The Struggles of a Veteran Female Worker at Foxconn
After parting ways with Youling, it was nearly midnight when Xiao Fang returned to her rented studio apartment. Seizing the clarity of her mind, she sat at her desk to jot down some thoughts.
On the desk, there were Xiao Fang’s knitted items, flower arrangements, paints, and a blank coloring page of blooming flowers. When she first moved in, cobwebs covered the space under the bed frame. Xiao Fang dismantled them one by one, joking that she’d moved from a “rat hole” to a “spider’s den.” However, she appreciated this studio apartment—its south-facing window and balcony brought in bright light and fresh air, much unlike her previous place—damp, cold, and with crawling cockroaches and rats—where a social worker had to throw up after breathing in a bit of air in the room. Xiao Fang painted the new walls white, though only up to her height, added shelves, a desk, and a chair. She kept everything tidy and clean. This was the first year she had a place of her own since entering the factory dormitory at the age of fifteen.
The copy was ready. Xiao Fang pulled out the bed curtain that had once enclosed her world in the factory dormitory—a thin, night-blue fabric dotted with stars—and draped it over the bed frame leaning against the wall to set the backdrop. With new inspirations this evening, she rummaged through her luggage and retrieved the rose-pink factory uniform, which was once exclusive to veteran Foxconn workers, but whose production was now discontinued. With her phone propped up and the uniform on, Xiao Fang recorded a new video: “what are some ways bosses putting their employees through the wringer...” The video went live at dawn. Above Xiao Fang’s head in the footage appeared this caption: The Struggles of a Veteran Female Worker at Foxconn.
Refusing to Back Down
Xiao Fang joined Sanying Technology (Shenzhen) Co., Ltd. in July 2017 as a general worker on Foxconn’s production line. By late 2023, she had signed an open-ended labor contract with the company. Just one month later, while she continued to clock in without interruptions and sought rights protection from the labor union, Foxconn terminated her contract on grounds of “unauthorized absence.” Xiao Fang filed for labor arbitration, questioning the termination's legality and demanding compensation. During arbitration, the company presented records of her signature from a training session of the Employee Handbook. Xiao Fang contested the signature, and the forensic analysis confirmed forgery. Nevertheless, the arbitration ruling upheld Foxconn’s termination. Xiao Fang appealed. The first-instance trial commenced in April 2025, with the verdict pending.
Hao Zhengxin, a lawyer from Beijing Guannan Law Firm, has provided pro bono online legal support to Xiao Fang. Hao, who frequently represented workers in labor disputes, met Xiao Fang once in southern China and reviewed the evidence and documents she had collected. Hao noted that Xiao Fang impressed her with her “reliability,” “unwavering resilience,” and “refusal to concede easily.” “Her entire rights protection process has exhausted every legal avenue available to a worker, thus revealing the difficulties at every stage of labor rights advocacy in China.”
Refusing to Back Down
Before deciding to fight for her rights, Xiao Fang had endured an unbearable week.
According to her recollection, on January 10, 2024, Xiao Fang was asked to sign her annual performance evaluation, which had a note of “C.” Under company policy, regular employees could advance one note every three years, with salary increases ranging from 50 to 500 yuan. At that time, Xiao Fang, with six and a half years of service, held the rank of “Level 2 Employee” and was scheduled to be promoted to “Level 3 Employee” in 2024. However, a “C” rating signified “unsatisfactory performance,” effectively dashing her promotion and pay raise prospects while jeopardizing her upcoming year-end bonus. Xiao Fang protested, pointing out she had no record of tardiness, early departures, or absenteeism—why was she receiving the same evaluation as colleagues with disciplinary records? Her supervisor responded with a threat: “Don’t overstep or else I’ll give you the night shift!”
The next day, during company mediation, Xiao Fang received a message from her family, and it turned out that her department heads had repeatedly called her family to tell them that she was mentally ill. They also implied that she had suicidal thoughts and urged them to take her home. Over the following days, Xiao Fang was repeatedly summoned to sign the “C” evaluation form. She refused, only to face indirect punishment at work. The deputy line manager monitored her work for 12 hours straight, and she suddenly lost access to her overtime records. This effectively barred her from earning extra pay through overtime requests, which went unanswered despite multiple submissions. For workers without overtime pay, the monthly take-home pay consisted solely of base salary—after deductions for social insurance, housing fund contributions, and cafeteria fees. Xiao Fang’s base salary at the time was 2,950 yuan—just 610 yuan above Shenzhen’s minimum wage of 2,360 yuan (set to rise to 2,520 yuan in 2025).
Facing blatant bullying, Xiao Fang refused to back down. On January 20, 2024, she posted an “employee petition” in the office area, detailing the injustices she endured and demanding permission to work overtime. Retaliation followed swiftly. That afternoon, she was ordered to sign a Major/Minor Misconduct Record. After refusing to do so, she was threatened with early and weekend shifts and was immediately assigned to an early shift that day. “Early and weekend shifts” both count as overtime hours, allowing workers to earn extra pay—a “benefit” for laborers relying on wages. The next day being Sunday, Xiaofang didn’t want to miss the overtime opportunity. After clocking in, she entered the factory to work, arguing that denying her overtime opportunity constituted “employment discrimination.” She was immediately expelled from the workstation. After refusing to sign again, five individuals entered the workstation and threatened her, saying they had “already called the police.” That same day, a deaf-mute worker was directed to approach her, resulting in physical contact. The entire incident was captured on video. That evening, her line supervisor informed her that her clock-in that day would not count as working hours but as “voluntary labor.”
