Blue-Collar Blues — page 2

Zhang didn't attend the protest, but he, too, is indignant that the state no longer feels it necessary to find him a job. "My grandfather and father worked for the railway," he says. "I should be working there, too." But even if Zhang's socialist dream has shriveled, no capitalist vision has replaced it. If he really tried, Zhang knows he could get a job selling vegetables or working as a security guard or waiting tables—all opportunities outside the state sector. After all, plenty of migrant workers pour into Daqing each day, eager for a chance at such labor.

But Zhang, like most other locals, isn't willing to do such menial work. "I am a Daqing native," he says. "I would lose face if people saw me doing a job that's meant for a migrant. It's better to stay at home and do nothing than to be laughed at." Decades of socialism have instilled a sense of entitlement in Daqing's youth but given them few of the tools needed to make it in China's new market economy. Among locals, only a job with the oil company is considered real work; even if a young man works full days as a cashier or Amway salesman, people still tend to refer to him as "unemployed." And unlike sturdy youths from other parts of China who flood the big cities looking for work, Daqing's residents are loath to go to other provinces for employment. "I think many young people stay here because their parents worked so hard to create this place out of nothing," says Hou Jingshun, a 24-year-old friend of Zhang, who finally found work driving a taxi after being laid off three years ago. "They feel like Daqing owes it to them to give them a job."

The sense of resentment is compounded by a new class of wealthy oil executives, whose increasingly ostentatious lifestyles underline the difference between those enjoying the fruits of capitalism and those still living in spartan conditions that were considered comfortable in the 1970s. Back then, Daqing's workers all lived together in the same concrete residential compounds, regardless of their station in life. Now, those with money are renovating their apartments with surround-sound speakers and chandeliers; the richest of all are moving into Daqing's first big private-housing complex, a gilded enclave with stucco walls the color of coral. Just around the corner from Iron Man Square, a newly built strip of karaoke parlors, barbecue joints and brothels cater to rowdy businessmen who arrive in chauffeured cars with dark windows. "Places like that have made people in our society care only about money," complains Zhang's father, Zhang Mingliang, 45.

Sporting a gold chain around his neck and a sleeveless black shirt with netting down the side, Zhang Jian could blend easily with a cosmopolitan crowd in Shanghai or Beijing. But he doesn't have the income to afford Daqing's new nightlife and must wheedle money out of his father when he wants to go out. So now, after three years of napping, online gaming and barhopping, Zhang is considering joining the army for a two-year stint. He has no military aspirations, but he has heard that the oil company feels obliged to hire returning military veterans. His aunt interrupts her computer game to interject that several friends have tried this army scheme, only to come back to yet more idleness in Daqing. But Zhang doesn't want to believe it. "I heard that the oil company promised this," he says, his face contorting into a childish sulk. "They wouldn't break their word, would they?" The room is silent, save for the click of a computer mouse sweeping for mines, as the family faces another cheerless day in the city called "Big Celebration."

1 | 2

Aug. 18, 2004	Aug. 19, 2003	Aug. 20, 2003