How COVID-19 Sparked a Silver Tech Revolution in China


SHANGHAI — Two months ago, Xu Wenyan didn’t even have a data plan on her phone. Now, the 62-year-old spends most of her day online.

Each morning, Xu orders groceries using a mobile app. Then, she listens to the news on her phone while cooking. Afternoons are for sharing photos of her freshly prepared dishes with her friends. After dinner, she and her husband often play around with a karaoke app, waiting eagerly for other users to comment on their performances.

Like millions of elderly Chinese, the spread of the novel coronavirus has forced Xu to embrace the digital world. As the country struggled to contain the virus, the markets, stores, and parks that she frequented in central Shanghai suddenly shut down — leaving her feeling helpless.

“I was really upset at first,” Xu tells Sixth Tone. “I didn’t even know how to deal with the meals, let alone find alternatives for other leisure activities.”

Though China’s cities are now slowly coming back to life, the country’s tech firms are hoping the lockdowns will prove to be a game changer, opening up a huge tranche of new users that were previously out-of-reach.

China has around 250 million people over 60, and this figure is expected to surpass 480 million by the middle of the century. In Shanghai, over one-third of residents are aged over 60.

In the past, Chinese seniors were far less likely to use digital services than younger generations. According to data released by the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences in 2018, some 60% of people over 50 watch videos on their smartphones and just over half have used digital payment methods like Alipay and WeChat Pay. Around one-third of the group use navigation and online shopping apps, while only one-quarter use ride-hailing services.

But internet companies have reported a surge in business from elderly users since the outbreak began, according to Duan Mingjie, founder of AgeClub, a consulting firm that advises brands on how to target older-age customers.

“Many of our clients have witnessed significant growth in (elderly) users and sales of some of their paid services have increased 50%-80%,” says Duan. “The quarantines have encouraged the aging population to use apps to meet various needs in life.”

The biggest beneficiaries have been online grocery companies. Customers have turned to delivery services in droves to avoid visiting crowded supermarkets — or because they have been banned from leaving their residential compounds, as has happened in several virus-stricken areas.

During Spring Festival — when China was uncovering hundreds of new infections each day — Alibaba’s online supermarket Hema reported that orders were up 220% year-over-year. Sales for competitors Miss Fresh and JD.com’s online grocery platform, meanwhile, were up 350% and 470% during the same period, respectively.

New business from elderly users appeared to account for a significant chunk of these increases. According to Alibaba, the number of grocery orders placed by users born in the ’60s was four times higher than normal during Spring Festival. Miss Fresh claims its number of users aged over 40 has risen by 237% during the pandemic.

Xu and her husband started using grocery-ordering apps in late January. There’s a wet market just a 10-minute walk from the couple’s home, and Xu says she enjoys shopping there. But she became reluctant to go due to the shortage of face masks in Shanghai.

“My daughter has been trying to talk me into buying groceries using apps for over a year, and now I’m finally open to it,” says Xu.

The couple downloaded five apps on their daughter’s recommendation. Initially, however, the services didn’t turn out to be as convenient as they’d expected. The massive number of orders being placed, combined with the shortage of delivery drivers during Spring Festival, made it difficult for Xu to get the goods she wanted.

“I set an alarm to place orders for each app in the morning,” says Xu. The earliest would go off at 4:30 a.m. “I could mostly get what I wanted,” she adds. “I even sent some stuff to my daughter, as she couldn’t get up that early.”

Before the pandemic, Xu estimates, less than 10% of her friends had tried buying groceries online. Now, she says, nearly all of them have experimented with it. On the messaging app WeChat, her contacts are continually sending each other links to new items on the apps and tips on how to get good discounts.

The elderly have turned to tech to meet other needs, too. Chen Xianhua, a retired accountant from Shanghai, tells Sixth Tone she’s been ordering medicine and consulting doctors via health apps during the crisis. Meituan, one of the country’s largest delivery platforms, reported orders for medication related to chronic diseases including high blood pressure, diabetes, and arthritis increased by over 200% during Spring Festival.

Chen and her husband have also become big fans of the short video platforms TikTok and Kuaishou, which they downloaded for the first time in February. Chen says they mainly watch funny skits, videos of cute dogs, and livestreams of shows on the apps, as well as news about the pandemic.

