Silicon Sweatshops: Small signs of progress
Migrant workers at an Apple supplier say conditions have improved. But they're the exception.
September 13, 2010
TANZI, Taiwan — It's just after Sunday morning Mass on an overcast day in in this industrial, non-descript town in central Taiwan.
About 25 women in their 20s and 30s sit on plastic chairs in a meeting room at the back of a Roman Catholic church, dressed in jeans and simple blouses or T-shirts. They're giggling, teasing each other and cracking jokes in Tagalog and English.
They've just listened, along with 400 to 500 other Filipina migrant workers in a packed hall, to a Sunday sermon on forgiveness, loving oneself and rising above one's difficulties in life.
For these women, the difficulties are many. They live hundreds of miles from their husbands and families, sleeping in crowded dorms, to earn money in a strange, foreign land where they have few rights and are routinely exploited — as reported previously in GlobalPost's series "Silicon Sweatshops."
The good news: since that report, conditions have improved for this one small group of Filipina workers at a company supplying Apple and other high-tech brands.
The bad news: it's business as usual for many of the other 370,000 southeast Asian migrant workers in Taiwan, including those assigned to companies in the supply chain of the world's high-tech giants: exorbitant "placement fees," additional "broker fees" deducted from workers' hard-earned pay; and second-class status.
The workers trade away basic freedoms and rights for the chance to earn better money than they could at home. The story's the same in Japan, South Korea and other wealthy East Asian countries, which increasingly import cheap labor from Indonesia, the Philippines, Thailand, Vietnam and elsewhere to fill low-end jobs that locals don't want.
A better deal
The 20-some workers at the Taiwan firm Wintek said they had each paid $1,000 to $1,200 in placement, processing and other fees to a Philippines manpower agency to come to Taiwan (Taiwan guidelines supposedly limit such fees to one month's minimum wage, or $540). Then they forked over an additional $45 to $55 per month, or nearly 10 percent of their gross salary, to their Taiwan broker, fees that can add up to $1,800 for each three-year stint abroad and lower their take-home salaries to below minimum wage.
But by March this year, the workers said, Wintek had stopped deducting the monthly "brokers' fee" from their paychecks. Some workers were even reimbursed up to four months of such fees in cash. Brokers gave them back their passports, which until then had been in "safekeeping."
"Please extend to Apple our thanks," one worker said, as other Wintek workers nodded and murmured agreement.
All these changes were made with no explanation from Wintek or the brokers, workers said. They complained that they still hadn't gotten their "chops" — stamps needed for some financial transactions in Taiwan — back from their brokers. There's still no hotline for them to air grievances anonymously.
Nadine Lebrilla. (Jonathan Adams/GlobalPost)
Apple spokesperson Jill Tan declined comment, pointing only to a progress report earlier this year in which the firm highlighted the issue of excessive placement and brokers' fees. The company says it now considers this a "core violation" of its supplier code of conduct. It said its limit for such fees is one month's net wages and said "as a result of our audits and corrective actions, foreign workers had been reimbursed $2.2 million in recruitment fee overcharges."
Wintek spokesman Jay Huang confirmed the changes in a phone interview, but denied that pressure from Apple or any other customer were behind them. "It's not [because of] any pressure from customers," said Huang. "It's because we need to comply with social accountability on workers' rights and benefits. Maybe before, we didn't focus too much on this."
Huang said the changes were part of company-wide measures begun last year to help Wintek earn SA8000 certification (a global "social accountability" standard for corporations developed by Social Accountability International, and in Wintek's case awarded by German certification body TUV, according to Huang). He said Wintek was now paying the monthly Taiwan labor brokers' fees.
Johara Santos, a 28-year-old from Tarlac Province, said she works in a three-woman unit cutting small screens for Apple. She said Wintek officials had not communicated with them about any of the changes, but did warn them that Apple auditors were coming in May. "They told us to clean, and said 'don't talk so much,'" said Santos. "They wanted us to behave."
Another Filipina who gave the name "Lei Ai" works in a four-woman unit making screens she believes are for Apple laptops and iPods. She works on the 8 p.m. to 5 a.m. graveyard shift, taking home $315 per month after deductions including "forced savings," which she can only access in an emergency and with her broker's permission.
She said three to five Apple auditors came to Wintek in May for a week, but didn't talk to the workers. She said she doesn't get enough overtime — she wants to make more money — and that recently Apple had cut its orders.
Little recourse
For the Wintek workers, at least there are some small improvements. But these workers seem to be the exception to the rule.
"Apple has responded," said Father Joy Tajonera, a Filipino-American Roman Catholic priest who runs a shelter in Tanzi and provides other services for migrant workers. "But the problem is, a lot of the other companies haven't."
Two other Filipinas in the group told stories that highlight the lack of rights for many such workers if their job situations turn sour.
Nadine Lebrilla, 25, from Bacolod City in the central Philippines, came to Taiwan last June to earn money. In the Philippines, she had worked on a temporary contract at a mall, earning just $220 per month. Brokers in the Philippines promised her double that in Taiwan, if she first paid them about $1,880 in fees.
But her dreams of riches quickly turned into a nightmare. She was assigned to central Taiwan as a caretaker for a 55-year-old man she described as "alcoholic, diabetic, depressive, a smoker, cannot control his temper." At nights, he would get drunk on Chinese rice wine — shaoxing jiu — then yell, bully and physically attack either his wife, Lebrilla or both. In June, he had a particularly nasty fight with his wife while Lebrilla was home.
He beat up his wife, then threatened Lebrilla, she says. "He told me that if I left my room he would kill me," she said.
Lebrilla's terrified calls to the Taiwan labor office, Philippines labor office and her own broker initially yielded little response — her Taiwan broker at first said he'd come by to check on the situation the next day, before relenting and taking her to a shelter that day.
Being assigned such a boss was a stroke of bad luck. But what followed shows migrant workers' lack of basic recourse in such situations. Lebrilla was told she could file a formal complaint with Taiwan authorities, but it could take six to eight months to resolve, during which time she could not work, and so would receive no salary.
