Day Labourers of Majuqiao

Dignity at work, economic insecurity, and the choices facing a new generation in Beijing’s largest casual labour market

For today’s episode, I’d like to introduce a video podcast I recently came across. It features a conversation between Cong Rui’an丛瑞安, a PhD candidate at Tsinghua University whose research focuses on labour conditions, and Liangzi, a Chinese podcaster.

Majuqiao is located along Beijing’s southeastern Sixth Ring Road. Beijingers traditionally consider places that are upwind and upstream to be more desirable. But Beijing’s prevailing winds come from the northwest, and its few rivers generally flow from northwest to southeast. This leaves Majuqiao on the less favoured side of the city’s geography—and it has become Beijing’s largest casual labour market.

There is a popular saying in Beijing: “If you have money, you wouldn’t live in Tiantongyuan天通苑; if you fall on hard times, you head to Majuqiao.” The idea is that the rich would avoid living in an large community such as Tiantongyuan. But if you have run out of options, you can try your luck in Majuqiao, where short-term work may at least help you get by.

Cong Rui’an began conducting fieldwork among temporary workers in 2018. He has also worked a range of day-labour jobs himself. I think his firsthand experience offer rare insight into these workers’ living and working conditions.

Given how highly urbanised China has become, listening to this conversation sometimes felt like listening to a twenty-first-century counterpart to Mao Zedong’s Report on an Investigation of the Peasant Movement in Hunan. One of the points I found most interesting was how day labourers choose among the jobs available to them. Jobs at pharmaceutical factories tend to be the most “formal” and regulated. They provide the best meals and pay relatively well, around RMB 200 a day. Yet day labourers are often reluctant to take them because these factories exercise unbearable strict control over workers’ movements. The psychological toll also greater than in other workplaces.

The nature of casual labour also contributes to a dysfunctional relationship between workers and employers. Labour brokers and employers assume that casual workers are unreliable, so they resort to harsh methods to keep them under control. The workers, in turn, feel that they are being treated without dignity or respect, which gives them even less incentive to work hard. When employers see them slacking off, it reinforces their existing stereotype: These workers really are unreliable, so we need to control them even more strictly. The result is a vicious cycle of distrust, disrespect and increasingly coercive management.

Cong beleives that the key to improving the lives of casual workers is to improve working conditions and labour protections for long-term employees. This would reduce employers’ reliance on casual labour and, ultimately, give those who remain in the casual labour market greater bargaining power.

In some ways, the anxiety that day labourers experience in the face of an uncertain future is shared by many contemporary white-collar workers around the world. You can find work if you are willing to take it, but fewer and fewer jobs feel worth choosing.

Thanks Cong’s kind authorization, I can translate the podcast to English.

Cong Ruian

Below is the full transcript of the podcast:

MaJuQiao Day Labor, Dignity at Work, and the Career Choices of Young People

A Conversation Between Cong Rui’an and Liangzi Interviews

Speakers

• Cong Rui’an (丛瑞安): PhD candidate in Political Science at Tsinghua University

• Liangzi (凉子): Creator of the Bilibili channel Liangzi Interviews (凉子访谈录)

• Production Staff: Other people present during the recording

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The Current State of Work in Majuqiao and Problems in the Labor Market

Cong Rui’an:

There is a saying that has circulated in Beijing for many years: “If you have money, don’t live in Tiantongyuan; if you’re down on your luck, head to Majuqiao” (有钱不住天通苑，落难必闯马驹桥).

Liangzi:

As the Chinese saying goes, “A person lives for dignity, just as a tree lives for its bark” (人活一口气，树活一张皮). Just because I need to earn one or two hundred yuan doesn’t mean I should have to let you treat me like a dog.

Cong Rui’an:

My name is Cong Rui’an. I am currently a PhD candidate in the Department of Political Science at Tsinghua University, and I have been conducting research and fieldwork related to Majuqiao.

Liangzi:

Can people really make money doing day labor?

Cong Rui’an:

Yes. But making money and actually saving money are two different things.

There are two seemingly contradictory descriptions of Majuqiao.

The first is that if you want to work in Majuqiao, you can find work every day.

