分类： society

Once the beating heart of China’s industrial growth, the northern Chinese city of Datong in Shanxi Province—long known as the nation’s coal capital—stands at a crossroads of economic and energy transition. As China pivots sharply toward renewable energy, which met nearly all of the country’s growing electricity demand in 2025, former coal heartland communities are grappling with the messy, uneven process of reinventing their local economies. For one retired miner, the shift has opened a surprising new door, but for many others, uncertainty and barriers to new opportunity remain the norm.

Yang Haiming, who hung up his mining gear at age 60 when he retired from Datong’s No. 9 Mine, rejected the idea of stepping away from work entirely. Decades ago, when Yang was an active miner, the state-owned coal enterprise built an entire worker village right alongside the No. 9 shaft: a self-contained community complete with a primary school, childcare center, sports facility, and an elevated rail line that carried extracted coal out to power cities across the country. In those peak years, the village hummed with activity; thousands of workers and their families packed its streets, especially during holiday celebrations. Today, that era feels like a distant memory.

Most of the No. 9 Mine has been converted into Jinhuagong National Mine Park, a public museum that preserves China’s industrial mining heritage for visitors. The village’s school stands shuttered, its gates locked, and most of the low-rise apartment blocks once filled with mining families are only partially occupied—many now home to new residents drawn by cheap housing, not active mining work. Yang, who stayed in the region after retirement, has carved out a new niche serving the booming tourism trade near the Yungang Grottoes, the world-famous 6th-century Buddhist cave site that draws millions of annual visitors. He now owns and operates a local restaurant specializing in grilled lamb skewers, and in good months, he earns more than he did during his final years working in the mine.

Yang’s successful career pivot, however, makes him an outlier among the generations of Shanxi workers who built their lives around coal. The province’s footprint in global coal production is staggering: if Shanxi were an independent nation, it would rank as the world’s largest coal producer. In 2025 alone, its roughly 800,000 active miners extracted 1.3 billion tons of coal—nearly one-third of China’s total national output. Millions more Shanxi residents hold jobs indirectly tied to the coal industry, from logistics and transportation to local service businesses. As the energy transition progresses, supporting these workers through the shift is widely recognized as a critical priority; experts warn that leaving coal communities behind risks widespread economic hardship and social instability.

For many working and retired miners, the barrier to entering new industries like tourism is too high to overcome. Thirty-six-year-old active miner Zhou Hongfei told reporters he has considered switching to tourism work to support his wife and 8-year-old daughter, but hesitates to take the risk. “To really be able to make contact with and then switch into a new industry is very hard, and the truth is, I don’t dare,” he explained. “If you leave this industry, you don’t know if it’ll work out. Can I adapt? And what if this ends up being a burden for my family?”

Tom Wang, a Shanxi native, environmental activist, and founder of People of Asia for Climate Solutions, notes that most long-time coal miners lack the specialized skills needed to secure stable work in new sectors. “There are many who don’t know what to do, who say they don’t have the right skill sets for anyone else. All they know is to be a coal miner, or the easiest fallback option is for them to go back to farming,” Wang said. Even miners who stay in the industry face uncertainty: many of Datong’s oldest mines are nearing the end of their operational lifespans, and workers who are reassigned often face longer commutes and lower wages at new, more distant sites. One active miner, who requested anonymity out of concern for professional repercussions, has taken a second job driving for a ride-hailing service, working five extra hours a day after his mining shift to make ends meet. He questioned whether ordinary workers will ever get to share in the benefits of Datong’s tourism boom. “This tourism industry, how do I get in there? For Datong, those who can enjoy the benefits of this tourism boom, it’s mostly the big hotels and maybe some restaurants, noodle shops, but what do you think regular people can get?” he asked.

