2. Massage workers

Massage workers’ labor is deeply stigmatized, specifically when they are racialized massage workers. Migrant Chinese women massage workers’ precarity is manufactured under gendered racial capitalism and the larger carceral structures such as border control, occupational licensing, sex work control, and more. This uneven precarity of migrant Chinese and other migrant Asian women massage workers is also reflected in the uneven distribution of care under gendered racial capitalism. Massage work is a form of intimate care labor that is feminized and structured around hierarchies that are entrenched in racial capitalism. In “Capital,” Grace Hong (Reference Hong, Tompkins, Aizura, Bahng, Chávez, Goeman and Musser2021, 34) describes racial capitalism as a regime that situates “racialized and colonized peoples and cultures as the limit or the outside to the modern definition of the human to legitimate and naturalize the conditions for accumulation and extraction.” Similarly, racial capitalism manufactures an uneven structure of labor that attributes less value to the work of Asian massage workers. Most Chinese massage workers work an average of 13 hours and earn between $100 and $150 daily. Workers often encounter violence and social stigma in their everyday lives, from family to community members. Given the lack of supportive social networks outside of the profession, Chinese massage workers’ mutual network of support and care for one another is a necessary form of relational self-care practices to sustain each other as migrant women abroad.

As a feminist scholar invested in abolition and workers’ rights, I choose not to determine what counts as massage work based on anti-sex stance, legality, and respectability politics. There is a large number of unlicensed massage workers, Chinese and non-Chinese, who are unable to or do not want to be licensed. My usage of the term is intentional and reflective of my labor politics of recognizing all workers doing the labor of massage—licensed or unlicensed, a provider of erotic labor or not—as massage workers. I acknowledge the labor that workers perform and resist reinforcing the binary of massage work, as the boundaries between workers and the types of work they do are porous. Some massage workers never provide erotic labor, some provide erotic labor when they wish, some only offer erotic labor in a specific workplace, and some provide erotic labor to selective clients, while others are more consistently offering erotic labor to clients. The term helps disrupt the neat separation and manufactured difference between massage workers.

3. English party at Yu-ting’s dorm

Tonight, Yu-ting concocted a delicious chicken soup with dāng guī (angelica root), chuān xiōng (lovage root), and other herbs chosen to promote health. I thanked Yu-ting profusely, knowing that the Chinese herbs she selected were not cheap. She quipped, “Aren’t we friends?” Knowing when to stop verbal gratitude, I made a mental note to bring her some rénshēn (ginseng) next time, one of her favorite herbs that she lovingly calls the root of life. After dinner, we sat down and conversed in English with Family Feud playing in the background. The group chose Family Feud because they liked learning about “what Americans are like.” They giggled at the answers to “Name something you put in your mouth but don’t swallow” and yelled out their answers loudly. Mei-xing yelled “yān (cigarette)” and the group made a strikeout sound, teasing her as they collectively said, “wéi guī! (infraction)” because we are only supposed to answer in English. Mei-xing laughed and said, “Cigarette” with a smoking motion. On my first visit, they asked me how I learned English and laughed at my answer, which was Gossip Girl. Now, they lovingly referred to our group as the gossip girls because “no one gossips like we do.” The gossip girls are middle-aged migrant single mothers and Mandarin speakers from rural towns. They struggle with community recognition and are often excluded from the very ethnic community that they live in and serve (even if they are careful about not disclosing their work). From sharing bad clients to establishments to avoid, to referrals of affordable Chinese-speaking lawyers, gossiping is a way for these women to exchange industry information, which I view as a form of community information sharing. The care web that Yu-ting curated out of her love helps her community develop more strategies for navigating the United States, not just as massage workers but as migrant women.

“Name something people do to relax,” Steve Harvey’s voice trills from the TV. The group collectively yells with passion, “Massage.” Yet somehow, massage was not amongst the top six answers. As the top answer of “read” is revealed, Xing-xing laughs and lets out a pffffft sound as she rolls her eyes. Later on, when “spa” was shown as an answer with as few as five votes, Hua-li says, “They must not go to very good spas. They should come to us.” The group laughs and continues with the practice session. This space is often a space of joy, care, and eager learning. Given the demanding work schedule, Chinese massage workers have little time outside of their paid work. This makes their relational self-care practices even more impressive. As a community of low-wage migrant massage workers who are seeking to improve their living conditions, these women use their precious spare time to practice English with one another to laugh and develop English skills to live better by way of maximizing their future working opportunities and creating more chance of autonomy so that they can navigate the English-speaking world with less assistance. This is not to mention the effort that each of these women put into the group. They remember each other’s birthdays, their parents’ death anniversaries, their menstrual cycles, and more. These women regularly text or call each other to make sure that they are safe. This English party group is just one example of communal self-care among many.

