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Facing Challenges: China’s Post-90s Generation and Their Employment Market Conundrum

Many of China’s post-90 workers are job-hopping or are suffering from working overtime. Is the pressure on the job market too much to handle for this only-child generation?

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Often considered lazy or fickle, China’s post-90s generation has a bad reputation when it comes to the workplace in China. But there is more than meets the eye. Upon entering the job market, the so-called jiulinghou workers are facing challenges that leave them either job-hopping or dog-tired.

‘Lazy’, ‘spoilt’, ‘pampered’, and ‘selfish’ – just some of the words that surface when you ask many Chinese people about the country’s ‘jiulinghou‘ (九零後), a term that is commonly used to describe those born into China’s new urban middle-class families between 1990 and 1999.

The generational differences between those born after 1970, 1980, and the Chinese born after 1990 have been a topic of discussion on social media for years. The generation gap seems to be especially apparent when it comes to views on work and career, and attitudes in the workplace.

One Weibo netizen recently wrote: “I have a new colleague who was born in the 1990s. The other day, she requested a leave of absence. We asked her what she was going to do. She said ‘I’m just going to get some plastic surgery done, but I’ll be back soon.'”

Last year, one recently graduated male real estate agent made the news when he quit his job because there were “too many women in the workplace”, which “negatively influenced” his personality. His resignation letter went viral shortly after.

A post-90s resignation letter went viral on Weibo.

Another resignation that made its rounds on social media was that of a Hunan female office worker who wrote her employer that she was quitting her job because “winter is too cold”, making it “difficult to get out of bed in the morning.”

The post-90s generation is often considered to be fickle and self-focused in their work. They are generally viewed as bad team players who are much less concerned about hierarchical relations at the workplace than China’s older generations are.

 

NOT ALL ABOUT THE MONEY

“There’s a big gap between what we imagined our work to be and what the reality is.”

 

Are China’s post-90s really that lazy and picky, or are they just tired? According to the song “I’m Dog-Tired” by the Shanghai Rainbow Chamber Singers, it is the latter. The song became an instant hit last year, as it resonated with China’s young professionals who recognized themselves in the lyrics.

The song describes the monolog of person who is caught up in overwork all the time, saying: “I haven’t washed my face for 18 days / I’ve been wearing my 30-day contact lenses for 2,5 years now.”

This Shanghai choir of young professionals scored a hit by voicing their dissatisfaction about working overtime.

But it is not just their everyday work that tires out the young Chinese working population, it’s also the job-hopping they do. According to research by the Mycos Institute, only 40% of China’s post-90s workers stay in their job for longer than two years. Within a time frame of three years, 8% has four or more different jobs.

What is the main problem of the post-90 workers that leads to all this job-hopping and sleepless nights? Is the pressure on China’s job market too much to handle for this only-child generation?

“The biggest obstacle to overcome for me and most of my friends is the fact that there’s a big gap between what we imagined our work to be and what the reality is,” Yue Xin tells What’s on Weibo. Yue did her Bachelor’s at a Shanghai college and recently completed a master’s degree in liberal arts at a British university.

“I read on Weibo the other day that, unlike the post-70s and post-80s generation, China’s young job-seekers prioritize personal happiness and freedom over anything else,” she says: “For many of us, a long-term contract does not feel like a reassurance but like a constraint, which might prevent us from taking on more exciting challenges. It is not all about the money – it is about following our passion.”

 

CHINA’S PRICELESS CHILDREN

“Around 8 million university graduates enter China’s job market each year.”

 

The high job expectations among China’s post-90s workers relate to their position in their families and in society at large. As described by Liu Fengshu (2015) in “The Rise of the ‘Priceless’ Child in China,” the so-called jiulinghou is a one-child generation that was born amidst the rapid socio-economic changes of post-Mao China, which saw a dramatic growth of both wealth and technological developments.

Parents and grandparents have both pampered and pressured these children; not just because it takes more than a high school education to succeed in a society that is changing so quickly, but also because the urban post-90s generation was the first to have access to education and career opportunities in a way their (grand)parents never had. They are therefore also often called the ‘lucky generation’ (幸运的一代).

