Mingzi asked me to comment on this article http://blog.sina.com.cn/u/4836a351010002id#comment. Seeing the two keywords “Zhang Weiying” + “reform” really stirred up a lot of long-buried feelings.
An excerpt from the comment follows:
I don’t want to say very much, because ever since I first set foot at Peking University, the first Peking University professor I looked down on was Zhang Weiying. Under this intensely special emotional state, I can’t guarantee that my judgment is calm.
Peking University is not trash, but even in the best place there will be trash, and Zhang Weiying is trash.
I don’t understand economics very well. I “came to know” Zhang Weiying when, in my senior year of high school, before deciding on an admission recommendation, I was learning about Peking University’s “personnel system reform.” He was precisely the head of the “personnel reform working group.” I read that controversial “Fourteen Points on Reform” he wrote, as well as a series of critical articles. Among the main critics I recognized were Gan Yang, Zhang Qiqun, and Wu Jike.
Principal Xu advocated reform, and “reform” itself is very good. Many critics also support reform. But once it came to Zhang Weiying, who put forward specific operational plans, it became very, very, very bad—really extremely stupid! Some people have let economics go to their heads and treat professors as commodities!
Peking University may indeed have had some problems, but some people pinned all the problems on the low caliber of the teachers, thinking that introducing a market competition and elimination mechanism for teachers would solve everything! “The market can do anything” — that is the stupidest way some economists think!
Peking University cannot keep people, cannot keep its own students, cannot keep the teachers who feel deeply attached to it — many teachers say as much in conversation, and I remember A-G saying the same that day. This is a fact. Zhang Weiying and the others tried to turn the Peking University campus into a market, and moreover a market designed with a terrible logic, a terrible place that crudely imitates the way Western universities are built, like drawing a tiger and ending up more like a dog. In this way, even if you can “improve” teachers’ “quality” through elimination, that may not necessarily improve teaching quality, because we all know that the quality of teaching is not determined solely by the number of papers a teacher writes, but also by that teacher’s sense of devotion to the profession and love for the school. Even if the reform succeeds and Peking University’s paper count rises, so what? In Zhang Weiying’s thinking, the standard by which a university is first-rate is only papers, but we know that is not the case. Besides, whether this reform can in fact effectively increase Peking University’s paper count is itself highly questionable. If the personnel reform is implemented, teachers will spend all day with their minds hanging on promotion, on securing projects, on publishing papers, and if not, they’ll be laid off; where would they have any spare time to care about teaching? Excellent teachers like YLH and SXG, who usually write relatively few papers, would have to pack up and leave within three to five years! New teachers brought in under this system also could not possibly be like YLH. The biggest victims of the reform plan will be us undergraduates! Why are so many students so ignorantly enthusiastic about it?
The word “reform” sounds extremely good. Many people, as soon as they hear this word, become blood-rushingly excited. Zhang Weiying, whether in Peking University’s personnel system or in China’s economics, keeps shouting “reform,” with tremendous zeal. Calm down!! Reform may be a good thing, but more often it may be dangerous. “Reform” is not “revolution”; it is not something that can be solved by charging ahead with a big knife in hand. It more often requires stopping frequently to think, to turn back and take a look. People today are actually not lacking the boldness to “break through” in reform; what they more lack is that calm mind amid this rapidly changing, ever-transforming society.
March 18, 2006
I am reprinting an article from that time. So much time has passed that this article has not circulated much online anymore; however, Peking University’s personnel reform still seems not to have been rejected and canceled. This article is still worth reading:
The Utterly Absurd Peking University Reform: Missing the Forest for the Trees, Damaging the Muscles and Bones
(Author: Mao Yiming)
When the first draft of Peking University’s faculty personnel reform was released, I originally had no intention of saying anything. I thought: how could such an absurd thing ever make it onto the stage at Peking University? Now a second draft has come out, and it seems Professor Zhang Weiying and the others are dead set on it. I feel puzzled, and a little angry too. I feel I can no longer remain silent; I have to say a few words.
