It’s a Friday night, I’m exhausted, and the thought of cooking is about as appealing as a root canal. A few taps on my phone, and within an hour, steaming hot pad thai appears at my doorstep, courtesy of a nameless, faceless delivery driver. This effortless convenience has become a cornerstone of modern American life, but on the other side of the world, in China, the explosive growth of food delivery isn’t just a convenience—it’s a complex social phenomenon, a microcosm of the country’s rapid modernization and its accompanying anxieties. Sun Ping’s Transitional Labor: Food Delivery Riders in the Platform Economy (过渡劳动：平台经济下的外卖骑手) delves deep into this world, offering a compelling ethnographic study of the millions of riders who power this booming industry, revealing the precarious realities of their transient lives.
Published in 2024 by East China Normal University Press, Transitional Labor is a timely and important contribution to our understanding of the gig economy in China. Part of the publisher’s “Mint Lab” series, which emphasizes immersive, ethnographic research, the book adopts a “think like the natives” approach, drawing on seven years of extensive fieldwork by Sun Ping and her research team. From bustling metropolises like Beijing and Shanghai to smaller county towns, Sun followed the daily lives of riders, conducting interviews, administering questionnaires, and even accompanying them on deliveries. This intimate, on-the-ground perspective provides invaluable insights, shedding light on the human cost of China.
The Gig Economy’s Human Engine: Inside China’s Food Delivery World
Controlled by the Cloud: Organization and Precarity
Navigating the world of Chinese food delivery is like peeling back layers of an onion, revealing an intricate and often opaque organizational structure. At the surface are the familiar apps, the digital storefronts of giants like Meituan and Ele.me. These platforms, with their slick interfaces and promises of instant gratification, act as the gatekeepers, connecting hungry customers with a vast network of restaurants and the riders who bridge the gap between them. But the platforms themselves employ few of the riders zipping through city streets. Instead, they rely on a complex web of outsourcing companies, labor agencies, and local delivery stations, creating a system that maximizes flexibility for the platforms while simultaneously offloading risk and responsibility onto the riders.
To understand this intricate structure, it’s essential to decode the lexicon of delivery work. “Zhuan Song” (专送), or dedicated delivery, refers to full-time riders typically employed by these outsourcing companies and assigned to specific stations. They wear the platform’s uniform, attend morning meetings, adhere to schedules, and enjoy (at least theoretically) some degree of stability. “Zhong Bao” (众包), which translates to crowdsourced delivery, offers a more flexible, on-demand option. Zhong Bao riders are independent contractors, free to log on and off the app as they please, picking up orders at will. A newer category, “Le Pao” (乐跑), sits somewhere in between. While technically crowdsourced, Le Pao riders commit to specific time slots, often peak hours, and face stricter requirements regarding order acceptance rates, mirroring the control exerted over Zhuan Song riders. This constant evolution of categories and subcategories reflects the platforms’ ongoing efforts to fine-tune their control over a workforce that prizes its independence.
This creates a fundamental tension that Sun Ping expertly captures in Transitional Labor. The platforms are highly organized, driven by algorithms and performance metrics, striving for seamless efficiency and customer satisfaction. Yet, the riders themselves operate in a state of constant precarity. The flexibility touted as a benefit often translates to a lack of basic worker protections, inconsistent income, and high turnover. The very nature of “transitional labor,” as Sun calls it, implies impermanence, a temporary stop on the road to something else. But for many riders, this transition becomes a perpetual state of flux, a cycle of short-term gigs with no clear destination.
The “gig worker as an individual business” phenomenon adds another layer of complexity. In an effort to further distance themselves from traditional employer responsibilities, platforms and outsourcing companies encourage, or even pressure, riders to register as individual merchants (个体工商户). While this can offer some tax advantages, it blurs the lines of employment, leaving riders in a legal gray area with limited recourse when faced with disputes or injuries. It’s a clever maneuver, as Sun points out, a way for platforms to shed the costs and legal obligations associated with a traditional workforce while maintaining a tight grip on the labor process itself.