Editorial cartoon from Chinese media. Left is the post-70s who says |I have to work overtime.” In the middle the post-80s generation saying: “I won’t work overtime.” On the right the post-90 generation saying: “I won’t work at all.”

But all this parental investment has also set the bar high for the future. Around 8 million new university graduates now enter China’s job market each year, but their chances of finding a job that suits their education and personal expectations are slim.

With all their high hopes and graduate diplomas, they are facing a job market mismatch. They often have no working experience and, as they have often spent years studying before entering the employment market, they are not willing to take on jobs with low education requirements.

 

‘LUCKY’ BUT STRESSED

“If any of these requirements are not there, it will be very stressful for us.”

 

Is the jiulinghou being unreasonable in what they expect from their work? A Beijing post-90er nicknamed ‘Pedy’, who teaches Chinese to foreigners at a Chaoyang educational institution, does not think so. She tells What’s on Weibo: “We all just want a job that (1) we find interesting, (2) suits our skills, (3) offers a reasonable salary, (4) is located not too far from where we live, and (5) gives us a sense of success or achievement. If any of these requirements are not there, it will be very stressful for us.”

‘Pedy’ mentions the cost of life in China’s bigger cities as one of the major problems: “The salaries of people just starting out on the job market are generally quite low, while the cost of living in cities like Beijing is very high. But if you live too far from your company, it means spending long and tiring hours crammed in public transport every morning and every evening.”

Because so many people do not find a job that meets their requirements, they either choose to remain jobless for some time to explore their possibilities, or to hop from company to company until they find what they are looking for. Unafraid of losing a job they do not care much for anyway, many of these post-90ers are those who have become known for quitting their job because of the ‘cold weather’ or other seemingly random reasons.

 

THE SO-CALLED ‘DREAM JOB’

“If we do not finish our projects in time, they will subtract an amount from our wages.”

 

Perhaps the biggest challenge faced by China’s well-educated, urban post-90s workers who are entering the employment market is the troubling Catch 22 situation at hand: they will be stressed and pressured if they do not find that top job, but when they do, they are often also stressed and pressured.

When scoring a much-desired job at one of the top companies (such as one of the ‘Big Four’ firms Deloitte, Ernst & Young, PricewaterhouseCoopers/PwC and KPMG), young workers will often do all they can to keep their job. These jobs come with relatively high salaries and future possibilities to higher positions, but they also go hand in hand with long hours and unpaid overwork. Those who refuse to work overtime will be labeled as ‘non-ambitious’ or ‘not loyal enough.’

Beijing resident Li Jiang has a good job that suits his skills, is not too far from home, has a good salary, and offers prospects for further growth. Despite his stable contract, he is used to working over hours and often does not come home until late at night.

“We do not get paid for overtime,” Li says: “But they just give us too much work to handle. If we do not finish our projects in time, they will subtract an amount from our wages, although this is not noted in my contract.”

Although (illegal) overtime may endanger workers’ health due to the excessive long working hours, it is still commonplace in China (Kim & Chung 2016). Over recent years, some stories of young professionals literally working themselves to death – also known by the Japanese term ‘karoshi’ – have made headlines.

In 2011, the story of the 25-year-old PwC auditor Pan Jie went viral on Sina Weibo when doctors concluded that her overwork at the company might have played a crucial role in her death.

Likewise, the behind-the-desk death of a 24-year-old Ogilvy employee in Beijing and the 2016 death of Jin Bo, a deputy editor-in-chief of one of China’s leading online forums, all prompted calls for increased public awareness on the risks of overwork – especially amongs young professionals.

Despite these headlines, Li continues working over hours: “Perhaps it’s in our culture. Nobody wants to be the one leaving first or sticking their heads out to ask about employee rights. Meiyoubanfa, it’s just the way it is.”

Yue Xin from Shanghai has something different in mind for her future. She has received job offers from several companies, but despite “feeling flattered,” none of them met her expectations. She is not lazy or fickle, she says; she is currently just looking for more interesting opportunities and is “following her passions” in Europe.

By Manya Koetse

References

Fengshu Liu. 2016. “The Rise of the “Priceless” Child in China.” Comparative Education Review 60 (1): 105-130.

Kim, S., & Chung, S. 2016. “Explaining Organizational Responsiveness to Emerging Regulatory Pressure: The Case of Illegal Overtime in China.” The International Journal of Human Resource Management 27(18): 2097–2118.