The reason I want to say a few words is that I feel I still have a bit of standing. Professor Zhang says, “A hero need not inquire after origins.” I am not a hero, so I still need to report my origins, lest misunderstandings arise and people think I’m some irrelevant person stirring up trouble. However, I also kept one hand hidden, concealing my identity, so as not to be schemed against.
At any rate, I count as an old Peking University hand: I studied at Peking University, later worked at Peking University, and in total spent sixteen or seventeen years there. Just in the past two years I finally managed to become an associate professor. I love Peking University, where I studied and lived for many years, and I feel attached to it. I think I have the standing to speak, and for Peking University’s sake, I have no choice but to speak. I advocate reform; Peking University also needs reform. But what kind of reform does Peking University actually need? I believe it is definitely not Zhang Weiying-style reform, definitely not using the grand banner of reform to confuse the issue while engaging in the acts of ruining the family business.
According to Professor Zhang Weiying’s view, the challenge to Peking University’s status, the fact that the number of SCI papers is lower than Tsinghua’s, and the responsibility for the disappointing results of the state’s 985 Plan funding, all of this should obviously be laid at the feet of the teachers’ low level. At first glance, that sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? Isn’t that right? Hold on! Don’t rush to applaud. I make no secret of the fact that Peking University does have a small number of professors who are of low caliber, who fill positions without merit, mislead students, and even resemble the “cats and dogs” Professor Zhang mentions (“Zhang Weiying: On the Question of Peking University’s Attractiveness”) — I believe Professor Zhang certainly has enough evidence to exclude himself from that category. But is it really, as Professor Zhang asserts, the chief culprit blocking Peking University from creating a world-class university? I say no!
What is the truth, exactly? Let us do the arithmetic.
I have a number here that cannot be found in any official Peking University material; it probably counts as confidential:
How many faculty and staff members does Peking University have on payroll? More than 8,000. And how many are in the teaching establishment? The exact number is 2,235 (1,175 in the humanities, 1,060 in the sciences). Among them, there are at least over 100 professor-cadre office directors and professor-cadre party secretaries; we need not discuss how many there are, and if we simply count them all as genuine professors, then our university’s student-faculty ratio is 1:16 (while the staff-student ratio is about 1:4). This number was at least exact in February 2003, because it was revealed by the Office of Research Affairs at a mobilization meeting for applying for the National Natural Science Foundation.
What does this number show?
First, all of Peking University’s course teaching is carried out by these 2,235 people, all graduate students are trained by these 2,235 people, and these people also bring in hundreds of millions of yuan in research funding for Peking University every year; Peking University’s academic standing is created by these 2,235 people. And a hard fact is that these 2,235 people make up only one quarter of the whole university’s faculty and staff. This also means that if the state raises salaries or allowances for Peking University employees, at most only one quarter of that, in theory, goes to the “teachers.” And in reality, only one twelfth of the state’s annual investment is actually implemented as position allowances for the “teachers.” As for the “leading officials in certain government departments” Professor Zhang refers to, however youthful they may try to make themselves look, they cannot avoid facing this fact. So where exactly did the money from the 985 Plan go? The allowances for the other two-thirds of the “other staff” need not even be mentioned. How much of the remainder was actually implemented in the substantive work of research? I’m afraid Professor Zhang knows this better than anyone. I have gone to Peking University’s personnel, academic affairs, and property management departments to handle matters, and had the good fortune to witness the luxury of Peking University’s office departments. Officials and clerical workers use high-end computers that professors would not even spare the money to buy for their own research, all with 17-inch liquid-crystal displays; even a typist lady enjoys an office with high-end decoration all to herself — truly a boon to Peking University’s face. I once saw with my own eyes a fly on the mirror-bright floor of some office slip and fall, and lie there for a long time unable to right itself. And what about our professors? In most laboratories, not only is there not a single cent of state investment, but they even have to pay the school rent and utilities, cover students’ labor costs, and buy the computers, desks, chairs, and benches used by graduate students themselves. Second, Professor Zhang Weiying thinks that Peking University’s number of SCI papers being lower than Tsinghua’s is caused by the low caliber of Peking University’s associate professors and professors. Is that really the truth? Let us do the arithmetic again:
According to statistics from Peking University’s Office of Science and Technology, in 2001 Peking University proper produced 1,240 SCI papers. Assuming an annual increase of about 200 papers, by 2003 this should have reached around 1,600. How many people produced these papers? The total number of science faculty at Peking University is 1,060. If we ignore the SCI papers of lecturers and teaching assistants, then we can also say this: these 1,600 SCI papers were actually produced by only about 700 people (plus or minus 100, let us say), averaging more than 2 papers per person. That level, I’m afraid, would not be considered poor even at Harvard or the University of Chicago, which Zhang Weiying is forever invoking, would it?
