Foreign Giants Flee China: Leaving Millions Jobless and Cities Silent

On November 4, reports from Chinese mainland outlets highlighted the abrupt exit of U.S. tech firm SAS from the market, resulting in the dismissal of its entire 400-strong workforce in the country. Employees were given a deadline of November 14 to accept severance terms. According to a Beijing-based staff member, the announcement came via an internal email and a brief virtual meeting on October 30. The company's Chinese-language website has since gone dark, and recruitment listings no longer include roles in China. Having first entered the region in 1999 and establishing R&D and support facilities in Beijing by 2005, SAS had built a reputation as a top employer for 17 consecutive years, lauded for its employee perks and positive work environment. This departure adds to a growing exodus of international businesses from China in recent times, sparking heated debates on local social networks. Users express outrage, questioning why foreign entities should profit from Chinese consumers or dominate domestic markets. Such sentiments, while seemingly patriotic, raise concerns about long-term progress. Pursuing this isolationist mindset has already deterred numerous overseas firms and tourists, plummeting visitor numbers to levels reminiscent of the 1970s. Does this truly foster advancement? Historical precedents suggest otherwise. Consider Japanese giants. NEC abandoned televisions for AI and autonomous vehicles. Toshiba shifted from TVs to advanced medical imaging like CT and MRI systems. Fuji pivoted from film to cutting-edge stem cell technology. IBM ditched PCs to pioneer quantum computing. In contrast, during the same era, Chinese players like Hisense continued churning out televisions, Lenovo persists with computers, and Baidu relies heavily on advertising revenue from searches. Turning to firms that have fled China, their global success remains undiminished. Samsung, despite pulling out, dominates worldwide sales. Amazon, post-withdrawal, reigns as the e-commerce king. Google, absent from the market, leads in search innovation. These cases underscore a harsh truth. No entity is indispensable. As one online commentator noted, true barriers to growth aren't external rivals, but internal forces beyond reproach. A petty merchant might eliminate competition in a local bazaar, only to fabricate demand through coerced internal purchases, a facade of self-sufficiency. The crux lies in China's openness and global competitiveness. Shunning international players under the guise of self-reliance risks forfeiting markets and innovation incentives. The genuine adversary isn't foreigners, but the regime's myopic policies and paranoia. Observers point out that while commentators tread carefully to avoid naming entities, the implications are clear. Such candor on censored platforms is rare and often short-lived, with videos vanishing and creators facing scrutiny. Yet, the ripple effects of these exits touch every societal layer. For instance, on June 30, the shutdown of Celestica stirred widespread online regret. As a premier electronics manufacturer from Canada, listed on major exchanges, it originated from IBM's Canadian arm in 1994, boasting $6 billion in 2017 revenue. Its Dingguan facility, launched in 2004 with $32.5 million capital, specialized in high-tech gadgets, employing up to 10,000 at peak. With branches across Shanghai, Suzhou, and beyond, it symbolized elite employment for Chinese IT professionals. After two decades, its closure evokes sorrow among alumni. A video blogger lamented how authorities threat self-destructive tactics alienate investors. Brainwashed masses echo these calls, but the outcome is self-inflicted pain. Why do everyday wages stagnate? Why do expenses outpace earnings? Simply put, capital flight from abroad and domestic entrepreneurs retreat create dual woes, vanishing jobs and eroding industry benchmarks. Fewer positions mean fiercer competition, driving salaries downward. Without three highs, firms offering superior pay, perks, and stability workers settle for subpar norms, ultimately footing the bill for policy failures. It's akin to self-sabotage. Misguided by flawed schooling and propaganda, many low earners miss the bigger picture, prompting enlightened users to highlight realities. One moment, barring foreigners from hotels. The next, celebrating corporate exits. This force is a pivotal choice. Embrace openness or seal borders. Isolation breeds enmity start with one nation, and soon the globe turns hostile. Hatred, fueled by state narratives, ignores historical lessons. Recall World War II. Poles don't shun Germans in lodgings. Americans welcome Japanese to Hawaii despite past atrocities. These societies advanced beyond grudges, while others linger in resentment. Propaganda vilifies the U.S. as evil, yet overlooks its pivotal aid, resisting Japanese invasion via Flying Tigers, founding universities like Yenching, and facilitating WTO entry that transformed China