For decades, China’s leaders enforced some of the strictest population controls in modern history, limiting families to one child and reshaping the nation’s demographics in ways that now haunt its future. Today, as birth rates plunge to record lows, the world’s second-largest economy is confronting a paradox of its own making: it’s far easier to stop people from having children than to convince them to start again.
Nowhere is that struggle more visible than in Tangshan, a gritty steel-producing city in northern Hebei province. Long defined by industrial smog and economic hardship, Tangshan has become a testing ground for China’s most aggressive pro-natalist campaign, offering cash incentives, housing subsidies, and even fertility counseling to persuade young couples to have more babies.
Yet despite millions spent and political urgency mounting, the “baby bump” remains stubbornly elusive. 
From Population Control to Population Panic
When China introduced the one-child policy in 1980, it was hailed by Communist Party leaders as a triumph of social planning — a way to prevent overpopulation, reduce poverty, and ensure rapid modernization. The policy did succeed in curbing population growth, but at immense social cost: a rapidly aging society, a shrinking workforce, and a gender imbalance that still distorts demographics today.
By the time Beijing abolished the one-child policy in 2016, and later allowed two and even three children per family, the cultural and economic landscape had already shifted. A generation of Chinese had grown up with smaller families, higher living costs, and career-first values. Many women — increasingly educated and independent — saw motherhood as incompatible with professional stability and personal freedom.
The government’s new challenge is reversing those deep-seated attitudes.
“The one-child policy created a mindset where having fewer children meant progress,” says sociologist Li Xue of Renmin University. “Now the state is asking people to do the opposite — but the economic and social conditions no longer make it appealing.”
Tangshan’s Bold — and Failing — Experiment
In Tangshan, local officials have rolled out some of the most ambitious incentives in the country. Couples who have a second or third child receive cash bonuses, extended maternity leave, discounted housing loans, and education subsidies. Billboards across the city urge young people to “embrace family happiness” and “build the future of China.”
Hospitals and community centers host fertility workshops, while social media campaigns target women with messages about “balancing motherhood and success.” Some state enterprises even offer daycare facilities and flexible working hours — a rarity in China’s demanding corporate culture.
Despite these efforts, the results have been disappointing. Tangshan’s birth rate continues to decline, mirroring the national trend. Official data show that China’s total fertility rate fell to around 1.0 in 2023 — far below the replacement level of 2.1 needed to sustain population stability.
“People don’t want to have children just because the government tells them to,” says a 29-year-old Tangshan resident surnamed Zhang. “My husband and I both work long hours, housing is expensive, and childcare costs are insane. One child is already difficult enough.”
The Economic Equation No Policy Can Solve
At the heart of China’s fertility crisis lies a harsh economic reality. The average Chinese family faces mounting costs for education, housing, and elder care, all of which discourage having more children. In many cities, parents spend a significant portion of their income on private tutoring, daycare, and extracurricular programs — expenses that have become symbols of middle-class anxiety.
Meanwhile, the labor market remains intensely competitive, especially for women. Female professionals often report being discriminated against in hiring and promotions due to assumptions about future pregnancies. The social safety net, while expanding, still leaves much of the financial and caregiving burden on families.
“If a woman has a second child, she risks losing her job or falling behind in her career,” notes economist Chen Yi of Peking University. “Until structural issues like these are addressed, financial incentives alone won’t change behavior.”
A Demographic Time Bomb
Demographers warn that China is approaching a tipping point. In 2023, the nation’s population declined for the second consecutive year, falling by nearly one million people. The proportion of citizens over 60 has risen to more than 21%, while the working-age population continues to shrink.
This demographic shift threatens China’s long-term growth model, which for decades relied on a vast labor force to power its manufacturing and construction sectors. Fewer workers mean higher labor costs, slower productivity growth, and mounting pressure on the country’s pension and healthcare systems.
The government is now scrambling to adjust, with policymakers describing the population issue as “a matter of national security.” In January, Beijing unveiled a nationwide plan to promote childbirth, including tax benefits, expanded childcare infrastructure, and public campaigns emphasizing “family values.”
Still, many experts say the effort may be too late.
“Fertility recovery is not like flipping a switch,” says demographer Wang Feng of the University of California, Irvine. “Once a society becomes low-fertility, it’s very difficult to reverse. The psychological and economic calculus changes for an entire generation.”
Shifting Culture, Shifting Priorities
Younger Chinese, especially those born after 1990, often express skepticism toward traditional family ideals. Online, social media hashtags such as #DINK (Double Income, No Kids) and #LyingFlat reflect a broader disillusionment with the pressures of modern life. Many couples prefer to invest in personal freedom, travel, or property rather than parenthood.
For women in particular, the push for larger families clashes with the reality of gender inequality. Surveys show that a growing number of Chinese women do not wish to marry at all, citing financial independence and the burden of domestic expectations.
“Motherhood is not seen as empowerment — it’s seen as sacrifice,” says feminist writer Chen Ming. “If the state wants more babies, it must first create a society that values women’s choices, not just their wombs.”
Beyond Birthrates: Rethinking the Future
China’s struggle to lift its birthrate isn’t just about numbers — it’s about redefining what family, success, and identity mean in a rapidly changing society. The transition from enforced population control to voluntary growth requires more than incentives; it demands deep social reform, from affordable housing and childcare to gender equality and work-life balance.
As cities like Tangshan experiment with pro-natalist policies, Beijing faces a larger truth: the old tools of state control no longer work in a generation shaped by market forces and individualism.
The population crisis, once seen as a bureaucratic issue, now touches every aspect of China’s destiny — its economy, innovation capacity, and even its geopolitical standing.
Conclusion: The Hardest Policy to Reverse
For decades, China mastered the art of controlling its population. Now, the challenge is entirely different — and far more difficult. Convincing a new generation to embrace parenthood in an age of economic uncertainty, social transformation, and personal choice may be the most daunting test of modern Chinese governance.
In Tangshan, the government’s slogans still line the streets: “More children, more happiness.” But behind the banners, the maternity wards remain quiet — a sobering reminder that while policies can change overnight, culture takes generations to rebuild.
