In the Land Of Bok Choy, Spam Hits the Spot
Every year during Beijing's sweltering summer, Jenny Wang loads up her battered car with a sample of each imported product she carries in her grocery stores: a packet of Betty Crocker pancake mix, one box of Kellogg's Froot Loops, a bottle of Italian olive oil, one slice of Danish blue cheese.
The gigantic car load -- some 5,000 items in all -- isn't a customer order. Instead, the car roars off across town to the Bureau of Quality and Technical Supervision. It is time for the annual inspection of Ms. Wang's inventory. No matter that many of these products are sold all over China, and that they've passed customs checks and quarantine inspections. An official at the bureau still must approve their sale in Ms. Wang's stores. Then he keeps the entire car load -- worth about $1,200.
Such is the life of a small entrepreneur in China. While the focus on China's growth has been on its massive factories that churn out shoes and auto parts for the world, Beijing is filled these days with rural entrepreneurs from the poor countryside. Set apart by their thick country accents, they set up stalls to fix bicycles, wash cars, cut hair, roast chestnuts and offer foot massages.
By 2020, more than 200 million people are expected to move from the countryside to China's cities. Most will drift into factory jobs, stitching buttons and assembling toys, but many will end up running their own small businesses. Private businesses are the fastest growing part of the Chinese economy, and so vital to its health that entrepreneurs now find their place in the Chinese Communist Party's ranks.
Battling the odds and Chinese bureaucracy, Ms. Wang, a 36-year-old square-faced peasant with a radiant smile, has built a thriving business finding her own niche -- charming expatriates with good service and familiar foods from home.
She now operates half a dozen stores around the walled compounds where foreigners live in the Chinese capital. Annual revenue is $3 million, enough to finance the purchase of the comfortable apartment she lives in plus a fancy villa she rents out to a Swedish family.
"There have been all kinds of obstacles," says Ms. Wang, recalling her endless battles with bureaucracy, many of them now behind her. These days, she says "it's just long hours and hard work."
'The Customer Is God'
Ms. Wang got started 15 years ago when she set up a fruit-and-vegetable street stall near one of Beijing's diplomatic compounds. She soon figured out how to attract foreign customers. While other hawkers fiddled their weighing scales, or added extra pennies to the price when "big noses" (Westerners) came into sight, Ms. Wang charged everybody the same. She laid her vegetables out neatly, unlike most Chinese stalls. When the wife of an Italian military attache gave her rucola lettuce seeds, she cultivated them to replace the common iceberg variety.
"The customer is God," says Ms. Wang.
Trouble with authorities began almost as soon as Ms. Wang decided to expand her business in 1990. Together with her sister and brother-in-law, she rented space in a row of shops around the corner from her street stall, painted it in cheerful colors in contrast to the drab state stores around her, installed refrigerators for the ice cream and added awnings out front. They called it Jenny Lou's -- "Jenny" after Ms. Wang's Chinese first name, Jianying; "Lou" after the surname of her brother-in-law.
Four years later, when customers were swirling through the doors, Ms. Wang and her neighbors were dismayed by a curt notice from the local government: "To improve the environment your shops will be demolished. We hope all shopkeepers will make arrangements," it said -- with no further details. Sure enough, a week later bulldozers arrived and knocked down the entire row.
Twice more her stores were torn down, with not a penny of compensation. She reckons it cost her $100,000. Pleading with local officials was no use. "They didn't listen, she says. "They just said, 'This order comes from the higher-ups and there's nothing we can do.' "
In China, Ms. Wang complains, officials "look down on peasants." Even now, she isn't sure how long she can stay at her flagship store. Her landlord, the district government, which rents the neighboring plot to a golf driving range, has plenty of options for the site in one of Beijing's most desirable suburbs. "I don't have a sense of certainty," Ms. Wang says. "At any moment they could decide to redevelop this site."
At least the Beijing bureaucracy is no longer undermining her business. "To put it simply, the government's attitude toward small businesses is support, service and supervision," says Wang Jianxiang, an official with the Department of Small and Middle Enterprises. Among projects the department is pushing: a system to provide financial guarantees for private businesses so they can raise bank loans.
Still, the failure rate among private businesses is high. In Shanghai, official figures show that over the past three years, an average of about 110,000 new private enterprises were set up each year, while 25,000 closed their doors or had their businesses licenses revoked every year, a washout rate of about 23%.
Jenny's is going strong. But lately the market has been getting crowded. Foreign chains such as Carrefour SA and Wal-Mart Stores Inc. are charging into China. Ms. Wang complains that the foreign giants get favorable treatment from local governments eager for their hard-currency investment.
Ms. Wang sends out people to gather market intelligence from Carrefour stores, and although she can't match the French retailer's prices, she says "I make sure I'm not too far ahead of them."
Ms. Wang strides through her main store like a pocket-size general, hailing old customers and urging on staff. The open-backed slippers she wears are a legacy of long days spent outdoors in Beijing's freezing cold when she was starting out: Chilblains, a skin inflammation, have left deep scars on her feet and make it painful for her to wear shoes.