Or she could settle privately with her Taiwan employer and Philippines manpower agency; if so she would have two months to try to find a new job in Taiwan. The catch: neither her Philippines manpower agency nor Taiwan broker had any obligation to help her secure new work.
She chose to settle. Unfortunately, she didn't find a job and so had to return to the Philippines. She had her $1,880 in placement and other fees returned to her, but received no other compensation and so essentially wasted more than two months of her time.
Nerissa Delos Reyes, a 33-year-old from Pagasinan Province and mother of two, was also lured to Taiwan by the promise of higher pay. Wearing a pink Polo shirt and sitting in back of the church in Tanzi, she told her story in a soft, shy voice.
She and her husband grow rice, tobacco and corn on their farm, but don't have enough money for fertilizer and so have a tough time making ends meet. So she said she borrowed $1,880 from friends and her godfather and handed it over to Infinity International Manpower Services, a well-known Philippines placement agency, to secure her work in Taiwan.
She signed a contract to do factory work at Peace Musical, a musical equipment store in Taiwan's Taichung County. She said she paid her Taiwan broker, Lec Chuen International Development, an additional $55 monthly brokers' fee, for doing little else besides helping her secure a Taiwan residence document and open a Taiwan bank account, then keeping her passport and bank documents in "safekeeping" for her.
When she got to Taiwan, however, she says she ended up working 15- to 16-hour days, including both heavy factory work for which she was ill-suited, and nanny work — cooking in the morning and evenings, house-cleaning, and taking care of two babies. She was allowed 5- to 15-minute breaks, and if she tried to rest longer than that her boss would yell at her, she says.
(Peace Musical declined repeated email and phone requests for comment, and one company representative said the person whose name is on Reyes' contract is no longer with the firm. The phone number given on her contract for her Taiwan broker, Lec Chuen, is not currently in service.)
The breaking point came when her boss got angry and accused her of breast-feeding one of the babies. She complained to her broker, saying this wasn't what she'd signed up for and she wanted to go home.
Documents reviewed by GlobalPost show what happens next for such a worker. Like Lebrilla, she opted to settle with her Philippines manpower agency, asking them only for a return of the $1,880 in fees she says she had paid them so that she could go home as soon as possible. She demanded no further compensation for her time or distress and made no formal complaint to Taiwan labor officials or courts.
In a July 16 letter from Infinity to the Philippines labor attache in central Taiwan, a copy of which was obtained by GlobalPost, an Infinity representative said, "We vehemently deny having charged said complainant with a placement fee. The only amount spent by the complainant relative to her application and deployment to Taiwan are her documentation expenses which are legally chargeable to her as per POEA [Philippines Overseas Employment Administration] Rules and Regulations."
The parties went back and forth through late July and early August, according to Reyes, before Infinity agreed to pay her 85,000 pesos (or equal to about $1,880, the amount of fees she says she paid Infinity) to settle her case.
However, she says she also signed an affidavit in Taiwan waiving her right to any future action, saying the "complaint was mistakenly filed by me as it arose from my misapprehension of the facts and circumstances," as well as a separate affidavit saying "what happened is beyond the fault of my Philippine agency, neither my foreign employer but due merely to miscommunication." Copies of both affidavits were obtained by GlobalPost.
In a phone interview, Infinity's Christina Layug said said the company had returned "all the money she [Reyes] was asking" for and "cleared up all the problems."
"The problem with her [Reyes] is she doesn't like to accept the work we gave to her," Layug said. "Some of the applicants and workers, once they agree and are deployed and then they feel they aren't happy, and they want to be repatriated immediately."
"There are a lot of workers in Taiwan, sometimes they do not like their work -- that's why they're complaining. They're not satisfied."
Infinity declined to comment further on Reyes' complaints and case.
"They love your smiles"
Reyes said she had learned alot from the ordeal, and might even consider returning to Taiwan to work again — but not through the same agency. She said she would be more careful about what she agreed to in the future, and offered advice to other Filipina migrant workers like her: "They shouldn't be afraid to ask for help from other people, and pray about their problems."
A fax to Reyes from May 31, after she had been assigned house work in addition to the factory work indicated by her contract, lists do's and don'ts for her new job. It includes some words of encouragement, in slightly mangled English:
"Please do not worry. The employer's family likes you very much. It is just that there are some things that they would like you to adjust a little. We all come from different places and have different habits in life. When living together, we all need some time for adjusting each other."
"They love your smiles. You smiles all the time. They like that. They want you to keep smiling."
Original site
Showing posts with label labor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label labor. Show all posts
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Temps strike back, I
Temp Nation: The demise of "lifetime employment" in Japan
Wrenching change in the world's second largest economy. Now some are fighting back.
Global Post, May 18, 2010
Editor's note: Temp Nation is a four-part series on the structural changes taking place in Japan, the world's second-largest economy. With the demise of Japan, Inc.'s lifetime employment policies, more than a third of the country's workforce is now underworked and underpaid. This series examines how some temps are starting to fight back. It also investigates the impact on foreign workers, and the political response to this growing social and economic problem.Global Post, May 18, 2010
NAGOYA, Japan — For decades, Japan's big firms were famous for their deal with employees: The corporation was a big family that looked after its workers for life. In return it expected total dedication.
That was the Japanese way, and part of the popular 1980s American media narrative on the rise of Japan, Inc.
It's no longer true. Instead, more than 17 million people in the world's second largest economy are now "irregular" workers, or temps, according to government statistics.
That's nearly 34 percent of the workforce, up from 25 percent in 1999 and just 15 percent in 1984.
The global downturn of 2008 made that painfully clear.
From the last quarter of 2008 to the autumn of 2009, Japan shed 440,000 "dispatch" worker jobs, according to government numbers (some have since been re-hired, or shifted to other categories of temp work.) Temps living in company-provided housing lost not only their jobs but their homes, too.
