Who Ate the Labors？

(This post was originally published on April 3, 2025.)

In March, Apple CEO Tim Cook was busy on a high-profile tour of China, posing for photos with celebrities and influencers. Yet, amidst the fanfare, his public email inbox was flooded with complaints from China regarding alleged labor violations at Desay Battery, a subsidiary of Desay Group. This company, based in Guangdong Province—one of China’s key manufacturing hubs—is one of Apple’s two battery suppliers in China.

On March 11, I saw several videos on China’s social media platform Douyin (the Chinese version of TikTok). The clips, originally posted by a user named "光遇" whose real name was Chen Zhiwei, accused Desay Battery’s Huizhou plant of forcing employees into unpaid overtime and making unlawful wage deductions. The original videos had been published earlier but were swiftly removed by the platform. Meanwhile, Chen and his family began receiving persistent calls from unidentified individuals, some of whom made veiled threats.

Screenshot of the video.

The Whistleblower

According to Chen, his supervisor erased his attendance record when he punched out after an eight-hour shift, citing his failure to complete a "mandatory" ten-hour shift. As a result, he was penalized with a deduction equivalent to three days’ wages. After the clip, he explained the whole story, Chen released an audio recording of one of the phone calls he received:

Unknown Caller: You worked at our company on January 22 but left after one day, correct?

Chen: It wasn’t just that day. I started working before January 22. What’s this about?

Unknown Caller: Did you post a video about our company?

Chen: Yes. I’m curious—how did you get my contact information?

Unknown Caller: You’re asking how I got your number.

Chen: Yes.

(Pause.)

Chen: I don’t recall revealing any personal details in my videos. How did you find out my name and phone number? Was my personal information sold?

Unknown Caller: (Laughs) Didn’t you enter your personal information when registering for Douyin?

Chen: Is this information so easily accessible?

Unknown Caller: (Laughs) Take down the video. We can see your details. I have no other intentions. I will delete it if you post it.

Chen said this was just one of the many calls he got. Some went as far as threatening his family and even his younger brother was not excluded, who was still in elementary school. He described these individuals as “society’s scum and a disgrace to our nation,” referring to the exploitative companies and unscrupulous labor agencies.

On March 12, Desay Battery published a statement acknowledging “management oversights” in protecting workers’ rights at its Huinan plant. The company claimed to have initiated corrective measures, instructing labor agencies to compensate employees who were unfairly penalized or denied wages. It also reaffirmed its commitment to an 8-hour workday and a maximum 40-hour workweek, complying with China’s Labor Law.

However, according to a report released by Daily Economic News on March 13, a representative of Desay offered a different stance, saying: “Some of the allegations circulating online are inaccurate. We have reported the matter to the police, and they will release an official statement.”

About a year ago, I visited Desay Battery’s plant to do a report. A colleague and I sought to experience doing the work firsthand. Since we lacked technical expertise and were only looking for short-term employment, our only option was to go through a labor agency.

According to China’s Baidu Baike (a Wikipedia-like platform), labor agencies function primarily by providing employment matchmaking services to both employers and workers, charging a service fee. However, no labor relationship exists since workers do not sign formal employment contracts with these agencies. As a result, these workers are not protected under China’s Labor Law or other related regulations. This legal loophole enables rampant exploitation, turning hiring into a black-box manipulation.

Who “Seized” ID Cards？

Our plan to experience the work fell apart within an hour after entering the recruitment hall.

We found a labor agency in Huizhou through social media and briefly described our requirements. The middleman quickly recommended a position at Desay Battery. The job requirements were minimal—candidates only needed to be slightly over 16 years old. He assured us that “the plant provided four meals a day, accommodations with 24-hour hot water and air conditioning, and free utilities.”

We never saw the man in person but were only given a phone number and told that someone would take us into the plant for an interview.

At the plant gate, we encountered a group of young men waiting. Some smoked while mumbling in thick regional accents, their luggage and woven sacks piled aside. Unemployed youth are the primary targets for these short-term positions.

The plant gate of Desay Battery.

We didn’t wait long before a man showed up and led us inside.

The recruitment hall at Desay Battery Huinan Plant was packed with over a hundred people, mostly young men in their twenties and thirties, with a few who looked like students. There were only a handful of women—fewer than ten.

Three men sat behind a long table, registering applicants' personal information. On the table was a thick stack of photocopied ID cards and a transparent box filled with even more.

