The Hengshui Model: Criticism or Support?

First, a little about my background: I have experienced both Beijing’s broader-based education and Hengshui’s exam-driven education. I went through the transition from primary to junior high school in Beijing’s Haidian District and attended a district-level key school. In Hengshui I attended TC School, which trended online when I was in my final junior-high year, and the much-discussed Hengshui High School system.

I believe that gives me some standing to evaluate the “Hengshui model,” does it not?

To state my view plainly: I find both those who criticize today’s Hengshui High without thinking and those who defend it without thinking rather ridiculous (to keep my language restrained).

I. Why I find the critics ridiculous

Recently an image appeared from who knows where. Society has no shortage of people eager to stir things up, and they began passing judgment.

Then someone popped up on Weibo and set off this round of public controversy:

[Middle content omitted in the published original.]

What this person said was ridiculous. Leaving aside his grasp of policy, his salary figure was wildly implausible. My homeroom teacher worked from five in the morning to eleven at night and did not even earn ten thousand yuan a month; this person claims an annual salary of 300,000 yuan. And as I recall, the admissions policy in my entrance-exam year had virtually no restrictions; many classmates came from different cities.

Next came self-styled “educators” criticizing the so-called Hengshui model. Many knew very little about Hengshui yet loved to pass judgment. I would quote a famous saying:

“Without investigation, there is no right to speak.”

—From Mao Zedong’s discussion of investigation and research in Oppose Book Worship,

stressing that judgments and decisions must be grounded in solid investigation.

When I looked up the Wiki entry before, I was disgusted. Most of its description of Hengshui High reflected the school ten or more years ago. Even if one wants to preserve its past appearance, should one not at least explain what it is like now?

I tried to edit it, but Wikipedia requires detailed citations. In recent years, it seems no reputable media outlet has gone inside the school for proper reporting, and the school is hardly going to expose itself. The problem seems insoluble.

There is scarcely any online content describing the school’s real situation now. Students’ statements already sound like powerless excuses, and few people see them anyway.

Online, people are drawn to negative news that lets them vent, and bloggers understandably discuss it for attention. But they should at least respect basic facts. There is nothing wrong with discussing the Hengshui model; it is false denigration that strikes us graduates as ridiculous and hurts teachers and students still there. After this blew up, many people shared an article titled “Outsiders Have No Right to Judge Hengshui High School!” on WeChat Moments. I certainly would not share it myself, but I thought it made some fair points. It also gives me, as a graduate, the right to assess my alma mater. I will explain my view in the next section.

Some may ask, “Aren’t you defending Hengshui High too?” The chart above showing admissions to Peking and Tsinghua universities does show that today’s Hengshui High is weaker each year. We all acknowledge it (perhaps only admissions teachers would not). But the school stopped winning through strict time management long ago. Memorizing material while queuing for food, running drills packed body to body, and folding blankets into perfect blocks are practices from many years past. We chat and are late just like anyone else. Other Hengshui schools seem stricter than ours, since we are always in the spotlight. What remains valuable is a teaching method passed down over decades: a thorough teaching-research system and study guides that each year’s teachers refine from the previous year’s materials. There are good aspects; we should not judge absolutely. (Schools copying the Hengshui model seem not to have copied those parts, leaving Hengshui High to take much of the blame.)

II. Why I find its defenders ridiculous

Put elegantly: I think they have Stockholm syndrome.

Put bluntly: they have never experienced anything better.

Moving from Beijing to Hengshui was a nightmare. During the first week I could make myself cry whenever the thought occurred to me. I missed home every day. Returning to school after each “holiday”—Hengshui’s peculiar arrangement of leaving school for a day or two after three or four consecutive weeks, not a real holiday—was the hardest part, especially after again experiencing my family’s loving care and the warmth of home. Classmates and teachers did not understand: “You just got back; why miss home?” (Thinking about it, I may have felt the same way later, but only because I had no choice but to accept going back.)

My first morning at Hengshui, TC School still made us get up at 5:30. Aside from catching flights, I had never risen that early and was exhausted. Most high-school students have dozed in class; sometimes you fight to keep your eyes open but cannot control it. I even tried pinching my flesh with a clip to stay awake, to no avail. What did teachers do when students slept? In high school they often made you stand or sent you outside. In junior high, I vividly remember dozing at my desk during a break and being struck on the head by the chemistry teacher, followed by a lecture. To those in that environment, it seems normal; without comparison, you do not see the harm. I had experienced something better. In my first year of junior high in Beijing, I was resting my head on my desk between classes because I personally had not slept well. My homeroom teacher, Ms. Huang, saw me from the doorway, walked over, and quietly asked my deskmate whether I felt unwell. I only saw this when I looked up. Is the contrast not obvious?

My university roommates happen to come from Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai. When I tell them about my experience, many things I considered ordinary are unacceptable to them—let alone the things even I found unbearable and the many moments that brought me to a breaking point.

The Hengshui model has negative effects on many fronts, especially its excessive focus on exams. I will not repeat the familiar psychological issues; I want to discuss horizons and understanding. I consider myself an exception because my family happens to be in Beijing and, with my parents’ support, I could step beyond some of that pressure. During winter break in my second year of high school, the parent of the top student in our class messaged my mother to ask something. My mother said, “We are in Singapore.” The parent asked if she was on a business trip. She answered frankly that we were traveling together, and the parent was astonished because students were supposed to study at home. As I have written before, Hengshui students often face difficulties at university, socially and intellectually. There could have been general-education classes in high school to give us a break. Instead, under pressure, students worked on core subjects during music and art classes and even during subjects they had not chosen. (I cannot help adding that some students seemed to show teachers no respect: with the teacher lecturing at the front, they would openly bend over other work within three meters. Their general knowledge was poor, too: by the senior-year academic proficiency exam, they could not draw a treble clef or identify C major. I do not blame them; they had never had a proper music lesson.)

Perception is reality. Hengshui was a terrible experience for me, and I have a right to evaluate my own experience. Finally, I want to say that those of you who miss high school simply have not suffered enough. (In that sense, perhaps suffering was good for me: my psychological resilience is much stronger now.)