Now, fed-up temps — as well as small, independent unions — are beginning to push back. They say big Japanese firms are exploiting loopholes and weak enforcement of labor laws to maintain a low-cost workforce of "permatemps" with little or no job security. And increasingly, they're taking their cases to labor bureaus and courts.
Many such workers are surprisingly sympathetic to the need for Japanese firms to stay competitive. They just think things have gone too far.
"It's necessary to limit workers' rights to some extent so that companies can stay in business," said one 45-year-old former dispatch worker at Panasonic Ecosystems outside Nagoya. "The problem is, companies are ignoring the law and using dispatch workers indefinitely."
The worker did not want his name used because he is suing Panasonic for compensation after being let go in 2009, but still lives and works in a community of loyal Panasonic full-timers.
In interviews here in central Japan's manufacturing heartland, he and other former dispatch workers and union leaders described factories where hiring schemes have created something akin to a caste system.
At the top are permanent employees — two-thirds of the workforce — who still have the old, stereotypical deal of mutual loyalty with their companies.
The other third are temps, of bewildering variety. There are part-timers, hired directly by the firm but typically working other odd jobs to get by.
There are "dispatch" workers, who make as little as half the salary of permanent employees for the same work and hours. There are "subcontract" workers, who can only take instructions from the subcontract firm, not from bosses or colleagues at their actual workplace. There are Brazilian and Peruvian workers of Japanese descent, who get paid even less.
And, at the bottom, there are Chinese, Vietnamese and other foreign "trainees," who can make as little as 300 yen (about $3.25) an hour. They pay huge sums to labor brokers to work in Japan, aren't covered by labor laws in their first year of work, and suffer harsh financial penalties if they quit before their contracts are up.
The temp trend even affects foreign English teachers, who have watched firms slash salaries and benefits in the name of cost-cutting.
Broad effects
The implications of a rising temp workforce go far beyond Japan's factory floors. The trend has contributed to lower consumption, sharper inequality, falling wages and a resulting "working poor" problem. Average wages in Japan fell nearly 4 percent in 2009, the third straight year of losses, with real wages (accounting for deflation) falling nearly 3 percent.
The temp trend is also a factor in lower marriage and childbirth rates, since temps with no job security are unattractive mates. The marriage rate was 5.8 per 1,000 people in 2008, down from more than 10 per 1,000 people in the early 1970s.
And the trend has increased pressure on full time, permanent workers, who have to take up the slack in workplaces filled with low-morale temps who have little incentive to work hard.
"Increased use of non-regular workers often creates heavier workloads for the remaining workers, who are expected to make up any shortfalls without concern for time," wrote Osaka-based sociologists Charles Weathers and Scott North in a recent article.
The 2007 Japanese Lifestyle White Paper survey found that 67 percent of regular workers believed their job burdens and responsibilities were much greater than five years before.
How Japan got here
Until the 1980s "indirect" employment, or employment through a third party such as a dispatch firm, was illegal. In response to business pressure, the government began relaxing hiring rules.
Deregulation continued after Japan's economy went into a tailspin and entered its "lost decade," then accelerated under pro-business prime minister Junichiro Koizumi.
The "dispatch law" was passed in the mid-'80s. In 1999 the law was relaxed to allow dispatch labor in 26 specialized industries, according to Yasushi Iguchi, a labor economist at Kwansei Gakuin University, and in 2004 it was further relaxed to allow short-term dispatch labor in the manufacturing sector.
Large auto and electronics manufacturing firms led the way in a temp-hiring surge, driven by cost-cutting plans, Iguchi said.
"Automakers hired a temporary work force because that was a better fit with the 'just-in-time' delivery system," he said. "These workers are very flexible. They're 'just-in-time' laborers."
Toyota is typical. In 2000, the company began a program of aggressive cost-cutting, according to Saichi Kurematsu, chairman of the Aichi Prefectural Federation of Trade Unions, whose members include 10 Toyota employees.
Toyota targeted 30-percent cuts in the first three years, and 15 percent more cuts in the next three. Last December it announced planned cuts of an additional 30 percent, Kurematsu said.
To get leaner, Toyota boosted its hiring of temps, he said, some of whom then saw their salaries slashed. Dispatch workers assigned to Toyota earned 1,800 yen per hour in 2004 but made just 1,150 yen per hour by 2007, said Kurematsu. (Toyota declined comment on those numbers but noted that such salaries were determined by the dispatch company.)
According to emails from Toyota spokesman Paul Nolasco, the firm used a peak of 1,350 dispatch workers on its assembly lines in 2004, but no longer uses such labor on the lines.
He said Toyota employs roughly 70,000 full-timers and about 4,000 dispatch office workers. On its assembly lines, its workforce includes 2,300 temps on fixed-term contracts of three months to three years — down from about 10,000 such contract workers on assembly lines in mid-2008, prior to the downturn.
Temps on fixed-term contracts make less than 60 percent what permanent workers make on average, according to a report from the National Labor Committee. (Toyota said it does not comment on employees' salaries. But it noted that more than 2,000 fixed-term contract workers have been bumped up to full-time employee status since 2007.)
Where are the unions?
The U.S. is responsible for that. Left-leaning American advisers drafted Japan's current constitution and related labor regulations during the post-World War II occupation.
But these days, Japan is dominated by large "company" unions that typically represent only permanent workers. Most come under the umbrella of Rengo, Japan's largest trade confederation with some 7 million members.
Rengo looks out for the wages of full-timers, but provides scant help for Japan's growing ranks of temps, most of who are non-unionized.
"These big trade unions have the same opinion as employers about everything," said Yamahara Katsuji, Osaka-based chair of General Union, a small independent union. "So they agree on the need for disposable workers in their factories."
Some top officials even rotate between union and management posts at the same company, he and others said.
"Nearly all major unions have close ties to management, inhibiting them from demanding improved work conditions," wrote sociologists Weathers and North.
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Editor's note: This article was updated with the fact that the marriage rate was 5.8 per 1,000 people in 2008, down from more than 10 per 1,000 people in the early 1970s.