A short, stocky man strode over, slamming a few ID cards onto the table and claiming aloud, “This one—illiterate!” “This one—blacklisted!”

One of the “recruiters” crossed out the corresponding names on a sheet of paper. Those whose names weren’t crossed out had passed the first selection round and were told to wait for the health checkup later.

I asked, “Why are you seizing the ID cards?”

A man in black, clearly irritated, snapped back, “What do you mean ‘seizing’ them? We’re just registering information!”

Another thin man who seemed more composed explained, “After registration, you’ll undergo a checkup. If everything is fine, we’ll purchase insurance for you. You’ll get your ID back in three days.” Seeing me eyeing the box of ID cards, he added, “Those belong to the people who finished their checkup but haven’t come back to collect them.”

As I waited, I conversed with a few female applicants. They were all in their late teens or early twenties and didn’t seem concerned about handing over their ID cards. They believed in what the labor agencies had promised; the cards were only for registration and would be returned shortly.

I wasn’t convinced. Worried that surrendering my ID could lead to unnecessary complications, I conferred with my partner, and we decided to leave.

When I announced my decision to quit, several men surrounded us. The one holding our ID cards hesitated before turning to a man who appeared to be in charge and asked, “Should we give them back?”

The leader waved dismissively, replying, “Give them back.”

Another “recruiter” glared at us and muttered, “You’re just messing with us, aren’t you?”

Ignoring him, we grabbed our IDs and left in a hurry. As we lingered near the plant gate, a police car suddenly pulled up. Then, a plant representative rushed forward, offering cigarettes to the two policemen who stepped out.

“What’s going on?” The representative asked with a forced smile.

One officer frowned, “Someone called in a report saying Desay was seizing his ID card.”

The representative waved his hands in protest and shouted: “Impossible!”

But as the officer elaborated, the man’s expression shifted to calm. He sighed, then tried to explain, “That guy ran off on his first day. And now he’s accusing us of taking his ID?”

The officer took a drag from his cigarette and asked, “He said his ID is with the labor agency. Why not just return it?”

The plant representative shrugged, speaking as though he were the victim. “He ran back home. We couldn’t find him, so we just held onto it. It’s not our fault he won’t come pick it up...”

In the end, the police left, and the representative, looking unfazed, returned to work as if this was just another routine incident.

On Assembly Lines

I contacted Zhao, a 21-year-old woman from Guangdong who previously worked at Desay Battery. She had just graduated with a nursing major and was unsure about her future career path, but she was sure of one thing: she would never work as a nurse in a hospital. In her words, that would have been another “hellhole.”

Zhao didn’t want to waste time or rely on her parents’ money, either. She had worked as a take-out courier, a restaurant server, and for some small plants before landing a job at Desay Battery. Initially, she was pretty satisfied with the position.

Large companies like Desay offered employees free accommodations, significantly reducing their living expenses. Zhao was particularly impressed by the amenities: the dormitories had private bathrooms, a gym on the ground floor, and a grocery store on-site to meet their basic needs. In contrast, the smaller plants she had worked at lacked such a comprehensive system. Without facial recognition punch-in, working hours weren’t accurately tracked, leading to common issues of overwork and underpayment.

The only downside Zhao noticed was the mixed-gender dormitories. The supervisor assured everyone that cameras were everywhere, so they didn’t need to worry. However, the rooms couldn’t be locked, meaning anyone could enter freely. Moreover, the gender imbalance in the workplace was glaring. Unlike smaller plants, where many workers were middle-aged women, Desay was overwhelmingly male, and sometimes, the stares from male colleagues made Zhao feel uncomfortable.

Inside the dorm.

Subsequently, Zhao realized that the actual working conditions deviated significantly from her expectations and the terms outlined in the contract.

The plant operated with many assembly lines, and supervisors would assign workers tasks based on their needs. Temporary workers typically couldn’t handle tasks requiring specialized skills but were instead responsible for essential work such as packaging parts, screwing in bolts, and testing glue.

Zhao explained, “On lines, it’s all about efficiency. If you were on piece-rate pay, no one would monitor you. But you’re expected to maximize your output if you're on hourly pay. If someone ahead of you on the line slows down, there’s nothing for you to do, and the pile builds up.”

Temporary workers didn’t receive formal safety training, though supervisors often reminded them of what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Zhao said there were hazards in the plant. She once saw a warning notice about an employee who had been hurt by high-voltage electricity and had to be sent to the hospital.