into a manufacturing powerhouse. Not allies like Pakistan or Russia, but America-enabled economic ascent. Enemies perceived via state lenses may be allies. Proclaimed friends, foes. Base alliances on justice and civility, not edicts, to avoid seclusion. History warns, isolation missed exploration, industrialization, and digital eras. Without reforms, poverty akin to remote African or Chinese hinterlands would persist. One user concurred, but critiqued U.S. WTO support, viewing it as naive expecting prosperity to democratize a communist regime. Instead, it disrupted trade norms and eroded global standards. Awakening worldwide exposes CCP alignments. Facts reveal, collaborations with U.S., German, Korean, Japanese, Taiwanese firms thrive, while engaging Russia, North Korea, Syria. Iran remains elusive. As exits accelerate, invite those old friends for investment perhaps then grasp globalization's irony. Foxconn's subsidiary, Hongfujian Precision, ceased operations on August 28 due to order shortages, idling thousands. Despite a billion yuan investment in Zhengzhou last July for expansion, closure followed swiftly, highlighting industrial shifts. Foxconn's entanglement with authorities' possibly coerced returns amid trade wars and cross-strait tensions suggests inevitable full retreat. As a Taiwanese icon, it exemplifies the sector's exodus. Witness Kunshan's decline. Once 70% of global laptops originated there, with Apple and Dell queuing for assembly. Slogans like overtime frenzy and order overload defined it. Now, rising rents, wages, materials, eco-regulations, and Vietnam's allure erode Kunshan's speed into Kunshan's struggle. Factories like Foxconn, Compal, Wisternflea, quieting streets, shuttering eateries, and dimming vibrancy. These plants fuel jobs and ancillary businesses. They're apps and saddens locals. A netizen pinpointed the route. Indifference to outflows, private collapses, job woes, trade disruption stems from insulation economic pains barely touch elites, who may even profit from resource concentration. Low competition funnels assets to the privileged. CCP's unfinished leapfrog. Ambitions clash with anti-Western core, dropping facades once empowered, igniting trade conflicts. Exits ensue, met with defiant rhetoric masking blunders. Cycle intensifies, more flight, feigned nonchalance, accelerated departures. Citizens awaken to self-inflicted wounds. Truth-tellers amplify. Ultimately, the regime's downfall brews internally. In modern China, this story has become painfully familiar. Divorce is no longer rare, nor is it shocking. According to data from the Ministry of Civil Affairs, millions of couples and their marriages every year, and more than 80% of those divorces are initiated by women. On the surface, it might seem like a sign of progress women gaining independence, taking control of their lives. But behind those numbers hides a collective sorrow. Studies and surveys show that over 90% of women eventually regret their decision. For most, the aftermath is not liberation, but disillusionment. The illusion of a better life. In the early days after divorce, many women try to convince themselves that it was worth it. They post cheerful photos, talk about self-discovery, and insist that happiness is just around the corner. But reality soon catches up. Loneliness grows like a shadow, especially for mothers raising children alone. Social pressure intensifies. Relatives whisper that she should have endured a bit longer. Friends grow distant. Even daily tasks become heavier when there's no one to share them. What begins as emotional exhaustion often turns into financial struggle. Rent, child care, food, and education, everything that used to be shared now doubles in cost. In a society where wages stagnate while living expenses rise relentlessly, single parenthood is a silent war. Some women try dating again, hoping to rebuild what they lost. But most realize that remarriage is not as easy as they once thought. The older they get, the smaller their circle becomes. The dream of finding someone better fades into a quiet acceptance that perhaps they had once left behind the person who loved them most. The Economic Trap At the core of most divorces today lies one word—money. The foundation of marriage in modern China has shifted from love to economics. The cost of living in big cities, from housing prices to children's education, has risen beyond imagination. Couples who once dreamed of a home together now spend decades chained to their mortgages. A husband earning 20,000 yuan a month may have 15,000 deducted automatically for housing payments. The wife works overtime just to cover groceries, utilities, and care for their aging parents. In these conditions, romance fades. Marriage becomes an exhausting partnership centered around survival. When the economy tightens and incomes shrink, even small conflicts explode into wars. A missed paycheck can turn affection into accusation. When one spouse loses a job or a business fails, the other often loses