by / Yao-Lin Tu
Photography/ Kun-Han Lee, Jun-Shuo Chen
One out of thirteen foreign laborers in Taiwan escape before their term of employment is terminated. In Taiwan, apart from the huge number of over 600 thousand authorized migrant workers, there are still another 53 thousand on the run.
Trapped in the prison of a harsh working environment, migrant workers are separated from local ones by the wall our policies created.
To reveal their plights, Up Media reporter reached migrant workers across Taiwan, recorded their oppressed stories in the hope of finding out the main reason behind their escape.
Tantri, mother of migrant workers
It was a Sunday afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the glass roof of Taipei Train Station, shining on the vast crowd of migrant workers. Sitting right on the floor of the hall, migrant workers were enjoying the luxurious moment they had earned after a week of hard work. Among laughter and noise, a book-filled suitcase lied quietly open on the floor.
This is the “Floor Library,” set up singlehandedly by Tantri, a migrant worker from Indonesia. Recalling the establishment of the library, Tantri said it all began with a dream. In fluent Chinese but with some grammatical errors, she started with stories from before she came to Taiwan.
Back in Indonesia, people’s general impressions of migrant workers in Taiwan are mostly negative. “So, I wondered if that was true. I had to go to Taiwan and find out for myself. I questioned myself of what I would do if these issues existed. I would tell my families the truth if it's at odds with what I had heard.”
Tantri arrived in Taiwan seven years ago. She got in touch with many migrant workers who worked as fishermen, and found that most of them lacked leisure activities, so they end up drinking and causing troubles. Furthermore, due to the language barrier, they had nowhere to turn to if ever they came across a labor dispute.
To ameliorate this situation, Tantri spent her leisure time looking after migrant workers. “I taught them all about rights and wrongs as well as what is allowed and what is not.” Aside from setting up the library, she founded KOMPIT (Komunitas Pelaut Indonesia), an association that helps people deal with labor disputes. KOMPIT was commissioned by IETO to aid in Indonesian migrant worker issues.
Gradually, migrant workers started to call her “Mother Tantri”. “Go to Mother when you run into difficulties.” As a result, Tantri shouldered worries from hundreds of people. She showed us how her tablet was filled with lots of unread messages, and told us how she sacrifices her sleep for the sake of migrants’ problems every day.
“I don’t know who would take care of them when I go back to Indonesia.” Speaking of this, Tantri’s proud look started to vanish, and she ended up in a heavy silence.
If You Can Take It, Why Run?
Conflicts between migrant workers and employers are inevitable. This leads us to the real question, "What triggers workers to run away?" A survey conducted by the Ministry of Labor cited expectation for higher payment and poor employer-employee relationship to be the two main causes of runaway laborers.
However, as I devoted myself to investigating oppressed workers, I came to realize that the deeper I dug, the more injustice was revealed.
Humiliated by Employers
"It started with my hands and head being touched. I even believed him when he said I was like a daughter to him," said Esa, who had escaped for seven years.
Recalling the night she nearly got raped by the assailant, Esa spoke with her lips shivering. "He was absent for dinner due to sickness, so “Granny,” my employer, sent me to visit him.” Her heart pounded fast as fear ran through her veins.
"As I went into his room, he turned on the light and pulled me to the bed. He was on top of me, like raping me." She struggled to break free and eventually fled back to her employer’s house. However, Esa decided to choke back her tears and take the secret along with her baggage and escape without mentioning a word.
That was the night she made up her mind. "I'll run away by the dawn," she said to herself.
Seven years had passed, yet the trauma still veiled Esa's pain like gauze on a wound. "Even now, I sometimes sleep in tears when recalling that night."
" I don't understand why anyone would do this to me. Working a stable and fine job in Taiwan is all I asked for," said Esa, with tears in her eyes.
No Way Out
When Esa was first harassed, she did call 1955, the line set to protect migrant workers.
"I called them, but they asked me for the address and further evidence such as photos and video, which is impossible for me to hand in based on the fact that I had no mobile phone or any document at that time."
Esa then turned to the agent, but ended up with a taunting response, "It is impossible that he has an interest in you, you are not that pretty."
Isolated and helpless, Esa had no choice but to see escaping as her one and only way out.
Speaking of the limitations of 1955, Ying-Dah Wong, the director of the Service Center and Shelter for Migrant Workers said, "1955 is merely a unit that answers phone calls, which means that it has no public authority to deal with the complaint cases."