Spotted a mistake or want to add something? Please let us know in comments below or email us.

©2017 Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.

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Manya Koetse is the editor-in-chief of www.whatsonweibo.com. She is a writer and consultant (Sinologist, MPhil) on social trends in China, with a focus on social media and digital developments, popular culture, and gender issues. Contact at manya@whatsonweibo.com, or follow on Twitter.

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Backgrounder

Binging and Purging as Online Trend: From China’s “Big Stomach Stars” to “Vomit Bars”

China’s ‘Big Stomach Stars’ are all the rage – but is it really just harmless entertainment?

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Skinny girls that eat a week’s worth of food in one sitting: Chinese binge-eating vloggers are all the rage recently. But behind their cute image and happy fans, there are darker online discussions tying them to self-induced vomiting – something that is promoted in China’s so-called ‘vomit bars.’ How innocuous is this social media extreme-eating trend?

Mimi Zhang (aka Mizi Jun 密子君) has over seven million fans on her Weibo page. She regularly hits the top trending lists on Chinese social media, and even has her own online fanclubs.

Unlike previous rising Chinese social media stars such as Papi Jiang, the 26-year-old Mimi from Chongqing did not become an online celebrity because of her comic skills or acting talent, nor for her singing voice or dance moves. Mimi Zhang became famous for eating 8 lb (4 kg) of rice in one sitting, during an eating challenge in 2016.

Mimi eating 8lb (4 kg) of rice in one sitting.

By now, Mimi is one of China’s most successful ‘Eating Broadcasting’ hosts. Also called ‘Big Stomach Star Eating Livestream’ (大胃王吃播) or ‘Livestream Eating Vlogging’ (吃播女博主) in China, it is an online video genre in which hosts will consume extremely large amounts of food.

BJ The Diva during one of her livestreams.

In South Korea, it is known as the ‘mukbang‘ phenomenon, and the craze started there some years earlier, peaking in 2016. ‘Eating Broadcasting’ stars such as Kinoshita Yuka (video) and BJ The Diva (video) already had their moments of fame on the internet in South Korea, Japan, and beyond, but the genre only recently has become a real hype on Chinese social media.

 

Binging on Camera

 

Looking at the number of views and subscribers from YouTube to Twitch, or on platforms such as Kuaishou or Douyin, the ‘Eating Broadcasting’ genre obviously has millions of fans worldwide.

This online movement is innocuous in many ways. According to experts, people enjoy watching others eat because they feel a social connection, or want to stimulate their own appetite – it is one of the reasons why the craze is also dubbed ‘social eating.’

For many, the genre is simply entertaining; hosts often eat unconventional dishes, they are descriptive with taste, play around with their expressions, take on challenges, talk, and make funny sounds while eating.

Chinese food vlogger Duoyi (大胃王朵一) eats some skewers…

But what if ‘social eating’ becomes ‘binge eating’? How harmless is the genre if it shows skinny women eating excessive amounts of food, inadvertently promoting unhealthy eating habits and unrealistic standards?

Extreme binging on camera: eating noodles- not from a bowl, but from the back of a delivery car.

Along with Mimi Zhang, ‘Big Stomach Mini'(@大胃mini) is one other among many Chinese livestreamers that has achieved online stardom by eating large amounts of food. The 24-year-old reportedly is 1,70 m. tall and only weights 47 kilograms (103lbs), yet recently managed to eat a staggering 17 kg (35 pounds) of meat (video).

‘Big Stomach Mimi’

More and more, netizens are starting to connect these live-streamers to a habit of purging. Ongoing rumors suggest a supposed connection between binge streaming and vomiting.

Recently, various accounts claimed that Mimi Zhang used to have an account (using the name ‘Little Mi 360’ 小密360) on an online forum where people, mainly women, encourage each other to binge and purge.

 

China’s “Vomit Bar” (催吐吧) Community

 

China’s so-called “Vomit Bars” (催吐吧), online forums focused on binging and purging, have formed a hidden community on Chinese internet for years.

The phenomenon already came to light in 2012, and started to receive news media attention within China in 2015 and 2016. Most of the bigger online forums got shut down in 2017, however, after rumors circulated that a member of a ‘Vomit Bar’ had reached such a low weight that her organs failed and she passed away.