faith. For many women, divorce seems like an escape from endless pressure. But outside the marriage, they soon discover that single life under the same economic strain is even harder. In lower-tier cities and rural towns, the picture is not much different. When a man's business collapses or debts rise beyond control, the family follows him into crisis. A house that once symbolized stability suddenly becomes a liability. Data shows that in families owing more than half a million yuan, the divorce rate triples. The moment a husband loses his earning power, the foundation of marriage collapses. Love alone cannot pay the mortgage, the hidden weight of debt. Many men in their 40s and 50s once lived what appeared to be the perfect middle-class dream, a car, an apartment, two children, and good schools. But a single failed investment, a factory layoff, or a pandemic shutdown is enough to destroy everything. When they fall into debt, their wives rarely stay. Some leave quietly. Others file lawsuits for property division. Few endure. The modern Chinese marriage is built on fragile ground, dependent on financial stability rather than emotional resilience. It is not that people have become more selfish, but that life has become more merciless. When the cost of existence exceeds income, affection becomes a luxury. Social media amplifies the illusion that happiness lies elsewhere that freedom or a new partner will solve everything. Influencers and bloggers repeat the mantra of starting over while ignoring the emotional and financial aftermath. For those who listen, divorce often feels like self-sabotage disguised as empowerment. When marriage becomes a burden. In many households, marriage is no longer a sanctuary but a battlefield of bills and expectations. Couples who once supported each other now compete to survive. Every month begins with numbers, mortgage payments, school fees, medical costs, and ends with arguments. The emotional warmth that once sustained families has been replaced by anxiety over money. The modern home, instead of being a shelter, becomes a pressure cooker. Middle-aged couples in particular face suffocating burdens. They are squeezed between caring for aging parents and supporting their children's future. Many belong to the so-called sandwich generation, trapped between two responsibilities with no room to breathe. When financial strain grows unbearable, the weakest link breaks, often the marriage itself. A growing number of couples now use strategic divorces to protect what little they have left. On paper, they separate to avoid joint debt or business liability. In reality, they still live together, share meals, and raise children. It's a survival tactic born out of desperation. What once was an emotional bond has become a legal arrangement, stripped of warmth and sincerity. The Gender Burden In small cities and rural regions, another shadow falls over modern marriages the old tradition of sacrificing daughters for sons. Many women still feel obligated to support their brothers financially, even at the cost of their own families. These brothers-supporting women work tirelessly, send money home, and even sell property to fund their brothers' weddings or businesses. Some divorce their husbands just to redirect assets toward their birth families. But few of these sacrifices are ever rewarded. Once divorced, they often find themselves abandoned by the same relatives they tried to help. Sister-in-laws refuse to host them, calling divorced women bad luck. The brothers they once supported turn cold. What was meant as an act of love turns into a lifelong lesson in regret. This phenomenon exposes the deep roots of patriarchal culture that still persist beneath China's modern surface. Despite education and urbanization, many families still teach daughters that their worth lies in service to their parents, to their brothers, to their children, but rarely to themselves. When these beliefs collide with economic reality, tragedy follows. Beyond the economic and cultural pressures lies another destructive force vanity. In some cities, the obsession with social status and appearances has corrupted even the institution of marriage. Lavish wedding ceremonies, exaggerated bride prices, and competitive consumption have turned love into a display of wealth. Families demand massive dowries from grooms, treating marriage as a transaction rather than a partnership. The result is predictable resentment, financial ruin, and emotional collapse. Many young couples begin their marriages already burdened with debt from the wedding itself. Others break apart before even marrying, unable to meet the unrealistic expectations of both families. What should be a celebration of unity becomes a negotiation of price tags. In today's China, marriages crumble not because people love less, but because life demands too much. Every failed relationship carries the echo of a larger truth, that the problem is not with love itself, but with the world that has made it too expensive to sustain.