Temps strike back, II
Temp Nation: Fighting Panasonic
Two former "dispatch" workers at a unit of the Japanese appliance giant are suing the firm.
Global Post, May 18, 2010
KASUGAI, Japan — His bosses asked him to teach a co-worker everything he knew, said Makoto Nagae, 51. Then he was laid off.
When he complained to the local labor standards bureau, the six other temp workers in his unit were also let go. Five permanent employees stayed on.
Naturally, the other temps blamed him, at least at first. "They said, 'it's your fault,'" said Nagae, a reserved, skinny man who sported black designer glasses and a T-shirt with the word "Rumble" on it during an interview in March.
Since they were all good friends, Nagae was able to convince his former co-workers they'd all been wronged, he said. Still, they weren't willing to join him in a lawsuit against Panasonic Ecosystems, which owns the factory where they worked. Why?
"Because they're Japanese," said Nagae, in an interview at sun-lit hotel lobby here in Japan's manufacturing heartland. "They said, 'oh well, it can't be helped.' So they didn't try to fight. Japanese people are like that."
Asked what made him different, he said, "I was really angry."
Nagae is one of a growing number of Japanese temps who are fighting back against labor practices they say are increasingly skewed in favor of big companies and give scant protection to non-permanent workers.
Most only do so when they've got little or nothing lose. Nagae gave all his savings to his ex-wife, who lives with his two children ("There was a relationship" between his divorce and job troubles, said Nagae vaguely.) He now works as a cook at a yakitori (meat skewer) restaurant, and collects a monthly job trainee allowance from the government.
Nagae was assigned to Panasonic Ecosystems in August 2004 as a "dispatch" worker. As such, he was technically the employee of the dispatch firm, not Panasonic Ecosystems.
He became an expert at quality control work, which involved X-ray and other testing of electric components of ventilation equipment. He made 300,000 yen (about $3,200) a month. As the most knowledgeable worker in his unit, he often trained permanent employees.
Those permanent employees, five in his unit, made up to 500,000 yen (nearly $5,400) a month for the exact same work and hours, he says, and enjoyed benefits Nagae didn't.
In March 2009, just after training a permanent employee, the dispatch firm declined to renew his contract. He'd been a temp for nearly five years, even though labor regulations stipulate that most dispatch contracts should last three years maximum.
When he began a complaint process with the local labor standards bureau, Panasonic Ecosystems threatened to sue anyone in his unit who gave him information, he said.
He thinks he was singled out for downsizing because he was the top-earning temp, and because he was outspoken about how work should be done. "Whenever I was told to do work in a way I thought was wrong, I said so," said Nagae. "Panasonic came to regard me as troublesome."
Now, Nagae wants compensation from Panasonic Ecosystems, saying he was effectively its employee. He acknowledged that a recent court judgment in favor of another Panasonic unit in a similar complaint brought by former dispatch workers was a bad sign for his own case. "But I think it's still possible to win," he said.
Nagae clearly took pride in his skills, and even complained that the dispatch company sent people to his unit who weren't up to the job. He said neither workers nor companies were well-served by the temp worker arrangements.
"As a dispatch worker, it doesn't matter how hard you work, your pay doesn't go up," said Nagae. "And there's no chance of becoming a permanent employee, so there's no incentive for doing a good job."
In a separate interview, another former dispatch worker assigned to Panasonic Ecosystems explained why he's also suing the company.
"Because Panasonic is a company that represents Japan, it shouldn't tolerate illegalities," said the 45-year-old, dressed in a button-down, vest and glasses. "It's the first time I've ever taken anyone to court."
He did not want his name used because he still lives and works in the same community as many loyal, permanent Panasonic workers.
Starting in late 2007 he also did quality control testing on ventilation equipment, in a separate unit from Nagae. He made 240,000 yen (more than $2,500) per month, and said the factory then employed about 1,000 dispatch and other temp workers, and about 500 full-timers. For dispatch workers, "there was no possibility of becoming a permanent worker," he said, and many had been kept in temp status beyond the supposed three-year time limit.
He was let go in April 2009 after the recession hit, along with hundreds of thousands of other dispatch workers across Japan. He said the dispatch firm refused to respond to his complaints about his contract, and that Panasonic keeps changing its legal argument. (At one point it argued that he was a "scientist," the worker said with a rueful laugh, and so was in a specialized category that could be employed indefinitely as dispatch labor.)
While fighting his case, he lives with his wife and two children in public housing, barely getting by on a 150,000 yen ($1,600) a month job.
"Violating the dispatch law means buying and selling people," he said. "Many people have been through similar things as me — why aren't they getting more angry about it?"
Panasonic Ecosystems is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Panasonic Group, which declined comment for this article, saying it was company policy not to comment on pending litigation.
It also declined to provide details on its workforce or to respond to criticism about its use of temp workers.
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Two former "dispatch" workers at a unit of the Japanese appliance giant are suing the firm.
Global Post, May 18, 2010
KASUGAI, Japan — His bosses asked him to teach a co-worker everything he knew, said Makoto Nagae, 51. Then he was laid off.
When he complained to the local labor standards bureau, the six other temp workers in his unit were also let go. Five permanent employees stayed on.
Naturally, the other temps blamed him, at least at first. "They said, 'it's your fault,'" said Nagae, a reserved, skinny man who sported black designer glasses and a T-shirt with the word "Rumble" on it during an interview in March.
Since they were all good friends, Nagae was able to convince his former co-workers they'd all been wronged, he said. Still, they weren't willing to join him in a lawsuit against Panasonic Ecosystems, which owns the factory where they worked. Why?
"Because they're Japanese," said Nagae, in an interview at sun-lit hotel lobby here in Japan's manufacturing heartland. "They said, 'oh well, it can't be helped.' So they didn't try to fight. Japanese people are like that."
Asked what made him different, he said, "I was really angry."
Nagae is one of a growing number of Japanese temps who are fighting back against labor practices they say are increasingly skewed in favor of big companies and give scant protection to non-permanent workers.