“The workstation has become completely unbearable,” Xiao Fang said. It was filled with surveillance cameras, yet workers were prohibited from carrying any electronic devices. After this, Xiao Fang clocked in daily and went to the labor union to advocate for her rights, presenting eight demands for resolution. A week later, she was dismissed for four days of “unexcused absence.” The termination was based on Foxconn’s Group Employee Disciplinary Management Regulations: Employees who failed to report on time or left their posts (for 8 hours or more) were subject to dismissal.
Did clocking in daily and then going to the union to advocate for her rights constitute unexcused absence when facing injustice? This became a pivotal point in Xiao Fang’s case. Attorney Hao Zhengxin noted that current law lacked explicit provisions on this matter. However, standard definitions of “absenteeism” encompassed “unauthorized absence from the post” or “unexcused absence.” Before approaching the union, Xiao Fang had spent considerable time appealing and communicating without resolution. “Her departure from the production line to seek union assistance carried a degree of legitimacy.” However, the Employee Disciplinary Action Report Form used to terminate Xiao Fang’s contract only emphasized that “her failure to report to her workstation constitutes abandonment of the post.”
In her arbitration application, Xiao Fang also argued that Foxconn’s termination procedure violated the law. Article 4 of the Labor Contract Law of the People’s Republic of China stipulated: “The rules and regulations of an employer shall be discussed by the employee representative assembly or all employees, with proposals and opinions put forward, and determined through equal consultation with the trade union or employee representatives. Employers shall publicly display or notify employees of rules and regulations directly affecting their vital interests and decisions on major matters.” However, the Attendance Record for Company Policy Briefing submitted by Foxconn as evidence that Xiao Fang had received training on the Employee Handbook (a document establishing rules and regulations to regulate employee conduct) was proven to contain forged signatures. Xiao Fang herself denied ever seeing the Employee Handbook. Furthermore, during the subsequent trial, Foxconn claimed that “it had been posted on the internal network,” but failed to present any evidence in court to prove that Xiao Fang had been informed of the relevant regulations.
Regarding the more fundamental procedural issue of whether the Employee Handbook had undergone a democratic process, Hao Zhengxin explained: “Courts often only conduct a formal review, not a substantive review. As long as you have stamps, records, and “documentation,” they won’t care whether these procedures are just for show or if workers genuinely participate.”
Hao Zhengxin believed, “In reality, whether employees seek rights protection through arbitration, labor unions, or tax authorities, unless they take leave in accordance with the Employee Handbook, they will be deemed absent without leave. This reflects the underlying philosophy that ‘employees must remain at their workstations during working hours.’” She further elaborated: “But according to constitutional principles, employees have the right to holistic development. Shouldn’t companies provide employees with the rights and conditions for such development, rather than treating it as an extra perk or favor?”
Guide against “Being Put through the Wringer”
Xiao Fang’s video account was launched the day before her first trial hearing.
Going public with her case, live-streaming, and learning video editing were “forced upon me,” she said. After being fired, Xiao Fang never passively waited for the outcome. Beyond legal avenues, she actively pursued recovery of her social insurance and housing fund contributions, filed complaints with the labor arbitration authority, and published articles online.
The first hurdle in online advocacy was censorshop of the internet platform. In February 2024, five out of ten articles Xiao Fang posted on Weibo (@BigBiteNoodles2018) were quickly deleted. On the very first day she opened her Rednote account, even the profile picture—a bowl of noodles—was reported. Xiao Fang recorded videos explaining her case to the public and calmly appealing: “I hope everyone pays attention to me and pays attention to female workers. Female workers need a voice; they need to fight for their rights.” The 14-minute video has now garnered over 100,000 views. Yet her first live stream was taken down after just half an hour due to reports. Beyond advocating for her own case, Xiao Fang also discussed on her account workers’ experiences and factory management tactics. Especially on the night of June 6 that year when she posted the video titled “How Bosses Put Their Employees through the Wringer,” Xiao Fang rushed to the community health center after work to accompany Youling for her physical exam and their conversation converged on one topic: “being put through the wringer by the bosses.” Thus, a “wringer guide” from their combined experiences was born.
“Putting someone through the wringer” means to secretly suppress or make life difficult for someone. In factories, this was a highly targeted signal: “You’ve been ‘flagged’ by management.” While not directly fired, you might face a series of informal yet organized oppressive procedures: isolation, job reassignment, cornered reprimands, night shift assignments, overtime cancellation, warning notices, forced signing of disciplinary records, performance downgrades to “C,” family notifications, psychological evaluations... These measures were procedurally legal yet deliberately enforced to create pressure, thus compelling employees to resign voluntarily. Under such high-pressure tactics, any inadvertent violation of the factory’s Employee Handbook became a “justifiable” basis for termination. Both outcomes allowed the factory to avoid severance pay and evade dismissal charges, making it the lowest-cost, hardest-to-prove method of forced resignation.
Their discussion aimed to break this cycle, as Youling was currently “being put through the wringer.” At the end of May, an incident from three months prior—where a coworker had slapped her—was dug up and classified as a “mutual altercation.” She was pressured to sign a Major Disciplinary Violation Notice. Youling refused and even called the police. On Friday, she received a new disciplinary notice accusing her of “failing to wear the required work uniform and cap.” Just before her shift ended, a DingTalk notification appeared: “You are scheduled for the night shift next Monday.” For nearly seven years since Yuling fainted from high blood pressure during a night shift, the factory had never assigned her night work again. Now, she urgently needed a doctor’s note stating, “not recommended to stay up late” or “avoid staying up late.”