The second is that Majuqiao is no longer what it used to be—that there is less and less work available.

These two descriptions may sound contradictory, but they are actually describing the same situation. There are still plenty of jobs in Majuqiao, but fewer and fewer of them are worth choosing. In other words, there are fewer jobs that immediately look attractive to workers.

Take parcel sorting, for example. These jobs recruit large numbers of workers every day, but labor brokers may shout by the roadside for hours without attracting anyone. Everyone knows the work is exhausting, so they do not want to take it.

By contrast, suppose someone arrives on an electric motorcycle or in a minivan, pulls over, and says, “I need a few people for some light moving or cleaning work. It pays 180 or 190 yuan. Who wants to go?” That would be considered a good job, and everyone would immediately crowd around.

But jobs like that have become less common, which is why people feel there is less and less work.

In theory, if someone hardens himself and is determined to work every day, he can find a job every day. But then the question becomes: if this is what I have to do every single day, what kind of life am I really living?

In Majuqiao, work is not a multiple-choice question. It is a series of true-or-false questions that appear one after another and require an immediate answer. You either check “yes” or mark “no.” If you say no, the next question immediately appears. The choices keep coming, and you cannot go back.

You might think, “It’s already late today, so there probably aren’t many good jobs left. Should I take this parcel-sorting job?”

But perhaps you still have a little money in your pocket, and you know how exhausting parcel sorting is. You may decide that you do not need to take it. Maybe a better job will appear tonight or tomorrow, so you turn this one down. That is a perfectly natural response.

Liangzi:

Could we put it this way? If you are sufficiently diligent and hardworking, then even if you do not yet have a long-term plan, you can still find relatively stable employment.

Some people may avoid long-term, stable jobs because they believe those jobs offer no future or do not pay enough. That may be why they come here.

But if someone is genuinely willing to look for a long-term job, chances are they can find one—as long as they are willing to endure hardship.

Cong Rui’an:

The problem is that “being willing to endure hardship” has to mean something. There has to be a standard.

Suppose we were discussing whether you should accept a job that paid only 1,000 yuan a month. No matter how hardworking you are or how much you can endure, many people would still refuse it.

If I refuse a job that pays 1,000 yuan and look instead for one that pays 2,000, 3,000, or 4,000 yuan, then the question is: how much money would make the hardship worthwhile? What kind of hardship should I be expected to endure?

More and more people have come to realize that they repeatedly hit walls at work. The jobs available to them are not what they want, but they cannot find anything better.

There is also severe information asymmetry (信息不对称) in our labor market, especially in the market for long-term employment.

Many people travel here from distant hometowns after being promised a good job. They may also be charged a large fee. But after working for only a couple of days, they discover that the job is nothing like what they were promised.

What can they do? If they leave, they may not receive any wages at all, and they will have lost their travel expenses as well.

Many people try to save only one or two thousand yuan so that they can afford to leave and search for a different job.

We all understand the logic: if a person finds a genuinely good job, they will usually stay. If the job is good, why would they quit?

As a result, the jobs that remain constantly available on the labor market tend to be the worst ones.

Liangzi:

But that raises another question. If a person can earn only around 150 yuan a day in Majuqiao, couldn’t they find that kind of work in a township or county?

At the very least, couldn’t they find it in their nearest prefecture-level city? Why do they have to come to Beijing? The cost of living in major cities such as Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou is so high. Why come here at all?

Cong Rui’an:

First, major cities such as Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou still provide an enormous number of jobs. The volume of labor demand is high. In smaller cities and counties, it may actually be harder to find work.

Second, living expenses in Majuqiao are not necessarily that high.

If you earn 150 yuan a day, a daily bed rental may cost around 20 yuan. After spending some more on food, you may still be able to save a little.

If you rent by the month, your living situation can also become more stable. The cheapest room I have personally seen cost only 200 yuan a month.

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A PhD Student’s Experience as a Day Laborer and the Idea of the “City’s Image”

Cong Rui’an:

That room was underneath a staircase. Someone had put up a board to partition off the space. When you opened the door, there was only a bed and a bare incandescent bulb overhead. There was nothing else.

The light was off when I first walked past, so I thought it was a storage space. Then some light from outside fell into the room, and I realized that someone was actually sleeping inside.

