Editor’s note: In 2015, Lü Dewen, a professor at Wuhan University’s School of Sociology, conducted field research on the catch-me-if-you-can relationship between “chengguan” — China’s urban management officers — and street vendors, focusing on Lumo Road, a 2.3-kilometer artery connecting urban and rural areas of Wuhan, capital of China’s central Hubei province. Lü’s findings formed the basis for his new book, “On Lumo Road: Chengguan, Street Vendors, and Street Politics.” The following is an excerpt.

Every morning at 8 a.m., Yu Zhong crosses the fence at Optics Valley International Plaza onto the pedestrian bridge spanning Lumo Road. This marks the start of the daily cat-and-mouse game between the urban management officers and street vendors here, one in which Yu is indisputably the main player.

Urban management officer Yu is a slight man, bespectacled, gentle in manner, and slow and deliberate in speech. Though he’s in his 40s, he looks 10 years younger. He never wears a uniform, but everyone who makes a living on this street knows exactly who he is. The stretch of Lumo Road he patrols stretches less than 2 kilometers. Normally, walking from one end to the other takes just 20 minutes, but each trip usually takes Yu over an hour. Dealing with vendors encroaching on the roadway is time-consuming.

Lumo Road is lined with more than 100 stores, and Yu needs to greet each shopkeeper and remind them to move any goods placed on the sidewalk back inside. On any round, he will encounter a few dozen unlicensed street vendors. It’s Yu’s job to tell them to pack up — which he does politely, but sometimes firmly. Normally, shopkeepers and vendors dismiss him with a hasty “OK, OK” and gesture like they’re about to pack up, moving in slow motion. As soon as the officer turns his back, they stop moving entirely. Every so often, Yu comes across a shopkeeper or vendor who protests or simply ignores him. In those cases, Yu will lecture them, but in the end he usually lets it go. If he encounters a new face, however, his tone is sharper, his expression sterner.

Inevitably, newcomers launch into an explanation of where they are from and why they’re hawking on the street, often describing hardships and family difficulties. Yu takes this as an opportunity to size them up before he explains the local urban management rules, insisting that they fall in line.

Assistant urban management officers are stationed along the street, and Yu meets with each one daily to get a detailed picture of what’s happening and to deal promptly with any problems that arise.

The most notorious figure on Lumo Road is “Crazy Grandpa.” Nearly 70 years old, he’s prone to erupting into invectives at the slightest disagreement. The assistant officers are helpless against him, so Yu often has to step in. If Crazy Grandpa is in a good mood, he might say, “Fine, I’ll put my stall away — at least until you leave.” If not, he’ll curse at Yu along with everyone else.

One rainy day, when Crazy Grandpa was particularly irritable, he followed Yu with his bicycle from one end of the street to the other, hurling insults for a full hour. To him, Lumo Road is a refuge, a place where he has the freedom to break the rules.

Other shopkeepers and vendors don’t enjoy the same privileges. When they cross the line, Yu gathers the assistant officers and takes more forceful measures, such as confiscating their goods and ordering them to report to the urban management office for further “remediation.” Though it sounds like a punishment, this remediation is more about education. Vendors are required to write a statement promising to change their behavior, and after a week, they can reclaim their confiscated items.

After finishing his patrol, Yu can finally head back to his “base of operations” for a break. Although Lianfeng Plaza has a kiosk for chengguan with basic amenities — a desk, chairs, and air conditioning — Yu prefers to spend his time at Dingkang Pharmacy across the street. The staff know him well, and have provided him with a locker to store his belongings. Yu doesn’t usually like wearing his uniform, but when it comes to formal occasions, like enforcing the law or hosting visitors, it wouldn’t be appropriate to appear in his street clothes. He stores his uniform at the pharmacy, ready for when he might need it.

The pharmacy is on a busy intersection beside the Optics Valley International Plaza. As a result, Yu encounters a wide range of people. Whenever the managers of the nearby night market see him, they always loudly offer their loyal assistance, attempting to ingratiate themselves. Yu isn’t interested in making small talk — he doesn’t even know their names. He simply refers to them collectively as the “Kids.”

However, Yu is always willing to engage with the police officers on duty at the security kiosk. They work together closely. Despite his experience, Yu is haunted by his law enforcement conflicts. For urban management officers, police support is crucial.

Police have much more authority than chengguan — something Yu sometimes envies. But he acknowledges that being a police officer isn’t an easy job. With heavy foot traffic, Lumo Road attracts all sorts of scammers. At various spots, people can be found running rigged Chinese chess games and hawking fake antiques, counterfeit paintings, or “discount iPhones.” Yet, unless a crime is reported, there’s little the police can do. By contrast, urban management officers can easily intervene, as these activities fall under the category of illegal street vending.

Yu is a typical “street bureaucrat,” who has direct contact with the public. Though he sits on the lowest rung of the system, he possesses significant discretionary power. He has a detailed understanding of urban management laws and the subtleties of “street order.” On patrol, he can spot illegal or inappropriate activities in a single glance. However, in most cases, he chooses not to intervene. Even when he sternly recites the law to violators, this doesn’t necessarily amount to enforcing the law. A more accurate interpretation would be that he’s simply asserting his stance, which generally aligns with his approach of reasoning with errant street vendors.

He knows that this cat-and-mouse game isn’t a one-man show. Shopkeepers and street vendors on Lumo Road are hardworking players in this drama. In August 2016, the Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development began promoting the “721 Work Method” in urban management, proposing that 70% of problems be solved through service, 20% through management, and 10% through enforcement. This approach encourages local governments to shift from passive management to active service. In a way, wasn’t this encouraging Yu to navigate between emotion, reason, and law in his interactions with street vendors?

Whether law enforcers like it or not, the apparent chaos of Lumo Road has its own unwritten rules and informal schedule. When chengguan see unlicensed street vendors, they instinctively perform the gestures of chasing them away. In response, the vendors put on a show of retreating. Mutual interference, mutual tolerance — this is the norm for urban management enforcement.

(All names are pseudonyms to preserve the anonymity of participants.)

This article, translated by Carrie Davies, is an excerpt from “On Lumo Road: Chengguan, Street Vendors, and Street Politics,” published by Peking University Press in July. It is republished here with permission.

Editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.

(Header image: Visuals courtesy of Lü Dewen and reedited by Sixth Tone)