High on the Hog
Perhaps no other shopkeeper in Beijing has a better understanding of the eating habits of foreigners. As she surveys her shelves, her gaze settles on a can of Spam. In a foreign land like China, she explains, some expatriates "put their hearts at ease" by eating tinned meat and avoiding fresh produce that may be tainted. In 2000, armed with a flash camera, she ventured overseas for the first time to an international food convention in Chicago. She returned home with hundreds of snaps of the exhibits to ask her Western customers which products they wanted, and with this market research she restocked her shelves.
Ms. Wang's shops guarantee no-questions-asked refunds on returned items. She sells pork chops, but will happily find a whole pig for a barbecue. Her greenhouses are bursting with hard-to-find vegetables, including artichokes, all organically grown. And she makes home deliveries.
On a recent afternoon, Beverly Smith, a Californian who has raised four children in Beijing, is singing Ms. Wang's praises. She has just found a pack of Reynolds baking cups, and holds it up like a winning lottery ticket. "I used to have to buy these in America and bring them all the way home," she says.
Another U.S. expatriate, Lisa Kissell, drops her shopping bags into the arms of her driver and says: "I don't know what I'd do without Jenny." A shopping expedition to a chain grocer would be a morning's project for Ms. Kissell: a drive across Beijing's traffic-clogged streets to a store with no parking, and then a struggle to push a shopping cart through crowded aisles.
"If I'm starting to cook supper and I've forgotten something, I just send my son out on his bike to pick it up from Jenny's," she said.
Another problem she has is one that's common to small enterprises around the world -- family friction. She and her sister, who together built the business, have split ownership of the stores and gone their separate ways in a falling out.
"I'm a bubbly person and she's withdrawn," is how Ms. Wang describes her differences with a sister eight years her senior. Retorts her sister: "Jenny fusses about everything."
Will they ever reconcile? Ms. Wang sucks in her breath. "Not for now," she says. "As for the future, who knows?"
白手起家的中国小企业主
在北京的炎炎夏日里，杂货店主王建英(Jenny Wang)每年都要做一件事，从自己店里经营的每种进口商品中拿一样，比如一包Betty Crocker簿饼小套装，一盒家乐氏(Kellogg)的福乐圈(Froot Loops)，一瓶意大利橄榄油以及一块丹麦蓝乳酪等等。
这份长长的购物清单有大约5,000项内容，但并非是哪位客户的订单。王建英驾车穿城而过，停车地却是质量技术监督局(Bureau of Quality and Technical Supervision)门口。这是她的小店接受一年一度库存检查的时间。清单上的很多商品其实已遍销全国，进口时也通过了海关的检验检疫，但要想登上王建英小店的货架，还必须得到质量技术监督局的批准。负责审批的官员随后会留下约1,200美元的送检商品。“我们再也不会见到这些东西了”，王建英叹了一口气。