I asked the labor broker about it, and he told me the rent was 200 yuan a month.

A worker could earn enough to cover an entire month’s rent for a room like that in a little more than one day. Of course, there may also have been slightly better rooms available for 200 yuan. I simply did not see them myself.

Liangzi:

But why would someone choose to live in a room like that? After working for one or two days, they could afford something at least slightly better.

Cong Rui’an:

On the one hand, a person may genuinely lack the means to improve their living conditions. On the other hand, they may simply not want to work the extra days required.

But they are supporting themselves through their own labor. They have not robbed anyone or harassed anyone. What gives us the right to condemn them? I think their choice is perfectly understandable.

Liangzi:

Yes, I think you are right.

Cong Rui’an:

At most, someone might say that they are “damaging the image of the city” (影响城市形象).

But this city also belongs to me. I am part of it. Why does my presence in the city damage its image, while your presence supposedly improves it?

Liangzi:

So this is really a form of elite arrogance.

Cong Rui’an:

The jobs I did most often were security jobs. I also worked as a waiter, in factories, in landscaping, in cold-storage facilities, and as a parcel sorter. Those were the main types of work I did.

Liangzi:

What was it like to do those jobs?

There is also another dimension to this. You were doing them as someone who had been a graduate student at Peking University and was now a PhD student at Tsinghua University. How did these experiences affect you?

Cong Rui’an:

The experience varies greatly from one job to another.

Security work is relatively easy. At some security jobs, you can sit there or stand around looking at your phone. Your main purpose is simply to be physically present and prevent a “broken windows” effect (破窗效应).

Factory work is different.

Some factories constantly scold and pressure you. They try to control you in every possible way, including methods that completely disregard your dignity.

They may shout, “Hurry up and work! You people can’t be slower than everyone else!”

Once, when I arrived at a workplace, several labor brokers were chatting happily. One of them proudly said, “I made two more workers cry yesterday.”

They were delighted to share stories like that. It was an extremely dehumanizing situation.

Of course, we could say that all work contains some element of dehumanization. But because these jobs demand extremely high output and intensity, the dehumanizing aspect becomes particularly obvious.

The employer wants you to sell your labor power and nothing else. As long as you are a person capable of providing labor, that is enough. Your other feelings, your dignity, and your needs are irrelevant to them.

Liangzi:

What was it like to spend an entire day doing that kind of work?

Cong Rui’an:

It was very painful.

You have no dignity. People are constantly scolding you, and both your body and mind gradually become numb.

Some might say, “Of course it was difficult for you. You are a doctoral student, a master’s student, or a graduate of an elite university. Naturally, you would not be accustomed to such work.”

But isn’t this exactly what many day laborers experience all the time?

That is precisely why they do not want to take these jobs.

I wrote about one example in my book.

A man on the street was mocking the people around him. He said, “Why don’t any of you go and sort parcels? You’re all useless. Look at me—I’m strong, I’m used to the work, and I can handle parcel sorting. Why can’t you?”

I teased him by asking, “Brother, why aren’t you doing it today, then?”

He froze and had nothing to say. Everyone around him burst out laughing, and the moment passed.

He knew perfectly well that it was a bad job. That was why he had not taken it himself.

Everyone understands how much pain such a job can cause. It may sometimes be worth choosing, but if I have the option not to choose it, I would rather not.

Liangzi:

Is it only because the pay is low and the work is physically demanding?

Cong Rui’an:

The pay is not necessarily that low. Some jobs pay 190 yuan a day. Of course, if they paid 300, 400, or 500 yuan, then, as the saying goes, “A generous reward will bring forth brave volunteers.”

To be honest, the pay at the pharmaceutical factory was quite good. You earned 200 yuan for working ten to twelve hours, and the food they provided was also delicious.

If you completely set aside the psychological pain and emotional damage, it was actually a very good and properly managed job.

It was the only job I ever did where I could leave early and still receive some wages. I worked for four hours, and they paid me for only three, but at least they paid me. In that respect, they handled things reasonably well.

Liangzi:

One can imagine how difficult it was. Even though you were a student—one of society’s so-called “favored children of heaven” (天之骄子)—the experience was still extremely painful.