“The whole social atmosphere is quite depressing at the moment — we need to keep our sense of humor,” says Chen. “Without these apps, I don’t know how my husband and I would ever stay optimistic.”

For the tech giants, the question is whether their new silver-haired users will stick around after the pandemic subsides. Several of them have already laid out strategies to target the elderly, judging it to be a growth market.

Miss Fresh has announced plans to roll out new services and product categories for older consumers, after seeing the potential in the market over recent weeks. Alibaba has already started down this path, launching a special senior-friendly version of its Taobao shopping app in 2018.

Chen, who first tried ordering groceries online six months ago, says she still prefers going to the wet market herself, because she enjoys chatting with her neighbors and bargaining with the vendors. But she’s come to value the apps, especially when it’s raining or she’s feeling tired.

“At first, I had concerns,” says Chen. “But then I found the vegetables I ordered online to be just as fresh as the ones I personally pick in the market … The app offers me an alternative.”

The 65-year-old has also gotten hooked on some of the app’s extra features, such as the “what to eat and cook” section, which suggests new recipes to try. She’s even started posting her own recipes on another cookery app she recently downloaded, as she enjoys reading the comments posted by other users.

“I’m keen on being active online, because I don’t want to be behind the times,” says Chen.

AgeClub founder Duan says elderly consumers often describe going through a similar shift in mindset during his company’s focus groups.

“This pandemic will have a significant impact, as it’ll make many elderly people who didn’t previously use the internet form new online consumption habits,” says Duan. “Once elderly users get used to the internet, they find there is far greater choice online.”

Xu is no longer getting up before dawn to secure a delivery slot, but she still enjoys surprising her daughter with her newfound tech savvy.

“My daughter said it had never occurred to her that one day I’d be ordering vegetables for her online,” she says. “It makes me feel useful and up-to-date.”


This article was published onSixth Tone.

China Has a Problem With Bad Sex Advice. Can a New Exam Fix It?


Guo Yun finally found the courage to step into a sex shop last year to buy a dildo for her birthday. Before long, however, she retreated back to the streets of downtown Shanghai, confused and disappointed.

“It was one of the most elegant sex shops I’ve seen in the city, and I thought they’d have professional sales assistants as well,” says Guo. “But instead, they just kept promoting the most expensive products.”

The final straw came when the 26-year-old asked why the deluxe versions would suit her needs, and the staff replied: “With dildos, the bigger, the better.” “I’m no expert, but instinct told me that’s not right,” says Guo.

Guo’s experience reflects those of countless others in China who are throwing off decades of sexual conservatism and becoming more experimental in the bedroom, but are often receiving poor advice from vendors with little understanding of the products and services they’re selling.

Demand for sex toys has skyrocketed in recent years, with tech giants including Alibaba promising door-to-door dildo delivery at 30 minutes’ notice. China’s online market for sex products is predicted to exceed 60 billion yuan ($8.5 billion) by 2020, up 250% compared with 2017, according to consulting firm iiMedia.

But the boom is taking place in a society where sexual knowledgetends to be low. Sex education at most Chinese schools is extremely basic, and parents and teachers often oppose moves to provide students with more practical advice. Sexual content in the media and online, meanwhile, is strictly controlled.

The result has often been widespread confusion. Industry insiders tell Sixth Tone companies are regularly misleading customers, from beauty firms making fanciful claims about the benefits of their vaginal oils, to staff at “delay spray” producers not realizing their intercourse-prolonging products are different from anti-impotence drugs like Viagra.

Now, the government is stepping in. This past November, the China Health Care Association — a national-level industry organization backed by the Ministry of Health — launched a standardized training program for a newly identified profession: sex health counselor.

The new program defines sex health counselors as any professionals involved in aiding consumers with their sex lives, including intimate masseurs, sex coaches, and sex shop owners, as well as staff inside China’s vast family-planning regime. Its ultimate goal is to provide every “counselor” in the country — around 12 million people — with a thorough grounding in the birds and the bees.

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Sex toys are displayed at a sex shop in Shanghai, March 28, 2018. Fan Yiying

According to its organizers, the training scheme will bring order to the rapidly growing sex products market, as well as support the Chinese government’s wider push to boost the nation’s reproductive health.