Example post from a ‘vomit bar’: 158 cm tall and 37 kg weight, but still wanting to lose.

Nevertheless, the online community consists of thousands of people, mainly women aged 14-40. A previously well-known forum on Baidu (now shutdown) had around 50,000 members called ‘rabbits’ (兔子) and over 5,5 million posts.

A “Vomit Bar” forum.

Since then, there are still some scattered forums, and a special Android app called ‘Meet Like Rabbits’ (相识于吐), where users can share their experiences and tips on message boards. On WeChat’s group chats, members of the community have more freedom to talk in private with less risk of being shut down.

The app for online purging community.

Members of the online ‘purging community’ are called ‘rabbits’ since the Chinese word for rabbit, tuzi (兔子), sounds similar to the word for ‘purging’ (tu 吐), and also because they eat all day, just like rabbits.

The main goal of these online forums is to share tips and tricks on how to lose weight by purging, while still binging on food. People also post photos of their binges or body, and share their hopes and fears in losing weight. “The way it is now, I could maintain a weight of around 46 kilograms,” one ‘rabbit’ writes: “I think it’s fat. My heart is filled with panic. I can only vomit.”

Netizens taking part in the ‘vomit bar’ community sharing photos of their binge food.

Newcomers ask others about best ways to vomit, and some people who say they’ve been binging and purging for years share experiences about their painful stomach and tooth decay.

Doctor Ma Yongchun (马永春) from Zhejiang Tongde Hospital since long has been warning people that these kind of online forums are harmful. She told iFeng news that the so-called ‘rabbits’ get caught up in a vicious cycle of binging and purging, and in doing so are developing serious eating disorders that can become life-threatening.

 

Eating Disorders in China

 

The Chinese ‘rabbit’ community could perhaps be compared to the Western ‘pro-ana‘ phenomenon, an online movement where people promote the behavior related to the eating disorder anorexia nervosa.

But there is one major difference; the ‘pro-ana’ community is connected to the term ‘anorexia’, suggesting that users of such forums are somewhat aware their behaviors are a sign of an actual eating disorder.

In these Chinese online communities, however, there seems to be a lesser acknowledgment that the cycle of binging and purging is one that belongs in the realm of a psychological disorder. Although people do complain that they feel they can no longer stop their irregular eating pattern, they talk more about their stomach aches and ulcers than they actually talk about suffering from an eating disorder.

This perhaps relates to the fact that there is little general awareness about eating disorders (ED) in China. Although there are no official statistics on the occurrence of bulimia, anorexia, or other ED in China, previous studies have found levels similar to Western countries (Tong et al 2014).

What various studies over the past years have also established is that there are major differences between Western countries and China in how eating disorders manifest themselves, suggesting they are not culture-bound but culture-reactive (Getz 2014, 749; Pike & Dunne 2015).

Because EDs are (1) traditionally conceptualized as a “Western mental health issue,” because (2) there is a social stigma attached to mental health issues in general in Chinese society, because (3) there is little general awareness on EDs, because (4) there is a lack in Chinese healthcare facilities specialized in EDs, and because of (5) various cultural factors (e.g. a very strong food culture), Chinese patients are more prone to talk about their problems in the form of somatic symptoms such as an extreme (dis)taste for food or abdominal problems, than in the form of a psychological problem (Getz 2014, 746-750).

 

Growing Awareness?

 

Recently, Chinese media slowly seem to be promoting more awareness on eating disorders. The American video “I became Anorexic for Instagram” has gone viral on Chinese social media over the past month, as it was posted by various state media channels on Weibo.

Among thousands of reactions, many said: “It seems that this kind of disease doesn’t occur much in China – we have too many tasty food!” Others said: “I want to lose weight too – I want an eating disorder like this!”

But there are also more and more people who are tying the rise of China’s online unhealthy eating trends to more serious issues. “These girls who eat so much [on camera] do not just have big stomachs, they actually puke in order to eat so much. I don’t find it entertaining to watch them anymore,” one netizen (@有兔劳劳) says.

“I now find it sad to watch these ‘big stomach stars’ (大胃王),” another person says: “They definitely vomit – it’s impossible for one person’s stomach to hold so much food.”