Ordinary workers may not have prestigious degrees or extensive formal education, but they are still human beings. And every human being has dignity.

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The Harshness of the Day-Labor Market

Cong Rui’an:

As the saying goes, “A person lives for dignity, just as a tree lives for its bark” (人活一口气，树活一张皮). That is more or less what it means.

Liangzi:

Exactly. Just because I need to earn one or two hundred yuan does not mean you have the right to treat me like a dog.

No human being can tolerate that kind of mistreatment indefinitely, even if they appear to have adapted to it.

Cong Rui’an:

These workers are no different from the rest of us.

Liangzi:

Any one of us could fall on hard times.

Cong Rui’an:

That is why people say, “If you have money, don’t live in Tiantongyuan; if you’re down on your luck, head to Majuqiao” (有钱不住天通苑，落难必闯马驹桥). It has circulated in Beijing for many years.

Liangzi:

Any one of us could experience one of those moments of misfortune.

That is why we should not stand on the moral high ground and accuse these workers of being lazy. We should not say, “Look, you can earn 200 yuan a day. What are you complaining about?”

Put yourself in that environment and try it. You might not last even half a day.

Cong Rui’an:

That said, a room renting for 200 yuan a month is an extreme case. Most people would not choose to live in a place like that.

Liangzi:

Even so, the environment is extremely harsh for these day laborers.

They have little dignity at work. They may be told that a shift lasts ten hours, but it becomes eleven or twelve. What can they do about it? They need the money.

Cong Rui’an:

The long-term labor market is a highly unequal market. The day-labor market, by contrast, is relatively equal in a certain sense.

You can scold me or push me around, but if you make me work too long, refuse to pay me, or humiliate me beyond what I can tolerate, I may genuinely fight back.

I have no support and very little to lose. As the Chinese saying goes, “The barefoot person is not afraid of the person wearing shoes” (光脚的不怕穿鞋的). In other words, someone with nothing to lose may be less afraid of conflict than someone with property or status to protect.

Liangzi:

At worst, I can give up the hundred or so yuan you owe me.

Cong Rui’an:

I can fight you, or I can simply walk away. Either way, I have very little to lose.

Such conflicts may be less common in northern China and more common in the south. Sometimes an argument escalates into serious violence.

A few days ago, I was talking with an older man who runs a barbecue restaurant near Majuqiao. He had recruited workers from Majuqiao several times, but the results were never satisfactory. He said that some workers had also pressured him into paying extra money.

According to him, some people would use every possible method to avoid work. The moment no one was watching them, they would hide in the bathroom.

If he realized that someone was incapable of doing the job and told them to leave, they would demand travel expenses.

We can set aside the question of whether that demand was reasonable. The point is that they would find different ways to prolong the confrontation. If he refused to pay, he would face a conflict.

He told me that he lacked the experience to handle these situations. When someone tried to intimidate him, he did not know what to do.

Some workers might even injure themselves deliberately and then demand compensation. When that happens, an inexperienced employer has few ways to respond.

In the end, he found two local friends and had them throw the troublemaker out. He had to resolve the situation by combining authority with intimidation—what Chinese people call “using both kindness and force” (恩威并施).

This helps explain why so many local labor brokers behave like jianghu bosses—“big brothers” or “big sisters” of the street world (江湖大哥、江湖大姐). Without that kind of commanding personality, it is difficult to survive for long in the labor-broker business.

Liangzi:

In other words, even if someone did not originally have that kind of personality, the job requires them to cultivate it so that they can keep the situation under control.

Cong Rui’an:

People are shaped and constrained by their occupations.

An occupation creates an identity for me, and I have to perform that identity.

I am normally very introverted. But when I enter an urban village (城中村), I become outgoing and actively talk to everyone.

In my ordinary life, I rarely haggle with people, and I certainly do not fight. But on the streets of an urban village, I will say, “Give me your real price. How much does this actually cost?”

That may be part of the way an environment shapes the social roles people perform.

Liangzi:

When people enter a particular environment, they gradually become what that environment needs and expects them to be.

So whether we are talking about day laborers or employers, neither side is particularly comfortable.