Thus, once the phone call from a migrant worker is treated as a consultation call and not a call to file any complaint, it will not be filed for a report nor transferred to the Labor Affairs Bureau, the place where cases are processed.
Wong said that even if a case is filed, it sometimes takes about two weeks for the inspector to show up. "How suffering it is for a worker who thought he would be rescued immediately after calling for help!" Wong said.
"Moreover, the service quality of operators at 1955 is varying." Wong said that some might even block the case from being filed or processed.
He brought up the case of a female migrant worker who was groped. The operator responded by saying," This is called a friendly touch. You are overreacting."
Not only does 1955 block cases, but the Labor Affairs Bureau does so, too. Wong explained that the procedure of filing a complaint is rather complicated, and it is possible for the case to be obstructed during the long process.
To illustrate the predicament, Wong gave another example. There was a factory worker who was illegally assigned to housekeeping work. With the attempt to file a complaint, she took photos, videos, and even drew up the floor plan of the house to make her case. As she brought all the proof to the inspector, to her surprise, the inspector said to her, "Why didn't you film the employer who assigned tasks to you?"
"Filming employers while they are unaware is already risky, not to mention how requesting employers for official shots could jeopardize her own safety." Speaking with a spark of rage in his eyes, Wong continued, "It is already difficult enough for migrant workers to request change of employer even if they have evidence, let alone for the ones who don't."
Difficulties in switching employers
"Whether you are Taiwanese or not, as long as you are human, you should always have the right to quit a job if it upsets you. Unfortunately, for migrant workers, they are deprived of their rights,” said Rong-Rou Chen, a member of TIWA (Taiwan International Workers' Association).
According to Article 59 of the Employment Service Act, a migrant worker can only switch to a different employer under specific circumstances, such as in the event of their employer's death, their working place being shut down, or other reasons of which the responsibility cannot be ascribed to the employee.
Restrictions turned more lenient in 2008 so that migrant workers were allowed to switch employers as long as all three parties were in agreement. However, it is still of no big help for Agnitta or any other worker in the similar situation.
In accordance with the regulations set by the Council of Labor Affairs, migrant workers who are waiting for a change of employer should have their employment transferred within 60 days (in certain situations, 120 at most). Those who fail to accomplish in time will be repatriated.
But this, in fact, violated the Philippines’ law. The Philippines government has banned brokerage fee charge imposed on family-related workers since 2006. Given this, the $65,000 NTD which Domary paid for was an "agency fee in disguise" in the name of fees for educational training, health check, visas, and flight tickets.
Do Taiwanese agencies benefit from the over-charged agency fee? The answer seems to be an open secret in the industry.
"It is common for agencies on both sides to benefit from such collaboration. Some even flat out admit it," Chen said without hesitating. Unfortunately, governments tend to shirk responsibility by arguing, "We are not in charge of foreign affairs." This not only leads to the common practice of overcharging, but also leaves migrant workers in debt before coming to Taiwan.
Migrant workers leave their hometowns hoping for nothing more than a better wage. However, in their first year in Taiwan, after deducting debts and other fees from their monthly salary, there is only little left in hand. What's worst, if they happen to meet a bad employer, those in debt seem to get trapped in a money-built prison, hardly able to make any move.
Undermined Labor rights
"Family Care Attendant Wanted. 10 hours per day, 24-7. Hourly Wage: $63 NTD ($2 USD)"
It is unlikely that anyone would apply for the job after reading the hiring notice above. Yet, according to data from the Ministry of Labor, the average monthly wage for family care attendants is $18770 NTD. Try dividing the amount by 10 hours, which is the job’s average working hours, and we arrive at an hourly wage of $63 NTD.
If we multiply the number of migrant family care attendants, 210,000, by 36.2%, the number of workers "who never take a day off", we have 76,400 migrant family care attendants working without a rest.
This indicates that, in Taiwan, there are now 76,400 migrant family care attendants working in the ridiculous condition mentioned in the hiring notice.
"How can someone work at a job without working hours regulation and holidays? " said Chen.
TIWA has long pushed the government to include migrant family care attendants in the Labor Standard Act in order to ensure base salaries and legal rights. Yet, nothing has happened so far. A special act named Household Service Act, drafted by the Ministry of Labor, was also aborted.
Besides the rotten policies, new policies seem to exclude the rights of migrant workers. Speaking of President Tsai's policy of Long-Term Care Plan 2.0, Wang and Chen both agreed that excluding migrant workers is no different than allowing their circumstances to deteriorate.