The consequences of this precarity are starkly illustrated by the stories Sun Ping gathers in her fieldwork. Li Xiaochuan, a former “Xiaodu Feixia” (小度飞侠) rider for Baidu Waimai (百度外卖), embodies this transition from relative security to precariousness. Xiaodu Feixia, known for their long-distance deliveries and professional demeanor, were considered the elite of Baidu’s delivery fleet. Li took pride in his work, sharing videos of his team’s spirited morning rallies on social media. But when Baidu Waimai was acquired by Ele.me in 2017, Li and his colleagues were abruptly reclassified as outsourced contractors. Their guaranteed base salary vanished, replaced by a purely performance-based system. “The good days are over,” Li lamented to Sun, his gleaming Suzuki 125 motorcycle, once a symbol of his professional status, now a reminder of his uncertain future. Li, along with a handful of colleagues, fought back, taking the company to court and eventually winning a small settlement. But for most riders, such resistance is rare. They navigate this precarious landscape with a mix of resignation and resourcefulness, accepting the flexibility while constantly calculating the risks and rewards of each delivery, each day, each fleeting gig. Their stories paint a vivid picture of the human cost of convenience, a cost largely hidden behind the slick interfaces of the apps we use with such ease.
Racing the Algorithm: Technology, Speed, and Surveillance
The relentless pursuit of speed and efficiency that defines China’s food delivery landscape isn’t driven by human will alone. It’s orchestrated by a powerful, unseen force: the algorithm. This complex system, a digital puppet master pulling the strings of millions of riders, optimizes routes, sets delivery times, calculates performance metrics, and ultimately shapes rider behavior in profound ways. Sun Ping’s Transitional Labor exposes the pervasive influence of these algorithms, revealing how they both empower and ensnare the riders who power this digital machine.
Imagine a rider’s phone buzzing with a new order. The app not only displays the pickup and delivery locations but also dictates the estimated delivery time, often down to the minute. This time pressure, a constant companion for riders, fuels the frantic pace of their work. The algorithm, constantly crunching data from previous deliveries, traffic patterns, and even rider behavior, optimizes routes, striving for the shortest distance and fastest possible delivery. But this optimization often clashes with the messy realities of urban life. Road closures, construction, confusing building layouts—the algorithm struggles to account for these unpredictable variables, leaving riders scrambling to make up for lost time.
This constant feedback loop between rider and algorithm is what Sun Ping refers to as “generative management.” Every delivery, every swipe on the app, every GPS coordinate generates data that feeds back into the system, refining its predictions and tightening its grip on the labor process. Riders, unwittingly, become data generators, their every move contributing to the optimization of a system that often works against their own interests.
This dynamic is at the heart of the “困在系统里” (“trapped in the system”) phenomenon, a phrase that has become a rallying cry for riders protesting the pressures of algorithmic control. They describe feeling like cogs in a machine, driven by an impersonal force that prioritizes speed and efficiency above all else. The ethical implications of this control are profound, raising questions about worker autonomy, algorithmic bias, and the human cost of convenience.
Sun Ping illustrates this with vivid anecdotes gleaned from her fieldwork. Gao Zhe, a Meituan rider, recounts his early struggles navigating the system. Unfamiliar with smartphones, let alone the intricacies of delivery apps, he initially relied on a more experienced colleague to guide him. “Those arrows… I didn’t know where they were pointing,” Gao confessed, highlighting the digital literacy gap that many riders must overcome. Even for seasoned riders, the algorithm can be a source of frustration and even amusement. Yan Huitao, an Ele.me rider, describes the system’s occasional “人工智障” (“artificial retardation”), sharing screenshots of nonsensical routes that send him across rivers and highways, forcing him to find creative (and sometimes dangerous) workarounds. “The system says go straight,” Yan jokes, “but there’s a wall there!”
The pressure to “养系统” (“feed the system”) is another recurring theme. Riders quickly learn that the algorithm favors those who consistently log long hours and accept every order, regardless of distance or difficulty. This creates a perverse incentive to prioritize the algorithm’s needs over their own well-being, leading to burnout and even accidents. Daqiang, a seasoned Meituan rider, articulates this dynamic perfectly: “The system is your grandpa; you have to keep it happy!”
