The men watching over China’s safest cities

Behind the gates of the world’s safest urban communities, the daily lives of guards reveal more than just safety.

In recent years, one comment I’ve kept hearing from international friends about China is how safe the country feels. Visitors often tell me how surprised they were to see packages from online orders left outside people’s doors without anyone guarding them, or how comfortable it felt to walk alone at night. Yet beyond pointing to the many CCTV cameras lining the streets, few seemed to dig into the deeper reasons behind this sense of safety.

Another big difference, compared with many Western countries, lies in China’s residential communities. Here, many people live in what’s called a xiaoqu “小区” — a cluster of apartment buildings grouped together within a gated compound, with multiple entrances for people and vehicles. Whether it’s a luxury development, a middle-class complex, or what locals half-jokingly call an old , shabby little community (lao po xiao “老破小”), one thing is consistent: there are usually security guards posted at the gates.

When I lived in the U.S., I rarely saw this. Some upscale apartment buildings might have a front desk on the first floor, but that’s quite different from the setup in China. And the guards you see at the entrances here—often middle-aged uncles in their forties or fifties—don’t exactly project overwhelming defensive power. Still, they’re part of the standard landscape of almost every community. Think about it: millions of Chinese people pass by their community’s guards every day on their way to work or errands, and in turn, these guards quietly watch over the daily comings and goings of one of the most populous countries on Earth.

But who are these guards, really? Beyond the official role of “keeping the community safe,” do they serve other functions? And how do Chinese residents view them?

Today’s newsletter is about China’s community security guards. Guangzhou-based Southern Weekly recently interviewed Dr. He Wapi, a cultural anthropology Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin–Madison, who conducted fieldwork between 2017 and 2018 in Shanghai’s Dadi Community—an enormous residential compound of more than 100 high-rise buildings, once home to some 60,000 residents. I found the interview fascinating and wanted to share it with you.

Dr. He Wapi

Dr. He is also a novelist and the writer behind the WeChat blog Meiyao Garden, which explores criminal cases in China, with a special focus on unsolved mysteries and headline-making incidents.

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Security guards, as the name implies, exist to protect safety. In a residential community, one might assume that when a sudden violent incident occurs, guards should be the first to respond. That was precisely what He Wapi thought at first.

For her doctoral dissertation, He Wapi chose to study security guards in Chinese residential communities. Between 2017 and 2018, she conducted fieldwork in Dadi Community, a Shanghai neighborhood with over 100 high-rise buildings and a population that once peaked at 60,000. Only then did she realize that reality was far from what she had imagined.

While having meals with the guards, she heard them discuss a 2016 homicide that occurred in the community. She casually remarked that if they had arrived earlier that day, they might have saved the victim.

“Are you kidding? How could we stop someone who’s gone mad? He had a knife, and we had nothing,” one guard said. “I wouldn’t even try.”

She asked the other guards what they would do if they faced a similar situation again.

“Run, of course!” one said. Another added that they would call the police before fleeing.

Of course, the likelihood of encountering such emergencies is low. After 2010, the SkyNet surveillance project expanded across cities in China. As a result, urban crime rates began to fall, yet the number of residential security guards continued to rise. Why does the guard presence keep growing even as the environment becomes safer? He Wapi sees it as a reflection of middle-class anxieties over social status and wealth.

1. Moving Stone Blocks, Clearing Trash, and Cracking Down on Illegal Group Rentals

Southern Weekly: What inspired you to study security guards?

He Wapi: I’ve always been interested in crime research and have paid close attention to public safety data. Compared to other developing countries and even some developed nations, urban crime rates in China are actually very low. According to official reports, China’s homicide rate in 2016 was 0.62 per 100,000 people—one of the lowest in the world. By contrast, the U.S. rate in 2015 was 4.88. Between 2012 and 2016, major violent crimes in China dropped by 43%.

Given how safe Chinese cities are, I wondered: why are there so many security guards in residential communities? How much does their daily work actually relate to public safety? In a global context, Chinese residential guards are quite unique.