这就是中国小规模创业者的生活写照。虽然关注中国经济发展的人们一直热衷于谈论该国雨后春笋般拔地而起的工厂，但来自贫困农村的小规模创业者近年来却慢慢充斥了北京的大街小巷。浓重的乡音使这些人极易识别，他们摆出了自行车修理摊，创办了洗车房、理发铺、足疗按摩店，支起了糖炒栗子大锅。
据估算，到2020年将有2亿多农村人口进入城市。其中大多数会去工厂找份工作，但也有很多人最终会创办自己的小企业。
中国经济迅猛发展的过程中，私营企业的表现位居榜首，它们对中国经济的健康发展以及中共政权的延续都是至关重要的。有些私营企业家已经被吸纳为中共党员。
文章开头提到的店主王建英今年36岁、国字脸、笑容绽放、热情洋溢。不但要应付各级官僚的检查，还要面对种种不平等的对待，但她顶著重重压力坚持办起了面向在京外国人的杂货店，不但服务一流，更重要的是提供外国人熟悉的各种家乡货物。目前，她旗下6家连锁店的年销售总额约为300万美元，足以让她购置一套舒适的公寓房，另外她还购买了一套高档别墅，出租给一户瑞典人家。
回忆起与各级官僚机构无休无止打交道的经历，王建英说，“各种各样的障碍、问题层出不穷。”好在很多麻烦已经成为过去。用她的话说，现在只需要勤奋工作就行了。
王建英的创业史开始于十五年前。当时她在使馆区附近摆了一个蔬菜水果摊，并很快发现了吸引外国客户的窍门。其他小贩有些在秤上作手脚，有些看到外国人就要高价，但王建英坚持一视同仁。与大多数中国蔬菜摊点不同，她摆出来的蔬菜水果干净整洁。有位意大利武官的妻子给了她一些意大利芥菜种子，她就开始自己种植，替代了货架上的同类冰冻产品。
王建英说，“顾客就是上帝。”
1990年她决定拓展业务，但从此来自监管机构的麻烦也开始了。当时，她和姐姐、姐夫一起租下了挨著原来街道拐角小铺的几间店面，用鲜艳活泼的色彩进行装扮，与周围沉闷的国营店铺形成了鲜明的对比。她还买了一台冰箱卖冰激凌，门外搭起了遮阳蓬。他们给这间小店起名“Jenny Lou's”──Jenny是她的英文名字，Lou是她姐夫的姓。
四年后，慕名而来的顾客越来越多，开始在门口排起了长队。但王建英和周围的邻居突然接到市政府一纸命令：“为改善环境，必须拆除贵店。希望各位店主及时作出安排。”声明中没有提到任何详细措施，但这足够了。一周后，推土机轰鸣而至，推倒了整条街的店面。
后来，她的小店又被拆除过两次，从未得到丝毫补偿。据王建英估算，这项损失大约为10万美元。向市政府陈情毫无用处，“他们根本不听，”王建英说，“他们只会说'这是上级命令，我们无能为力。'”
王建英抱怨说，中国的官员们普遍“看不起农民”。即使现在，她也不敢肯定自己的旗舰小店能存活多久。这块地归区政府所有，差不多是北京最热门的市郊地块了。区政府已经把周边的地块租给了一个高尔夫球练习场，对这个地快还有很多待选的开发方案。“我没有稳定感，”王建英说，“任何时候他们都可能决定重新开发这里。”
但至少北京市的官僚们不再来破坏她的经营了。“简而言之，政府对小企业的态度是积极支持、提供服务并进行监管，”一位负责中小企业发展的政府官员说。市政府正在推行的一个项目是建立一套为私营企业提供财务担保的体系，以便帮助它们获得银行贷款。
不过，经营失败的私营企业数不胜数。根据上海市官方的数据，过去3年当中每年新创办的私营企业平均约为11万家，但每年倒闭或执照被废的企业就有2.5万家，淘汰率高达23%。
王建英的小店越来越红火，但最近竞争者也越来越多了。家乐福(Carrefour SA)和沃尔玛(Wal-Mart Stores Inc.)等外资连锁巨头开始进军中国市场。王建英抱怨说，当地政府为吸引投资往往优待这些外资巨头。
王建英派员工到家乐福商场去收集市场信息，虽然不能在价格上与这位法国零售巨头相匹敌，但王建英表示，“我要确保价格不会相差太多。”
王建英穿过店堂，颇像一家小型企业的总经理。她热情招呼老顾客，督促店员。脚下的拖鞋是创业时期艰苦生活的馈赠：在北京严寒刺骨的冬季四处奔波，严重的冻疮留下了难以弥合的伤痕，直到现在只要穿鞋就会疼。
恐怕北京再没有哪个店主比她更了解外国人的饮食习惯了。她检点著货架，眼光落在一瓶Spam罐头上。她解释说，在中国的一些外国人觉得吃罐头食品“更放心”，他们不喜欢新鲜食品，担心有污染。2000年，王建英首次出国，前往芝加哥参加国际食品展览会。她用随身携带的相机拍摄了数百张参展商品的照片。回来后，就根据这次市场调查的资料重新调整了货架安排。
王建英的小店承诺“无条件退货”。店里卖排骨，但如果有顾客要准备一次烧烤宴会，来这里预定整头猪的话，她也会乐呵呵地安排。她还有一个蔬菜大蓬，种植著各种各样市面上很难见到的蔬菜，包括朝鲜蓟。所有蔬菜都是用有机肥培育的。她还提供门到门的送货服务。
最近一个下午，在北京抚养著四个孩子的加利福尼亚主妇贝弗莉?史密斯(Beverly Smith)夸赞起王建英。她在店里发现了一套Reynolds牌烘烤蛋糕用的杯子，她高兴地举起杯子就像中了彩票大奖。她说，“我过去只能在美国买这种杯子，然后千里迢迢把它们带到中国。”
另一位美国人利萨?吉赛尔(Lisa Kissell)把购物袋往司机手上一递，说：“真不知道没有Jenny我该怎么办。”对她来说，去家乐福购物可是一场历时整个上午的工程：开车穿过北京拥挤不堪的大街小巷，到了目的地还找不到停车位，进了商场还要推著购物车在人潮涌动的货架之间费力逡巡。
“如果开始做晚饭时，突然发现忘了买什么，我就会让儿子骑上自行车去Jenny的小店”，她说。
但正当小企业家们可以在中国一显身手的时候，王建英又遇到了新的挑战。最初的杂货店是她和姐姐共同创办的，但在几年前因为分歧姐妹俩大吵一场分了手。市区的店铺，还有店名都归姐姐所有，王建英得到了郊区的几家店铺，但只能起名做“Jenny's”。
这是全球各地中国商界人士中老生常谈的问题──家族企业因亲戚纷争而解体。“我是一个乐观、充满梦想的人，而她却很内向保守，”王建英这样解释与大她八岁的姐姐之间的分歧。
但她姐姐反驳道，“王建英太较真。”她用一句中国俗语“针尖对麦芒”来形容王建英和自己丈夫之间的纷争。
姐妹俩还能和好吗？王建英深吸一口气，“现在不行。但以后，谁知道呢？”