Most workers had long day shifts, with one day off per week (as stated). They began work at 8:30 a.m. and finished around 9 to 10 p.m., depending on whether there was overtime. There was a two-hour break in between for them to have lunch and dinner.

Inside the plant.

“We worked in two shifts, so we were forced to stay until the next group arrived to relieve us,” Zhao explained. “If you leave without saying anything, the supervisor will mark you absent. But if you’re doing well with the supervisor, they might overlook it once. That decision rests with the leader.”

If a worker missed a day, they would be marked as absent for three days; if they missed three days, they would be fired immediately; if a worker left before completing their full seven days of work, they wouldn’t receive any money; if they didn’t fulfill their contract term, they would have 2,000 yuan deducted from their wages.

“They want us to work daily, with no days off during the week or the month. If someone takes a day off, they can’t mark them as absent, but they will give you a hard time and yell at you,” Zhao said.

Zhao’s contract was for two months, and she ultimately took home an average of 4,000 yuan (not more than 600 USD) per month.

The temporary contract Zhao signed with Desay.

Zhao added, “They also deducted our pay for utilities and insurance. They took 5 yuan a day for utilities.” Yet, when she signed the contract through the labor agency, she was promised that water and electricity would be free.

The agency's promises, the contract, and the initial job pitch were all unreliable guarantees. What was real was the overwhelming workload that piled up on the assembly lines.

A labour agency in Huizhou, Guangdong.

Agencies Eating Working Hours

While the company deducted a small sum, the labor agencies profited most from labor, a practice widely referred to in the industry as “eating working hours.”

Labor agencies play a crucial role in the hiring process. Many workers have no direct access to plants, or certain positions may be fully staffed, so agencies step in to connect applicants with the hiring department. The agency doesn’t charge fees, but they can “eat” a significant portion of the workers’ wages.

The company pays the agency first and then distributes the money to the workers. For example, Zhao was told by the agency that her hourly wage would be “15+1,” meaning 16 yuan per hour. However, the company may have paid the agency 20 yuan or more per hour.

Furthermore, the contract for temporary workers did not clarify the meaning of the “+1."

Any ambiguous situation—such as arriving late to the workstation, not showing up every day, or quitting early—could become a reason for the agency to deduct wages. Although Zhao never arrived late or left early, she still found that her pay was consistently short of the “+1” promised.

After completing her contract, Zhao encountered another troubling issue. Someone claiming to be from the HR department demanded that she pay a 300-yuan “agency fee.” Zhao refused, but the so-called HR person fabricated a chat screenshot between her and the agency, falsely accusing Zhao of receiving an advance on her wages. They insisted she call Desay’s finance department to verify this, warning that the fee would be deducted from her wages directly.

Despite the pressure, Zhao denied the accusation. She wondered whether her wage deductions were linked to the failed attempt to extort her for the “agency fee.”

“Sis Na” was one of many agents in the industry. With her exquisite makeup, office skirt, and high heels, she looked more like a white-collar than someone involved in the plant world.

I spotted Na outside the gate of the Desay plant, but she waved me off as I tried to exchange contact information. “Search for me on Douyin,” she said quickly before leaving.

Labor agencies, once known as middlemen, now often rebrand themselves with names like “XX Human Resources Company” or “XX Corporate Management Consulting.” These new names present a facade of professionalism, but their practices remain unchanged.

On the day I met Na, a worker had just been dismissed by Desay for having “hearing problems.” The man looked in his fifties or even more. He sat hunched in the chair, wearing a wrinkled shirt with smudges of grease on it. With no work to do, the man had to return to the agency to find a new job.

As Na cleaned a teacup, she reassured the man, “Forget about Desay. If your hearing’s bad, they won’t take you. Why don’t you start in a smaller plant for now?”

The man suddenly started complaining about how much lower the hourly wage was than before, and Na Jie pointed at me and said, “Look at her, young and healthy. She’s willing to work for any wage. So why should the plant pay you more?”

Her speech grew more rapid and impassioned as she continued, “It’s like pork—whether the price goes up or down, neither the buyer nor the seller decides the price. It’s the market that decides!”

Like so many others, the worker was simply another cog in the plant’s endless machinery. The agencies, team leaders, and managers move them along, feeding them into a system that consumes them entirely, leaving nothing behind.

（This article is written by Kat and edited by Biyi. You can contact the author at kat.elephantroom@gmail.com）