“The next 10 years will be an important period for the development of China’s sexual and reproductive health industry,” says Zhao Jing, deputy secretary-general of reproductive health at the China Health Care Association. “Training professional specialists is urgent and essential.”

The program enrolled its first batch of around 200 students — a mix of reproductive health care workers, sex product vendors, and beauticians specializing in vaginal treatments — in late 2019.

Over 30 online classes, the participants received lectures on sexual values and minorities, pleasure skills, sexual disorders, and sexual and reproductive health, among other topics. In late December, they sat a test. Three-quarters passed.

Recruitment of a second batch of students kicked off Feb. 19, and Zhao says the association also plans to launch a more advanced course in June. The higher-level training will focus more on sexual techniques and will be targeted at beauticians.

“At present, there are many nonstandard practices in the domestic beauty industry, so we hope to invite experts to provide technical guidance … to better regulate the market,” says Zhao. “Over 35% of the junior certificate holders have already asked us how they can get the intermediate one.”

Yang Fan was among the first people to sign up for the entry-level course, which is currently voluntary. He has run a sex shop in the northwestern city of Xi’an since 2015, but he often feels out-of-his-depth when customers ask him how they can spice things up at home.

“I wish to provide them with more professional advice — especially women, because women here are still embarrassed to discuss sexual problems,” says Yang. “But the more professional I am, the more open they’ll be.”

According to Yang, the training program has inspired him to hold sharing sessions at his shop to promote his business and teach people what he’s learned. He hopes this strategy will win out over the aggressive tactics used by most of his competitors, who often pressure new visitors into buying pricey, multifunction dildos unsuited to their needs.

“They’re new to this, and they use high-end products and freak out,” says Yang. “Bad advice like this prevents people from coming back for more.”

He Miao, a worker at a Xi’an-based delay spray manufacturer, has also found the course beneficial. In the past, she received a lot of complaints from customers claiming the firm’s products didn’t work, but now she’s learned how to help people make better use of them, she says.

“Before, I thought only sprays could help men last longer, but now I can share with my customers that a combination of products and techniques works better,” says He. “It’s just like if you were sick — buying medicine by yourself and taking it under a doctor’s guidance will produce different results.”

For others, the course’s main attraction is the chance to gain an officially recognized qualification. Zhang Bimin, 28, is a sex coach who teaches women how to pleasure themselves via online tutorials on social media app WeChat. She says it’s important the government recognizes her profession.

“After the relevant department issued the certificates to us, I felt more confident in my work,” says Zhang, who’s based in the southern megacity of Shenzhen.

Cheng Jingjing, a Shanghai-based stay-at-home mom, took the online classes while also studying to become a certified psychological counselor, listening to the lectures while cooking or at the beauty salon. She feels the certificate will help her build a career advising clients on sexual health online.

“I figured people are more comfortable talking about sex online,” says Cheng. “And having a certificate will make me look more professional and trustworthy.”

The course helped Cheng on a personal level, too. She says the LGBT and BDSM classes were particularly eye-opening. “I also learned a lot about men’s confusion and anxiety about sex, which has improved my relationship with my husband,” she adds.

Cheng hopes to use the knowledge she’s gained to help her friends and relatives, many of whom stopped having sex after they had children. Yet this is proving to be an uphill battle.

“They complain about their husbands and shout at their children … mainly due to their unsatisfying sex lives,” says Cheng. “But unfortunately, every time I start a conversation (about this), they just avoid talking about it.”

For Yang, the main obstacle to sharing his newfound knowledge with the public is, ironically, the government. After posting videos about sex culture and products on a few popular online platforms, his accounts were blocked — a fact he blames on the authorities’ strict rules against so-called vulgar content.

“Due to a lack of publicity, many people don’t know these toys can play a role in improving their sex lives, making their marriages more harmonious,” says Yang. “We’re posting positive content online and should have been supported by the government.”

Like most of the certificate holders who spoke with Sixth Tone, however, Yang believes the training program should eventually be made mandatory. This is the only way, they feel, that the public will come to accept sex health counseling as a profession.

