to death,’ says a small boy at the back wearing a blue jacket with a broken zip.
‘Don’t worry, students,’ Kongzi says. ‘Mr Sun has applied for authorisation from the Education Department, so with any luck, our migrant school will soon be legal.’
‘Teacher Kong, did Confucius get into as much trouble as us when he set up his own schools?’ asks a girl with a ponytail, her small eyes darting behind her overgrown fringe.
‘Back then, Confucius was an unofficial teacher, just like me,’ Kongzi says with a smile, ‘but he wasn’t treated like a criminal. Anyone could set up their own school. Things may be very different now, but we mustn’t lose heart. Every child deserves an education, whether they’re recognised by the state or not. We must assert our rights, or this country will never change.’
‘Yes, students, our paths are made as we tread them,’ Meili says, rising to her feet. ‘We must have the courage to strike out on our own and challenge injustices. On the internet, more and more people are daring to voice criticisms of the One Child Policy. The government is launching campaigns telling young couples that girls are as good as boys – that shows they’re aware of the millions of baby girls that have been killed because of their evil policies.’
A girl in a black-and-white-checked jacket gets up and says, ‘Teacher Meili, I miss my mummy. She works in Zhuhai. After I speak to her on the phone, my grades always go down.’
‘Teacher, why are we peasants?’ asks a girl in an orange jacket with a white collar.
‘Because we were born in the countryside,’ Meili replies. ‘And if we’re born there, our fate is sealed: the authorities deny us free education, housing, medical care and all the other privileges city dwellers enjoy, and through the household registration system and family planning laws they bind us for ever to the land. But we mustn’t despair, students. There are 900 million of us. We make up two-thirds of China’s population. We can’t be kept down for ever. Look how many millions of peasants have already dared to ignore the laws and move to the cities. We’re on the move and no one can stop us. I’ve heard the police no longer bar peasants from boarding trains to the cities. Soon, pregnant women will be able to walk through the streets without fear of being dragged off for an abortion, and peasants will be able to move to any place they wish. The cages that have imprisoned us for so long will topple to the ground, and we will all be treated as legal citizens.’
‘Please, Teacher, what is the countryside like?’ asks a boy with a flat nose and thin, sparse hair. He is the youngest child in the school, and the only one who was born in Heaven Township.
‘Look, that’s the countryside,’ the boy next to him says, pointing his dirty finger at the window.
‘Do those farmers have residence permits?’ asks the flat-nosed boy.
‘Probably,’ says an older girl behind him. ‘It’s just us kids born without permission who aren’t allowed to have residence permits – we can’t even get rural ones.’
A police car overtakes them and screeches to a halt, blocking the road ahead. Two officers step out and climb onto the bus. ‘Who’s the teacher here?’
‘I am,’ Meili says, confident that she’ll be able to handle the conversation better than Kongzi.
‘SARS has broken out in this county,’ says one of the officers, whisking a fly from his face. ‘Didn’t you receive the notification?’
‘No,’ Meili says, then remembers reading about the disease on the internet. ‘Oh, you mean the acute respiratory disease? Yes, of course we were informed. We were told not to go into school, so we’ve taken the children out on a trip.’
‘A strict curfew has been imposed. The instructions were clear. Return to your school immediately. A team from the World Health Organisation is touring China to make sure we’re in a fit state to host the Olympics. If they find out we’ve got SARS here, it will be a disaster, so no one must wear a face mask.’
‘Fine, thank you, officers, we’ll let everyone else at Red Flag Primary know,’ Meili calls out to them as they return to their car.
‘Auntie Meili, I need to go to the toilet,’ a little boy says, frowning in discomfort.
The boys at the back laugh. ‘He’s always asking to go to the toilet in class, Miss! He never stops drinking – that’s why. He’s always thirsty.’