Southern Weekly: What were communities like when you lived in the U.S.?

He Wapi: I initially lived in graduate dormitories, scattered along sloping hills with no walls. Any outsider could walk into the apartments. The only community I lived in with security measures had controlled access at each building entrance, but the overall area was open. I never saw community guards where I lived.

In the U.S., only a few gated, upscale communities can afford 24-hour guards. These guards usually receive training in restraint techniques, first aid, and emergency equipment. Even without firearms, they carry tools like batons, pepper spray, and handcuffs. China is different. Today, whether it’s a luxury development or an old neighborhood, guards are standard. I have relatives living in an old Shanghai lane — there’s no property management, but the local residents’ committee still hires guards for them.

Southern Weekly: Was your fieldwork in Dadi Community as you imagined?

He Wapi: I chose Dadi Community because of its reputation for chaos and danger. I thought I would witness many dangerous incidents and see guards actively perform their security duties. But reality was very different.

Within two days of arriving, the property management needed to move three large stone blocks that were blocking a road, so that an engineering vehicle could pass. Captain Ade and two guards arrived. Each block weighed 100-150 kilos, difficult for two people to lift. Guards spend most of their time handling such trivial tasks.

Southern Weekly: So what role do guards actually play during emergencies?

He Wapi: In Dadi Community, the security contract clearly instructs guards not to harm themselves or others, and not to let themselves be harmed. When danger arises, they are not encouraged to confront criminals directly—they are told to call the police.

Most guards have no combat training and are not allowed to carry weapons. In 2014, a Shanghai guard killed his team leader with a knife after being reprimanded in front of other guards. Following that, many security companies banned dangerous tools in monitoring rooms or dormitories. Today, when faced with danger, community guards simply dial 110 or 119. In some new communities, guards are now provided with shields and anti-riot forks.

Southern Weekly: Shields and forks are defensive—guards cannot actively attack.

He Wapi: Exactly. It reflects a lack of trust in guards. For security companies, any injury to a guard is costly. In Dadi, a company earns about 10,000 yuan per month—an accident could wipe out years of profit. Some companies now deduct 30 yuan from guards’ salaries monthly to buy accident insurance, so the insurance covers any injuries.

Southern Weekly: Besides moving stone blocks, what other “trivial tasks” do guards perform?

He Wapi: For example, after renovations, residents often leave building materials in stairwells. Since the cleaning staff are mostly elderly with limited strength, guards are asked to clear the trash. Another example: in 2017, shared bikes were popular. Despite signs forbidding them in the community, hundreds of bikes still entered daily. Two guards would search the entire community each night, load the bikes onto carts, and move them outside in batches.

Southern Weekly: These tasks don’t seem like they should be part of a guard’s duties. Why are they willing to do this work?

He Wapi: The thing is, in Dadi Community there’s a lot of manual labor in public areas that needs to be done every day. Who else could handle it besides the guards? The scope of a guard’s responsibilities is vague —there’s little clarity on which resident requests or emergencies they should respond to. Because of this ambiguity, security companies, residents, property management, and the local neighborhood committee often overstep boundaries, asking guards to handle chores beyond traditional security duties.

The most obvious example is “Cracking Down on Illegal Group Rentals.” In 2016, when the campaign to regulate illegal group rentals began (per capita living space below the legal standard, or occupancy exceeding the permitted number per room), the street office required the security team to send four or five guards to participate in routine apartment inspections. It was physically demanding work, requiring four half-days per week. The street office promised 50 yuan per guard per day, but the payment was never delivered. Although the guards were disappointed, no one asked the street office about it.

I asked a guard why he hadn’t followed up. His response was, “We didn’t really lose anything, we just spent the time.” They tend to underestimate the value of their time and labor, and property managers, residents, and street offices may share the same mindset: a guard’s time and effort aren’t considered valuable.

2. Male, Young, Strong

Southern Weekly: You mention in your book that in 2017 the Dadi Community guards underwent changes: instead of being directly hired from Shanghai locals, property management outsourced to security companies, which mostly employed guards from outside the city. What differences exist between local and non-local guards?