“What’s up with all these ‘big stomach stars’ recently? It’s not something they were born with, or something they were trained in doing; they are like those ‘rabbits’ and it is a disease, it’s bulimic. I don’t want to support them anymore by watching how they harm themselves,” another commenter writes.

Meanwhile, China’s binge-eating online stars seem to be unaffected by the online rumors that connect them to unhealthy trends and eating disorders.

This week, Mimi Zhang has posted her latest video in which she finishes a total of 15 desserts, while ‘Big Stomach Mini’ has posted a new video in which she eats, amongst others, 250 skewers of meat.

For some commenters, there is no issue at all: “She just has a great appetite.”

Are you suffering from an eating disorder and need help? For information on eating disorders and how to help if you are worried about someone, Beat (UK) or ANAD (US) has advice for sufferers, friends and family.

By Manya Koetse

References (online references linked to in text)

Getz, M.J. 2014. “The Myth of Chinese Barbies: Eating Disorders in China including Hong Kong.” Journal of Psychiatric and Mental Health Nursing 21: 746-754.

Pike, Kathleen M., and Patricia E. Dunne. 2015. “The Rise of Eating Disorders in Asia: a Review.” Journal of Eating Disorders 3:33. Available online https://jeatdisord.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s40337-015-0070-2 [17.1.18].

Tong, J., Miao, S., Wang, J. et al. 2014. “A Two-stage Epidemiologic Study on Prevalence of Eating Disorders in Female University Students in Wuhan, China.” Social Psychiatry and Psychiatric Epidemiology 49(3): 499-505.


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Backgrounder

Netizens or Not? About Chinese Online Communities & Use of the Term ‘Netizen’

The term ‘netizens’, referring to Chinese internet users, is both loved and hated.

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Chinese internet users are often referred to as ‘netizens’, but some people say the term is outdated and inappropriate. Should something change? What’s on Weibo explores the term and its use in different contexts.

It has been an issue of debate for years; the use of the word ‘netizen’ in English-language media – especially when referring to Chinese internet users.

At What’s on Weibo, it is a word we use in pretty much every article we post. Online media in China is our focus, and how ‘netizens’ deal with social media and trending topics is at the heart of this website.

But many people have had enough of the word ‘netizen.’ Already in 2013, Matt Schiavenza at The Atlantic wrote that the term was “once useful as a way to describe China’s internet users,” but that it is now “meaningless, inaccurate, and misleading.”

Schiavenza argues that “netizens” is mainly used for Chinese internet users who are politically active or outspoken, while there is a huge number of Chinese people who are non-political in their online behavior.

The term has also been discussed among people on Reddit, where some call it a “stupid journalism” term.

At the conclusion of the recent Chinese Internet Research Conference at Leiden University, the term was also briefly discussed in the context of ‘online communities,’ with some scholars deeming the word inappropriate to refer to Chinese internet users – also suggesting that speaking of Chinese “online communities” in itself was problematic to begin with.

One discussion participant suggested that words such as ‘community’ or ‘netizen’ are labels used by outsiders in the academic world or in foreign media, rather than Chinese describing themselves that way – saying it is problematic because it is “our label, not theirs.”

Is this really true? What’s behind the term ‘netizens’? Should Chinese internet users be described with other terms than ‘netizens’? For what reasons?

 

Behind the Word ‘Netizen’

 

The word ‘netizen’ was first coined in 1984 and popularized with the spread of the internet during the 1990s. The word is a blend of the words ‘internet’ and ‘citizen,’ and is (or was) generally used to either refer to people who use the internet, or more specifically, to refer to people who participate in online discussions or belong to ‘online communities’ (Johnson 2013).

The term is also often attributed to net theoretician Michael Hauben, who used it in his 1997 work to define people who “actively contribute toward the development of the Internet” and for a “citizen who used the Internet as a way of participating in political society.”

Already in 2012,Time Magazine elected the term as one of the words that should be banished, suggesting it had become archaic since its launch in the 1980s.

But when looking at the more recent use of the word ‘netizens’ in academia and foreign media, the term is anything but dead. It does seem to be applied far more often to Asian online contexts, e.g. Chinese or Korean online users, than it is used to describe internet users in Europe or America.

