60 China The EconomistSeptember 14th 2019
A
round fivein the morning is the most lethal time on China’s
motorways, says a transport-industry veteran. The peril comes
from long-distance lorry drivers, whose vehicles may have been
rolling for days, pausing only for fuel and the rest stops required by
law: 20 minutes every four hours, with no daily limit on driving. As
dawn breaks, a long-haul trucker may be munching sunflower
seeds and sipping cold tea to stay awake, while a driving partner
dozes on a bunk bed. To help that partner sleep, the windows may
be closed. The only sound may be the tinny tones of a satellite-
navigation device. Such drivers “are like ticking bombs, you don’t
know if they are awake or asleep,” says the veteran, adding that as a
result wise travellers avoid highways until after seven.
If that makes drivers sound a bit unloved, the reality is sadder.
Many Chinese do not think about long-haul lorries enough to be
scared of them. China’s 30m lorry drivers are vital but invisible.
Their toil helped the country become a manufacturing juggernaut.
It is now feeding a consumer-spending boom, as middle-class Chi-
nese order anything from a sofa to a selfie-stick with a tap on a
smartphone, for express delivery at cut-price rates. This explosion
in mobility, involving the creation of a vast highway network and a
high-tech logistics industry in less than a generation, has brought
Chinese truckers neither fame nor respect. When America and
western Europe experienced similar transport booms in the 20th
century, popular culture made folk heroes of long-distance driv-
ers—brawny, taciturn types who prefer to brave blizzards than
obey a foreman on a factory floor. Hollywood made films about
wisecracking, heartbreaking truckers outsmarting policemen and
other authority figures. Country singers recorded tributes like the
hit of 1975, “Convoy” (“Ain’t nothin’ gonna get in our way”). Soon
after becoming president Donald Trump invited truckers to the
White House, climbed into a big rig and blasted its air horn, bur-
nishing his blue-collar rebel credentials.
In contrast, China’s rulers are wary of authority-flouting lon-
ers. Greeting scooter-riding delivery workers in Beijing before the
Chinese new year, President Xi Jinping offered them a thoroughly
collective compliment, beaming that they were “busy as bees”.
Chaguan recently cadged a ride from Liu Chengbing, a 43-year-
old lorry driver, as he began a run from Beijing to a chemicals plantin the coastal city of Jiaxing. Back in the 1990s drivers had a pretty
high status, Mr Liu recalled. They earned good salaries, though
most had only a middle-school education. They could make a still
better living if they bought their own lorry and then touted for
jobs, perhaps by handing out cards at factories. Self-employment
is harder today. Margins are shrinking and repeat deliveries go to
logistics firms. In June 2018 caravans of drivers used social media
to organise nationwide protests about fuel prices, low incomes
and the market dominance of a few, Uber-like load-finding apps.
Mr Liu sometimes takes his wife along in the cab to help with
navigation, parking, food and accounts—a common practice. Like
so many migrant workers, Mr Liu lives in the east, near Hangzhou,
leaving his sons, 16 and 12, with their grandparents in rural Si-
chuan. Mr Liu can earn over 10,000 yuan ($1,400) a month. At least
as a specialist driver of dangerous goods his hours are limited, and
night-driving banned. Asked why lorry drivers are not heroes in
Chinese films, he snorts, adjusting the brace that he wears for a
painful back. “When I load stuff at the factory, the security guard
sort of orders me around. That shows you our status,” he says. Near
Cangzhou, south of Beijing, a traffic jam allows Mr Liu time for a
swift roadside pee, a cigarette and a spot of kung-fu style high-
kicking. He does not chat with nearby drivers. Truckers are not es-
pecially sociable, Mr Liu explains, back in the cab. One exception is
on social media such as WeChat, where drivers share tips about
bad traffic, good food and clean guesthouses. Some lorry drivers,
including some of the roughtly one in 25 who are women, have
built followings on Kuaishou, a video-sharing app. Mr Liu does not
fear self-driving lorries taking jobs. “Maybe for smaller cars,” he
muses. But for big lorries like his, hauling a tank of sulphuric acid
plastered with warning signs, “you’re going to need a guy.”
A nationwide survey of the industry, published by the Social
Sciences Academic Press in 2018, found that more than 71% of driv-
ers own their vehicles, often after borrowing heavily. A big major-
ity are from rural areas and are married with children. On average,
drivers see their families once every 20 days. Asked if they would
like their children to drive lorries, nearly 96% said no.Rugged individualists with Chinese characteristics
Mats Harborn, a Beijing-based executive at Scania, a Swedish lor-
ry-maker, has devoted years to promoting a Western-style “truck
culture” in China, including driving contests that hail truckers as
“heroes”. In part, this is to sell expensive imported lorries with fuel
efficiency that makes them good value in the long run, but only if
they are well driven. In part, Mr Harborn sees a broader need to
help China develop a safe, sophisticated transport sector, rather
than a “Wild East” industry plagued by overcapacity.
Imported lorries are mostly bought by big logistics firms, and
give drivers bragging rights among their peers, says Harry Huang
of Volvo Trucks, another Swedish firm. Their comfort and safety—
including gadgets that brake automatically if they detect a sleepy
driver—may help deal with the industry’s chronic recruitment
problems, he suggests, standing on the sidelines of a Volvo driving
contest in the southern province of Guangdong. One contestant,
Shao Panpan, drives the same route all year, connecting Suzhou
with Harbin, more than 2,300km to the north. Each leg involves
four days of non-stop driving, shared with a partner. He likes the
job, and does not mind sharing a cab for days on end. “The partner
thing is like a marriage, you need to get along and compromise,”
Mr Shao says. Still, round-the-clock driving is hard. “Our bodies
wear out faster than other people’s.” He can expect little thanks. 7Chaguan Trucker culture, China-style
Hitching a ride with China’s unsung army of 30m long-distance drivers