All's quiet in Guangzhou’s garment district after Covid

When the cramped conditions made it impossible to contain the virus, migrant workers were told to go back to their villages. Everyone’s journey, it turns out, was different.

The entrance of Kangle Village in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province. Photo by Li Kewen

The entrance of Kangle Village in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province. Photo by Li Kewen

By LI Kewen

 

Quiet descended on Kanglu earlier than usual this winter. Factories and shops reopened in December after a Covid outbreak, but workers who left town a month earlier are not returning until after the Chinese New Year. Most of them have never spent such a long time in their home villages since they left for coastal cities to make a living, and quite a lot of them like it. The two-month break is unforeseen and unaffordable, but not entirely unwelcome.

The adjacent districts of Kangle and Lujiang,  Kang-Lu, are the garment district of Guangzhou. The one-kilometer area is home to over 5,000 shops, factories and warehouses, which employ over 300,000 migrant workers. The cramped conditions were unlivable when Covid broke out in October, everyone who tested negative was told to go back to their villages and not come back until… whenever.

No seat on the bus

XU Xiaojia and her husband chose to stay. With a child, four old parents and a mortgage, they can’t afford two months off. Every day, Xu takes the main thoroughfare on her way to the store where she works.

The crowd, she says, is only a tenth of its usual size. In normal times, the street is packed. Cardboard signs are propped up on bikes and windowsills listing the type of workers needed. No work is too trivial in Kanglu – you can hire someone just to sew buttons or cut loose threads.

The streets of Kanglu after Covid are not as crowded as they used to be. Photo by Li Kewen

Most workers make a living on short-term gigs - 14-hour shifts or even longer – and are paid by the piece at the end of each day. Wholesalers love Kanglu for quick turnaround.

ZHOU Qiang started work 25 years ago when garment wholesalers and workshops moved out of central Guangzhou and regrouped in Kanglu. His specialty is hemming and seaming. On a typical day, he works for 18 hours and makes 800 yuan (US$120) for about 2000 pieces. Last year was particularly hard. The same amount of work paid only 300 yuan, and he was often without a job.

Zhou first learned of the outbreak when everyone ransacked the grocery store. He bought some vegetables and waited. Weeks went by without any sign of a restart in hiring, so he packed his bags and went back to his village as soon as he was allowed to travel.

LI Hong packed up when the government let everyone go. Her factory – a 100-square-meter workshop on the top floor of a residential building – had already missed the two busy seasons of the year. On the night of the scheduled departure, after waiting until 4 am, she and her husband were told that there was no seat on the bus.

Xu developed a fever soon after the lockdown was lifted. She had the foresight to secure a box of ibuprofen before the outbreak but wasn’t sure when to take it or what the right dosage should be. Like most people in Kanglu, her knowledge about Covid came mainly from friends, family and social media, whose advice, in less than a month’s time, swung from “avoid contracting Covid at any cost” to “drink as much water as possible.”

Many of the garment factories in Kanglu are already closed. Photo by Li Kewen

What is tomorrow, anyway?

For three years, Kanglu didn’t have a single Covid case despite its density, a fact less remarkable considering the little exchange it has with the outside world. Beyond occasional outings to the nearby Pearl River waterfront, Xu and her husband rarely venture outside Kanglu.

When the virus hit Kanglu, Xu panicked. She wouldn’t go outside the 10-square-meter rental that served as both a storefront and bedroom. The roller shutter was pulled down, and they wore masks inside. But later she learned from WeChat groups that recovery should be quick and easy as long as she stayed hydrated. So, she kept drinking water until her fever went away.

HU Yin, a young garment worker from Hunan, returned after a short break. With most workers away, those remaining were offered a too-good-to-be-true 600 yuan a day. That’s the great thing about gig work, she said. She is free to work whenever she wants for whoever offers the highest pay. There are no benefits or job security, but so what? What is security? What is tomorrow, anyway?

Not far from worn-out Kanglu is the Canton Tower, a landmark as well as a symbol of the prosperity of Guangzhou. Photo by Li Kewen

The gig model in Kanglu has existed from the very beginning. It solidified around 2008 after the financial crisis. Shrinking global demand made seasonality more pronounced, and more factories started hiring workers only when needed. But labor supply has become tighter and wages much higher since. In Kanglu, before the pandemic, it was not uncommon for workers to walk away mid-interview if the pay was too low. 

Time to move on

Factory owners in Kanglu talk about the pandemic as the worst that could have happened to them, but bigger challenges might lie ahead. The government wants to demolish the whole place. As early as 2019, factory owners started buying houses near rumored relocation areas – but now visions and blueprints are materializing. Construction will start this year and finish around 2025. 

Wu, like many other business owners, wonders whether his factories will be demolished, and if so, what happens to his 300,000 yuan equipment. He doesn’t really care where he will be relocated to. Nor did anyone interviewed for this story. None expressed much attachment to Kanglu, despite having made a life here. Home is where their children and old parents are, to whom they will say goodbye again after Chinese New Year for another year of hard work in Kanglu.