Closing the education gap(2)

One of the petitioning migrant parents sent me a text the day before their planned gathering. "There will be more than 100 parents gathering at the office calling on the axing of hukou restrictions for students taking gaokao exams," the text message read. Initially, I didn't believe there would be that many parents as most of the time petitioners who tip off reporters inflate projected numbers of participants to attract media attention.

However, I was wrong. I arrived at the ministry's headquarters at 9:30 am, by which time more than 100 parents had gathered. Police guarded the ministry's complaints office, but the atmosphere wasn't intimidating. There were no banners or placards, nor chanting of angry slogans. Police, to their credit, resisted using force to disperse the gathering.

However, I did make one unusual observation. Parents had presented a clay bust depicting the head and upper body of Minister Yuan with his name etched in the artwork. Some claimed the bust, a gift commonly offered in Chinese culture to memorialize someone who has died, was actually a taunt at the minister, while others said it was a respectful present given in the hope Yuan would agree to a meeting with the parents.

Parents plastered stickers saying "Education for all" to their shoulders. The parent who tipped me off about their petition tried to make me wear a sticker, but I politely refused. Organizers collected signatures and several representatives went into the office to talk to ministry employees. This was their 21st visit to the office, and ministry staff seemed quite familiar with them.

All the while, more parents trickled in. Soon, there were more than 200 parents, making it the largest such gathering since they began their push for easing of hukou restrictions. Patience began wearing thin among ministry staff as more parents crowded into the cramped reception room.

My accompanying colleague, Global Times photographer Guo Yingguang, whispered in my ear that she suspected there were many undercover policemen. They acted as reporters by filming the parents, but never spoke to anyone.

I elbowed my way to the front and tried to hear a conversation between employees and parents. "It's illegal for you to come bearing these stickers," cried one of the office employees. "You can submit your appeals and requests, but you risk being exploited for wearing stickers like that."

Parents obligingly took off the stickers, but their request to see Minister Yuan was denied. Spotting me interviewing a parent, a ministry employee made a beeline through the crowd and confronted me.

"Are you a reporter? Let me see your credentials," he demanded, eyeing my digital recorder. Unfortunately, I had left my apartment that morning in a hurry and had forgotten to bring my press card.

"Sorry, but if you can't prove you're a reporter you will have to either leave the premises or accompany me to the office to formally request approval for an interview," he said. I agreed to leave, though on my way returned to talk to parents in the gathering that now numbered nearly 300.

Clearly incensed, the ministry staffer called over a policeman who promptly took my name, ID card number and telephone number and escorted me from the ministry grounds, leaving me to watch from behind the compound's gate.

Five representatives of the parents went inside the office to talk with ministry staff and the police, while others waited outside. The representatives emerged after half an hour of talks, albeit without a satisfying result.

"They said they are working on a plan, but there's no timetable," one representative informed the crowd of parents who were now becoming increasingly frustrated. "Come out and face us, Yuan Guiren!" angry parents chanted.

By now it was 11:30 am, and I had to return to the office to work on the story. As I left, parents began singing the national anthem to lift their morale. Most left the ministry's grounds, but some waited, determined to see Yuan, who never showed.