Chen said in a determined tone, "We will keep on fighting the government even if and after the Long-term Care Plan 2.0 is settled."
Escaped. What’s next?
It was a hot and stuffy afternoon. Our car stopped outside the shelter, where some swarthy men, all with clear-cut facial features, stood in a group. Among them, one man held a hair razor in hand, trimming another’s hair in a skilled manner. Laughter spread in the hot air, warming up the atmosphere, which was best described as leisure and carefree.
This is the day-to-day in a shelter located in northern Taiwan.
For those who live in the shelter, some are waiting for a new job, while some are caught in labor disputes, and still others are those usually referred to as “runaway migrant workers.”
These runaway migrant workers reached this shelter in time. Now that they have settled down, they have access to legal assistance, psychological counseling, and vocational education. Moreover, they get to meet new friends from their hometown. To them, the shelter is more than a haven. It’s home.
“Usually, we don’t take in runaway workers unless they just escaped recently.” Mr. Wong said they must obtain approval from the Department of Labor before accepting a migrant worker. “It’s quite impossible to take in those who has run away for more than 3 days.”
Employment is terminated once a migrant worker skips work for more than 3 days. Thus, in Mr. Wong’s terms, those who have “run away for months and are now impossible to be redeemed” have no choice but to stay displaced. Eventually, they live a life full of fear and uncertainty.
“At the beginning, I felt scared whenever I saw a police,” said Esa. “I refused to make friends because I was too afraid to tell them I was a runaway worker. I was afraid of being betrayed.” In the 7 years of her runaway life, Esa gave up not only legal protection but also her only life support, friendship, in a foreign place. Unable to open up to anyone, she alienated herself from other migrant workers. Even in her days off from work, she remained alone instead of joining social meetings.
When it comes to her runaway years, Esa said she relied on illegal agencies to broker jobs, but she had to switch jobs every 3 or 4months. Without health care, the costs of seeing a doctor rose from $200 to $1500 NTD ($7 to $50 USD) per visit. She had to endure illness to save money.
Seven years have passed, and now Esa’s life has turned better. Having saved enough money, she was about to go home. I met her at an Indonesian store before she left Taiwan. Esa talked about her struggling years in Taiwan and concluded that, “If you have a choice, don’t run. It’s better not to.”
Our Prison
"If you have a choice…" A sentence that crudely reflects the ferociousness of Taiwanese people.
"It is not right to exploit others in order to live a better life," said Chen, shaking her head. She continued after a long sigh, “People used to ask me: why help foreigners?” It seemed to imply that non-citizens were entitled to less rights; the government neglected them because they don’t have the power to vote. In fact, these thoughts were what gave way to a “you versus us” ideology that led to the “No voting rights, no human rights” reality.
As her words dawned on me, I wondered, what if migrant workers’ long deprived rights are not the only things trapped in this “prison?” Could it be that the civilization, the legal system, and even the humanity of what we Taiwanese people have long been proud of are altogether trapped in this “prison” we built?
In the end, we have left our wavering conscience in the dark, together with the trapped migrant workers, crying desperately for help.
photo not correlated
photo not correlated
"I barely ate during those days. All I did was cry," said Angitta when recalling the days in the agency's dormitory while waiting for her new job. Not only did she have no income, but she had to pay $300 NTD ($10 USD) for room and board. This, in fact, contradicts the regulation from the Council of Labor Affairs that states: “If the original employer chooses not to house the migrant worker and instead requests the agency to manage such affairs on their behalf, then the employer and the agency must come to an agreement regarding the cost of the migrant worker’s room and board." However, agencies prefer not to offend the employers, so they seldom charge the employers," said Wong.
As a result, many migrant workers would rather escape after considering the additional costs and the risk of being repatriated. They choose to flee on a path that they believe there is still chance for a promising future.
A Prison Built by High Brokerage Fee
"Mama, please come home."
"I don't want to talk to you. You are always crying."
This is a conversation that single mother Domary and her 8-year-old daughter, who is now in the Philippines, repeat on the phone every day.
"I told her that she should be independent. It was hard to leave her alone, but I needed to go." To provide her daughter with a better life, Domary left home for Taiwan when her little girl needed her the most. Before her departure, she borrowed $65,000 NTD ($2096 USD) to pay for the fee charged by the local agency.
