Over winter break, I was back home in Beijing, China, where I was once again struck by the stark income inequality that defines so much of our society. This inequality does not hit me as hard when I’m in Medford, where the visual uniformity of the suburbs — where differences in wealth are more subdued — allows me to often overlook it. But in Beijing, the contrasts are impossible to ignore. The sight of Bentley cars just about everywhere I go, coupled with delivery workers who are sprinting tirelessly to their destinations just to make a living, leaves me grappling with difficult questions: How should I view income inequality, not just as an abstract economic concept but as something more personal? What kind of lifestyle should I strive for in a world where privilege and deprivation coexist so seamlessly?
Chinese delivery workers are among the people I often notice during my time in Beijing, and every encounter I have with their harsh working conditions tugs at my heart a bit. Strolling down the roads or walking around my residential compound in Beijing, I always catch Meituan (the Chinese equivalent of UberEats) workers riding recklessly on their motorcycles and rushing to meet their deadlines. The platform imposes strict time limits on deliveries, and failure to meet these deadlines can result in monetary penalties, reducing earnings for workers. This pressure can put delivery workers in genuinely dangerous situations, such as crashes. To attract low-income or frugal buyers, Meituan advertises ‘no delivery fee’ to its consumers and drives their prices so low as to leave delivery workers with an average of just ¥4.5 ($0.63) per delivery — sometimes as little as ¥1 ($0.14) in extreme cases. On top of this financial pressure, Meituan workers are required to wear uniforms. While these uniforms aren’t necessarily ugly, they are not fundamentally necessary and represent a small loss of individuality and sacrifice of personal expression for the sake of making a living.
At times, I struggle with guilt over my feeling of pity for these workers. It feels as though my sympathy implies their jobs are inherently less dignified or inferior to the career paths of those around me, even though I am keenly aware that delivery work is every bit as valid and legitimate as any other profession. I just simply don’t think delivery drivers deserve to be paid so little given the demanding nature of their jobs. All of this is made more bitter after having witnessed the contrast to U.S. delivery workers. While wage and labor exploitation is a pervasive issue here as well (something I’ve written about in a previous article), many American delivery workers drive in cars, benefit from tips and sometimes take their sweet time on their phone while handing me my order — “privileges” that Chinese delivery workers often lack.
All these mixed feelings are made worse when juxtaposed with my deeper, more personal conflict — my own internal pursuit of a comfortable, financially-free lifestyle in the future. After all, being in Beijing exposes me not only to the extremely poor, but also to the extremely wealthy. Ultimately, this duality leaves me questioning: What is the right way to approach and think about inequality? How do we reconcile our perspectives when we can’t simultaneously experience lives on opposite ends of the socioeconomic ladder?
Upon reflection, I've come to realize that, while compassion is often well-intentioned, it isn't always the solution. It often carries an underlying sense of judgment, which could be just as isolating as outright neglect. Perhaps a better approach is to treat everyone with neutrality and respect — to see their humanity first, without rendering an immediate verdict upon their quality of life or job satisfaction. At the end of the day, it’s about something simple but profound— loving your delivery person, your neighbor or anyone else you encounter as you would yourself.