He Wapi: Dadi Community is divided into east and west sections. The east outsourced its guards in 2014, while the west followed in 2017. In that year, a local guard in his fifties suffered a fatal heart attack during a night shift. The property management compensated his family 700,000 yuan (about 98,000 U.S. dollars). After that, they outsourced the west section too, so that any future incidents would be the company’s responsibility, not theirs.

Local guards are usually over 55, sometimes over 60. Most live in Dadi or nearby neighborhoods, with socioeconomic backgrounds similar to the residents. The property management pays them only Shanghai’s minimum wage, 2,600 yuan every month (about 365 U.S. dollars), but provides social insurance. They are legally aware, largely undisciplined, and difficult to manage. They work 8-hour shifts, enjoy paid sick leave, and legal holidays.

I conducted fieldwork with Wenwu Security Company in the east section. There, outsourced guards work 12–13 hours a day, 7 days a week, with no holidays. If they take a day off for illness or personal matters, their pay is deducted.

Southern Weekly: How did local guards gradually get replaced by non-local ones?

He Wapi: China’s first security company was founded in December 1984 in Shekou, Shenzhen. It was a state-owned enterprise, established by a police officer, Zhang Zhongfang, who borrowed 100,000 yuan from the local government. Later, the government allowed property companies to hire guards from the market, but private capital was barred from entering the industry. Around 2000, policies stipulated that security service companies could only be fully state-owned, often led by mid-level police officers.

In 2010, the Regulations on the Administration of Security Services allowed private capital into the market. From then on, security companies became independent of the police. Newly established private companies competed for contracts, offering lower prices and better services. Property management, seeking profit maximization, easier oversight, and lower risk, increasingly outsourced guards.

Southern Weekly: You mention that guard age is a standard set by security companies.

He Wapi: At Wenwu, service standards are strictly age-based. Grade A guards are under 35, Grade B between 35 and 45, and Grade C between 45 and 55.

Wenwu Company implements Grade C standards at Dadi Community. Yet even so, not everyone meets the criteria. Out of 40 guards, many are over 55.

Captain Ade believes he advanced quickly in the industry due to his height—1.88 meters (6’2”)—and young, being in his twenties. He assigns older or smaller guards to night shifts, thinking the property manager and residents won’t notice their age at night.

Southern Weekly: Don’t personality or education matter?

He Wapi: When Ade interviews new guards, age and physique are his main concerns. Work experience, education, personality, mental resilience, and even criminal history are largely ignored.

In 2018, 25-year-old Xiao Liang was promoted to team leader. He spoke softly and had a slight stutter. Even without a commanding personality, a young, fit guard can be made team leader. In Dadi, although guards change frequently, most are over 45, while day and night shift leaders never exceed 30.

Southern Weekly: Why are age and physique so important?

He Wapi: Residents view this as the most visible sign of a community’s status. Young, tall, handsome guards signal that high property fees are needed to afford them—indicating a high-end neighborhood. Conversely, a community staffed with elderly guards lowers the perceived status and can affect property values. Whether residents truly believe younger guards provide better safety is secondary. Based on my field interviews, appearance and symbolism matter more.

At the start of the 20th century, Thorstein Veblen coined the term “conspicuous consumption,” describing how the leisure class uses spending to showcase power, wealth, and status. At its core, conspicuous consumption is about wasting time and resources. The demand for young, tall guards carries this same logic: in an aging society, among those willing to work as security guards, such labor is increasingly scarce—and therefore costly.

Southern Weekly: In China, security guards aren’t highly regarded socially. Why do young people choose this job?

He Wapi: Many have limited education, making other jobs hard to come by. Plus, long-term guard work gradually dulls reaction speed and focus. Once people settle into the routine, switching to jobs like food delivery becomes difficult—it requires constant attention, quick reflexes, and vigilance on the roads.

At the same time, young guards are more mobile. Dadi Community is near the train station, so some can move into the guard dorm the day they arrive, saving on hotels. They can work as guards while job hunting, then leave as soon as they find a better opportunity.