One evening, Yu-ting expressed, “I can make so much more as a server in an American restaurant, but I can’t because my English is no good. So, I do things like this for women like me so we can make better lives for each other. I see them in me, and they see me in them.” This stood out to me because Yu-ting’s sentiments revealed a connection to Black feminist conceptualizations of the self in community, specifically the many “I”s that bell hooks writes about. This departs from the neoliberal conceptualization of the self that exists in opposition to others. hooks (Reference hooks1989, 31) clarifies the difference between Black feminist practices of self-care, which understand the self as “embodying collective reality past and present, family and community,” and neoliberal self-care, which isolates the self from others.

Understanding the benefits of English proficiency, massage workers’ limited time and resources for language acquisition, Yu-ting practices relational self-care by building an infrastructure of learning for migrant women like herself. Yu-ting’s poetic language of the “me” found in each other reflects her deep understanding and awareness of her own and her community’s care needs. Making space for laughter and connection helps build the foundation of the relational self-care web that these Chinese women build and sustain for one another. From laughing together to making soup tailored to each other’s needs, these workers’ care web materially and emotionally sustains the needs of one another, which the state often neglects.

4. Ye-jie’s massage train

It’s a quiet Monday at a park in a Chinese ethnoburb in the Los Angeles metropolitan area. I unclasped my blanket as Ye-jie walked towards me with a smile. “It’s a little sunny today, I hope you brought a hat,” she said. Ye-jie is well known in her community of Chinese massage workers for organizing something she calls àn mó fēi chē (massage train). Every month or so, depending on her work schedule, Ye-jie organizes a massage train. Usually, 10–12 workers show up. Wan-yun arrived with a karaoke machine. Greeted with the group’s cheer, she said, “It’ll be a party. Let’s get started.” We chose our respective partners and sat in a circle to give each other massages. Usually, I end up massaging Ye-jie’s hands, which she said I do an okay job at. Doing an okay job is better than where I started—“terrible” in Ye-jie’s words. Due to my limited skills, I never accept a massage from others, as I figured I should and can afford to pay for one.

There is always food involved, one way or another. Chinese massage workers have minimal free time, making it challenging to organize these massage trains. Despite that, they make the effort to come to Ye-jie’s massage train to offer each other massages. Some even offer to take on shifts so that newcomers can join the train, while missing out on the opportunity themselves. As much as their hands are occupied with the task of massaging, they can enjoy food because their friend, who is the receiver, usually takes on the task of feeding the giver of the massage. Through the feeding of food, the flow of care becomes even more reciprocal. Naturally, this would not work if they received a shoulder or a back massage. However, it works well for leg and foot massages where the receiver and giver are facing each other. While leg and foot massages are nice, most workers want help with massaging areas that they cannot do themselves. Jia-xiao expressed, “Normally, I would massage myself where I could. My co-workers will help me with the areas that I can’t massage, such as the back and waist … It’s like mutual aid … It’s a matter of helping each other relax and resolve pain.” Since feeding while being massaged may not be possible during the massage, it is not uncommon for these women to end the massage train gathering with dinner instead. This time, we opted to go to a jiǔ lóu (Chinese banquet restaurant) for dim sum since we rarely meet during the day when the sun is out.

Ye-jie’s massage trains are social events created by and for migrant Chinese massage workers. With a deep understanding of how physically and emotionally demanding massage work is, Ye-jie created this event with her and other workers’ health and wellness in mind. Massage work is incredibly physically demanding, and career longevity is a primary concern for massage workers. Most massage workers (90%) I interviewed have expressed that massage work affected their health. As Ye-jie explains, “We use our hands six days a week, 312 days a year. Let’s say I only massage for 5 hours a day. That is 1560 hours of massaging! Wouldn’t your hands hurt after that?” I regularly observed bruises on workers’ hands and have heard of at least ten workers who’ve experienced wrist ligament tears, carpal tunnel problems, and saddle joint injuries. Most workers have experienced some form of physical trauma to their wrists, hands, and fingers as a result of massage work. This makes Ye-jie’s massage train all the more necessary. Understanding the effects of racial capitalism on these women’s bodies, Ye-jie uses this space to provide the much-needed care that she and her friends need to continue to live. To live for them meant being well enough to massage to make a living. These massage trains go beyond offering physical relief and care to Chinese massage workers; workers also share their massage techniques and often learn from one another to improve their massage practices, such as tips to alleviate wrist pressure. They exchange information that helps them cultivate skills and minimize physical injuries. A critical reading of migrant Chinese women massage workers’ radical care web reveals that Ye-jie’s massage train both helps care for workers and recalibrates these women for work (Sharma Reference Sharma2011, Reference Sharma2014).