Moreover, in 2002 those 700 people brought in 295.94 million yuan in research funding for Peking University (data from the Office of Research Affairs), averaging more than 400,000 yuan per person. In addition, those 700 people also have to shoulder almost all of the research tasks, and more than two-thirds of the science courses — over a thousand of them. They also have to supervise graduate students and complete social service workload; that’s enough to count as a decathlon, isn’t it?
Because a large number of professors have retired, many originally very strong departments at Peking University have already been reduced to a scattered state, with only one or two associate professors barely holding them up. Yet Professor Zhang can brazenly ignore such facts and say things like: “The number of associate professor positions is currently too large… once the seats are filled, the school cannot keep increasing positions. … Temporarily designating associate professor positions as non-tenure positions will help free up some positions to attract even better talent and more quickly complete the process of old replacing new.” (Zhang Weiying: On the Question of at What Rank Tenure Should Begin). In Professor Zhang’s eyes, at Peking University, with its eight or nine thousand faculty and staff, the seven or eight hundred associate professors are already so numerous as to be overcrowding the place. Only by freeing up seats can they be used to attract “even better talent.”
The crux of the matter is something Professor Zhang understands clearly, but simply will not say, and does not dare say. If you do not believe me, then look at how Professor Zhang speaks when it comes to Peking University’s administration and logistics.
“Many faculty members have made sharp criticisms of the school’s administrative system. Peking University’s administrative management indeed has many problems, does not meet the requirements of building a first-rate university, and also needs reform, and will certainly be reformed. In fact, the overhaul in 1999, when division-level cadres were required to stand down and be reappointed in place, was an important reform; the reform of the logistics system has also been greatly advanced, and most people are no longer guaranteed an iron rice bowl. So why does this reform only target teachers and not other administrative staff? There are three reasons: first, launching administrative reform and faculty-system reform at the same time would cause too much of a shock and would not be conducive to the stability of school work. Holding one side steady while moving the other will cause less shock, is easier to get started, and easier to succeed; if both sides are moved, the normal order of teaching and research, and even life itself, may be disrupted. Second, after faculty personnel management reform has been in place for a period of time, introducing administrative personnel system reform will be easier for administrative staff to accept.” (Zhang Weiying: On the Issue of Supporting Reforms)
I truly admire the delicacy and circuitousness of Professor Zhang’s language here, and the painstaking care of his wording.
Even more admirable is Zhang the judge’s sentence: “The quality and efficiency of administrative staff are certainly important, but for a university, the most crucial thing is still the quality of the faculty. More importantly, administrative staff are stable; service quality is largely a matter of attitude.”
While putting a high hat on the teachers, Professor Zhang casually removes the chair from under their backsides. If that sounds too euphemistic, let me translate it more bluntly. That is: because teachers are important, teachers’ problems are a matter of whether they can keep their rice bowls; if they do not do well, they have to leave. Administrative staff are not important, so administrative staff problems are at most a matter of service quality, but their rice bowls are still iron. The master-servant positioning is self-evident, isn’t it?
