By Vision Times TV
Once celebrated as the flagship of China’s rapid development and tech innovation, Shenzhen — once synonymous with speed, innovation, and prosperity — is now facing an unmistakable economic chill. As foreign capital retreats, manufacturing contracts, services falter, and people leave, residents and business owners alike describe a ghost town that has grown eerily quiet on all fronts.
“Can you believe this? This is Shenzhen, why does it feel so desolate?” asks one blogger in a viral video. He adds, “I dare say 90 percent of brick-and-mortar shops in Shenzhen won’t survive this winter. Since September, almost every business — fruit stalls, vegetable sellers, clothing shops — have been barely hanging on. Which industry do you think can still survive like this?”
From boomtown to sleeping in the streets
A scene once unthinkable is now becoming common: Unemployed residents sleeping outdoors under bridges and highway overpasses. Videos circulating online show people bedding down with simple blankets at bus stations, plazas, and parks in Longhua. “I’ve been homeless in Shenzhen for over 20 years,” one man says. “I used to sleep under bridges and in parks, now I sleep in the square.”
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But those sleeping rough are no longer only migrant laborers. They now include software engineers, construction workers, and food-delivery riders. By day they scour the city for work; by night they lay cardboard on the ground. To save money, some eat instant noodles and drink tap water, unable to afford even a 15-yuan hostel bed.
“Everyone thinks Shenzhen is paved with gold — that you can easily make over 10,000 yuan a month. In reality, it’s hard to find a proper job at all. Many dream of coming here, but once you arrive, you realize finding work is harder than finding a partner.”
Scarce jobs and even scarcer pay
Online listings promise 7,000–8,000 yuan monthly salaries or 28–30 yuan hourly rates, but residents say such jobs rarely reach ordinary workers. “What you actually get is often 5,000–6,000 yuan; if you’re lucky enough to find work at all.”
A blogger warned viewers not to move to Shenzhen blindly: “Here’s a hard truth: Shenzhen has 18 million people, yet the streets are empty, malls are empty, restaurants are empty, and even when you go back to the countryside, it’s empty. This is the CBD. It used to be packed. Where did everyone go?”
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Street vending, once a fallback, has become exhausting and precarious. “We thought food stalls were easy money. Only after coming to Shenzhen did we realize even getting a full night’s sleep is a luxury,” said one blogger. Working until 1–3 a.m. nightly, they barely cover costs. Still, quitting feels impossible: “If we give up now, what else can we do? Any new job means starting from zero. So we keep pushing.”
Shenzhen’s “surviving” sectors, residents say, are big tech, such as Huawei and Tencent, and export trade, including cross-border e-commerce. But even there, competition is cutthroat: “The cake is fixed. After labor and costs, there’s barely anything left. Making money is much harder than before.”
Others urge entrepreneurs to stay away altogether: “Labor and rent here are three to five times higher than inland cities. Technology is stagnant, industrial overcapacity is real, and everyone sells the same things. Ordinary people shouldn’t start businesses here.”
Factory owners echo the warning: “I ran a factory in Shenzhen for 20 years. Foreign trade orders collapsed; we shut down and transformed. Upstream demands cash, downstream drags payments. Bills come due monthly, but receivables take six months; if they come at all.”
Consumption downgrades across the city
Residents point to three telling shifts:
“Ten years ago, with just over 10 million people, food stalls were packed at 3 a.m. Now the population is nearing 20 million, yet Longgang’s industrial city is empty. Bao’an’s urban villages are nearly the same. Prime districts are plastered with ‘For Rent’ signs. Where did everyone go?” asks the blogger.
Foreign capital pulls out
Shenzhen’s rise was fueled by decades of Taiwanese and foreign investment. Today, industrial zones in Longhua, Bao’an, and Pingshan are thinning as Taiwan-funded factories relocate to Vietnam, India, and Indonesia, equipment in tow, leaving workers jobless and desperate.
Taiwanese businessman Liao Jinzhang, who operated on the mainland for over 20 years and exited in 2022, said the turning point came with the 2018 trade war launched by U.S. President Donald Trump. Earlier, firms had no choice but to follow competitors into China to stay price-competitive. Now, most early-generation Taiwanese electronics manufacturers have left.
He also cited tightened speech controls, the 709 lawyer crackdown, and reports of mass detentions in Guangdong as factors eroding confidence. On costs, Liao recalled: “In 1995, a worker earned about 200 yuan a month; with overtime, 300–400 was good. Inland wages were around 80 yuan, so people rushed to the coast in hopes of finding work.”