By the time Xiao Fang arrived at the community health center, it was already past 9 p.m. Youling, who hadn’t eaten all night, lay weak and listless in the emergency room of the Chest Pain Center, hooked up to oxygen and an IV drip. Her systolic blood pressure had soared past 170. Xiao Fang’s heart ached, recalling how she herself had once been in such a “reckless” state during those days fighting for rights with the union while surviving on just one steamed bun a day. Fate kept repeating itself among those in the same predicament.
Xiao Fang called Youling “my sister.” Hailing from rural Henan, Youling had worked in factories for 25 years—herself 15 years older than Xiao Fang—with the tall, broad build and square jaw typical of northerners. Both former Foxconn employees, they’d met years ago through a community theater group. When it came to defending her rights, Youling had an astonishing track record. In 2018, facing workplace harassment, Youling secured the “N+1” severance pay for being fired from Foxconn by leveraging the labor union, publicly reading about unfair treatment in the cafeteria, and distributing leaflets detailing her experiences. After leaving the factory, Youling organized and led over thirty Foxconn workers to collectively recover long-underpaid housing fund contributions from the company. This action sent shockwaves through other factories, and more workers followed her example. When Xiao Fang found herself in a difficult situation, Youling was the first person she turned to for help. Over the past year, the two have grown increasingly close through their shared struggles for rights.
A small seashell-shaped pouch stood haphazardly on the bedside table of the hospital. Xiao Fang had bought it the night she received her first full paycheck from her new job as a nanny—her first steady work since leaving the factory. She bought one for herself and one for Youling. Youling’s was red. Xiao Fang wished her luck with the red color. But deep down, she feared Youling would soon be “discarded” by the factory. “It’s always the same pattern, the same formula,” Xiao Fang said with a bitter smile.
Youling was already 42, with eight years left before retirement as a factory worker. She was no longer as radical as before, pinning her hopes instead on building countermeasures to keep her job. The factory made a move and she made a countermove. Xiao Fang had been through this phase herself. But now she realized: “Times have changed. The old tactics don’t work anymore.” Even resorting to legal action wouldn’t guarantee protection for workers anymore—Xiao Fang herself was a living example. She has noticed that in recent years, workers winning arbitration or lawsuits against Fortune 500 companies have become increasingly rare. In public discourse, the mere mention of “rights protection” would trigger scrutiny or avoidance from all sides. The criteria for workers to apply for legal aid have become increasingly stringent. In Shenzhen, for instance, applicants must have a per capita disposable income below 3,205 yuan over six months or total assets not exceeding 20,000 yuan per person.
By ten o’clock, Youling had finally obtained the medical certificate she needed. As she walked out, engrossed in sending the proof via DingTalk, she nearly got hit by a speeding electric bike. Xiao Fang shielded Youling toward the inner lane while stepping back herself. Oblivious to the danger, Youling—her face ghostly pale under her phone’s glow—called one supervisor after another, but no one answered. The smile on her pale face turned grim. Her weekend overtime had been cancelled under the pretext of “allowing her to seek medical treatment.”
On June 7, Youling arrived at the factory to submit her medical certificate to the supervisor of the Employee Care Center and to demand to work overtime. The factory accused her of disrupting workstation order and even called the police. The managers said it was outside their jurisdiction and instructed Youling to follow her supervisor’s arrangements for the weekend off. A DingTalk notification confirmed her night shift had been successfully cancelled.
“Overtime cancellation” was the hardest tactic to overthrow for workers who endured mechanic labor at the factory solely for wages.
That evening, Youling sat before the same midnight-blue backdrop dotted with stars. She said, “Hello everyone, tomorrow I want to share my 25 years of work and life in the livestream...”
The Survivor
As a child born in the rural countryside of Yongzhou, Hunan Province, Xiao Fang refused to submit to anyone.
Born in 1997, she was raised “free-range” among the fields, “roaming like a wild child.” She led groups of children to roll in the dirt, scoop fish from the water, or catch loaches and snakes. She disliked farming and labor. When cutting grass, her hands lacked strength; while her sisters toiled in the fields, she slept indoors. When urged to work, she’d dash to the rooftop and threaten everyone, “Stop pushing me! If you keep doing this, I'll jump!” Her mother was helpless—withholding meals or beating her with a cane failed to make her obey.
But one night, nearly a month after being fired from Foxconn, Xiao Fang nearly plunged headfirst from the sixth-story high building of her urban village home. It was February 29, 2024, when Xiao Fang posted her first rights advocacy article on Weibo. Before it was deleted, the post garnered nearly 200,000 views. That night, she received a call from the police station, triggering a panic attack. She went up to the rooftop to catch her breath and noticed a drone circling and buzzing overhead as it patrolled the streets. Drones were a common sight, but Xiao Fang believed this one had been sent specifically to find her.
In 2016, when Xiao Fang first joined Foxconn—the factory infamous for its “thirteen consecutive suicides”—she saved videos of coworkers threatening to jump off the rooftop of the factory building. In the footage, a solitary figure stood on the rooftop while the corridor below was packed with coworkers jeering, “Jump! Why don’t you jump?” Information like this was always quickly suppressed. Rumors circulated that it was because the factory refused to pay overtime. Xiao Fang only knew that those who attempted suicide were tackled by the security force, sent to the police station, and were immediately fired—without a penny in compensation. That night, lingering on the rooftop until the very last moment, Xiao Fang did not jump. She thought: “If I can give up my life, what else is there to fear?”