The word ‘netizen’ used in random Google News search in 1-5 May period in 2013 and in 2018.

It is often used, for example, to talk about online fans of the K-pop industry or users of the Sina Weibo platform – suggesting that there has been a shift in the use of ‘netizens’ from the 1980s or 1990s to describe any internet user, to more specifically describing those (often Chinese) internet users that are part of a specific online circle.

 

From Netizen to Wangmin

 

One reason why ‘netizen’ is used in the Chinese case specifically, is because Chinese media and social media users use the word ‘wǎngmín’ (网民) very frequently.

Google News results show that the term wangmin (netizen) is constantly used in Chinese media.

Wangmin (网民) literally means ‘net-people’ or ‘net-citizens’ (thus literally: ‘netizens’), and is the generally accepted term to designate internet users in China. The term was described by the China Internet Network Information Center (CNNIC) in 2013 as “Chinese residents who are six or older and have used the Internet at least once in the past six months” (Shen 2013).

The CNNIC has used the term wangmin officially since 1997, the year of its founding, when its first ‘China Wangmin Survey’ (中国网民调查) came out – the same year that Michael Hauben theorized and politicized the word.

The Chinese term wangmin seems to lack the more political implications of the term ‘netizen’ in English in Western countries, which has come to imply that an internet user is politically involved in online issues. Chinese fans of certain music genres or TV series are hardly politically involved in online causes, yet they are still wangmin.

There are (political) implications to the term wangmin on another level, though; in Chinese media, the term is mostly connected to nations. For example; one can speak of ‘American netizens’ (全美网民), ‘Canadian netizens’ (加拿大网民) or ‘Chinese netizens’ (中国网民,国内网民).

There are also instances in which the term is applied to platforms rather than nations. Some Chinese media have used the term ‘Sina Weibo netizens’ (新浪微博网民), for example.

 

Netizens versus Netizens

 

So what does this all mean? Firstly, it means that the use of ‘wangmin’ or ‘netizens’ in the Chinese context is not the same as the way the term ‘netizens’ has come to be used in the English-language Western context.

It also means that the term is not archaic at all. After all, who can claim a word is ‘outdated’ or ‘old-fashioned’ when it is practically being used at all hours of the day on Chinese internet and in Chinese media today? Even though it has been used since 1997, it has proved to be anything but a word trend: wangmin has become a part of normal Chinese vocabulary.

Third, claiming that it is a “stupid journalist term” or “our label, not theirs” also does not do just to the word; in the Chinese context, the term is used far beyond journalism, and more importantly; it is used by Chinese organizations and individuals to describe Chinese internet users, meaning it is not merely a term that is used by non-Chinese to describe Chinese online populations.

 

Online Communities

 

One thing that stands out when talking about ‘netizens’, no matter in what context, is that it is tied to the idea of an ‘online community.’ Much has been researched and said about what constitutes an online community, but for the scope of this article, we could say that it minimally requires some sense of a shared collective identity or some pursue of a shared purpose (Massa 2017, 961).

In the case of China’s online environment, online communities are built in two ways.

In one way, it is constructed at the state level to “define wangmin within the nation-state boundary,” as Yiping Shen (2015) writes in Public Discourses of Contemporary China.

This is, amongst others, very visible in state reports or state media that define “Chinese netizens” (中国网民) in the same way in which citizens are legally recognized subjects of a nation or state, meaning citizens of the PRC. In this way, all of China’s 772 + million internet users are part of this group of ‘netizens’ and have to follow to guidelines the government lays out for Chinese netizens.

In another way, it is used among Chinese companies and internet users to define themselves, either in the way the state has intended it, or at a smaller online community level. And these communities exist everywhere, from small-scale to large-scale, some existing for a long time, some being short-lived; from the long-standing Rage Comics community to temporary groups and Human Flesh Search Engines, to flourishing BBS or WeChat groups.

A platform such as Sina Weibo also clearly defines itself as a ‘community’ (社区), with its ‘Weibo Community Management’ (新浪微博社区管理) being an important part of the site in setting out guidelines for its members.

 

Wangyou: Chinese Online Friends

 

So what options are there for future references to Chinese internet users? Should we just stick to ‘netizens’? Would it more appropriate to use the original Chinese term ‘wangmin,’ or should we perhaps use another widespread term, namely that of ‘wǎngyǒu’?

