China: End of the line for quality silk farmers

The larvae spun cocoons, and the cocoons were spun into silk, and the silk travelled the world to be made into gowns and garter belts, slippers and scarves.

Silk is a product synonymous with China. And, for a time, no name was as synonymous with quality silk as Jili. In 1851, when the first World Expo, then called the Great Exhibition, was held in London, Jili silk was displayed by a Chinese businessman, winning gold and silver prizes handed out by Queen Victoria. The silk was later presented to her as a birthday present.

This year, the World Expo is being held 80 miles north-east of Jili, in Shanghai, but its silk is not up for any awards. The industry here has proved far less resilient than its product. As in many rural areas of China, young people have flocked to cities to look for jobs. Only their parents remain to carry on the tradition of sericulture, or silk farming. They live in about 50 homes clustered around a pond, in which skiffs bob, ringed by mulberry trees.

Every home once had the tools to spin silk thread. During the Qing dynasty, founded in the 17th century, Jili silk was used to fashion the clothing of the imperial court in Beijing and the emperor himself. Now, only a single decaying factory still processes silk, and the villagers raise silkworms only twice a year, a sharp drop from five times a year in the 1980s.

"Everyone just knows how to do it," Wang Yisi, a villager, said of sericulture. "When you're a child, you see grown-ups doing it. But maybe in a few years, no-one will know."

Wang said he did not raise any silkworms this spring because locals did not make much from selling cocoons last year. They no longer spin silk, so their only income comes from cocoon sales.

Chinese silk has been famous for centuries. Starting in the third century BC, silk travelled to Europe along various Silk Roads. Chinese rulers strove so hard to keep silk manufacturing a secret that Western merchants thought silk grew on trees, until silkworms were smuggled to Constantinople in hollow walking sticks.

Villagers in Jili began producing quality silk at the end of the Yuan dynasty in the 14th century. The climate and water were ideal for the process, making Jili's silk distinctive, said local historian Lu Shihu. The rulers of China became familiar with Jili silk after three of its scholars joined the Ming court.During the Qing dynasty the silk was shipped north to Beijing by boat along the Grand Canal.

The industry reached its zenith after the First Opium War ended in 1842. Through what the Chinese call the Unequal Treaties, foreign nations won trade concessions in Shanghai, among other cities, and foreign companies were able to ship Jili silk abroad.

After the industry boomed with the opening of Shanghai to foreign companies, the silk-trading houses of four families - nicknamed the Four Elephants - became dominant in the area. Their combined wealth supposedly equalled the annual tax revenue that the Qing rulers collected from all of China. The trading families built lavish mansions and one such home in Nanxun still stands. Built by Zhang Shiming between 1899 and 1905, it had a ballroom and had a library with 600,000 books.

The downfall of the local silk industry came with industrialisation. The hand looms of Jili could not compete with the factory machines of the 20th century. Jili's changing environment, with factories dirtying the pure water so crucial to sericulture, also contributed to the industry's decline.

Now, the young people of Jili have found they can earn more doing migrant work in cities. Villager Wang said the local industry would be saved only if the government provided subsidies. "We have the best silk here," he said. "It's better than anywhere else. This is the authentic silk. The government should protect this."

Each season, during the 20-day cycle when the newly hatched silkworms spin their cocoons on straw, the villagers work hard, Wang said. "It's tiring," he said. "You can't sleep as you have to feed the larvae several times a day. The faster they eat, the faster they grow."

Villagers sell cocoons to middlemen who resell them to factories. If villagers can sell the cocoons at 150 or more per 100 jin (110lbs), then the month of work is worthwhile, Wang said. But demand has slumped and the price with it. In the nearby factory behind rusted gates, 40 workers toil at machines that turn cocoons into silk thread. But the annual output of 30 tons is relatively small. Manager Shen Yuxi said the government had turned its back on Jili to encourage silk production in western China.

"In its heyday," Shen said, "silk was handspun, and the entire area did it. That was when Jili silk was a name, when it mattered. Now it's just history."