But this incident shook Xiao Fang’s friends, including Youling. It wasn’t until much later that Youling learned that on the night she had a mental breakdown, Xiao Fang had faced not only visits from the police and pleas from the friend sheltering her—“You should find a job,” “You don’t have a place of your own”—but also another agonizing, unspeakable hardship: she had no money left. Xiao Fang was diligent and frugal, having worked in the factory for twelve years, yet she had no savings. In the past, she sent every extra penny back home or transferred it to her father: to fund her younger sister’s education, to renovate the family’s new house and pay off debts, to buy a home for her older sister, and to have her father hold onto it for her. When she was laid off, she was in debt and couldn’t even afford her rent. But she refused to borrow money from anyone.
“I grew up in a patriarchal family...” Xiao Fang said when talking about her family. She learned the term “patriarchy” from a volunteer who helped workers.
Xiao Fang was the second of three sisters. Her carefree childhood ended at age ten when her mother died suddenly of illness. “Our family collapsed overnight.” She recalled that in the past, her father was a masonry worker, while her mother was the family’s pillar—a rural woman capable of farming seven or eight acres of land. Strong and capable, she managed the household and navigated social relationships. In contrast, her father “was a bit of a mama’s boy, lazy, indecisive, and lacking self-control.” He preferred gambling over working.
When her mother passed away, Xiao Fang wasn’t greatly affected at first. She had always been a “daddy’s girl,” sleeping next to him and roaming the mountains. But gradually, the weight of responsibilities once borne by her mother, along with the harsh realities of being a rural woman, crushed Xiao Fang. A hundred meters behind her home lay a barren, rugged mound dotted with small graves. She had once been beaten for venturing there. Later she learned it was a graveyard for abandoned infants, mostly girls. In this village that valued sons over daughters, many newborn girls were killed with boiling water and were discarded there. Xiao Fang had two sisters who died young—one froze to death, another poisoned by fake milk powder—both wrapped in mats and placed on the mound. They never received proper graves or memorials.
After her eldest son died in an accident, Xiao Fang’s mother gave birth to five more children, all girls. Xiao Fang and her two sisters survived, but their births were unwelcome. Their grandmother refused to help care for them, favoring families of her own children who had given her grandsons. After each birth of a girl child, their mother carried baskets of food to their grandmother’s house, as if offering atonement. When giving birth to her last child, upon hearing it was again a girl, the nearby professional midwife delayed coming, which caused her mother to suffer severe hemorrhaging during delivery. At the village clinic, medical staff manually extracted the baby. Ultimately, due to infection, her mother’s uterus had to be removed. She could not bear children again and was left with lifelong gynecological issues. As soon as her health slightly improved, she stopped taking medication to save money and ceased follow-up checkups. Six years later, at five one morning, Xiao Fang, in her fourth grade, was waiting for her mother to wake her up for school. Instead, she found her mother clutching her fists on the bed, her face contorted in pain as she passed away.
After her mother’s death, Xiao Fang faced relentless taunts wherever she went—“wild child,” “motherless brat.” Her father never bought his daughters new clothes. On rare occasions like the Chinese New Year, the three sisters received hand-me-downs from other families—garments her father had earned by working overnight shifts for them. If Xiao Fang was rough with the boys, her father would scold her for being improper, telling her to “stay in your own world.” He also forbade Xiao Fang from speaking her mind in public, insisting that “a girl should keep her mouth shut.” In the countryside, families without sons faced constant discrimination. After losing his wife, Xiao Fang’s father tore down their old house to rebuild it, hoping to prove his worth. The family sank into debt.
At the time, her older sister was boarding at middle school, and her younger sister was still small. The household chores that fell under the “mother’s role” landed squarely on Xiao Fang’s shoulders. “You have to do it, whether you want to or not.” The fields were entrusted to her grandfather to cultivate and manage. The impoverished family urgently needed new labor. By her third year of junior high, her father would often nag her by whispering in her ear: “That child next door is only fourteen and is already earning four or five thousand yuan working. You need to start earning money too.” Xiao Fang retorted, “How old am I? Do you even want me to keep going to school?” Her father retorted back, “What good is all that schooling for a girl? You’ll just get married someday anyway.” The eldest sister couldn’t be relied upon, as she had long expressed her desire to marry and escape from the family. Her father resorted to domestic abuse; whenever Xiao Fang talked back, she would be scolded and locked in her room.
The seed of Xiao Fang’s desire to continue her education was planted by her mother, who had placed great importance on schooling. When Xiao Fang was young, her father made her skip preschool to save a few hundred yuan and sent her straight to first grade. Her lack of the basics caused her to repeat the year. Though her mother had only a third-grade education, she personally taught Xiao Fang to read and write every night. “I was a real pain back then, refusing to study. My mom would hit me and force me to study with her,” she recalled. This instilled in Xiao Fang a sense of the importance of learning. “Without my mom, I might not have even made it through junior high.”
When it was time to enter middle school, Xiao Fang could have attended a better private school in the county, as she and the girl next door had planned to go together. But her father forcibly stopped her to save money: “Private schools are too expensive.”