“It’s the same as psychology,” says He, the delay spray worker. “At first, people were opposed to it, feeling that those who see a therapist are neurotic. But then they saw psychologists were licensed and the industry seemed regulated, and they understood it’s normal to have psychological problems and seek professional help.

“One day, people will feel the same about sex health counseling,” He adds.


This article was published on Sixth Tone. 

Pets, Abandoned and Blamed, Struggle to Survive Virus Outbreak


Du Fan had made plans to travel north and spend the Spring Festival holiday with friends amid wintery scenes of ice and snow.

Instead, during a viral epidemic that began in his hometown Wuhan, Du is roaming a deserted city to break into strangers’ homes and rescue their pets.

As the city — the capital of central China’s Hubei province and the epicenter of an outbreak that has killed over 700 people and infected more than 34,000 as of Feb. 8 — closed itself off from the outside world on Jan. 23 to halt the spreading virus, millions of Wuhan residents were out of town with no way home.

Across China, measures enacted to stop the spread of 2019-nCoV, as the coronavirus is known, have affected businesses, people — and animals. Pets have been blamed for spreading the virus, willingly abandoned amid the crisis, or unintentionally left to fend for themselves.

Three days after the lockdown that put Wuhan’s roads, railways, and airport out of service, Du issued a notice on social media saying his nongovernmental organization Wuhan Small Animal Protection Association would help stranded pets for free. So far, the association has received more than 2,000 requests, mostly from people who expected to only be away for a few days and are now afraid their pets are running out of food and water.

Du’s team of 28 volunteers are in a race against time, maneuvering through a city of 14 million without the use of cars or public transportation. They have so far managed to save more than 400 pets, mostly cats. Still, they’re receiving more new requests than they can handle. “We will keep doing this until the city is unlocked,” Du tells Sixth Tone.

Left: A locksmith opens the door of an absent pet owner’s apartment; Right: A volunteer feeds pets left alone as a result of the lockdown in Wuhan, Hubei province, 2020. Courtesy of Du Fan

Left: A locksmith opens the door of an absent pet owner’s apartment; Right: A volunteer feeds pets left alone as a result of the lockdown in Wuhan, Hubei province, 2020. Courtesy of Du Fan

 

Before entering a house, Du will ask its stranded owners to record a video holding their ID card and stating that they allow the volunteers to get in. After entering with the help of a locksmith or a hidden key, they are greeted by hungry but elated animals. In one video Du posted on social media, a pig locked in a closed balcony hadn’t eaten for a week. “The balcony is a mess, and he has even chewed on the water basin,” Du said.

In another video, a cat was giving birth when Du arrived. Two of the kittens died, but the volunteers cleaned up and left enough food and water to last a fortnight, preventing a worse situation. “In the face of disaster, helping small animals is also what we humans should do,” Du says.

Elsewhere in China, animals and their caretakers have also been put in a bind by the outbreak and the measures enacted to stop it. In cities throughout the country, businesses have been advised to stay shut following the weeklong Lunar New Year break, which would have ended on Jan. 30 but has been extended to Feb. 9 in many places.

Chen Junren owns a pet store in downtown Shanghai, and this week opened up anyway. With a decade of experience, he knows it should be a busy time of year. “Usually around this time, the store should be filled with owners taking their dogs over to buy food and give them baths, but now it’s so empty,” Chen tells Sixth Tone. He has turned to selling online, but is quickly running out of goods, especially imported brands. Chen thinks China’s pet market, which has rapidly grown and last year exceeded 200 billion yuan ($28.8 billion) for over 100 million cats and dogs, will be affected for at least a year.

Chen is also facing a staffing shortage. “None of my employees have returned yet,” he says. Some of them celebrated Lunar New Year with their families in Hubei and cannot leave the province until the lockdown lifts. In any case, it might be a while before Chen gets help. Anyone arriving in Shanghai from elsewhere in China is asked to go into two weeks of self-quarantine.

But Chen is not alone. A 7-month-old shiba inu was sent to stay in his store by its owner, who is stuck in Wuhan. “I will take care of the puppy for him no matter what,” Chen says. “Pets are more important now than ever because, without their company, life would be so much harder at this moment.”

