In the spring of 1942, Mao Zedong—already a dominant figure in the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), though not yet its formally elected chairman—addressed a hall packed with some of China’s leading intellectuals, military brass, and artists. Mao, himself a diligent writer of classical-style poems, shared a vision of creative work that was centered on workers’ experiences and made in service to the masses rather than elites.

“There is in fact no such thing as art for art’s sake, art that stands above classes, art that is detached from or independent of politics,” he reportedly said.

In the spring of 1942, Mao Zedong—already a dominant figure in the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), though not yet its formally elected chairman—addressed a hall packed with some of China’s leading intellectuals, military brass, and artists. Mao, himself a diligent writer of classical-style poems, shared a vision of creative work that was centered on workers’ experiences and made in service to the masses rather than elites.

“There is in fact no such thing as art for art’s sake, art that stands above classes, art that is detached from or independent of politics,” he reportedly said.

After the CCP took power in 1949, this vision turned into official policy. The party became deeply involved in literary production, using books as a means of nurturing patriotism and capturing the struggle against capitalism.

Much of the doctrine that shaped this vision came from the socialist realism tradition. Introduced at the 1934 First Congress of Soviet Writers, artists were expected to make art understandable for ordinary workers, and to connect imagery to ideology, portraying the peaceful life of Soviet citizens and the nobility in constructing a new society.

In the decades that followed, Chinese so-called workers’ literature depicted peasants and laborers as the leaders of the socialist revolution. Today, workers’ literature often centers on China’s estimated 320 million gig workers, who weave through Beijing traffic on delivery scooters or sell face cream in front of smartphone cameras. Yet one thing has remained consistent: The state decides which worker narratives get elevated—and, in the digital age, which get scrubbed off the internet.

Delivery employees work in Beijing on July 24, 2024. Adek Berry/AFP via Getty Images

“This is … the boundary of Chinese literature: you can depict suffering, but you must remember, your suffering has nothing to do with the government,” said Murong Xuecun, the pen name of Hao Qun, a Chinese novelist now based in Australia who has published multiple books. His writing was banned in China, and he eventually became among the many dissenting voices forced to leave the country.

The CCP thus finds itself in a bind: Its founding principle is to represent the working class, yet it has to manage, and often suppress, the very narratives that reveal the challenges this group faces. “Ideologically the CCP should still support workers’ literature, but this can be problematic when the workers in question write about how tough their lives are in present-day China,” said Michel Hockx, a professor of Chinese literature at the University of Notre Dame.

In July, a collection of poems written by Wang Jibing, a food delivery rider, was awarded one of the country’s top literary awards. In 2023, Hu Anyan became a national bestseller for I Deliver Parcels in Beijing, a........

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