Xiao Fang refused to accept this. Once she got so angry that she held a knife to her father’s throat—the first time she had ever frightened him. But her defiance ultimately proved futile. During the summer break of her junior year, her father arranged for her to work in a factory in Guangdong Province. Xiao Fang refused and went on a hunger strike for nearly a week. Relatives called to persuade her, and her older sister even knelt to beg her: “If you must blame anyone, blame the family you were born into...” By September 1, school had already started. When classmates finally tracked down Xiao Fang’s contact information and asked which class she was in, she replied, “I'm already working in Dongguan.”
She was sent to a handbag factory, becoming a 15-year-old child laborer. Xiao Fang operated sewing machines for 12 hours a day, producing different kinds of “poor-quality” bags—toiletry pouches, shoulder bags, crossbody bags, travel bags, backpacks, and more than a dozen other types. She encountered hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bag designs during her three years on the assembly line. Her obsession with school gradually faded as life demanded more urgent tasks: adapting to her new existence—obeying orders, following management, maintaining good relations with coworkers, and staying alert amid “warm-hearted exploitation.” Xiao Fang pressed herself into reality, passing her dream of education onto her younger sister. “Our family needs at least one college graduate,” she thought, supporting her sister through a five-year college program. At one point, the hope of schooling was reignited. While her sister was in college, she told Xiao Fang about adult self-study college programs and even connected her with a program director. Xiao Fang mustered the courage to tell her father, “This job is really exhausting. I want to go back to school.” Her father rejected the idea outright, saying, “You shall not even think about it now. Stop imagining it immediately, stop it right now!” Then came a barrage of counterquestions about money: “What about your sister if you go to school? Who will pay for your education? What about the house? What about renovations? Your sister is already married—if you don’t earn money, how will the family manage?”
All this dampened her spirit. “I became a completely different person,” Xiao Fang said. She began living as her father expected: commuting to work, avoiding social interactions, reading novels in her dorm room during her free time, and sending money home. Youling recalled meeting Xiao Fang for the first time in the theater club back in 2017. She was quiet, blushed after any prolonged conversation, and even stumbled over her own words at times—“a very strange girl.” At that time, Youling was the lead actress in a play they were rehearsing, captivating audiences with her storytelling. Meanwhile, she also wrote non-fiction works about workers.
Xiao Fang later explained: “When someone rarely communicates with others and sinks in their own world, it’s hard to overcome their inferiority complex. Back then, I felt everyone else was outstanding, while I was inferior and unworthy of others.”
But later, the door to Xiao Fang’s tightly closed heart was cracked open by the companionship of a workers’ advocacy organization. “They told me this: Don’t think what you say is nonsense. You need to express your thoughts. You can speak up when you’re happy, when you’re sad, or when you’re angry.” Xiao Fang became a volunteer for the organization and participated in outreach, choir, theater, and public speaking classes. Yet that year, her first annual performance review at Foxconn earned her a “C” rating—while every other worker at her workstation received a “B.” She ran into the bathroom and cried, feeling the vast gap between her effort and reward. She suspected better grades were reserved for the line managers or higher-level management’s connections. But she didn’t have the courage to confront her supervisor and then just resigned in disgrace.
After leaving the factory, Xiao Fang briefly stayed in the rented apartment her sister and brother-in-law had in Shenzhen. Three months later, with no income and nowhere else to go, she re-joined Foxconn.
“I couldn’t pretend everything was fine anymore.”
On November 2, 2018, an attempted rape occurred on the pedestrian overpass of Meilong Road. Keywords in the news reports included: rush hour, violent molestation, repeat offender, no surveillance cameras, and severe physical and psychological trauma to the victim. The incident sparked immediate discussion at the factory—the overpass was just a hundred meters from the north gate of the industrial park and a daily commuting route for workers living in off-site dormitories.
In the cafeteria, Xiao Fang and her female coworkers gathered to discuss the incident. One by one, they shared their own experiences of sexual harassment: encounters with exhibitionists, being groped by motorcycle taxi drivers before disembarking, being stalked, and even being assaulted. Only then did Xiao Fang realize she wasn’t alone. Back in April, while walking home from her night shift, she was assaulted and dragged by a man lurking in a corner and was only able to escape by screaming out loud. In July, she was assaulted again near the Meilong Road overpass—this time by a male worker from her own factory. She narrowly escaped. Prior to these incidents, Xiao Fang had never received any sex education. Suffering two assaults in such a short span felt like “consecutive devastating blows.”
After the assaults, she became terrified, as if a shadow was seared into her dreams. As she was being dragged, she glanced up once—in the dark night, she saw the man’s face. That face kept reappearing in her mind, leaving her sleepless night after night. Walking alone at night, she feared someone might follow her again, grab her waist, cover her mouth... Once at the workstation, a male colleague tapped her shoulder. Her first instinct was to push him away, but she couldn’t. She shook and tears streamed down her face. She understood this state as being “traumatized.” “When someone is traumatized, it takes a year or two to recover,” she said.
She tried confiding in others, but her words always broke into sobs before she could finish, crying for hours at a time. When she told her father, he told her to forget it: “You’ll marry someday. Even if ‘that’ happened to you, you must never speak of it.” When she mentioned it to male coworkers, they mocked her: “You’re such a tomboy—it’s a miracle you haven’t molested us men yet.” Their indifference felt like a second wave of humiliation and pain. Xiao Fang appeared dazed, lost her appetite, avoided conversations, and was unable to meet others’ eyes. She recoiled reflexively whenever being touched. “I felt suffocated, like I couldn’t go on living,” she confessed.