Why do employers use such aggressive and severe methods to control day laborers and force them to meet production targets? Partly because they believe that workers frequently take advantage of them.

They think, “You took my money, so you should at least produce approximately the amount of work expected of you.”

Even after imposing strict controls, they still believe that many workers are constantly looking for ways to avoid work.

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The Vicious Cycle Between Workers and Employers

Cong Rui’an:

Labor brokers and employers think, “You Majuqiao workers are unreliable, so I have to behave aggressively to make you obey.”

The workers think, “You don’t respect me, so why should I work hard for you?” They respond by putting in even less effort.

The employer sees them avoiding work and thinks, “I was right—you’re unreliable. I need to control you even more severely.”

This creates a vicious cycle. Eventually, the two sides reach a kind of destructive equilibrium.

But no matter what happens, the workers must be paid the full amount they were promised. Refusing to pay them is completely unacceptable.

Liangzi:

So even if someone arrives later and is more conscientious and hardworking than the earlier workers, entering this environment will still make that person miserable.

Cong Rui’an:

On the other hand, working hard and performing well can also bring benefits.

If you demonstrate that you are diligent and willing to work, the employer may like you. The next time a similar job comes up, they may contact you directly instead of recruiting people on the street.

After a while, the employer may say, “Brother, I need another five or six workers. I don’t want to go to the street and recruit them myself. Find some people for me and act as the crew leader.”

The worker then temporarily becomes a crew leader or labor broker.

For example, the employer may give him 200 yuan per worker and tell him that he can decide how much to pay the workers themselves. If he pays each worker 150 yuan—or even 100 yuan—he keeps the difference.

Many people improve their circumstances by working hard and gradually entering an employer’s private network (私域关系). Jobs obtained through private relationships often pay more and have better conditions.

But this may also mean working harder, developing a deeper personal relationship with the employer, or becoming more skilled at dealing with people.

Liangzi:

When people spend a long time in Majuqiao, do they form their own social networks? Do they get to know one another?

Cong Rui’an:

Yes.

Liangzi:

Do they want to get to know one another?

Cong Rui’an:

It is very easy to meet people there.

Suppose I go somewhere to work and have a good conversation with another worker. I might say, “Brother, let’s add each other on WeChat.” We scan each other’s codes, and now we are connected.

Liangzi:

Then, if one of you hears about a job in the future, you can bring the other person along.

Cong Rui’an:

These relationships can be positive, but they are also fragile.

In many cases, they are still fundamentally economic relationships. Because everyone is in a difficult financial position, all kinds of disputes can easily emerge.

Some people get to know you because they eventually want to borrow money from you. Once they have the money, they may never repay it. They simply disappear into the crowd, and you never see them again.

At the same time, there are also very sincere and moving forms of mutual assistance.

I am willing to help you, and we are willing to support one another.

Part of this may be because everyone shares the same predicament and exists within the same relations of production (生产关系) and physical space. But part of it also comes from the simple fact of being human.

Liangzi:

The good within human nature is brought out by the circumstances.

Cong Rui’an:

There is an example in my book.

Once, I was working as a parcel sorter. I had already completed the work assigned to me, but the labor broker and the team leader insisted that I go to another work area.

They said, “Keep working on these parcels. You are not allowed to leave until you finish.”

There were only ten minutes left before the end of the shift. I thought, “There is no way I can finish all this in ten minutes.”

But I was relatively obedient at the time and did not dare to resist, so I kept working.

Suddenly, two other workers came up behind me and said, “Everyone else has already gathered to leave. Why are you still working here? Hurry up and go!”

I said, “They’re watching the front. I can’t get out.”

They replied, “Climb over from here.” They showed me where to climb and how to escape, and I got out that way.

Workers would also warn one another whenever the crew leader was approaching.

To put it somewhat negatively, they also taught one another when it was possible to slack off and where they could rest. But that was another gentle form of mutual assistance.

There was also something that happened outside work that I found very interesting.

A man had been drinking and got into a verbal argument with someone. The other person hit him with a brick, knocking him to the ground. The injured man was taken to hospital, and the attacker was taken away by the police.

Two things remained on the ground: a brick and a pool of blood.