3. Expressing Fear as a Marker of Status

Southern Weekly: When you interviewed residents, many mentioned wanting more guards. What reasons did they give?

He Wapi: Most residents officially cite fear of crime. But when I asked dozens of them about the issues that actually bothered them, they almost always mentioned group rentals, aging facilities, poor maintenance, or lack of parking.

They want more guards and a fully gated community mainly to prevent outsiders from using community amenities, like the greenery or parking spaces.

Online complaints about Dadi often focus on property values. Residents paid a premium—between 5 million and 20 million yuan—but over time, the neighborhood became comparatively cheap. They blame property management for disorder and high group-rental rates, which hurt the community’s reputation. Guards are a key part of that management.

Southern Weekly: So residents’ demand for guards isn’t just about fear of crime?

He Wapi: Exactly. What residents seek in a gated community is not just physical safety but also protection of asset value and social status. In major cities, a family’s biggest investment is usually their home, often under a decades-long mortgage. Fluctuations in property value can directly affect their social and economic standing.

For example, wealthy buyers of large luxury apartments prefer communities made entirely of large units rather than mixed-size developments. Fewer residents and uniform socioeconomic status—the “purity” I describe in my book—are the goals. A visible, disciplined team of young, tall guards not only keeps outsiders out but also signals the residents’ wealth and status.

Southern Weekly: In your research, guards themselves often didn’t know how to respond when asked if they were afraid.

He Wapi: That’s right. People often focus on middle-class residents’ fears, but rarely ask guards, “Are you afraid on night shift?” If asked, guards may be uninterested—or amused. They usually say things like, “What’s there to be afraid of?” or “Shanghai is safe. Dadi is safe.”

Research shows that people living in safe communities often report more fear than those in dangerous ones. U.S. data indicate low-income residents are more likely to experience violent crime or burglary. For them, fear revolves around losing housing or income, not crime itself, so they rarely voice concerns about neighborhood safety.

Middle-class anxiety over social stability or food safety is common, while migrant workers worry about pensions and long separations from family. These are fundamental survival issues, real worries that aren’t expressed. Middle-class fear, however, is socially amplified, reinforced through communication and shared concern.

Southern Weekly: Why aren’t guards’ basic survival worries given more attention?

He Wapi: Many reasons. They may lack the skills or experience to express themselves. They may feel they’re at the bottom and unqualified to speak.

Meanwhile, middle-class residents rarely admit worry over status or wealth in public. Instead, they translate it into fear of crime. Fear of crime allows them to adopt a victim role, gain moral authority, justify more guards and stricter gates, and indirectly protect property values.

Low-income groups don’t have an alternative mode of expression, so they stay silent. In this context, expressing fear becomes a symbol of status, a marker of membership or class.

Southern Weekly: Can this situation change?

He Wapi: Anthropologist Caroline Humphrey argues that fear comes from knowing others have nothing and may act desperately. One way to reduce that fear is to acknowledge the “other’s” right to express all emotions, including fear, and empower them to avoid desperation.

When the fears of marginalized groups are recognized, and “the other” is accepted as part of “us,” anxiety can truly be eased. For the middle class, whose main worry is downward mobility, well-managed security personnel provide both safety and peace of mind.

Southern Weekly: Are you still in touch with the guards you interviewed? What are they doing now?

He Wapi: Some, yes. A few have returned home after sending their children to college, prioritizing family over income. Others have switched to delivery work. Captain Ade now works for a security company in another city as a regional manager, overseeing multiple communities.

Xiao Liang, who worried about finding a girlfriend, moved to a higher-end community as a team leader, earning over 8,000 yuan a month. He told me that even as a team leader, he’s still a guard—less desirable than a university graduate earning 3,000-yuan a month when it comes to dating in Shanghai. He faces a dilemma: in his thirties, he can’t find a girlfriend in Shanghai, and at home, he can’t find a job with comparable pay. Whenever I ask, he says he must return home soon—or it’s “over.” Yet he hasn’t left, because the job opportunities are here.

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