Trapped like a cornered beast, Xiao Fang clung to her will to survive, searching for an escape. When she learned that sexual harassment of female workers was widespread, a thought crystallized: “I can’t pretend this isn’t happening anymore.” She proposed that everyone go together to the Longhua District Women’s Federation to report safety concerns for female night-shift workers. Coincidentally, everyone had been assigned to the early shift that day and could go with her. Upon arrival, they presented their demands: improve lighting and surveillance along night-shift routes; provide sexual harassment safety training for female workers. Before leaving, Xiao Fang filled out an information form with her name and phone number. During the conversation, she also mentioned that she worked at Foxconn.
Days later, to her surprise, the Women’s Federation called back, “We will address your concerns in collaboration with the Foxconn union.” When the company investigated Xiao Fang’s identity based on the Women’s Federation’s feedback, her previous experience of sexual harassment—which she had reported to the Women’s Federation—was partially disclosed within the factory. When Xiao Fang was summoned to the Human Resources office, the room was already filled with workstation managers, representatives from the Women’s Federation, the union, the Employee Care Center, and the legal department. “So many people surrounded just me,” she recalled. Yet these individuals did not come to support her. Instead, they blamed her—the victim—for her “mistakes.”
They pointed out these things: She hadn’t called the police at the scene or preserved evidence; a check of police records showed no assault cases or related complaints; all matters would be addressed after an investigation; safety training would be offered next year, but only to Foxconn employees. During the conversation, the chairman of the union even stated: “Many female workers at the workstations face this issue, and it is no exception with our union. Just the other day, a female colleague was peeped on in the restroom—we can’t do anything about it.”
Xiao Fang felt the blame seemed to fall squarely on her shoulders, as if she hadn’t protected herself properly. They asked: Why didn’t she call the police at the scene? Why didn’t she dial the care hotline? Why didn’t she preserve evidence? Why didn’t she leave work with others? Why did she take a shortcut instead of using the main factory road?
Xiao Fang felt furious: “If they genuinely wanted to solve the problem, why didn’t they discuss about installing streetlights or increasing patrols? Why didn’t they talk about what kind of training the Women’s Federation could provide? Why didn’t they mention how to immediately improve the section of Meilong Road near the overpass? Why did they keep telling us to protect ourselves and investigate our personal situations?” Xiao Fang refused to disclose the names of the female workers who had accompanied her.
Later, staff from the Employee Care Center questioned Xiao Fang, suggesting she had “mental issues.” The factory’s psychologist intervened, asking very precise questions: What time? Where? How was she assaulted? Xiao Fang’s last line of defense crumbled. “I’m a victim. It’s bad enough to tear myself apart repeatedly, but they made me tear myself apart again and again even in front of those managers. They asked me the same questions seven or eight times.” To the veteran employee Youling, this was unsurprising: “No matter what happens at Foxconn, they always target the person who raises the issue first.”
Her grievances were swept under the rug. In her daily life, Xiao Fang was constantly met with prejudice and whispered gossip. Soon, she was pressured into a transfer—a so-called “promotion opportunity” that actually moved her to a more remote department with darker night commutes. Xiao Fang grew increasingly fearful. During the roll call at her new department, the line supervisor publicly addressed her: “Aren’t you the one who got raped?” The next day, she returned to her original department and recorded a video of herself clocking in for her former line supervisor. “I’m back,” Xiao Fang declared, determined never to leave again.
Filled with anger and helplessness, Xiao Fang registered a Weibo account and posted an article titled “I Reported a Women’s Safety Issue and Ended Up in Trouble.” Soon, the article trended on Toutiao’s hot search list. Xiao Fang was summoned to the office once more and was interrogated: “What’s your relationship with Toutiao? Are there any foreign forces behind this?”
At this point, the resigned life she’d been conditioned to accept by factory and family no longer held. “Before the harassment incident, I thought I could keep dreaming, keep fantasizing. But after it happened, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer—because I only have one life. If I waited, I’d be left with too many regrets,” Xiao Fang said.
Xiao Fang began reimagining the life she truly wanted. This time, she didn’t consult anyone. She enrolled in self-study exams for an adult college diploma. She learned numerous skills: elderly care, maternal and infant care, pastry making, driving, and more. “That period was incredibly fulfilling. I suddenly tackled everything I’d previously been afraid to try.” In the past, tasks like learning computer operations would make Xiao Fang feel “unable to do it.” But now she searched on her phone or actively borrowed others’ computers to figure things out on her own. “I don’t know how, but I can learn.”
Learning these skills gave her a sense of security. “If one day the factory doesn’t need me anymore, I have my certificates and my skills. I can go do something else.” She also encouraged the female workers around her to get certified. “Let everyone find their own value,” she said. “Don’t just be a screw in a machine, don’t just be someone the factory decides is useful or useless.”
On graduation day, Xiao Fang received the diploma she’d “dreamed of for years” and donned her academic gown. She hoped many would join her for photos and share her joy, but she stood alone. Still, she was happy. “What could have happened years ago only happened now, but I feel it’s never too late.” Immediately after graduating from junior college, she began self-studying for her bachelor’s degree.
When a play based on Xiao Fang’s experience of sexual assaults was being rehearsed, she refused to play the lead role. “I’m still in the mindset of that situation—I can’t do it.” On opening night, Xiao Fang sat in the front row, weeping uncontrollably. The play had been adapted: The female worker who was grabbed by the molester managed to escape and ultimately subdued the perpetrator. In the darkness, someone draped a cotton coat over Xiao Fang’s slender frame and whispered, “You’ve already been so brave.” After the curtain call, everyone came to embrace her. Xiao Fang realized that stories in this world could unfold differently.