But riders are not passive victims of algorithmic control. They demonstrate remarkable ingenuity in finding ways to “game” the system, pushing back against its constraints. Daqiang, for instance, discovered a loophole that allowed him to remotely log into other riders’ accounts, enabling a system of collective order grabbing and delivery sharing. This tactic, dubbed “remote dispatch” by the riders, allowed them to maximize earnings and circumvent the algorithm’s route optimization. The platforms eventually patched the loophole, but the ingenuity it demonstrated underscores the riders’ determination to assert some control over their work. Similarly, Fen, another Meituan rider, developed a tactic he calls “luring the tiger out of the mountain” (引虎出山). By placing a dummy order on a friend’s account, Fen discovered he could trick the algorithm into sending him a flurry of lucrative “buy-and-deliver” orders in the same vicinity. These tactics, while often short-lived, offer glimpses of rider agency, a refusal to be completely subsumed by the digital machine. They are small acts of resistance, a way to carve out a space of autonomy within the confines of a system that increasingly seeks to control every aspect of their working lives.
Finding Their Way: Identity, Community, and Resistance
Behind the algorithms and the rush of deliveries lies the human engine of China’s food delivery boom: the riders themselves. Transitional Labor shifts its focus to these individuals, exploring their motivations, struggles, and aspirations, revealing a diverse group of people united by the precarious nature of their work. For many, food delivery isn’t a career destination but a means to an end, a temporary solution to immediate needs. The book vividly portrays the theme of “transitional labor,” showcasing riders using the gig economy as a bridge to something else: paying off debt, supporting families back home, saving for a down payment on a house, or even launching their own businesses. Zeng Fansheng, a Meituan rider profiled in the book, perfectly encapsulates this mindset. Driven by the desire to repay debts incurred from a failed restaurant venture, Zeng meticulously tracks his earnings, his phone filled with screenshots of delivery records, each one a step closer to his goal. These riders are not simply cogs in a machine; they are individuals with agency, using the platform to carve out their own paths, however uncertain they may be.
But the atomized nature of platform work can be isolating. Unlike factory workers with their shared spaces and routines, delivery riders often work in solitude, their connections mediated by the app. To combat this isolation and build a sense of community, they turn to social media. WeChat groups, buzzing with activity, become vital lifelines. Riders share locations (“I’m at X restaurant, anyone nearby?”), “晒单” (show off their earnings or particularly interesting orders – a pet dog, a long-distance delivery), offer tips on navigating the algorithm, warn each other about traffic jams or police checkpoints, and even commiserate about difficult customers. These digital spaces offer not just practical support but also a sense of belonging, a virtual community forged in the crucible of precarious labor. Meng Tianhe’s attempt to form a nationwide riders’ union, the “National Knights Alliance,” through these digital channels, albeit short-lived, highlights the riders’ desire for collective action and a voice in a system that often leaves them feeling powerless. Though his efforts were thwarted by the authorities, they represent a nascent form of digital organizing, a testament to the potential of social media to connect and mobilize a dispersed workforce.
This resourcefulness extends to the riders’ interactions with the algorithm itself. Transitional Labor introduces the concept of “digital resilience,” showcasing how riders leverage technology to push back against the system’s constraints. They develop their own mental maps of the city, circumventing the algorithm’s often-inefficient routes. They negotiate with customers, pleading for extra time or offering discounts to avoid bad ratings. They share information about algorithm glitches and loopholes, finding creative ways to “game” the system. Ding Yan’s Weibo post about unfair pay cuts, which went viral and ultimately forced the platform to reconsider its policy, demonstrates the power of social media to amplify rider voices and hold platforms accountable. These acts of resistance, often small and individualized, collectively represent a powerful assertion of agency in the face of algorithmic control.
