COLUMN: It's the law: I'm an only child

From Michael Feng's, "Snuffles," Fall '99 From Michael Feng's, "Snuffles," Fall '99Though my mother has three siblings and my father two, I have none -- the direct result of a Chinese government policy limiting the number of children per family to one. But the simple fact is that China, a country with less livable land than the United States, simply does not have the natural and economic resources to support one-fifth of the world's population. Prior to the implementation of the "One Child" policy, China was in trouble. During the 1960s -- when the Maoist proverb "Enough people can move a mountain" was still fashionable -- China's population ballooned at a rate of 2.6 percent annually. After the institution of the policy in 1974, average population growth per year has declined to 1.3 percent annually. The dormitory situation at Tsinghua University in Beijing is a sufficient reminder of the need for population controls -- rooms about the size of a Hill House double are expected to accommodate eight students each on this campus of 40,000 students. But already, the one-child policy has done much to improve the quality of life here.With fewer students applying, college admission rates are five times higher than they were 10 years ago. Opponents of the policy argue that having more children is a fundamental human right not to be regulated by the government. But who can say which rights are fundamental and which are not? To me, the right to have more children is no more fundamental than the right to seek a better livelihood for one's family. I find it hypocritical that while many Americans criticize China's population control policies, they are just as adamant in supporting strict quotas limiting the number of Chinese immigrants to the United States. For the Chinese, what many Westerners regard as a fundamental human right must cede to harsh reality. There are too many people and not enough space or resources to support them. The only implementable solution is to provide disincentives against more births. Still, opponents of the policy cite horror stories of police squads forcing women to have abortions. While I cannot personally refute such stories, they are unlikely given that the law does not expressly forbid having more than one child. What the law does say is that only one child per household can receive an identity card, necessary in order to open a bank account or to find employment, among other things. Families may choose to have more children, but they would be legal nonentities in Chinese society. Understandably, the vast majority of families today only have one child. Another argument against the one-child policy is that it induces the killing of female babies in order to leave room for a boy. The horrible truth is, however, that the killing of female babies in China is nothing new; it has persisted for thousands of years. Since Chinese tradition dictated that a woman must enter her husband's household after marriage, there was no incentive for ancient Chinese families to raise a girl. Many poor families could not afford the resources to raise a female baby only to see her leave in 15 years, so they would leave her in the woods to die. The one-child policy may exacerbate this appalling practice, but it by no means started it. Yet one burning question remains unanswered: What will the sociological impact be when my generation bears children, when brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles are relics of the past? If my family in China is any example, I am confident that a sense of kinship will persevere. Despite not being directly related, my cousins and I term each other "brother" and "sister" and treat each other as such. To me, they are the siblings I have always wanted. With such familial unity, I know that my children will always have brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles in China, biology notwithstanding.