Vet clinics have also largely been ordered to stay closed. Zhang Fan, a veterinarian in Wuhan, thinks such measures might be counterproductive and harmful to public health. “Some pet owners may take their pets to other cities for medical treatment, which will increase the possibility of unnecessary population flow,” he says.

Many clinics have launched online consultations, though there are limits to what doctors can do from a distance. “But we will do our best to alleviate the difficulties and save the lives of as many pets as possible,” says Qin Kong, co-founder of Shanghai-based pet services company Petform. “Every life deserves respect.” They launched their online consultations on Jan. 30 and have already helped hundreds of customers.

For most pet owners, the biggest worry is whether they should still take their animals outside. Li Lanjuan, an epidemiologist and member of the prestigious Chinese Academy of Engineering, said in an interview with state broadcaster China Central Television last month that people should “more strictly control their pets,” and that “if your pet runs around outside and comes in contact with an infected person, it will need to be monitored. This virus is transmitted between mammals, so we should take precautions for mammals.”

Despite statements from both the World Health Organization and an expert at China’s National Health Commission refuting Li’s claim, suspicion toward pets has spread. In Weifang, eastern China’s Shandong province, and Taiyuan, a city in northern Shanxi province, districts have banned public dog-walking. In Wuxi, Jiangsu province, a neighborhood committee staff allegedly buried a cat alive after its owner was infected with the coronavirus, out of fear the feline could spread the disease.

Fang Ling, the founder of a pet hotel in the mountains outside of southwestern Sichuan’s provincial capital Chengdu, tells Sixth Tone that Li’s comments created a wave of panic. “Every day, officials come to supervise and check whether we wear face masks, and how many times we disinfect and clean the place,” she says, adding she’s afraid she’ll be ordered to close any day. She’s taking care of some 35 dogs and has received new orders from people who’ve found it too difficult to keep walking their dogs in the city.

While most Chinese have stayed inside the past few weeks to limit the spread of the virus, Wang Yingchao, founder of WoWoDogWalk, a Shanghai-based dog-walking service, takes over 15,000 steps daily. “Staying indoors for a long time is painful for us, let alone some dog breeds who need more exercise,” says Wang.

With her team, she walks dozens of dogs every day, fewer than usual. But there’s also a silver lining. “It’s actually less hassle to walk the dogs now, as you can hardly see people on the street,” says Wang.

Editor: Kevin Schoenmakers.


This article was published on Sixth Tone.

 

Lacking Support, China’s Autistic Adults Search for Love


GUANGDONG, South China — Zhuojun first became curious about sex at age 21. Her school — an institution for young people with special needs in the southern city of Guangzhou — had arranged a sex education class for the students, and the lesson left her with all kinds of questions.

Soon after, she saw two classmates kissing in the stairwell. She asked her teacher what they were doing. The teacher said they were “falling in love.” Zhuojun wanted to know whether there was a designated age for that, and the teacher replied, “20.”

“Ever since, she’s been telling people that she’s ready to fall in love,” says Zhuojun’s mother, Guo Fengmei, who requested her daughter’s full name not be used for privacy reasons.

Zhuojun is one of many young Chinese with autism spectrum disorder trying to navigate the world of romance — a challenge made all the more daunting by the lack of support services available for autistic adults in China.

There are more than 10 million people living with autism in China, with 200,000 new diagnoses every year, according to a 2017 report. Around 8 million of them are adolescents and adults.

Though adults with autism often have difficulties communicating with others, the majority share the same desire to socialize and form intimate relationships as neurotypical peers. Many, however, struggle to find long-term companionship. International studies suggest over 85% of adults with autism are single.

In China, life for people with autism can be even more complicated, due to the nation’s comparatively smaller social safety net. While multiple programs exist to support children with autism — especially in areas such as inclusive education — services for adults are often lacking, experts tell Sixth Tone.

“The services (for autistic people) in adolescence, adulthood, and retirement age are far from enough in China,” says Chen Jingjie, a director at Inclusion China Parents Network, a Beijing-based nongovernmental organization that works for people with intellectual and developmental disorders.

Families are largely left to care for adults with autism by themselves, and they are often reluctant to support their autistic relatives’ love lives — fearing the extra burden of care a romantic relationship might bring.