Most only do so when they've got little or nothing lose. Nagae gave all his savings to his ex-wife, who lives with his two children ("There was a relationship" between his divorce and job troubles, said Nagae vaguely.) He now works as a cook at a yakitori (meat skewer) restaurant, and collects a monthly job trainee allowance from the government.
Nagae was assigned to Panasonic Ecosystems in August 2004 as a "dispatch" worker. As such, he was technically the employee of the dispatch firm, not Panasonic Ecosystems.
He became an expert at quality control work, which involved X-ray and other testing of electric components of ventilation equipment. He made 300,000 yen (about $3,200) a month. As the most knowledgeable worker in his unit, he often trained permanent employees.
Those permanent employees, five in his unit, made up to 500,000 yen (nearly $5,400) a month for the exact same work and hours, he says, and enjoyed benefits Nagae didn't.
In March 2009, just after training a permanent employee, the dispatch firm declined to renew his contract. He'd been a temp for nearly five years, even though labor regulations stipulate that most dispatch contracts should last three years maximum.
When he began a complaint process with the local labor standards bureau, Panasonic Ecosystems threatened to sue anyone in his unit who gave him information, he said.
He thinks he was singled out for downsizing because he was the top-earning temp, and because he was outspoken about how work should be done. "Whenever I was told to do work in a way I thought was wrong, I said so," said Nagae. "Panasonic came to regard me as troublesome."
Now, Nagae wants compensation from Panasonic Ecosystems, saying he was effectively its employee. He acknowledged that a recent court judgment in favor of another Panasonic unit in a similar complaint brought by former dispatch workers was a bad sign for his own case. "But I think it's still possible to win," he said.
Nagae clearly took pride in his skills, and even complained that the dispatch company sent people to his unit who weren't up to the job. He said neither workers nor companies were well-served by the temp worker arrangements.
"As a dispatch worker, it doesn't matter how hard you work, your pay doesn't go up," said Nagae. "And there's no chance of becoming a permanent employee, so there's no incentive for doing a good job."
In a separate interview, another former dispatch worker assigned to Panasonic Ecosystems explained why he's also suing the company.
He did not want his name used because he still lives and works in the same community as many loyal, permanent Panasonic workers.
Starting in late 2007 he also did quality control testing on ventilation equipment, in a separate unit from Nagae. He made 240,000 yen (more than $2,500) per month, and said the factory then employed about 1,000 dispatch and other temp workers, and about 500 full-timers. For dispatch workers, "there was no possibility of becoming a permanent worker," he said, and many had been kept in temp status beyond the supposed three-year time limit.
He was let go in April 2009 after the recession hit, along with hundreds of thousands of other dispatch workers across Japan. He said the dispatch firm refused to respond to his complaints about his contract, and that Panasonic keeps changing its legal argument. (At one point it argued that he was a "scientist," the worker said with a rueful laugh, and so was in a specialized category that could be employed indefinitely as dispatch labor.)
While fighting his case, he lives with his wife and two children in public housing, barely getting by on a 150,000 yen ($1,600) a month job.
"Violating the dispatch law means buying and selling people," he said. "Many people have been through similar things as me — why aren't they getting more angry about it?"
Panasonic Ecosystems is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Panasonic Group, which declined comment for this article, saying it was company policy not to comment on pending litigation.
It also declined to provide details on its workforce or to respond to criticism about its use of temp workers.
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Temps strike back, III
Temp Nation: The foreign effect
Not all of Japan's "dispatch" workers are Japanese. Teacher Andrew Sekeres, for one, grew up in Chicago.
Global Post, May 18, 2010
NAGOYA, Japan — Andrew Sekeres came to Japan in late 2004 with a strong interest in Japanese culture and two years of studying Japanese language and history under his belt.
Since then, says the Chicago native, his working conditions as an English teacher have grown steadily worse.
"In the last five years, things have changed dramatically," said Sekeres, 28, at an interview at a union office in Nagoya. "It makes me wonder sometimes why I'm still living here."
Sekeres is one of Japan's thousands of ALTs, or "assistant language teachers," most from the United States and Canada. The best such jobs come through the well-known JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) program, which offer the highest salaries (more than 300,000 yen per month, says Sekeres, or about $3,200), in addition to good benefits and support.
But in line with Japan's broader labor trends, local school systems have in recent years turned to temp teachers as a cost-cutting measure. And firms are using a variety of complicated hiring schemes, Sekeres and others say, to dodge insurance obligations and slash salaries.
JET teachers have shrunk from 5,676 in fiscal 2002 to 4,063 in fiscal 2009, according to government figures. Meanwhile, non-JET teachers' ranks have swelled, and they now outnumber JETs in compulsory education, with 3,246 non-JETs to 2,819 JETs in elementary schools in fiscal 2009.
Sekeres' story shows what that means in practice for foreign teachers in Japan, and for the quality of English education for Japanese kids.
First he was at a private language school as a direct hire making a steady 250,000 yen a month (about $2,600). Then he worked for a "dispatch" firm that assigned him to teaching posts at Tokai City public schools.
In 2009 he was switched to a "subcontract" arrangement, working for another firm, Interac, that paid 245,000 yen (more than $2,600) a month seven months out of the year, but less in other months with school vacations (he made just 180,000 yen, or more than $1,900, in December, for example, and nothing for the month of August).
He clocked 35 hour weeks but was only paid for 29.5 hours so Interac could avoid insurance obligations, Sekeres says. (Interac has received bad press about this issue before).
And because of a Japanese law that bans direct supervision of subcontract workers by the host company, he was not allowed to receive instructions or guidance from teachers or staff at the school.
Foreign English teachers are supposed to team teach with a licensed Japanese teacher. But in practice, Sekeres taught English classes alone from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., to most of his school's 800 6- to 13-year-old students, while the Japanese teacher sat in the back of the room watching silently.
"They don't like the system either," said Sekeres, about the Japanese teachers. "They can't tell me the curriculum, they can't tell me how to teach, they can't tell me anything. They have to talk to my company [Interac, the subcontracting firm]."