Shanxi’s provincial government has pursued a range of alternative economic development strategies, from investing in coal-to-hydrogen projects to promoting local specialty agricultural products. But the province’s most high-profile and successful effort to build a post-coal economy centers on expanding cultural tourism, particularly around the Yungang Grottoes. Visitor numbers to the site have surged in recent years, jumping from 3 million in 2023 to 4.5 million in 2024, after the blockbuster Chinese video game *Black Myth: Wukong* featured the grottoes and nearby regional sites, drawing legions of new tourists to the area. Local tour guide Yan Jiali said the tourism boom has sparked widespread interest in licensed guide jobs, even among older residents: “Even my mom’s friends would come ask me about taking this test,” she said. Hang Kan, director of the Yungang Research Institute and a National People’s Congress representative, has pushed to accelerate tourism development, framing the sector as a future “strategic pillar” that will boost living standards for Shanxi residents.

Even as the transition away from coal accelerates, few analysts expect Shanxi—or China—to abandon coal entirely. Recent global events, including the ongoing Iran war, have underscored the vulnerability of global energy supply chains to disruption, and experts widely view coal as a critical safety net for China’s energy security. Analysts at the Centre for Research on Energy and Clean Air (CREA) note that the Chinese government recently walked back plans to cap national coal consumption, declining to implement a hard limit. “The confidence hasn’t grown to the point where they can entirely depend on renewable energy,” explained CREA analyst Qi Qin. In fact, China continued rapid expansion of coal-fired power generation in 2025, bringing 78 gigawatts of new capacity online—more than the total coal power India built over an entire decade. Still, Wang holds out hope that China’s push to expand high-tech industries could bring new, stable jobs to Shanxi, which powered the nation’s rise to become a global economic powerhouse. “What if DeepSeek comes over to Shanxi and says, OK, we will start a data center here? What if Baidu comes over to Shanxi?” he asked, referencing leading Chinese technology firms.

For retired miners like Yang, who has found success in the new tourism economy, the shift comes with a touch of nostalgia. When recalling the crowded, bustling streets of the old mining village during its peak years, he noted, “It was crowded everywhere. Now the bustling scenes have gone, and so has the feeling.” That tension—between the promise of a cleaner, more sustainable future and the uncertainty of transition for working people—defines this new chapter for China’s former coal capital.

On a busy Tuesday afternoon in Noida, a satellite city bordering India’s capital New Delhi, domestic cleaner Seema Kumari steps through the door of a client’s home in a faded purple T-shirt and gets straight to work. In just 55 minutes, she wipes down sticky kitchen counters, scrubs years of grime from the balcony railing, straightens rumpled bedsheets, and mops every last corner of the floor, leaving the space spotless before heading to her next scheduled booking. Like millions of domestic workers across India, Seema now works through Urban Company, one of a new wave of home-service startups that let urban customers book everything from deep cleaning to beauty treatments on demand, often with as little as 15 minutes’ notice.

For generations, domestic work in India has operated almost entirely through informal word-of-mouth networks, with workers hired off the books and paid exclusively in cash. Today, a growing cohort of digital startups is moving this centuries-old sector online, rolling out on-demand short-task booking services across major Indian cities. These platforms are entering a massive, nearly entirely unregulated market: industry estimates place the total number of domestic workers in India at roughly 30 million, the vast majority of whom are women with limited access to formal, steady employment options. One of the newest entrants, Pronto, launched just last year, has already scaled to 15,000 daily bookings within 10 months of operation, with peak demand concentrated in Delhi and its surrounding suburbs, followed by Mumbai and Bengaluru.

For decades, domestic work in India has been defined by low wages, job insecurity, and near-total lack of regulation, in large part because it takes place behind closed doors in private residences. Platforms like Urban Company and Pronto frame their entry into the market as a force for good, arguing that they can formalize the sector by offering standardized worker training, transparent fixed pricing, and traceable digital wage payments. For workers like Seema, the shift has brought tangible new economic opportunities — but it has also introduced unprecedented pressures and algorithmic control that did not exist in the old informal system.

