TEA LEAF NATION, RACHEL LU01.03.14

Chinese people have spent another year breathing dirty air, fretting about food safety,poking fun at corrupt officials, and complaining about tightening censorship—but as a discerning（discern） consumer of international news, you probably knew that already.

So what else is new in China? What are some of the trends in 2013, big and small, that could continue to transform the country’s social and economic landscape in the year to come?

Here are six you may have missed.

Sina Weibo, the microblogging platform often called China’s Twitter, has lost its position as China’s most exciting social media outlet. Launched in 2009 by Internet portal Sina, Weibo introduced a whole new way to connect in China, giving ordinary citizens a microphone to speak to millions of fellow users. The platform, which has accumulated approximately 600 million registered users since its inception—Sinaclaims that about ten percent are active daily—transformed China’s media landscape by allowing users a degree of freedom of expression not possible in the pre-Weibo age. Buoyed by the strength of their numbers, millions felt relatively safe discussing sensitive political topics on Weibo, saying in public what they’d once only dared to say among trusted friends or family. But the platform’s dazzling success soon attracted government scrutiny, resulting in close monitoring and censorship to curb what was beginning to look something like freedom of speech. In 2013, the Chinese government stepped up its efforts to silence or publicly shame prominent opinion leaders on Weibo, and harass and arrest ordinary users.

The most painful blow to Weibo may come not from the Chinese government, but from a private competitor: WeChat, the mobile messaging app developed by Chinese tech giant Tencent. WeChat only allows discussions between individuals or among small groups, whereas discussions on Weibo took place before millions of potential virtual onlookers. In 2013, Chinese users increasingly abandoned Weibo for WeChat, likely because of censorship and privacy concerns; the messaging service now has more than 272 million monthly active users worldwide, with the majority in mainland China. That’s just fine with Chinese authorities, who are probably happy to see political discussion leave the virtual public square and return to more intimate forums less likely to inflame the masses. Of course, censorship and surveillance continue; to prevent unsavory information from spreading too widely on WeChat, Chinese authorities are closely watching that new space as well.

In the annals of cultural exchange between mainland China and Taiwan since reforms began in 1979, the latter has been a net exporter of hit television shows, catchy tunes, and pouting starlets. In China, Taiwanese celebrities like Jay Chou, Leehom Wang, and Dee Hsu command huge fan bases and endorsement deals. To be sure, Taiwan is still winning the Cross-Strait charm wars: its comparatively relaxed and open culture, coupled with the right to vote, holds deep appeal for mainlanders. But China’s growing soft power empire has struck back at the island that it regards as a renegade province. Chinese e-commerce giant Taobao has racked up more than $300 million in sales in Taiwan, according to estimates by Taiwanese magazine CommonWealth, becoming the second-largest Internet retailer in Taiwan. Xiaomi, the Chinese maker of popular smartphones that imitate Apple’s slick design and viral marketing, claims to have sold 10,000 units in an online flash sale that lasted less than ten minutes on December 9.I Am a Singer, an American Idol-style reality show produced by popular provincial outlet Hunan TV in China, became so popular in Taiwan that in April 2013 local channels risked breaking Taiwan’s broadcasting regulations restricting the airtime of entertainment programs on news channels in order to carry the finale. Empress in the Palace, a seventy-six-episode mini-series set in the harem of a Qing-dynasty emperor, has also riveted viewers in Taiwan, inspiring several books and instigating soul-searching in Taiwan’s creative industry.

As many as 400 million Chinese people, more than the population of the United States, are learning English, according to an estimate by China’s state-owned media. That staggering figure may be about to shrink, however, which may affect the ability of ordinary Chinese people to communicate with the outside world.

First, if China’s Ministry of Education has its way, English will be sacrificed in the name of happier childhoods. The government is gearing up to give a serious jolt to an exam-centric education system infamous for heavy course loads and rote learning. The proposed solution is to put English on the cutting board. On October 21, the Ministry of Education announced plans to reduce the weight given to English-language college entrance exams. In addition, in the future English classes will only start in third grade, not first grade as is the case now.

The decline of English is a puzzling reversal. After all, only three years ago the government reportedly planned to teach English to all kindergarteners. A good dose of nationalism has since entered the discussion—some education experts have called for the abolition of English education to young children altogether—but more complicated social factors are also at play. Working for foreign companies, where English skills are advantageous, has become a less desirable path for young graduates. College graduates used to clamor for foreign company jobs in the 1990s and early 2000s, but discovered that private-sector pay could not keep up with China’s skyrocketing real estate prices. Now they crave stability, housing and retirement perks, and the social respect that are part and parcel of a civil servant position, which does not usually require English skills.