Worse, says Sekeres, after word got out last year that he'd contacted General Union for help, he was ostracized. "None of the teachers would talk to me," said Sekeres. "They don't want to side with someone who's rocking the boat. For them it could be dangerous."
Michael Normoyle, a 43-year-old volunteer at General Union in Nagoya, and a former English teacher himself, explained why schools are willing to use this bizarre "subcontract" arrangement.
"With dispatch workers, the people who manage the workplace have some responsibilities for employees' health and safety, but with subcontract work, they have none of these obligations," he said. "So they love this arrangement."
Last October, General Union filed a complaint on Sekeres' behalf with the local labor standards bureau, saying that Interac's arrangement with the Tokai City board of education violated labor law. According to Sekeres, the labor bureau ruled in his favor.
Meanwhile, he's moved to a part-time job at a private high school, making about 120,000 yen ($1,287) a month, and is supplementing that with other work.
Interac declined comment on Sekeres' case, saying in an emailed statement, "Interac is proud to make a contribution to society by giving respect to all of our staff and clients and performing fair business."
Other English teachers in Nagoya said some good opportunities are still available, but teaching English in Japan isn't what it used to be even a decade ago. Then, American and other college graduates could spend a year or two in Japan, get to know the culture and language, and save up money. In today's Japan that's increasingly difficult.
"The golden age for being an English teacher in Japan is definitely over," said Nagoya-based teacher Mike Miller, a friend of Sekeres' from Ottawa, Canada.
Most of General Union's 350 paid-up members are foreign English teachers working on "casual" or temp contracts. Despite some small victories, Normoyle, the union volunteer, is pessimistic. He plans to leave Japan soon, after 15 years.
"To be honest, I'm feeling a bit hopeless now because my union's not having much success protecting the jobs of our own members," said Normoyle.
"There are huge problems here, because Japanese corporations and the government are interested in foreign workers merely as an expendable resource, not as human beings."
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Global Post, May 18, 2010
NAGOYA, Japan — Andrew Sekeres came to Japan in late 2004 with a strong interest in Japanese culture and two years of studying Japanese language and history under his belt.
Since then, says the Chicago native, his working conditions as an English teacher have grown steadily worse.
"In the last five years, things have changed dramatically," said Sekeres, 28, at an interview at a union office in Nagoya. "It makes me wonder sometimes why I'm still living here."
Sekeres is one of Japan's thousands of ALTs, or "assistant language teachers," most from the United States and Canada. The best such jobs come through the well-known JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) program, which offer the highest salaries (more than 300,000 yen per month, says Sekeres, or about $3,200), in addition to good benefits and support.
JET teachers have shrunk from 5,676 in fiscal 2002 to 4,063 in fiscal 2009, according to government figures. Meanwhile, non-JET teachers' ranks have swelled, and they now outnumber JETs in compulsory education, with 3,246 non-JETs to 2,819 JETs in elementary schools in fiscal 2009.
Sekeres' story shows what that means in practice for foreign teachers in Japan, and for the quality of English education for Japanese kids.
First he was at a private language school as a direct hire making a steady 250,000 yen a month (about $2,600). Then he worked for a "dispatch" firm that assigned him to teaching posts at Tokai City public schools.
In 2009 he was switched to a "subcontract" arrangement, working for another firm, Interac, that paid 245,000 yen (more than $2,600) a month seven months out of the year, but less in other months with school vacations (he made just 180,000 yen, or more than $1,900, in December, for example, and nothing for the month of August).
He clocked 35 hour weeks but was only paid for 29.5 hours so Interac could avoid insurance obligations, Sekeres says. (Interac has received bad press about this issue before).
And because of a Japanese law that bans direct supervision of subcontract workers by the host company, he was not allowed to receive instructions or guidance from teachers or staff at the school.
Foreign English teachers are supposed to team teach with a licensed Japanese teacher. But in practice, Sekeres taught English classes alone from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., to most of his school's 800 6- to 13-year-old students, while the Japanese teacher sat in the back of the room watching silently.
"They don't like the system either," said Sekeres, about the Japanese teachers. "They can't tell me the curriculum, they can't tell me how to teach, they can't tell me anything. They have to talk to my company [Interac, the subcontracting firm]."
Worse, says Sekeres, after word got out last year that he'd contacted General Union for help, he was ostracized. "None of the teachers would talk to me," said Sekeres. "They don't want to side with someone who's rocking the boat. For them it could be dangerous."
Michael Normoyle, a 43-year-old volunteer at General Union in Nagoya, and a former English teacher himself, explained why schools are willing to use this bizarre "subcontract" arrangement.
"With dispatch workers, the people who manage the workplace have some responsibilities for employees' health and safety, but with subcontract work, they have none of these obligations," he said. "So they love this arrangement."
Last October, General Union filed a complaint on Sekeres' behalf with the local labor standards bureau, saying that Interac's arrangement with the Tokai City board of education violated labor law. According to Sekeres, the labor bureau ruled in his favor.
Meanwhile, he's moved to a part-time job at a private high school, making about 120,000 yen ($1,287) a month, and is supplementing that with other work.
Interac declined comment on Sekeres' case, saying in an emailed statement, "Interac is proud to make a contribution to society by giving respect to all of our staff and clients and performing fair business."
Other English teachers in Nagoya said some good opportunities are still available, but teaching English in Japan isn't what it used to be even a decade ago. Then, American and other college graduates could spend a year or two in Japan, get to know the culture and language, and save up money. In today's Japan that's increasingly difficult.
"The golden age for being an English teacher in Japan is definitely over," said Nagoya-based teacher Mike Miller, a friend of Sekeres' from Ottawa, Canada.
Most of General Union's 350 paid-up members are foreign English teachers working on "casual" or temp contracts. Despite some small victories, Normoyle, the union volunteer, is pessimistic. He plans to leave Japan soon, after 15 years.