The book also sheds light on the unique challenges faced by female riders. Their motivations for joining the gig economy often mirror those of their male counterparts – financial necessity, the desire for flexible work – but they also face a layer of gendered expectations and biases. Many are mothers, juggling the demands of childcare with the pressures of delivery work. Sun Ping shares stories of women coordinating deliveries around school pick-ups, breastfeeding during breaks, and relying on family networks for childcare support. They also contend with sexism, both from customers and within the male-dominated rider community itself. Some face harassment, while others are dismissed as “road hazards” and assumed to be less capable than their male colleagues. To navigate this hostile environment, women develop their own strategies. Some form close-knit “sisterhoods” through WeChat, offering each other support and advice. Others learn to use their gender to their advantage, strategically deploying “weakness” to gain concessions from customers or avoid conflict. Gu Dajuan, a rider profiled in the book, embodies this resilience. A seasoned rider and a savvy social media user, Gu created a popular Douyin account showcasing the lives of female delivery riders, building a community and challenging stereotypes. Her “Waimai Niangzijun” (外卖娘子军), or “Food Delivery Women’s Army,” celebrates the strength and resilience of women in the gig economy, offering a counter-narrative to the prevailing image of the male delivery driver.
These stories of resilience, both individual and collective, form the heart of Transitional Labor. They reveal the human side of the gig economy, a side often obscured by the data and algorithms that drive it. While the future of these riders remains uncertain, their ingenuity, their determination, and their capacity for connection offer a glimmer of hope in a system that often seems designed to exploit them.
Sun Ping’s Transitional Labor offers a crucial window into the precarious lives of China’s food delivery riders, illuminating the complexities of the “transitional labor” that defines their existence. The book’s core argument is that this transience is not merely a temporary phase but a defining feature of the platform economy, a structural condition intentionally fostered by the platforms themselves. The riders, drawn to the gig economy by the promise of flexibility and high earnings, find themselves caught in a web of algorithmic control, precarious employment, and social stigma. Their labor, while essential to the functioning of modern urban life, is often devalued, their contributions rendered invisible by the very technology that connects them to customers. This “transition,” intended as a stepping stone to something more stable, often becomes a perpetual state of flux, a cycle of short-term gigs with no clear exit.
The future of gig work in China, as depicted in Transitional Labor, hangs in the balance. Will this “transitional” phase eventually give way to more formalized employment structures, with greater worker protections and benefits? Or will the precarious nature of platform work become a permanent fixture of the labor landscape, a new normal for a growing segment of the population? The answer, Sun suggests, depends on a complex interplay of factors: government regulation, platform policies, technological advancements, and the riders’ own agency. The recent introduction of pilot programs for occupational injury insurance and the increased scrutiny of algorithmic practices offer a glimmer of hope, suggesting a growing awareness of the need for greater worker protections. However, the platforms’ relentless pursuit of profit and their ability to adapt and circumvent regulations pose significant challenges. The book leaves us with a sense of unease, a question mark hanging over the future of these millions of riders, trapped in a system that simultaneously empowers and exploits them.
The themes explored in Transitional Labor resonate far beyond China’s borders. The rise of the gig economy, fueled by platform capitalism and algorithmic control, is a global phenomenon, transforming the nature of work in the digital age. From ride-hailing drivers in the United States to online freelancers in India, workers around the world are grappling with similar challenges: precarious employment, algorithmic surveillance, and the erosion of traditional labor protections. Transitional Labor serves as a powerful reminder of the human cost of convenience, urging us to look beyond the seamless interfaces of the apps we use and acknowledge the precarious realities of the workers who power them. The book compels us to confront the ethical implications of platform capitalism, a system that prioritizes profit and efficiency over worker well-being.
This book is essential reading for anyone seeking to understand the changing nature of work in the digital age. Sun Ping’s meticulous research, coupled with her compassionate portrayal of the riders’ lives, provides a nuanced and deeply humanizing perspective on the gig economy. While the focus is on China, the insights and questions raised in Transitional Labor have global relevance. I strongly recommend reading the original book to gain a deeper understanding of this complex and rapidly evolving phenomenon. The stories within its pages will stay with you long after you finish reading, prompting you to consider the human cost of the convenience we so readily embrace. The transient lives of China’s food delivery riders, as documented by Sun Ping, offer a stark warning about the potential pitfalls of a future where algorithms dictate the terms of our labor and our lives.
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