easy cash while awaiting better opportunities. These days, the realisation has set in for many: this may be as good as it gets, and it is worse than it used to be. “Whatever you do, nothing’s easy,” says Mr Wu, a driver for Taobao Flash, a delivery service. On his break after a long morning, he has taken off his orange jacket, revealing tattooed arms. He used to make seven yuan ($1) per order but that has fallen to four, in part because millions are chasing gig work as the wider economy slows. “After food and housing, there’s barely anything left.” Many couriers have gruelling schedules—working as many as 14 hours a day and rarely taking time off. Being late cuts into earnings, so they race to beat deadlines. Accidents are common. Mr Guan, in the blue uniform of Shansong, a parcel service, accepts danger with fatalism. “There is nothing more frightening than not being able to eat,” he says. “Every morning when I wake up, it’s not safety I think about. It’s about earning enough.” Chaguan spoke to these drivers in Yuxinzhuang, a commuter enclave in the north of Beijing. It achieved modest fame over the past month, sparked by a new documentary about migrant workers. The half-hour film, “2026 Chinese Delivery Drivers Survival Report”, was an unflinching look at their lives, following them from their cramped quarters in Yuxinzhuang through Beijing’s streets. The news website that hosted the documentary pulled it after a couple of days online. Whether because of official censorship or corporate pressure, it made for a Streisand effect with Chinese characteristics: the documentary ended up on YouTube, attracting viewers around the world. In the past, Chinese media and officials have not shied away from discussing the pressures and perils faced by delivery drivers. Estimated to number as many as 20m, they are simply too ubiquitous and too woven into daily life to be ignored, bringing people food, clothes, medicine and more. During covid- 19 lockdowns, they were a lifeline for many. They have been the subjects of articles, films, podcasts and books; indeed, a book by a former courier was a publishing sensation in China in 2023. Xi Jinping himself met delivery drivers on the eve of Chinese New Year a few months ago, noting that cities could not function without them.
Much of the commentary from state media conveys compassion, implicitly promising that the Communist Party is attuned to their challenges and will help them. At the street level, that is not the direction of travel. Many drivers point to the end of China’s covid restrictions in 2022 as the moment when things started to sour. The hoped-for economic rebound never materialised and consumer spending—the ultimate source of demand for their services— has stayed sluggish ever since. More controversial is the government’s role as regulator and enabler of persistent problems. Many concerns focus not on drivers’ wages but on their working conditions. Algorithms dictate order flows, pushing them to work faster. Delivery platforms almost always side with consumers in disputes. And drivers are typically contractors for third-party staffing firms, which allows big e-commerce platforms to avoid payments for medical insurance and pensions. This adds up to extreme hazards and scant buffers. Surveys of drivers indicate that roughly a third have been hurt on the job and only a fifth have insurance against workplace injuries. On paper, rules to protect delivery drivers, introduced by the government in 2021, appear to be on the mark. They guaranteed minimum wages and required platforms to make order-dispatching algorithms more humane, for example. In practice, officials have generally failed to implement these standards and punish violations. In April the Communist Party’s powerful Central Committee issued new labour rules for all gig workers, including delivery drivers. Yet these largely restate existing measures, fuelling scepticism about whether they will actually make a difference. Even if officials are stricter in enforcement, structural realities stack up against drivers. With a low barrier to entry, the delivery industry is a final refuge for those unable to find more stable jobs elsewhere, ensuring that wages will remain under pressure so long as the economy is weak. Most drivers come from poorer parts of the country and struggle to acquire residency rights where they work. That limits their access to local social services, from unemployment insurance to hospitals. They are vulnerable not just because e-commerce platforms exploit them but because the state has made them so.
Drivers cannot engage in true collective bargaining. They are allowed to join unions but these all fall under the party, which is more committed to stamping out occasional protests than uniting workers as a social force. “Everyone knows that organising is useless,” says Mr Guan. After a bowl of noodles, he was heading back to the roads for an evening of work. Daytime deliveries had fallen well short of his target but he remained hopeful he would get there if he stayed out past midnight. “The point is not that it’s exhausting. There’s just no other way.” ■ Subscribers to The Economist can sign up to our Opinion newsletter, which brings together the best of our leaders, columns, guest essays and reader correspondence. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//china/2026/06/01/chinas-delivery-drivers-are-its-most- obvious-underclass
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Middle East & Africa | Never-finished business Even if America and Iran find an accord, don’t expect it to last The Donald Trump Show could be back on air later this year June 4th 2026 IT WAS another dramatic yet desultory week on “The Hormuz Apprentice”, a poorly rated reality-television show about Donald Trump’s war with Iran. America’s president said he was close to deciding on a deal to extend the ceasefire, only to demand more changes. Iran hinted it might abandon talks. Mr Trump said he too might “go silent”. They kept talking anyway. Missiles flew from both sides, as they have for weeks, despite a nominal truce. For all the twists and turns, each episode ends on the same cliffhanger. America and Iran agree on the contours of a deal: prolong the ceasefire by at least 60 days; reopen the Strait of Hormuz; and deliver limited sanctions relief for Iran, which would pledge to roll back its nuclear programme. This
is merely an interim accord. The parties would still need to negotiate a detailed final pact. Only then would Iran fulfil its nuclear promises and receive greater economic benefits. Yet negotiations have stalled on seemingly narrow disputes. Iran wants to unlock a fraction of its roughly $100bn in frozen assets once the interim deal is signed. Mr Trump insists on clearer promises that Iran will not pursue a nuclear weapon and will relinquish its stockpile of more than 400kg of near- weapons-grade uranium. These seem like curious roadblocks. In theory, by the end of summer, Iran should hand over its uranium in return for a windfall. Why does it insist on a modest upfront payout of probably $6bn-12bn? Why is America’s president so fixated on language about Iran’s nuclear programme if it will not be binding anyway? Both sides are behaving as if the interim accord will become permanent—or at least a long-term status quo. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” says an Arab diplomat in Washington. “We’ve seen Trump do this before.” An unfinished deal would resemble the ceasefire that Mr Trump pushed Israel and Hamas, Palestinian militants, to accept in October. Pausing the Gaza war was meant to be a first step, with further talks to secure Hamas’s disarmament, Israel’s withdrawal and Gaza’s reconstruction. Eight months on, none of that has happened. If an accord with Iran remains incomplete, the stakes would be far greater. Start with its nuclear programme. The highly enriched uranium might remain in Iran, where it is thought to be entombed in the facilities that America bombed last June. American and Israeli spies are no doubt watching them closely. Lindsey Graham, a Republican senator and ally of Mr Trump, suggests delineating a “circle of death” around the sites. “Anybody [who] goes inside...is going to die,” he told NBC last month. Other Republicans try to downplay the issue: even if Iran could retrieve the uranium, its enrichment sites are in ruins. Yet it would not take many centrifuges to spin up a bomb’s worth of uranium. No surveillance programme is foolproof. Mr Graham’s scheme