A police officer came over and carefully kicked the brick to the side of the road so that it would not block the way or injure someone.

Then a dog suddenly ran over and tried to lick the blood. Everyone nearby immediately began shouting and drove the dog away.

No one wanted to see a dog licking the blood of a person who had just been taken to hospital.

I think that response arose naturally from somewhere deep within them.

Part of it came from the emotional connection created by sharing the same social space or field (场域). But it also came from something broader and simpler that people share merely by being human.

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Why Cong Rui’an Began Studying Majuqiao Liangzi:

How did you first become interested in this subject?

Cong Rui’an:

It began in 2018 through a very accidental opportunity.

I had a friend from my undergraduate years whose friends had long been interested in temporary workers and related labor issues.

One day, he asked me, “We’re going to Majuqiao in a couple of days. Do you want to come?”

I thought, “Why not?” So I went. It happened very naturally and largely by chance.

Liangzi:

But why did you want to go?

Cong Rui’an:

This was how I thought about it.

First, I am a member of the CPC. Second, I study political science and have long studied issues related to Marxist-Leninist theory.

These theories require me to observe how people produce and live, and to understand how relations of production (生产关系) shape individuals.

That means I need to enter a place filled with real labor practices in order to understand and study them.

I therefore saw it as a natural mission—or perhaps a naturally developed academic interest. Eventually, Majuqiao became part of my life and produced concrete research outcomes.

At the time, I did not have many opportunities to conduct fieldwork elsewhere.

In other words, an opportunity to study Majuqiao appeared, and I took it.

The specific location was accidental. But even if I had not gone to the urban village in Majuqiao, I probably would have gone to another urban village or factory. I would eventually have selected—or accidentally encountered—one of these places.

Majuqiao happened to be the place I encountered.

Liangzi:

We have been discussing Majuqiao as a particular social field. What kinds of people are there? What are their ages, occupations, and backgrounds? Why do they come to Majuqiao?

Cong Rui’an:

The workers can be divided into several categories.

The first consists of long-term workers (长期工), mainly employed by factories in the surrounding area or slightly farther away.

The second consists of student workers (学生工), who mainly come during the winter and summer holidays.

Then there are gig and casual workers (零工).

Some of them have long-term jobs but also take temporary jobs on the side. They may work for one or two days during weekends, holidays, or other periods of free time to earn some extra money.

Another group relies primarily on daily-paid jobs (日结工), and their situations also vary.

Some people use Majuqiao as a temporary base. The cost of living is low, so they can maintain their lives cheaply while taking care of personal matters. Once those matters are resolved, they plan to leave.

Others become exhausted by long-term employment and come here to rest for a few days. They take an occasional temporary job, clear their heads, and change their routine while searching for another long-term position.

But these people can easily become another category: those who simply remain in Majuqiao.

They are not necessarily what outsiders imagine—people who came because they were determined to “pursue freedom,” or because they were simply lazy.

They may only have wanted to rest for a while. They had recently become exhausted and wanted to find somewhere to recover, do the occasional day job, or “lie flat” for a while (躺平).

But once they lie down, they may find that they cannot get back out.

Majuqiao has a powerful attraction. Life there is free and comfortable. Prices are low, and housing is cheap.

The jobs are paid daily. You can work for one day and then take several days off. Whether you work is entirely up to you.

People may discover that, at least in the short term, this life is more comfortable than working in a factory.

They think, “If that is the case, why shouldn’t I stay here and do day labor?”

Of course, they may know that this is not a long-term solution. But everyone is capable of telling themselves, “I’ll think about long-term plans later. Tomorrow’s problems can wait until tomorrow. For today, I’ll just enjoy myself.”

One day follows another, and eventually many people find themselves held in Majuqiao’s gravitational pull.

Liangzi:

What is the approximate age range of this group?

Cong Rui’an:

Among the people who gather on the street, the gender ratio is roughly three women to seven men. Men account for more than 70 percent.

Many of them look as though they are in their forties, but they may actually be only in their thirties. Work and the pressures of life can make people look much older.

I once met a man on the street who looked like he was in his sixties or seventies.

