What imported labour really does to local jobs and small firms
"Imported workers again — they'll take every Hongkonger's job!" In a cha chaan teng, a few construction workers grumble over breakfast. In recent months that sentiment has echoed across the district, and imported labour has become one of the most sensitive topics in the city. The data, though, tells a more complicated story than the shouting suggests.
What The Numbers Say
Start with the headline figures. Since the policy was loosened in 2023, Hong Kong has approved more than 70,000 imported-worker quotas — a big number that amounts to just 1.75 per cent of a workforce of roughly four million. Nor has unemployment visibly risen with the inflow: in the first quarter of 2024 it held at 2.9 per cent, barely moved from a year earlier. That sits awkwardly with the job-grabbing narrative. So why do so many local workers still feel their rice bowls at risk?
The Real Tension
The anxiety is not hard to understand. Imports concentrate in exactly three sectors — construction, food and beverage, and care — which happen to be both the city's shortest-staffed and the livelihoods of many low-skill workers. Watching the inflow, they naturally worry about their own chances. "I've been out of work for three months, and at every interview I hear they've hired imported workers," sighs Mr Chan, a fifty-year-old decoration master. Yet most imported workers hold jobs locals genuinely decline: statistics show more than 80,000 vacancies in Hong Kong going long unfilled, most of them physically heavy work with long hours.
Why SMEs Need Them
Small firms tell the other side. "It's not that I want to hire imported workers — I simply cannot hire locals," says Mr Lee, who runs a small renovation company. He advertised HK$20,000 a month for painters last year; three months brought two applicants, and both quit within a week. With an ageing population and young people avoiding the trades, whole industries face a generational break, and imports are plugging it. That said, the problems are real too: a minority of bad employers do use the schemes to hire cheaply and drag industry wages down — not the mainstream, but visible enough to stoke resentment.
The unease runs deeper than jobs. Years of inflation have pushed up rents, food and transport while grassroots wages stand still, which makes any perceived threat to employment feel existential. "I've nothing against imported workers, but I have a family to feed and I can't afford to lose," says lorry driver Mr Zhang, whose monthly pay has not risen in five years. That economic insecurity, more than prejudice, is the emotion under the opposition.
Striking The Balance
The way out is shared. Government needs to enforce harder so the schemes are never a wage-suppression tool; employers should genuinely prioritise local workers on reasonable terms; and workers need upskilling for a changing economy. This is not a zero-sum fight over rice bowls but a question of allocating labour sensibly — the two groups can complement each other. One restaurant owner describes the arrangement that works for him: imported workers in the kitchen's hardest posts, local staff front of house and in management, each playing to their strengths, with the business better for it.
Rather than treating imported labour as a threat, the smarter question is how to use the system to solve a real shortage — while government backs local workers with retraining and job-matching. What Hong Kong needs is not exclusion but a fair, transparent regime that fixes shortages and protects local rights at once. Next time the topic erupts over breakfast, it is worth setting the emotion aside and reading the full picture in the data; that is where workable answers live.
Want to know more about Hong Kong's imported-labour policy and how firms apply for quotas? Visit our imported-labour service page or contact us for professional advice.