But I would like to question Professor Zhang: if the seven or eight hundred associate professor positions are already so numerous that they must be freed up, then have the several thousand administrative bigwigs, whose numbers are several times those of Peking University’s teachers, been “filled up” or not? And according to what standard are they “filled” in the first place? Does Peking University really need so many positions where people spend working hours dancing Yangge, chatting away, and carrying baskets to go buy groceries?
The rice bowl issue, the master-servant issue — that is the essence of the problem. Professor Zhang sidesteps the enormous, parasitic, food-consuming administration and logistics apparatus, which devours the overwhelming majority of state investment, and tries instead to disqualify the entire Peking University faculty by targeting a few professors who are just along for the ride. How ingenious Professor Zhang is!
Administrative reform has always been the hardest of all reforms, from the central government to local governments, from government departments to public institutions, and this is true everywhere. When Premier Zhu first took office, he once made a firm determination to eliminate the bloated bureaucracy, but in the end it came to nothing. But at least he dared to acknowledge how harmful China’s bureaucracy is, and dared to try touching the tiger’s backside.
Professor Zhang knows that these administrative people will not be as honest and proper as university professors, and will not follow the game rules laid down by Professor Zhang and the others, so when he speaks of administration and logistics, even his tone of voice changes, let alone daring to criticize the food-consuming administration and logistics system. And everyone knows that the administrative departments control Peking University’s financial, economic, and housing resources; whether there is some unmentionable difficulty between the rows of cucumbers and beans, the subtle mysteries involved are probably known only to Professor Zhang and the others themselves.
But what has Professor Zhang changed, exactly? Hot-blooded youngsters ought to know in their hearts: his giant reforming blade is aimed at all teachers below the rank of associate professor, who are precisely the people shouldering the bulk of Peking University’s teaching and research work. They are the muscles and bones of Peking University, its foundation and root.
The essence of the problem is not whether the current associate professors are afraid of competition; it is the issue of master-servant positioning. Yet this positioning has no rational basis whatsoever; it is entirely decided by Zhang the referee’s whistle. He wants to turn these people into temporary workers overnight, into employees of himself and his administrative-logistics apparatus.
These associate professors, who are already giving their all for Peking University for a mere allowance of2ten-thousand yuan, in fact mostly do so because they originally believed themselves to be the masters of Peking University, because they had feelings for Peking University. Yet now they know they are not. Not only are they not, they are also to allow Professor Zhang and the others to use those feelings as a basis for flaunting Peking University’s attractiveness, while letting Professor Zhang’s butcher’s block chop away at them at will. If they are to live without dignity, will they still continue?
Professor Zhang quite acts as if he is the master of Peking University, imagining that under his rule the attractiveness of Peking University’s associate professor positions is enough to make the world’s best employees fall over themselves, while the price he is willing to pay is only a mere 20,000 yuan in 985 position allowance. Professor Zhang works in economics; his accounting is indeed very shrewd. It is a pity he also understands one fact:
“No matter how good our system is, it is impossible to keep all outstanding talent at Peking University…
If a university is willing to offer an annual salary of one million yuan to attract our academicians, we may have absolutely no way to respond, and can only let people leave. But the fact that it offers one million yuan precisely shows that it lacks competitiveness. I do not need to offer one million yuan; that precisely proves that I am competitive.” (Zhang Weiying: On the Question of Peking University’s Attractiveness).
Such almost gangster-like logic coming from Professor Zhang’s mouth is rather comic. But after the comedy, what then? Will the associate professors, wounded more than anything else by this blow, actually leave? Will a Harvard associate professor for 20,000 yuan really come? Once the roots are injured and the muscles and bones are damaged, will Peking University have the ability to recover?
Professor Zhang is planning to perform on Peking University a surgery that misses the forest for the trees and damages the muscles and bones. But has Professor Zhang thought about how to clean up the mess afterward?
Who will save Peking University?
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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