He reminded me of the elderly character in the Chinese comedy Goodbye Mr. Loser, from the famous exchange, “Ma what Mei? What Dongmei?” (马什么梅？什么冬梅？)

But when I looked at his identity card, I discovered that he was only around fifty. His entire face had aged dramatically.

There are also young people in Majuqiao. But younger workers may be more likely to stay in their rented rooms and find jobs on their phones rather than gathering on the street.

As for the exact proportion, it is extremely difficult to calculate.

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The Career Choices of a New Generation

Liangzi:

Do these workers genuinely have no other options? Do they have to stand on the street looking for casual work?

Why don’t they deliver food, work as couriers, or drive for a ride-hailing platform?

Cong Rui’an:

Life is not a mathematical problem.

Human beings do not simply place several options side by side, compare their advantages and disadvantages, and then select the optimal one. That is how a machine calculates, not how a person chooses.

Human choices are often influenced by sudden events and by memories of past experiences. Different factors gradually push a person toward a particular option.

At a macro level, we can certainly offer structural explanations for people’s choices.

But ultimately, we need to return to the specific individual. How does this person understand the world around them? How do they understand their work? How do they understand their own choices?

Liangzi:

In that sense, they are no different from those of us who follow the standard path of going to school and then finding a job.

Whether someone is a white-collar or blue-collar worker, everyone is fundamentally the same.

Cong Rui’an:

We share many of the same ideas, and we live in the same world.

Liangzi:

I am curious about something.

People born after 1995 or 2000 grew up in the information age. They have seen a much larger world through the internet, including the lives of wealthy people.

Under these circumstances, would they still be willing to work as day laborers or security guards?

Cong Rui’an:

Then the question becomes: what should they do instead?

What do you think they should do?

Liangzi:

Perhaps they should find work that allows them to accumulate skills and continue improving themselves.

Cong Rui’an:

You mean learning a trade, for example, or joining a factory and gradually working their way up?

But there is a problem: is that genuinely feasible?

First, it is genuinely not feasible for some people.

A person may not be good at formal learning. Or they may lack the interpersonal skills required to move up. Such cases certainly exist.

Second, do they actually have access to the necessary opportunities?

You might say that there is no real barrier to learning a technical skill, or that anyone in a factory can rise step by step as long as they work hard.

But as we discussed earlier, different people understand these possibilities differently.

Someone may have attended a vocational training school and discovered that they could not master the material. Someone else may have spent money on training but still failed to find a job. A third person may have heard about someone who paid a large amount for training and still remained unemployed.

Or perhaps the individual is simply afraid of taking the risk.

All these factors can discourage someone from trying to acquire a technical skill.

The same applies to the idea of rising through the ranks at a factory. What happens after I start trying to move up? Can I genuinely advance?

How many people spend their entire lives working in factories and remain ordinary production-line workers?

If you argue that the new generation has seen a larger world and therefore should not choose jobs such as security work, I think the logic should be reversed.

It is precisely because they have seen more of the world that they may be more likely to choose this kind of work.

Today, even someone living in the most remote village can scroll through Douyin on a smartphone and see the glamour and excitement of the wider world—the “bright lights and lavish lifestyle” (灯红酒绿).

That person then begins to wonder: can I ever obtain that kind of life?

If I cannot, why should I work myself to death? Why shouldn’t I choose a job that makes my life easier and more comfortable?

The previous generation may have endured worse working conditions, but they were willing to work relentlessly because the future they hoped for seemed relatively concrete and attainable.

Where is that hope for the new generation?

I am not saying that young people have no hope at all. I am asking: even if I have those hopes, what difference does it make? Can I genuinely obtain the glamorous lifestyle that I desire? Can I become rich, famous, or highly accomplished?

It is extremely difficult.

Instead of exhausting myself in pursuit of something that is visible but unattainable (可望而不可即), perhaps I should first try to make my life more comfortable.

That is why we are seeing two apparently contradictory trends.

On the one hand, employment is becoming increasingly short-term and fragmented—a process we might call the “short-termization of work” (短工化). People’s jobs are becoming less stable.

On the other hand, more and more young people are pursuing stable jobs within the state or public-sector system (体制内).

One group chooses stability, while the other appears to choose instability. But both choices reflect the same underlying problem.

