The cynicism of the Cadre is fresh and boundless. To bring their investigation of corruption and tyranny to a satisfying conclusion, they have chosen the principal of the Dongqi middle school to blame for all the deaths of the children. It is highly useful that the man they have identified as the warlord of the Shoddy School Clique is School principal Zhou Dexiang, 45 years old, who lost his 18-year-old daughter in the collapse. The added use for choosing the criminal wrecker Zhou is that he also lost his wife, a teacher at another school. Zhou will permit anything, will say anything, will bear the weight. He is already doomed. The Cadre grins nervously and peeks out the shade. Are they still angry?
Amid Rubble, A Search For Blame
Gaps in Accountability
Emerge as Chinese Ask
Why Children Died
By MEI FONG
June 12, 2008; Page A6
MIANZHU, China -- For Dongqi Middle School's freshman class of 2006, the class photo marked their entrance into one of the district's elite schools. Beaming, they posed in front of a mural depicting the soaring mountains nearby.
When China's massive earthquake struck last month, Dongqi Middle crumbled, killing all but a handful of the students in the photo. Dozens of other schools collapsed, too, resulting in the deaths of thousands of students and triggering an outcry among their relatives.
Mei Fong/The Wall Street Journal
Vice mayor Zhang Jinming promised the grieving parents a full investigation into the school's collapse, with results by June 15.
Now, as investigators comb through the rubble of Dongqi a month after the May 12 quake, there are still few clear answers about who is to blame for the collapse here, which killed at least 220 of the school's roughly 900 students, as well as 14 teachers.
What has emerged instead are gaps in accountability that grew largely out of China's transition from Communism's state-run schools to a more fractured system, where lines of responsibility weren't clear and money that was supposed to be spent on Dongqi and other schools often wasn't.
Officials say the magnitude-7.9 quake was wholly to blame for the Dongqi school's collapse. Grieving parents point to a big crack on the wall clearly visible in the 2006 photo as evidence of shoddy construction that they think contributed to the death toll. But assessing blame is hard for a school built more than 30 years ago by a state-owned company that has since transferred it to the local government.
The Sichuan earthquake has also exposed other fault-lines in China's social policies that added to parents' grief. Tight budgets led some schools to impose hefty fees, forcing many lower-income parents to work long periods in wealthy cities far away from their kids. China's three-decade-old one-child policy exacerbated the loss.
"She was all of our hope, all of our future. Now we have nothing," said Wu Jiangqiong, who became a migrant worker when her 17-year-old daughter was just four to pay for her schooling. Ms. Wu is one of hundreds of parents now protesting what they say was official negligence that worsened the disaster, in a show of mass defiance rare in China.
Dongqi's parents believed the school had adequate funds. It was built and run for years by a subsidiary of Dongfang Electric Corp., a big state-owned producer of power-generating equipment. Dongqi's teachers were paid better than those at most schools. Yet a company official admits the company hadn't sufficiently invested in the school's infrastructure. "The money is limited. The warehouses also need money," said Zhang Dongsen, head of Dongfang's propaganda department.
As the grief unfolds at Dongqi, it is dividing the community. School principal Zhou Dexiang, 45 years old, lost his 18-year-old daughter in the collapse. His wife, a teacher at another school, also died. Mr. Zhou taught at Dongqi for 25 years and recalls only one time when structural improvements were made, in the 1980s. Still, he defends his school. "If I thought this building was dangerous, I would never send my daughter to this school and put her life at risk," said Mr. Zhou, his face sagging with grief and exhaustion.
But many of the bereaved parents blame Mr. Zhou, at least in part, for the tragedy. They shun him. Among them is Ms. Wu, a slight woman who makes about 30 cents an hour on the assembly line packing quilts, and supports five people on her wages. The bulk of her income went to her late daughter Guangxiang's pocket-money and $300 yearly school fees -- a huge sum of money for a migrant worker.
In another camp are the parents who work for Dongfang, who are torn between criticisms of the local authorities and cries against their employer. Dongfang built the main school building in 1975, a year before a major earthquake in northern China prompted new, sturdier building codes nationwide. At the time, big state-owned companies like Dongfang provided for almost all the needs of their employees, running schools, hospitals, and living quarters.
Dongfang transferred control of Dongqi to the local education bureau in 2006 as part of a nationwide policy by Beijing to slim down state companies. The transfer slowed down the school's transfer to newer facilities, according to education officials and parents.
Parents allege that Dongfang transferred some 45 million yuan ($6.5 million) to local authorities for rebuilding the facilities, but that the money wasn't used. A Dongfang official confirmed the transfer happened in 2006. Local officials declined to comment, saying investigations are still pending.
When the quake struck at 2.28 p.m., sections of the building crumbled in just over 10 seconds. Students on the third and fourth floors had no chance to escape. Ms. Wu's daughter was among them, as was Principal Zhou's.
Preliminary investigations now show the U-shaped building's structural design and construction quality were flawed, according to construction experts. Parents also complain of a slow response time by local officials and authorities, forcing them to dig with their hands for survivors.
Principal Zhou had been in his office handling administrative tasks when the quake struck. Then, along with other parents and faculty, he began trying to pull out buried students. He knew his daughter was likely among them. He tried to call his wife, who worked nearby, but couldn't get through. He only learned of his wife's death three days later.
In the end, 58 students were pulled out of the rubble. At least three later died. Principal Zhou identified his daughter's body four days later. "From her body, she was really badly injured before she died," he said.
Aside from emotional devastation, many parents are also bracing for financial loss. Many of them had worked to pay for their only child to attend school in hopes the children wouldn't end up as migrant workers like them. They also expected to depend on their offspring in old age, as is common in China, where health-care and pension systems are inadequate.
"I am too old to have another child," said Ms. Wu. She is haunted by her last phone conversation with her daughter two days before the quake, when they quarreled because her daughter wanted a cellphone. Ms. Wu had snapped, "Look, I'm not rich, it is hard for me to make money for you."
Parents' anger has mounted with the death toll. On May 29, Ms. Wu, along with other grieving parents, stood in the falling rain at the offices of the local education bureau, demanding answers from officials including Zhang Jinming, vice mayor of Deyang, the city that administers the area.
Using a megaphone, and occasionally wagging a finger, Mr. Zhang told the parents to "be patient." He promised a full investigation into the school collapse, with results by June 15. But he said nature was to blame. "The school building was a dangerous building," he said, but "the main reason for its collapse was the earthquake."
That didn't satisfy the parents. On May 31, hundreds marched again to the offices of more senior officials. Authorities sealed the area and sent in police. On June 3, a much smaller group showed up at the gates of a Dongfang Electric plant. They rattled the steel gates yelling, "Your company is rich. Why didn't you build a better school?" A loudspeaker boomed telling Dongfang's workers: "Do not engage. Do not explain. Be silent, defend the gate."
Meanwhile, Principal Zhou has thrown himself in the task of trying to move forward. "The conditions right now aren't good," he said wearily on Tuesday, as Dongqi resumed classes. The school is now two rows of flat white-and-blue temporary structures at the end of a road. There are eight classrooms with chalkboards and new desks. There aren't enough textbooks. Nearly everything has been donated.
One of the students back at school is Feng Yuan, 17, a member of the enrolling class of 2006 who had their pictures taken in front of the school mural. She made it to the stairs when the quake hit and was able to claw her way out of the rubble. "I just want to forget the past," she said. Most of her good friends and classmates are dead.
--Sue Feng and James T. Areddy in Mianzhu, Ellen Zhu in Shanghai and Gao Sen in Beijing contributed to this article.
Write to Mei Fong at mei.fong@wsj.com
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