China's PhD Boom Sparks Viral Comparison With Donkey Population
A quirky statistic has been making the rounds on Chinese social media: China may soon have more people with doctorates than it has donkeys. The comparison, popularized by an essay titled “Are There Really More PhDs Than Donkeys in China?”, notes that the country is home to roughly 1.2 million doctorate holders, while its donkey population is expected to fall below 1.2 million head. For a generation of graduate students accustomed to fierce competition, the joke lands with a sting — losing a scarcity contest to a farm animal.
The essay, republished by the science outlet Guokr, traces both numbers to their roots. China’s doctoral pipeline has expanded dramatically over the past two decades, as universities pushed to become research powerhouses and the government poured money into science and engineering. Meanwhile, mechanization of agriculture has made donkeys largely redundant as draft animals, and their numbers have declined steadily for years. Two very different curves happened to cross.
The comparison is more than a meme. It captures a real anxiety among young Chinese researchers about the value of an advanced degree in a crowded academic job market. Tenure-track positions at top universities remain scarce, and many new PhDs now compete for postdoctoral contracts, teaching-only roles, or jobs outside academia altogether. Some describe an arms race in which each cohort feels it must publish more, stay longer, and settle for less.
Still, the picture is not simply one of oversupply. China has the world’s largest higher education system, and its doctoral graduates increasingly fan out into industry — semiconductors, biotech, electric vehicles, artificial intelligence and finance. Companies in these sectors actively recruit PhDs, and regional governments offer subsidies to attract them. In that sense, the degree is not losing value so much as changing hands.
The donkey half of the equation is its own story. Once indispensable on Chinese farms, donkeys are now rare enough that their hides — used in traditional medicine — are imported in large quantities. Conservationists have warned that some breeds are at risk, and the animal’s decline has become a small symbol of how quickly the country’s rural economy has transformed.
For readers outside China, the viral debate offers a window into how the country thinks about education and status. A doctorate has long been seen as a ticket to security and respect. As supply grows, families and students are recalibrating what that ticket is actually worth. Some commentators argue the real problem is not too many PhDs but too few positions that use their training well, both inside and outside universities.
What makes the essay travel is its tone — wry, self-deprecating and very online. “If Afanti were born in the future,” it jokes, referring to the folk hero who rides a donkey, “he might ride an old PhD instead.” That blend of humor and unease is familiar to graduates everywhere who have wondered whether their hard-won credentials are still scarce enough to matter.
Whether or not the two numbers truly cross, the conversation reflects a broader truth: China’s investment in research talent is enormous, and so are the expectations placed on it. The question of what all those doctorates will do — and what the country will do with them — is likely to stay relevant long after the donkey joke stops being funny.