Before joining Urban Company, Seema worked 12-hour shifts at a local garment factory, earning just 10,000 to 14,000 Indian rupees (approximately $108 to $151) per month. She quit the role last year after hearing the platform was hiring new cleaners, drawn by the promise of higher, more consistent earnings. “I now make around 20,000 rupees a month,” she says, explaining that the increased income lets her cover school fees and basic needs for her two children. While her monthly earning potential is listed as 25,000 rupees on the platform, she takes home far less after automatic fines for booking cancellations, low client ratings, and late arrivals. “I have made the full amount only once, when I did not take any leave and worked for at least eight hours every day,” she notes.

Unlike the flexible informal arrangements of the past, platform-based domestic work is fully governed by algorithmic systems that assign jobs, track worker performance, and automatically impose penalties for rule violations. Even delays entirely outside a worker’s control can result in fines, Seema explains: “We often have to walk from one location to another. Sometimes security guards hold us up at the gate while they verify our entry into the building. That makes us late and then we are penalized — even if it is by five minutes.”

This experience is not unique. An anonymous household client in Gurgaon shared that her app-based cleaner arrived a few minutes late and was automatically fined 10 rupees by the platform, a penalty the worker showed her directly on the app. The BBC reached out to Urban Company for comment on its penalty policy but received no response; Pronto stated it does not fine workers for late arrivals.

Client ratings add another constant layer of stress for workers. One cleaner who accidentally broke a curtain rod during a job begged her client not to leave a negative review, explaining that a poor score would drastically reduce her future booking opportunities. Labour rights activists argue that the strict time and performance expectations imposed by platforms are often unworkable and dehumanizing. “It is inhuman to expect that someone can simply be summoned within 15 minutes,” says activist Akriti Bhatia. “These are people, not automated systems.”

Beyond performance pressure, algorithmic governance also creates unpredictable earnings. Most platforms use either per-task payment models with performance-based incentives or variable fixed pay structures, meaning a worker’s monthly income is entirely shaped by their ratings and algorithmic allocation, rather than a set contracted wage. Pronto founder Anjali Sardana argues that the platform’s model delivers meaningful progress for workers, pointing to direct bank deposits and optional health and accident insurance as key steps toward formalization. But critics remain deeply skeptical. Bhatia notes that while digital payments have brought a small degree of formality to the sector, workers still lack core labor protections including paid leave, pensions, and minimum wage guarantees. With almost no unionization among platform domestic workers, most have little to no bargaining power to push for better conditions. Platforms counter that they offer internal grievance redressal systems and emergency support for workers who face hostile situations with clients, but activists say these measures do little to address the daily struggles of on-demand work.

The relentless pace of back-to-back bookings has also taken a toll on workers’ basic well-being. In Hyderabad, domestic cleaner Amrutha says she declines offers of water during shifts because she cannot be sure she will have access to a public restroom between bookings, a common issue given that many private households still bar domestic workers from using their in-home bathrooms. While platforms state they operate service hubs with public restrooms for workers between shifts, many workers report not knowing these facilities exist, and instead wait for their next booking in public parks, building stairwells, or bus stops. What was once unstructured downtime to rest, eat, or travel between jobs has shrunk dramatically as demand for on-demand services has grown. “There are days when I don’t even get time to eat. It has started taking a toll on my health,” Seema says.

This tension between expanded opportunity and increased exploitation is not a new pattern for India’s gig economy. The same trade-off played out when ride-hailing platforms like Uber and food delivery apps like Zomato first entered the Indian market. “We’ve seen this pattern before,” Bhatia explains. “Many venture-funded platforms initially offer higher pay and discounts to attract users and workers. Over time, that balance shifts” toward greater pressure and lower earnings for workers.

