Some preschool-age children were playing in a sand pit with rubber tyres around its four sides as a safety measure.

Not far from them are several rows of one-storied brick rooms. The walls are thin and weather-beaten, and adhesive tape has been used to patch up some broken windows.

There is also an earthen playing field and the 300-meter jogging track is bare and battered. In Beijing's typical windy winter days, dust swirls around with each gust of wind.

But the children there are untroubled, energetic.

"We love this school," a young girl aged about 10 says. "I would be very upset if one day they told me that I couldn't come to this school."

The school, the Xingzhi School in Beijing's southern Daxing District, appeals to children like her who have come to Beijing with their parents from their homes in the countryside or small towns. Their parents have come to Beijing in search of a better life.

Unlike regular urban public schools, the Xingzhi charges much lower extra fees.

The municipal education bureau announced it had scrapped all extra fees for rural migrant children in public schools, and the children continue to study at Xingzhi.

Because "we do not want to be just a school, where children of migrant workers have somewhere to come instead of hanging around on the streets -- we want to be a good school," said Huang He.

"In fact, we hope we can become something that other similar schools around China can strive to emulate," said Huang, the school's founder.

For Huang, the school is a chance for him to cross the subtle border from teacher to educator.

Fighting on

Before the 39-year-old Huang founded Xingzhi School three years ago, he spent much of his young adulthood fighting the conflict between the liberal educational concepts he learned at university and China's current educational modes, which are geared toward the single purpose of passing college entrance exams.

He has taught in various primary and middle schools in several different provinces. However, as Huang said, he had to quit after each run-in with the establishment as there were disagreements on points of view.

The fact that Xingzhi and other such schools are left outside China's education system makes them, rather ironically, ideal experimental laboratories for pioneer educators like Huang.

"I hope this school can be guided by real, open and liberal educational thoughts, as we don't have any pressure from local district or even municipal educational authorities," he says.

"And we don't hold up the college entrance exams as our sole purpose and goal."

Struggling between different educational and social identities, migrant workers' children face psychological problems that don't bother the urban children.

"We do not want them to feel like they are being marginalized in the city," said Huang.

"One important part of our work is to design programmes to help them communicate with urban students, take part in all kinds of social activities and meet visiting guests who are concerned about their well-being."

For instance, He Yunlan, the director of Fine Arts for Children, a branch-committee of the Chinese Artists' Association, is considering to introduce here "Dandelion Action" programme. The programme is an after-school fine art education project aiming at making arts, especially folk arts, part of the everyday lives of children in remote or impoverished areas.

The results of the inclusive and encouraging education are evident to see at the school.

Compared with urban public schools, children at the Xingzhi School seem more polite and willing to interact.

They are less aggressive when playing with each other and only very happy to show visitors around the grounds.

"The most important thing is to create a wholesome environment where these children can develop both in a mental sense and in terms of their personality," said Huang.

"We are trying to get the message across to the kids that they are equal to every one of the peers."

For the Greater Good

Xingzhi's salaries for its teachers are very low compared with public schools. But still, highly qualified teachers continue to join its faculty.

"The concern about money fades away when you feel you are involved in a noble undertaking," said Yang Fuming, a young teacher who is a Xi'an Fine Arts Academy graduate.

"In fact, I believe many young people would be happy to contribute more to society, if they could only take the first bold step out of what their lives are expected to be."

Among all of the schools established for migrant children, Xingzhi is a rare as it is a non-profit organization.

Since starting, Xingzhi has offered reduced fees to 423 students, which has cost the school 270,000 RMB (US$32,600).

Huang, who is also the school's headmaster, has not drawn a salary since it started.

His family is supported by the income of his wife, who is a psychologist at Tsinghua University.

"The school still has a loan of more than 100,000 RMB (US$12,000) to repay," explained Huang.

"As soon as we achieve a balance between our revenue and expenditure --and that will be realized soon, I believe -- I should be able to look at drawing some sort of a salary.

"But that won't be any higher than the average salary of the faculty."

This year, at Huang's request, an 11-member executive council was formed to supervise the school's daily operations.

The members are all successful professionals from different walks of life, including professors, officials and lawyers.

Zheng Hong, vice-chairwoman of the council, is the only full-time member of the organization.

She came to Xingzhi after obtaining her Masters of Public Administration degree from the Harvard University's John F. Kennedy School of Government in the United States.

Like Huang, she refuses to draw a salary until the school is on a more even keel financially.

"Donations helped pull this school out of its dire financial straits, as we don't accept private investment," said Zheng.

"And until very recently, we had no financial support from the government."

In a conspicuous area beside the playing field stands a bulletin board, on which the names of the donators and the items they donated are meticulously listed. At a random glance, entries such as "two desks," "four sofas," and "one computer" can be seen.

A recent contribution from the Ford Foundation was to the tune of 400,000 RMB (US$48,300), for the school to look at the better ways to educate migrant workers' children.

Now with up to 1,200 registered students, Xingzhi's leadership is hopeful it can finally become self-sufficient through annual tuition fees, which stand at 400 RMB (US$48) for each one of its primary students and 600 RMB (US$72) for every secondary student.

Public schools in Beijing enrolling students from the first to ninth graders do not charge tuition fees because the basic nine-year education is compulsory by law.

However, many of the leading public primary and middle schools do tacitly ask parents to pay in the form of donations from a few thousand up to 60,000 RMB (US$7,255) for enrolment, especially when the children are not up to the schools' high enrolment qualification.

With very limited resources at their disposal, it seems there is a consensus among the school authority and the students that vain, material objects are only of secondary importance.

"We know that every cent here must be used directly in education," said Zheng. "We invest money in importing qualified faculties and organizing extracurricular activities, not in trying to compete with urban public schools in the looks of department."

A flagpole, which comprises a number of steel pipes that were bought from a scrap yard and welded together, stands proudly in the school's playing field.

"By doing this we were able to save more than 5,000 RMB (US$600)," Huang says proudly.

(China Daily December 13, 2004 )