The massage train is a relational self-care practice that emerges as an affective political act. Chinese massage workers take the time to create spaces, places, and sustainable practices where they and people like them can be well. Prioritizing the well-being of massage workers, I argue that Ye-jie’s massage train is a form of relational self-care that counters logics of racial capitalism, which characterizes Chinese massage workers’ bodies as strictly care-giving rather than care-receiving bodies. Even if they do not destroy capitalist structures, the massage trains help produce Chinese massage workers’ alternative relationships to the experience of care and massage under the waged work setting.

5. Chinese massage workers’ grassroots nexus of relational self-care

This article endeavors to rethink self-care through a Black and women of color feminist lens and the practice of relational self-care among Chinese massage workers. From wrapping dumplings to sustain a network of migrant women’s tummies to Yu-ting’s English parties to Ye-jie’s massage trains, I have witnessed a range of relational self-care tactics that migrant Chinese women make for themselves and their friends. While capitalism wants Chinese massage workers to be tired by assigning them the low-wage care work of massage, these women are defying capitalistic logics of capital accumulation through their relational care for each other. They pride themselves on providing multiple forms of care and intimacy for each other, given their mutual understanding of how racial capitalism exhausts them and commercializes their care.

While working-class women are still taking up care work to mediate the neoliberal state’s failure to provide healthcare for all, workers are also challenging the very logic that only some people are deserving of care. As Michelle Roberts (Reference Roberts2024, 6) writes, “care is messy and conflictual … care persists as an expansive frame that simultaneously reproduces injustice while providing opportunities for liberation.” This is the potential and tension of this migrant massage workers’ care network. On the one hand, massage workers are providing care for one another that the state fails to deliver. Some might argue that this ultimately benefits the state by supplementing free labor to mediate the state’s failure.

On the other hand, it highlights the potential of community care that the state repeatedly tries to stifle. By offering care within a community network, these workers are moving beyond capitalist logics of care to care for one another. It is planting a seed for others to see that community care is not only possible but radical. This could inspire others to build their network of community care outside of the state’s support. In these spaces of care, such as Ye-jie’s massage training, the hands of Chinese massage workers, which are often tools of paid massage work, become instruments of love and care that sustain other Chinese massage workers through tactics of relational self-care.

While care is deployed in many ways to reinforce capitalism’s violent structures, violence is not the defining aspect of care. Care work is often undervalued and underpaid, and care workers are often under-cared for. Despite this, care holds potential for rerouting some of the uneven relationships between care workers and care receivers. Just because care can be violent does not mean we should do away with care. On the other hand, just because care produces intimacy and relations does not diminish its violence either. In other words, while care as social reproduction is complicit with capitalism, care is also a tactic for challenging that complicity. By challenging the neoliberal logic that only those who are “deserving” (also coded by the state) should receive care, these Chinese massage workers are providing care for each other in the meantime. For the workers I have interviewed, these forms of care matter and make a difference. Since the state cannot change and invent a just system of care overnight, Chinese massage workers are engaging in mutual aid and relational self-care in the meantime. Given that care under capitalism is often provided at the expense of the care worker, this system of mutual care departs from state or capital care because workers only perform care when they wish to. This ability to choose when, who, and how much care is provided challenges the capital expectation and logic of care. Furthermore, this topples neoliberal capitalistic logics of deservingness. Instead of evaluating one’s deservingness of care based on income or productivity, workers choose to care for each other.

Finally, this shifts the subjects of care receivers and care relations under capitalistic logics. Working-class women of color often take on care work for middle-to-upper-class white American families. Chinese massage workers are hyperaware of the precarity and unevenness of care. In their relational self-care spaces, care is mutually and freely exchanged, not based on deservingness but based on willingness. In this grassroots network of relational self-care, care is not perceived as a low-skill endeavor, but rather as a highly skilled, transformative, and life-changing endeavor. Instead of reproducing inequalities, Chinese massage workers’ care practices challenge and mediate those inequalities by caring for those who are the least cared for, rewriting capitalist scripts of care relations and purpose.

The care that Chinese massage workers offer to one another provides a compelling nexus of grassroots relational self-care. The practices of relational self-care among Chinese massage workers are meaningful because this mutual relationship of caring interrupts the capital logic of competition and isolation that often exists between workers. Second, this shared care reimagines value beyond a monetary scale and instead creates alternative values, such as the ability to care for and help others. Finally, this creates a grassroots nexus of care that illustrates the alternative future of care. Altogether, this imagines new ways of relating and bridging through reciprocal care.