"To be honest, I'm feeling a bit hopeless now because my union's not having much success protecting the jobs of our own members," said Normoyle.
"There are huge problems here, because Japanese corporations and the government are interested in foreign workers merely as an expendable resource, not as human beings."
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Temps strike back, IV
Temp Nation: A political solution?
What are Japanese politicians doing about the wrenching economic changes? Not much, workers say.
Global Post, May 18, 2010
TOKYO AND NAGOYA, Japan — Though little noted outside Japan, the poor treatment of temps has been a domestic media focus, particularly since the mass layoffs of 2008.
That's fueled popular discontent and pressure on politicians to do something.
In response, Japan's new center-left government, led by the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ), has vowed changes. It took power last year in Japan's first real political transition since World War II. For the first time in decades, a more labor-friendly coalition holds power; Rengo, the umbrella group of company unions, is a pillar of DPJ support.
In March the cabinet proposed reforms, approving a bill banning "dispatch" labor and one-day contracts in the manufacturing sector. The bill fulfills a key campaign pledge contained in the party manifesto.
"There were extensive discussions for more than a year on unemployment and harsh suffering, especially in the dispatch labor force," said Tanioka Kuniko, a DPJ member of Japan's upper house who represents Aichi Prefecture, including the Nagoya area, in an interview at her Tokyo office in January. "There was a party consensus to do something."
Tanioka said the rise of temp work in Japan has increased income inequality and "destroyed" the tradition of senior workers training junior workers, since the former now fear being fired after imparting their knowledge. She said her party was also pushing labor reforms out of concern for basic human rights.
By way of illustration, she described a typical Japanese factory with three assembly lines — two fully automated, and a third line using human workers.
"Nowadays, when the economy is bad they [the bosses] discard the manual labor before they discard the machines," she said. "Workers aren't given as much regard as machines, and this is really degrading for the dignity of the people and of society."
Cool response
So far, though, the DPJ's proposed reforms haven't impressed either business groups or workers. In a faxed statement, the Japan Production Skill Labor Association, a business group of temp agencies with hundreds of client factories, said the DPJ's proposed measures "might be counterproductive."
The group said the measures would actually increase unemployment, as businesses simply refuse to hire more full-timers. And it said the measures could lead to another round of "hollowing out" in manufacturing, as Japanese firms move factories abroad to access cheaper, more flexible labor.
"Compared to other countries, Japanese firms cannot easily lay off workers, due to regulations," the group's statement said. "But in the manufacturing sector, it's common to have swings in demand for products. It's almost impossible to deal with this situation with a fixed number of full time employees only."
"So the purpose of using dispatch workers is to get the exact amount of necessary labor, 'just in time,'" the statement said.
The Japanese Business Association, or Nippon Keidanren, declined requests for comment. But in a 2008 position paper, it said, "The worker dispatching system for temporary workers, which matches job-seekers with companies needing labor, plays an important role in adjusting labor market supply and demand."
Meanwhile, independent union leaders, former dispatch workers and some labor economists say the DPJ's reforms don't go far enough. Companies will simply find ways around the new rules, they argue.
For example, since the downturn, firms have begun abandoning the "dispatch" model and are employing more temps under a separate category of "subcontract" labor, as well as more part-timers.
"Subcontract workers have even less protection than dispatch labor," noted labor economist Yasushi Iguchi.
Saichi Kurematsu, chairman of the Aichi Prefectural Federation of Trade Unions, thinks firms should be allowed to use dispatch labor for specialized skills, but for no longer than a year — after that they should be made full-timers. He thinks the government should strengthen the safety net for laid off workers, because some 10 million people — almost 20 percent of Japan's workforce — are not enrolled in unemployment insurance.
The General Union's Yamahara Katsuji said he was glad to see the government trying to change labor laws, even if their efforts weren't sufficient. "People are angry because the reforms don't go far enough," he said. "However, the law couldn't be made any worse so any change is good."
He thinks the labor laws need a more radical revamp. "The dispatch law allowed indirect employment," he said. "I think it would be better to do away with it completely."
Sato Takeshi, chairman of the independent, Nagoya-based Solidarity Union, which represents about 80 workers, agreed. He said the dispatch law has resulted in "obscure forms of indirect employment," and that "if we don't go back to the situation that existed before the dispatch law, there will be no improvement."
The human impact
For temp workers, it's not just an abstract policy debate. One of those directly affected is a 44-year-old, former dispatch worker at Mitsubishi Electric.
In an interview at a union office in Nagoya, he described his work at a factory that he said employed about 1,000 temps and 2,000 full-timers. He worked in a unit making servo motors, which are devices used in a wide variety of machinery. He pocketed 1,120 yen (just over $12) an hour, far less than permanent employees doing identical work.
In 2008, he was let go with a week's notice. All of the other 1,000 temps were also laid off, in stages, he said.
He asked that his name not be used because he's one of three former dispatch workers involved in legal proceedings against Mitsubishi Electric.
The three are asking for recognition of their status as Mitsubishi Electric employees, which would give the company legal obligations, and 6 million yen (about $65,000) in damages each.
Mitsubishi Electric declined comment on the case, and did not respond when asked about criticisms of its use of temp labor. It said it employed 28,778 permanent employees and 5,256 part-timers as of September 2009.
The former dispatch worker at Mitsubishi Electric wasn't impressed with the current government's planned reforms, and said more sweeping change was needed.
"Looking at the proposed revisions of the dispatch law, I don't think they're any good," he said.
"Dispatch work will still be permitted in principle, which means people will still be able to be fired easily. I think they should just forbid dispatch labor altogether."
While waiting for a court ruling, he's taking care of a wife and child on a modest government job training allowance.
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Global Post, May 18, 2010
TOKYO AND NAGOYA, Japan — Though little noted outside Japan, the poor treatment of temps has been a domestic media focus, particularly since the mass layoffs of 2008.
That's fueled popular discontent and pressure on politicians to do something.