While instant on-demand home services have gained rapid popularity among young, urban, middle-class households, many families remain hesitant to adopt the new model. Sushma, a long-time Delhi resident, says she was uncomfortable when her adult children booked an app-based cleaner after her regular domestic worker missed a day of work. “I do not know the person,” she says. “How do I let them into my house?” She also expressed concern about how the shift would affect her long-standing working relationship with her regular informal helper. Her hesitation reflects broader unease about how digital platforms are reshaping decades-old social and economic ties between households and domestic workers.

As on-demand domestic services continue to grow across India, they are transforming not just how work is booked and paid for, but how the work is experienced by both workers and clients. For Seema, despite the constant pressure, the physical toll, and the unpredictable earnings, the job remains a lifeline. As she finishes her last booking of the day in Noida, another notification pops up on her phone for a new shift the next morning. “The work is tough and I am looking for other opportunities,” she says. “But for now, it helps me take care of my children, so I’ll keep going.”

Across China, thousands of people gathered at memorial sites, cemeteries, and public monuments on Sunday, April 5 2026, to mark this year’s Qingming Festival with solemn tributes to the country’s revolutionary and national martyrs. The annual traditional observance, also widely known as Tomb-Sweeping Day, has evolved in modern times to include formal collective ceremonies that honor the sacrifices of individuals who gave their lives for China’s national independence, social progress, and public safety.

One of the most prominent gatherings took place at Nanjing’s Yuhuatai Martyrs Memorial Park in eastern China’s Jiangsu province, where visitors laid wreaths of white chrysanthemums, bowed in silent respect, and reflected on the legacies of the revolutionaries executed at the site during China’s mid-20th century national liberation struggles. Similar events were hosted at memorial sites spanning every region of the country, from small local community cemeteries for fallen service members to large national monuments in major urban centers.

Many attendees brought young family members to the ceremonies, framing the tribute as an opportunity to pass down national memory and collective historical awareness to younger generations. Participants included local government officials, school groups, military personnel, veterans’ organizations, and ordinary residents from all walks of life, all united in a shared moment of national remembrance. In addition to in-person gatherings, many regions also offered online tribute platforms, allowing people who could not travel to memorial sites to leave virtual flowers and messages of gratitude to the fallen.

Qingming Festival, a centuries-old Chinese tradition centered on honoring ancestors and deceased loved ones, has carried special national significance in modern China as a time to publicly recognize the sacrifices of martyrs who contributed to the founding and development of the country. This year’s nationwide observance continued that long-standing tradition, reinforcing collective shared memory of the contributions of the fallen across the country.

BEIJING – In a move timed to align with one of China’s most important traditional memorial holidays, the Qingming Festival, a new national official online platform for funeral services launched its public operations Sunday. Developed under the direct guidance of China’s Ministry of Civil Affairs (MCA), the China Funeral Network was created to address longstanding gaps in accessible, transparent funeral information for bereaved families across the country.

Unlike scattered, unstandardized local resources that often leave grieving households navigating fragmented service options, the new platform consolidates funeral and interment service resources from every region of China into a single, centralized hub. Its core mission centers on meeting the critical information service needs of families coping with loss, by providing authoritative, up-to-date data for inquiries and consultations covering all aspects of funeral arrangements, burial services, and memorial activities.

Xu Zesheng, a senior MCA official overseeing the initiative, noted that all of China’s provincial-level administrative regions have contributed to the platform’s development and will participate in its national promotion. This collaborative structure ensures the network can deliver comprehensive coverage that allows families to quickly locate nearby funeral service resources and access clear, unambiguous information about service pricing, eliminating much of the uncertainty and stress that often accompanies end-of-life arrangements.

According to the Ministry of Civil Affairs, the China Funeral Network is designed for long-term evolution beyond its current core functions. Future updates will expand the platform’s scope to include targeted resources that promote environmentally friendly burial practices and encourage the adoption of modern,文明, low-impact memorial customs across the country, aligning the service with China’s broader public policy goals for sustainable cultural and social development.