Lu Ying, vice president of Yang Ai, a Guangzhou-based nonprofit for families of special needs children, estimates that more than 80% of the organization’s 2,000 registered parents wouldn’t even consider allowing their children to get married. In the rare cases when people with autism do tie the knot in China, the match tends to be arranged by a wealthy family — and almost always pairs the autistic adult with a neurotypical person, she adds.

“Most of these parents are rich,” says Lu. “They think their children feel lonely, or they’ve shown a strong sexual desire and really need a partner.”

Yet young people with autism studying together at institutions such as the Guangzhou Children’s Palace — a popular hub for extracurricular activities — are often attracted to one another. When this happens, most parents’ instinct is to discourage a relationship, according to Lu.

“When they spend so much time together, they’ll develop feelings for each other,” says Lu. “But then parents force them to separate or only let them play together for a few hours during the daytime. Marriage is absolutely out of the question.”

Chen — a financial manager from Guangzhou whose 22-year-old son, Xianzai, has a moderate form of autism — tells Sixth Tone she is completely opposed to her son dating another person with autism.

“It’s already so tiring taking care of one autistic child — how am I supposed to take care of a couple?” says Chen, who has no relation to Chen Jingjie and declined to give both her and her son’s full names for privacy reasons.

Xianzai has shown an interest in marriage and childbirth since he attended an etiquette class at Guangzhou Children’s Palace when he was 17. His mother, however, worries about him possibly passing on his autism to future children. There is no conclusive proof that autism has a genetic cause, but researchers have found patterns toward the disorder in certain families.

“If getting married would cause more trouble, why do it?” says Chen.

Guo, the mother of Zhuojun, is one of the minority of parents who wants her child to start a family. She hopes Zhuojun can have a child to take care of her after the 59-year-old is gone, though she worries a partner might abuse or take advantage of her daughter.

“I asked her if she wanted to give birth abroad via artificial insemination, but she refused right away,” says Guo. “So, I stopped asking and will try again later, otherwise she’ll be mad.”

When asked whether she wants to get married and have children, Zhuojun — who is now 26 — says “no” without hesitation. She has, however, become infatuated with one of the teachers at Guangzhou Children’s Palace, where she has attended special education classes since 2014.

“She fell in love with Mr. Cui, the painting teacher, at first sight,” says Guo. “She didn’t even know what painting was, but she insisted that she sign up because she thought Mr. Cui was so handsome.”

Every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, Zhuojun immerses herself in the painting classes. When she’s home, she spends most of her time painting dogs — her favorite animal. She will often paint until her parents order her to go to bed. “She wants to get better to impress Mr. Cui,” says Guo.

Mr. Cui often makes time for Zhuojun outside of class. He takes her shopping and to the mall — accompanied by Guo and his girlfriend.

“We tell her that Mr. Cui has a girlfriend, and that’s why she can’t have him,” says Guo. “She can see him as her brother and best friend, but she can’t be his girlfriend.”

Zhuojun, however, struggles to understand the situation, and she often tells others that she’s Mr. Cui’s “first girlfriend.” When she has dinner with Mr. Cui and his partner, she deliberately sits in between the couple.

Several parents of adult children with autism tell Sixth Tone they feel uncertain how to handle their offspring’s romantic lives. Zhuojun has learned to turn down the advances of men she doesn’t find attractive, says Guo. But when she likes someone, she often throws herself at them, hugging them and asking to connect on messaging app WeChat.

“I stop her when I see it and constantly remind her that it’s dangerous, and she must tell me or her dad who she’s met,” says Guo.

A 2015 study conducted in the United States found that the most common concerns among adults with autism were courtship difficulties and sensory dysregulation during sex. But research on the sexual experiences of those with autism is scarce, even more so in China.

A few parents at Yang Ai have organized a program to help their children learn about dating by practicing with volunteers. The pairs go out for dinner and to the movies together. Guo, however, is against the initiative.

“The volunteers know it’s fake, but the autistic children think it’s real,” says Guo. “Once they really fall for it, it’s hard to get them out, and it’s devastating for them. There’s a boy in our circle who’s now always saying he had a girlfriend but she dumped him.”