Starting in 2018, Xiaofang and other female workers launched the Night Shift Patrol Group. After finishing their night shifts at 8 a.m., the patrol team would walk through areas with weak surveillance or heavy foot traffic until 11:30 a.m. Before this, she often couldn’t help thinking how much better it would have been if someone had been patrolling when she was attacked. “Even though society can be so aloof and cold, I still want to be a source of warmth.” During patrols, she bought bread to distribute to homeless people on the streets.
Xiao Fang never regretted reporting her situation to the Women’s Federation or publishing her stories online—even after facing so much trouble, retaliation, and misogynistic glances, and becoming labeled a “troublemaker” who defied management and constantly drew the ire of her superiors. Yet for nearly a year, fear and shadows kept her awake, and she felt prickly and closed off like a hedgehog. On the night her article went live, she slept soundly for the first time in ages.
She learned one thing: “Some things only end when you speak them aloud.”
Friendship on the “Blacklist”
At 3:30 p.m. on April 7, 2025, the first trial of Xiao Fang’s lawsuit against Foxconn commenced. Over thirty members of the public—including workers, freelance writers, artists, office professionals, vocational students, and a rock singer who had performed songs about female factory workers—came to the proceedings.
Most of these “onlookers” were women. Xiao Fang was surprised and deeply moved. “I never imagined so many people would care.” When she arrived, her face was sallow and her hair disheveled. Amidst the chaos of preparing for the trial the previous day, she had also livestreamed for six hours. Waking up exhausted and battling a cold, she had dragged herself to the community health center for an IV drip. Her attorney arrived at 2 p.m. After a hurried fifteen-minute review of evidence and cross-examination strategies, they rushed to the court.
By law, public trials permitted audience attendance. Yet at the entrance, the court clerk said, “Space is limited; the courtroom is small,” refusing entry to the crowd. Xiao Fang fiercely insisted: “The plaintiff’s side also needs an audience.” This was her way of protecting and showing solidarity with her supporters—she wanted them all to be admitted. Ultimately, six additional seats were added for court observers. In the entire courtroom, aside from the judge and the court clerks, Foxconn had sent only one legal representative. The observer seats were filled entirely with Xiao Fang’s supporters.
After the hearing, the supporters gathered for a meal. Among them were two former Foxconn employees, Lao Zhou and Youling. In 2015, when Lao Zhou was Xiao Fang’s current age, he was unlawfully dismissed by Foxconn. After winning an arbitration case, Foxconn counter-sued him. Lao Zhou prevailed in both the first and second trials. Reflecting on their past experiences, Lao Zhou and Youling remarked, “Our stories are exactly the same as Xiao Fang’s,” and then added jokingly, “All three of us are now on Foxconn’s blacklist.”
This “blacklist” referred to being permanently barred from employment within Foxconn and its subsidiaries. Once, when Lao Zhou passed by Foxconn, his ID card triggered a red light and alarm at the gate’s card reader, prompting security guards to rush over. Another coworker who joined Youling in the collective effort to recover their housing fund contributions later secured a job offer through a headhunter to return to Foxconn six years later. During onboarding, the screen displayed: “status: review failed; result: Central Security & Cafeteria Control List!”
Yet through all these years, the bonds of friendship among those on the “blacklist” endured. At the dramatic performance that once reduced Xiao Fang to tears, it was Lao Zhou who slipped a cotton coat over her shoulders from the audience. Well-versed in labor law, he was Xiao Fang’s closest confidant—besides Youling—offering her the most legal guidance and support. In their social circle, Lao Zhou reposted every article Xiao Fang shared about her situation. Reflecting on this support, Lao Zhou said, “We share a common destiny—like grasshoppers on the same string. When capital strikes us down, my first instinct is to support her, help her stand up, and encourage her to fight back.”
Artist Jimu also participated in Xiao Fang’s arbitration and first trial. He was moved by “Xiao Fang’s resilience,” noting how “she kept standing up to defend her rights while sharing her experiences with others.” Over their year-long friendship, Jimu observed: “No matter how much support someone has behind them, fighting for your rights is ultimately a solitary battle.”
After being fired from Foxconn, Xiao Fang returned home for the Qingming Festival to sweep her ancestors’ gravesites. In her vulnerable state, relatives surrounded and belittled her, “cursing me until I cried.” As she prepared to file for arbitration and needed 5,000 yuan for legal fees, her father—a sanitation worker over sixty, deeply tanned—had just been fired for “eating too much and being less productive than a deaf-mute person.” Her father told her, “I don’t have money to withdraw from my bank card now.” Unable to bear it, Xiao Fang only let him give her 2,000 yuan from his final paycheck. The father who had always taught his children “to learn to endure” shook his head repeatedly: “I've never sued anyone in my entire life.”
In April 2024, Xiao Fang graduated with a bachelor’s degree in human resource management. She began searching for clerical positions, but companies either required night shifts or imposed heavy performance metrics, often rejecting her due to her lack of relevant experience. Faced with rent and debt, Xiao Fang had no choice but to take on various temporary jobs. She worked as a day laborer assembling data cables. The “sweat and blood” reality manifested itself in her calloused, bleeding hands and swollen, aching joints. Assembling seven or eight thousand cables a day netted her just over 200 yuan, with 60 yuan going to the agency. She delivered food in sweltering heat, struggled her way up the staircases, faced penalties for delays, and endured verbal abuse. As a produce store manager without a contract, she fought back when her wages were withheld. By arguing the store lacked proper operating credentials, she negotiated payment from the imposing owner.