Faced with a highly uncertain and apparently unattainable future, people choose whatever makes them more comfortable and gives them a sense of certainty.

That certainty may still have been created externally. It may even be illusory. But illusory certainty is still a form of certainty.

This also helps explain why so many young people pursue what they consider spaces of freedom—for example, becoming “slash workers” with multiple professional identities (斜杠青年), or working while traveling.

People are trying to find spaces of freedom and autonomy within broader structural uncertainty. They want to do something that provides a stronger sense of achievement and personal agency.

If I work in a cubicle, I may face constant restrictions and criticism. If I open a small bubble-tea shop instead, I may feel that I have at least some control over my own life.

It may still be a form of alienation in the Marxist sense (异化), but it is a form of alienation that feels slightly more comfortable.

That is roughly how I understand the situation.

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The Freedom of Food-Delivery Riders and the Broader Problem of Gig Work

Liangzi:

Even if the positive feedback is small, it is continuous. Every cup of bubble tea you sell can provide a small sense of achievement.

After observing and studying Majuqiao, what can we learn that might help us understand our own lives?

Cong Rui’an:

At the very least, Majuqiao can encourage us to reflect on our own lives.

How many times have we covered our own eyes and refused to see some of the realities within our lives?

Liangzi:

For example, does a person genuinely enjoy their work?

One person may quit after being scolded for a single day. Another may endure it for a year before leaving. Someone else may endure it for ten years.

But fundamentally, they may all be confronting the same question: the relationship between freedom and certainty.

Cong Rui’an:

A person may try to recover through food-delivery work some of the freedom they lost in a factory.

At the very least, choosing a delivery route may feel relatively free. Even if the route is not genuinely under the rider’s control, there is no supervisor standing directly behind them, watching constantly and suddenly shouting abuse.

When I ride through the streets at high speed, I can at least feel a degree of freedom. I can feel the wind blowing against me.

I can also decide what music I want to play. I might even attach a loudspeaker to the back of my bike and blast music through the streets—what people in China sometimes call “street blasting” (炸街).

These are small freedoms, but they belong to me.

Liangzi:

From an economic perspective, food delivery may also be the relatively optimal choice available to that person.

At least a food-delivery rider remains in contact with society instead of becoming completely disconnected from it.

Cong Rui’an:

Yes.

Personally, I believe that instead of treating the gig-work problem as a matter of “fixing” gig workers themselves, we should understand it from the perspective of society as a whole.

If we improve working conditions and labor rights for long-term workers, the number of gig workers will naturally decline.

Some existing gig workers will move into long-term employment, while fewer long-term workers will leave their jobs and enter the gig economy. Both changes will reduce the overall number of gig workers.

Once the supply of gig workers decreases, wouldn’t it be reasonable for those remaining in the market to earn higher incomes?

For this reason, I believe that improving and regulating the long-term labor market is extremely important.

The second issue is information asymmetry in the labor market.

We need to conduct serious, grounded fieldwork. We need to hear what temporary workers themselves are saying, respect their ideas, and treat them as individual human beings rather than as a “problem” that needs to be solved.

Every city—and the modern economy itself—needs temporary workers.

Temporary labor has existed throughout history. You cannot simply “govern Majuqiao out of existence” (把马驹桥治理掉) and assume that the problem has been solved. Temporary workers will always exist.

They are an essential part of society, and their labor helps keep society functioning.

We should not always approach them from a superior position and condescendingly “bend down” to listen to them (俯下身去听他们说话). We should genuinely sit down, remain with them, and listen to what they have to say.

They must have rights of their own. Workers must be able to speak in their own voices.

I hope that future systems of social governance will enable more workers to receive meaningful protection of their rights and to make their voices heard.

That includes long-term workers, white-collar employees sitting in office cubicles, and the day laborers of Majuqiao.

Only when people are able to speak for themselves can they gain a form of freedom and certainty that is at least somewhat genuine.

That is how I see it.

Liangzi:

Every worker deserves to live with dignity.

It does not matter whether someone is classified as a gig worker or a long-term employee. If they earn their living through labor—if the money comes from their own blood, sweat, and effort—then they deserve respect.