Since graduating from vocational school three years ago, Xianzai has been working at a coffee chain outlet in Guangzhou, cleaning tables and mopping the floor. He is often attracted to female customers and colleagues. When he sees someone he likes, he will look straight at them, touch their hair or shoulders, or try to kiss them, according to Chen.

His mother has received complaints about her son’s inappropriate behavior on several occasions — especially during Xianzai’s first few weeks at the café — and she worries about the consequences if he continues such actions.

“Although his mind is like a child, he’s big and tall and doesn’t look like he’s autistic sometimes,” says Chen.

To solve the problem, Chen turned to a local sex education nonprofit named the Nurturing Relationship Education Support Center for advice. She was inspired to ask Xianzai’s manager to write up three fake official warning letters.

“He cares about this job a lot and is afraid of being fired, so he calmed down after that,” says Chen. She keeps in close contact with staff at the café to check on her son’s behavior.

Xianzai has asked out almost all his female co-workers, but Chen doesn’t think he is capable of maintaining a long-term relationship. She also believes he doesn’t really want to get married.

“He can read, but it’s difficult for him to read between the lines,” says Chen. “And he doesn’t know how to say beautiful words to make girls happy.”

Guo is still undecided about whether to seek a match for Zhuojun. Several people have made inquiries. In December, a relative wanted to set up Zhuojun with a 23-year-old autistic man who lives in Hong Kong, but she declined.

“His family owns a big business, but I can’t take the risk of Zhuojun having an autistic child,” says Guo.

According to Guo, one of her friends recently secured a neurotypical wife for her 30-year-old autistic son after agreeing to pay the young woman 10,000 yuan ($1,450) per month and buy the couple a large house.

“She does housework and listens to him,” says Guo. “He doesn’t know how to have sex, so his father is teaching him how to do it, hoping they’ll have a healthy grandchild soon.”

Chen, for her part, simply hopes that Xianzai can do well at work and live a happy life. She worries about what might happen if her son endures a breakup, which she believes might cause him anxiety, depression, and other emotional disorders.

“If he’s lucky enough to find a ‘normal’ girl who can accept him, I’ll do my best to help them spiritually and financially,” says Chen. “But as long as he has something he enjoys doing and I have enough money to support him, I don’t think being single is a bad thing.”


This article was published on Sixth Tone.

Silent No More: How China’s Domestic Abuse Victims Spoke Out


SHANGHAI — The video appeared on Chinese social media platform Weibo Nov. 25 — the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.

Posted by He Yuhong, the popular beauty influencer known as Yuyamika to her over 1 million followers, the 12-minute piece included shocking surveillance footage showing a topless man dragging He through the doors of an elevator as she struggled to free herself.

Accompanying the video, the star wrote a short message: “I’m a victim of domestic violence. I seemed to be living in a nightmare the past six months. I need to speak up about domestic violence!”

Yuyamika’s post generated an enormous response. On Weibo, a related hashtag received over 2 billion views within 24 hours of the video going live. It also sparked an intense debate over China’s continued failure to crack down on domestic violence, which affects nearly 1 in 3 married women in the country.

Three years ago, China implemented its first anti-domestic violence law, which covers physical and psychological abuse toward spouses, children, and the elderly. It also grants courts the power to issue personal safety protection orders, banning abusers from contacting victims.

Yet the reforms have had limited impact in practice. Low public awareness, lenient punishments, and failures in the justice system have undermined the law’s effectiveness and discouraged victims from reporting abuse to the police.

Supreme People’s Court data suggests that in the vast majority of cases, victims of domestic violence are not attempting to obtain personal safety protection orders. Chinese courts granted a total of 3,718 such protection orders between March 2016 and December 2018.

Experts say the low number of protection orders reflects a failure to publicize the rules, and that the penalties for breaking a protection order are inadequate. Violations typically result in a fine of up to 1,000 yuan ($145) and a 15-day detention. As a result, many victims doubt whether a protection order would successfully deter abusers.

When victims do come forward, meanwhile, they often struggle to obtain a protection order. In 2019, Weiping, a Beijing-based nonprofit that focuses on women’s rights issues, analyzed Shanghai’s handling of personal safety protection order applications between March 2016 and September 2019. The study found that Shanghai courts accepted just over half the applications, with 34% rejected and 12% withdrawn.