These experiences felt like a re-socialization ritual after leaving the factory—more challenging than the assembly line, with less labor protection and respect, and yet they allowed Xiao Fang to validate her capabilities and embrace the freedom that “life holds many possibilities.” She told herself: “As long as I can adapt, I can grow.” Xiao Fang never wanted to return to the factory again.
But in her daily life, Xiaofang remained trapped in a cycle of self-destruction. “Even after I got out of the factory, I kept tormenting myself, never letting myself off the hook.” She often suffered from insomnia and ate only one meal a day. On weekdays, she started work at 9 a.m. and returned to her dormitory around 11 or 12 p.m. The musty smell filled the air of her room, and occasionally cockroaches crawled around or mice darted out everywhere. She’d chase them away, beat them, then mop the floor again. Youling teased her, “If you’re lonely, just chat with the mice.”
On October 15, 2024, the arbitration ruling favored Foxconn. Soon after, rent for her poorly ventilated rental unit increased. Her father demanded she add a single man willing to marry into their family on WeChat. “If you successfully date him, I’ll transfer money for you to continue the lawsuit,” he said. Xiao Fang resolved never to answer her father’s calls again. “I don’t want to harbor any illusions about my family anymore.” She hit rock bottom.
But the community and its rhythm of life gradually lifted her up. Xiao Fang’s urban village was surrounded by vegetable patches, camping grounds, plaza greenways, parks, and ancient village ruins— “it's so healing, like returning to the countryside.” She passed a street stall selling produce and stopped to have a chat with the vegetable-selling auntie. After they got to know each other, whenever she caught a cold, the auntie would specially save mug wort leaves for her to steep in her bathwater. The auntie was about the same age as Xiao Fang’s mother. The community also organized a book club where women gathered to read, discuss life, and share their joys and sorrows. Hearing others’ stories, Xiao Fang would cry in empathy and share her own experiences. “My heart opened up.”
They read Louise Hay’s Trust Life: Love Yourself Every Day with Wisdom from Louise Hay. “With mutual support and companionship, I finally began loving myself and stopped hurting myself.” Working as a nanny, Xiao Fang would push the baby in a stroller through different parks chosen on a whim each day. Surrounded by the mountains and trees, beneath blue skies and white clouds, she’d suddenly realize: So much time had passed. “I should cook a proper meal and treat myself well. The case isn’t that important—I am.”
Within just two months, Xiao Fang gradually learned how to run an account: The first three seconds were crucial, every word must be precise, videos shouldn’t be too long, and comments could summarize key points. She went through three phases in managing her account. At first, she fixated on views and follower growth, but her videos kept getting flagged and deleted. Then, she spiraled into emotional collapse amid private messages filled with online abuse: “go die,” “jump off a building,” “you traffic-baiting fraud,” “got a husband?” Now, she maintained a steady, skilled rhythm of updates.
Xiao Fang knew that consistent content would gradually help grow her audience and reach, meaning more people would hear her stories. Her viewers even included international friends from Southeast Asia and Syria. Compared to her earlier days—shouting at the top of her lungs, repeating the same points over and over, and crying emotionally—she’s much more relaxed now. During the Dragon Boat Festival, she streamed under her secondary account (@XiaoFang’s Stories) with the theme “Just Chatting,” while playing “The Internationale” as the background music, as if it was a gathering with friends. At the dinner table after the first trial concluded on April 7, Lao Zhou remarked, “Companionship is an invisible force.”
Constantly harassed by DingTalk messages from their supervisors, Youling and Xiao Fang met almost daily. This time, Xiao Fang took on the role of the listener. They met on the lawn of the park next to the rental apartment that had once healed Xiao Fang and then lay under the summer shade of trees. Youling brought disorganized documents for Xiao Fang to help analyze and read carefully. Xiao Fang would emphasize the need to start preparing for arbitration, collecting original evidence, and writing out the step-by-step process for her to pursue the recovery of social insurance contributions.
Xiao Fang had become Youling’s “teacher.” As they reviewed every detail of Xiao Fang’s struggles in preparation for the impending battle, Youling reflected, “Xiao Fang wasn’t always this strong. But now, her heart is like a stubborn stone—nothing can break her.” Encouraged, Youling devised a countermeasure for the factory’s refusal to grant overtime: endure, keep learning, and use the extra time to finish her unfinished novel. “Life spans only decades. I just need to live well and cultivate myself.”
When Jimu suggested taking a photo of the “rights-defending sisters,” Xiao Fang didn’t know how to position her hands and smiled shyly. Youling interjected, “Treat the camera like the bosses. No smiling—you must look down on it.”
“Why should I look down on it? I’ll smile if I want!” Xiao Fang nearly shouted. “I’m living well! I’m happy every day! Since leaving Foxconn, my life is better than ever!”
The day after that photo was taken, on June 9, Youling went to the social security bureau to demand her benefits. An officer gently reminded her: “If you start the process while still employed, I’ll be blunt—you need to prepare for a long ride.”
On the third day, when Youling returned to the factory to work, she was surrounded by several people who barred her from entering the workstation. They presented a piece of paper and recited it mechanically: “According to the regulations above, you have violated Article 150, Clause 3 of the company rules. We are now proceeding with your dismissal.”