2000). The trials were intended to let both sides speak their pain and let the truths of human rights violations surface. As one of the posters from a TRC in Liberia explains, the hearings will “encourage admittance to wrong doings and forgiveness” (see Figure 3). As we saw in Hoffmann & Reid’s film, Long Night’s Journey into Day (2000) having both sides explaining their reasoning of their actions in a setting that is neutral allows for compassion and growth. A TRC for the heihaizi might have the children and their parents speak to the struggles they faced during their time in hiding while the local birth planning officials might speak to why they performed the forced sterilizations as ruthlessly as they did.


Nan Wang’s 2019 film, One Child Nation, attempted something similar to this, trying to understand everyone’s side in the matter, but addressed the parents who had abandoned children in order to follow the law rather than those who obscured it by having children in secret. The overarching message of the film is “we had no choice, the law was above us” and ends up being an unabashedly anti-PRC film. What I am trying to suggest is that the government be involved, leading the trials, admitting it’s own failings and apologizing to the hardships faced by its people. This would be revolutionary for a government that is well known for not accepting criticism. But here is a chance to take the high road and prioritize healing over power. If South Africa can do it, you can China.


It should be noted that this kind of activity would not be new for Chinese people. As recently as the Cultural Revolution there have been platforms where citizens were openly encouraged “speaking bitterness” in order to heal (Javed, 2019). Similar to the TRC these were public hearings meant to express grievances and tell stories of suffering. Unlike the TRC they were not intended to promote reconciliation, but rather revenge. During the time of communist land reform local villagers were given space to air their negative experiences under the landlords of feudal China (Javed, 2019). While the Speaking Bitterness Sessions worked toward the communist party’s agenda of land redistribution, these public hearings often ended in the execution of the landlords or farmers who opposed reform (see Figure 5). Nevertheless, the precedent for storytelling of suffering in the spirit of surrendering pain and promoting change is still useful. I suggest a modern day Speaking Bitterness session but with an alternate purpose and intended outcome.


Similar to the Speaking Bitterness campaigns of the 1950s, my second suggestion of actions the PRC might try to adopt in order to make reparations to the heihaizi, also comes from the communist party’s own history. Once the state had gained a stronger foothold, there was another form of airing grievances that resulted in a bit less bloodshed. The Big Letter Campaigns of the 1960s were a more visual form of protest, where disappointed citizens would write their criticisms of certain anti-revolutionists in order to promote change (see Figure 4). This campaign was also used as a vehicle to promote revolutionary ideology in support of the communist party, which would be the key difference in what I am trying to suggest. I propose this format be revived to let the heihaizi share their stories of a life in the shadows. A kin to an open letter, these kinds of public displays of dissatisfaction allow individuals a non-violent method of storytelling that keeps some anonymity. The biggest issues with this format of communication is that because most heihaizi were not able to receive a proper education, it is likely that many are illiterate and might not be able to write their messages.


Storytelling is important for the way we understand and conceptualize the world. Zedong internalized the narrative that his government had fed him, that he was worthless without a hukou (Manninen, 2019) and didn’t think his life was worth living. The PRC’s censoring of emotions associated with it’s birth planning policy, as exhibited in it’s reaction to Nan Wang’s (2019) attempt to explore different sides of the story, bars the healing necessary to move on from what will surely be remembered as a dark stain on the country's history. A public space to tell the stories of the traumas one has experienced would not only be therapeutic to those that have suffered, but also has potential for the government to save face and rewrite its own stereotype of being harsh on it’s people. Allowing space for the heihaizi to share their stories will also reveal new avenues for healing their PTSD that have yet to be considered.


CONCLUSION


Slowly the heihaizi are finally being granted their long awaited documents qualifying them as full citizens. While most of the undocumented children mentioned in this paper were able to receive their hukou by 2016, the micro-traumas they endured over years of living in secret surely still affecting them today. What’s interesting is that the PRC is functioning similarly to the DSM’s criteria of PTSD, which places the heihaizi’s pain as something that is in the past, something that is gone now that they have registration papers.. Without offering any reparations, it’s as if to say that “You have a hukou now. Problem Solved.” But just as David Becker (1995) suggests, all victims of human rights violations have experienced trauma, and their reaction to it is not disordered, but a normal reaction to a disordered society (p.104).


Unfortunately the systems and institutions that determine suffering don’t take the lower-case “t” traumas and everyday stresses of living in secrecy without access to social welfare into considerations when they are making decisions about care. We see this in the DSM-5’s criteria for trauma that only includes suffering based on threat to physical vitality but fails to address emotional or mental well-being (USDVA, 2020). We see this in Shi Chen’s amnesty case being overturned due to a lack of physical suffering (Sykes, 2010). We see this PRC’s lack of reparational actions to its citizens who have suffered under a harsh policy that affected the lives of every single one of its people in some way. I offered two possible pathways that the PRC might adopt to beginning healing the wounds caused by the One Child Policy. By providing some kind of platform that allows those in pain to tell their stories makes space for healing to begin.


APPENDIX


Figure 1

Childhood Photo of Li Xue

Note. A childhood photograph of Li Xue, a well known heihaizi on the lap of her elder sister.

Grappe, M. (2014). Chine, Naître et Ne Pas Être [Translation: To Be Born and Not to Be]. [Still Image from TV Documentary] in Arte Reportage. Creative Europe Media.


Figure 2

Li Xue Waiting for News of Hukous

Note. Undocumented woman, Li Xue, watches the television with her parents because “sometimes they talk about other 'unborn children'. I want to know if there are others looking for help, and how they are doing!” (00:09:41) Grappe, M. (2014). Still image from Chine, Naître et Ne Pas Être (Translation: To Be Born and Not to Be). [Still from TV Documentary] in Arte Reportage. Creative Europe Media.



Figure 3

Truth and Reconciliation Poster


Figure 4

Speaking Bitterness Session

Note. Everett Collection. (1952 June). Chinese farmer, kneeling at gunpoint before a court enforcing communist land reforms in July 1952. More prosperous peasants resisted reforms that reduced their land ownership and status. This farmer was condemned and executed. [Photograph]. This picture is licensed under Public Domain. Alamy. https://www.alamy.com/stock-photo-chinese-farmer-kneeling-at-gunpoint-before-a-court-enforcing-communist-32381669.html


Figure 5

Big Letter Campaign

Note. Also known as “Big-Character Posters'' (大字报) from the Cultural Revolution. Beijing University students lined up to read grievances and criticisms posted by their peers.

人民画报. (1967, November 30). Beijing University Big Character Posters. [Photograph]. This picture is licensed under Public Domain. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1967-11_1967%E5%B9%B4_%E5%8C%97%E4%BA%AC%E5%A4%A7%E5%AD%A6%E5%A4%A7%E5%AD%97%E6%8A%A5.jpg



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