Insufficient supporting evidence was the most common reason cited for an application’s rejection, but Weiping also found multiple examples of judges refusing to grant protection orders based on personal value judgements with no legal validity. Cited grounds for rejection included the applicant and the respondent not living together, the low frequency of the violence, and the abuser’s active admission of wrongdoing.

Lin Shuang, a researcher who worked on the Weiping report, tells Sixth Tone the deficiencies of China’s legal system are driving women to social media to speak out about their abuse.

“A lot of times you go to the police and you can’t even get a receipt (confirming the victim has reported a crime),” says Lin. Failing to obtain a police receipt makes it difficult for victims to apply for a protection order or a divorce, she adds. “It lets the perpetrator know it’s useless for you to go to the police.”

In the days following Yuyamika’s expose on Weibo, other women spoke up online about their experiences of abuse. On Nov. 26, Julieta Benavid accused Chinese actor Jiang Jinfu of assaulting her — a charge the star denied. In 2018, Jiang was detained in Japan after admitting to abusing his then-girlfriend Haruka Nakaura.

Campaigners hope the enormous public attention generated by the Yuyamika case will prompt authorities to fast-track reforms making it easier for victims of domestic violence to obtain justice. There is a precedent for this. In 2011, Kim Lee, the then-wife of celebrity English teacher Li Yang, accused the Crazy English inventor of beating her and filed for divorce, sparking public outrage against Li.

“Li Yang’s domestic violence, which was widely discussed by the public, directly contributed to the formal implementation of the anti-domestic violence law in 2016,” says Fang Gang, founder of White Ribbon, a Beijing-based advocacy organization campaigning to end violence against women. “Anti-domestic violence campaigners had been arguing for this legislation for years before that, but little progress had been made. If it wasn’t for Kim’s act, the legal process might have been delayed for several years.”

Lee, however, was heavily criticized for her response to the Yuyamika video. On Nov. 28, the U.S. national wrote on Weibo: “I will always love my husband. Domestic violence is wrong and intolerable. These two facts exist at the same time, although they seem to contradict each other. Why? Because of forgiveness.”

The post received more than 18,000 comments, most expressing disappointment and anger toward Lee. “Your self-righteous reasons and love will mislead many people who are hesitant to get out of marriages full of violence,” wrote one Weibo user. “There are so many difficulties in enforcing the law … You saying, ‘we are family’ will just cause the precious little progress made to reverse itself,” commented another.

Yet progress appeared at the local level in 2019, as several Chinese provinces adopted new policies designed to fix problems with the existing anti-domestic violence law.

In March, the central Hunan province introduced a reform enabling the provincial branch of the All-China Women’s Federation — a quasi-official women’s rights group — to help both male and female victims of domestic violence secure personal protection orders.

Then, Guangdong province drafted a new domestic violence regulation in December expanding the scope of abuse and adding measures to protect minors from such acts. The draft rule has defined humiliation, slander, privacy violations, threats, stalking, and harassment as non-physical forms of domestic violence. It has also classified minors who witness domestic violence as victims of such acts.

In interviews with local media, Guangdong officials made clear they considered domestic violence a priority issue. Xu Guang, chairman of the Social Construction Committee of the Guangdong Provincial People’s Congress, told reporters there was “an urgent need to solve the outstanding problems in Guangdong’s anti-domestic violence work” — characterizing the problems as “large in number, wide in range, and various in form.”

Guangdong’s proposed regulation also attempts to prevent situations in which victims have no way to report abuse. The rules would introduce a “first responsibility system” that would effectively prevent public institutions from handing off cases to another department.

Authorities were, at least, quick to respond to Yuyamika’s case. Three days after she published the video, local public security officials stated the blogger had been granted a personal safety protection order and her attacker had been put under administrative detention for 20 days.

For anti-domestic violence campaigners, the goal is to ensure every victim receives similarly swift support. The 2016 law was a first step toward that, but there is a long way to go. “At least you can tell the police there is a legal basis (for action) now,” says Lin. “You have some room to argue with them.”


This article was published on Sixth Tone.