Besides Chinese internet users defining themselves as wangmin, the word wangyou (网友), literally ‘web friend’, is also often used among netizens to define the members of their online ‘community’ (e.g. Weibo) or Chinese internet users at large.

Jessica Sun (孙慧), linguist and co-founder of the Dutch website Chinatalk, explains that ‘wangyou’ or ‘webfriends’ initially was meant to define those people one knew from cyberspace, when internet just gained traction in China.

Once China’s online population grew bigger, the idea of wangyou also grew to include more people. “It could also refer to a larger group of people who share the same interests or attitudes, instead of just friends,” Sun explains.

Sun compares the use of wangyou to the Chinese word for ‘friend’, pengyou (朋友), which is often used to sound more intimate, although the person addressed is not necessarily really considered a ‘friend.’

According to Sun’s analysis, wangmin (netizen) and wangyou (webfriend) are generally interchangeable, although there are some subtle differences. Sun has some remarks explaining the difference between the two terms:

1. In many cases, wangmin could also be a wangyou, but not the other way around. Wangyou can be used to show a more emotional attachment or personal relation, as in ‘my webfriends’ (我的网友). One can not say ‘my netizens’ (我的网民).

2. While wangyou is more intimate, wangmin is more neutral, and is therefore mainly used by news outlets.

3. The use of the term wangmin or wangyou depends on the attitude of the person who uses it towards a specific person/event, depending on the ‘community’ they are in or the stance they have towards a particular incident.

For example, when Chinese media report about wangyou doing something or being angered about something, it often means this author/publication is siding with these ‘webfriends’.

Headline using ‘wangyou’

The headline featured above (“As policeman bravely sacrifices his life, [some] webfriends are angered about these details“) is a story about a policeman who died on duty while trying to protect pedestrians from an out-of-control car. When some online commenters said that it was the policeman’s job to protect the people, suggesting his death was part of his duty, many other commenters were angered with these comments. By featuring the ‘webfriends’ term in this headline, the publication shows it sides with those ‘webfriends’ who mourn the policeman’s death and who are angered about insensitive comments relating to his death.

Another story, headline above (“Shenyang policeman dies on duty, two netizens detained over insulting comments“), is about another policeman dying on duty due to an attack by a suspect, with two web users commenting that the person attacking the police was a “hero” for doing so. The headline states that “two netizens insulting [police] have been detained” – in such a case, the media report shows a distance towards the commenters – ‘webfriends’ would surely not be used to refer to them.

All in all, it is clear that words such as netizen or wangyou, although they might sound outdated in an English-language context, are anything but outdated in the Chinese context.

Nearly five years after The Atlantic posted its anti-‘netizen’ article, claiming the word “meaningless, inaccurate, and misleading,” recent uses of the term and its ubiquity in (Chinese) media show that it was perhaps the author’s perspective that was flawed, rather than the term itself.

For the time to come, Chinese ‘netizens’ are here to stay.

We’d like to hear your stance! How do you feel about ‘netizens,’ or would you rather see a more frequent use of the original wangmin term? Fill out the poll below:

Coming Soon

By Manya Koetse

With contribution from Jessica Sun at Chinatalk.

References

Hauben, Michael and Ronda Hauben. 1997. Netizens: On the History and Impact of Usenet and the Internet. Computer Society Press: Los Alamitos, CA.

Jones, Paul Anthony. 2013. Haggard Hawks and Paltry Poltroons: The Origins of English in Ten Words.

Massa, Felipe G. 2017. “Guardians of the Internet: Building and Sustaining the Anonymous Online Community.”Organization Studies 38 (7): 959 –988.

Shen, Yiping. 2015. “Netizens, Counter-Memories, and Internet Literature into the New Millennium.” In: Public Discourses of Contemporary China. Chinese Literature and Culture in the World, Chapter 4. Palgrave Macmillan: New York.


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What’s on Weibo provides social, cultural & historical insights into an ever-changing China. What’s on Weibo sheds light on China’s digital media landscape and brings the story behind the hashtag. This independent news site is managed by sinologist Manya Koetse. Contact info@whatsonweibo.com. ©2014-2018

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