In response, Japan's new center-left government, led by the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ), has vowed changes. It took power last year in Japan's first real political transition since World War II. For the first time in decades, a more labor-friendly coalition holds power; Rengo, the umbrella group of company unions, is a pillar of DPJ support.
In March the cabinet proposed reforms, approving a bill banning "dispatch" labor and one-day contracts in the manufacturing sector. The bill fulfills a key campaign pledge contained in the party manifesto.
Tanioka said the rise of temp work in Japan has increased income inequality and "destroyed" the tradition of senior workers training junior workers, since the former now fear being fired after imparting their knowledge. She said her party was also pushing labor reforms out of concern for basic human rights.
By way of illustration, she described a typical Japanese factory with three assembly lines — two fully automated, and a third line using human workers.
"Nowadays, when the economy is bad they [the bosses] discard the manual labor before they discard the machines," she said. "Workers aren't given as much regard as machines, and this is really degrading for the dignity of the people and of society."
Cool response
So far, though, the DPJ's proposed reforms haven't impressed either business groups or workers. In a faxed statement, the Japan Production Skill Labor Association, a business group of temp agencies with hundreds of client factories, said the DPJ's proposed measures "might be counterproductive."
The group said the measures would actually increase unemployment, as businesses simply refuse to hire more full-timers. And it said the measures could lead to another round of "hollowing out" in manufacturing, as Japanese firms move factories abroad to access cheaper, more flexible labor.
"Compared to other countries, Japanese firms cannot easily lay off workers, due to regulations," the group's statement said. "But in the manufacturing sector, it's common to have swings in demand for products. It's almost impossible to deal with this situation with a fixed number of full time employees only."
"So the purpose of using dispatch workers is to get the exact amount of necessary labor, 'just in time,'" the statement said.
The Japanese Business Association, or Nippon Keidanren, declined requests for comment. But in a 2008 position paper, it said, "The worker dispatching system for temporary workers, which matches job-seekers with companies needing labor, plays an important role in adjusting labor market supply and demand."
Meanwhile, independent union leaders, former dispatch workers and some labor economists say the DPJ's reforms don't go far enough. Companies will simply find ways around the new rules, they argue.
For example, since the downturn, firms have begun abandoning the "dispatch" model and are employing more temps under a separate category of "subcontract" labor, as well as more part-timers.
"Subcontract workers have even less protection than dispatch labor," noted labor economist Yasushi Iguchi.
Saichi Kurematsu, chairman of the Aichi Prefectural Federation of Trade Unions, thinks firms should be allowed to use dispatch labor for specialized skills, but for no longer than a year — after that they should be made full-timers. He thinks the government should strengthen the safety net for laid off workers, because some 10 million people — almost 20 percent of Japan's workforce — are not enrolled in unemployment insurance.
The General Union's Yamahara Katsuji said he was glad to see the government trying to change labor laws, even if their efforts weren't sufficient. "People are angry because the reforms don't go far enough," he said. "However, the law couldn't be made any worse so any change is good."
He thinks the labor laws need a more radical revamp. "The dispatch law allowed indirect employment," he said. "I think it would be better to do away with it completely."
Sato Takeshi, chairman of the independent, Nagoya-based Solidarity Union, which represents about 80 workers, agreed. He said the dispatch law has resulted in "obscure forms of indirect employment," and that "if we don't go back to the situation that existed before the dispatch law, there will be no improvement."
The human impact
For temp workers, it's not just an abstract policy debate. One of those directly affected is a 44-year-old, former dispatch worker at Mitsubishi Electric.
In an interview at a union office in Nagoya, he described his work at a factory that he said employed about 1,000 temps and 2,000 full-timers. He worked in a unit making servo motors, which are devices used in a wide variety of machinery. He pocketed 1,120 yen (just over $12) an hour, far less than permanent employees doing identical work.
In 2008, he was let go with a week's notice. All of the other 1,000 temps were also laid off, in stages, he said.
He asked that his name not be used because he's one of three former dispatch workers involved in legal proceedings against Mitsubishi Electric.
The three are asking for recognition of their status as Mitsubishi Electric employees, which would give the company legal obligations, and 6 million yen (about $65,000) in damages each.
Mitsubishi Electric declined comment on the case, and did not respond when asked about criticisms of its use of temp labor. It said it employed 28,778 permanent employees and 5,256 part-timers as of September 2009.
The former dispatch worker at Mitsubishi Electric wasn't impressed with the current government's planned reforms, and said more sweeping change was needed.
"Looking at the proposed revisions of the dispatch law, I don't think they're any good," he said.
"Dispatch work will still be permitted in principle, which means people will still be able to be fired easily. I think they should just forbid dispatch labor altogether."
While waiting for a court ruling, he's taking care of a wife and child on a modest government job training allowance.
Temp Nation the series:
The demise of fulltime employment
Fighting Panasonic
The foreign effect
A political solution?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Japan labor reforms panned
Reforms to protect temporary workers – now about one-third of the workforce – were met with criticism on both sides. Firms say they need a flexible workforce, while laborers say too many loopholes remain. Christian Science Monitor, March 22, 2010
Nagoya, Japan -- Japan's center-left government approved a bill limiting the hiring of temporary workers Friday, in a bid to reverse years of labor deregulation that it says went too far in favoring big business at the expense of workers.
But the proposals have drawn fire from all sides. Businesses and some economists say firms need flexible labor to remain lean amid fierce global competition. Meanwhile, some workers and small unions argue that the reforms don’t go far enough.
The cool reception reflects growing disillusionment with the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ), which took power last year with lofty ambitions but is now being dealt a reality check on some of its pet policies.
It's been forced to retreat on several issues – scaling back a populist pledge to slash highway tolls, for example, and cutting in half its proposed child-rearing subsidy, from 26,000 to 13,000 yen ($145), at least in the first year of implementation.
Meanwhile, the DPJ cabinet's approval ratings have plunged to 34 percent, from around 70 percent when it took power, according to the latest poll from the Japanese daily Asahi Shimbun.
The labor bill is just the latest example of the DPJ's struggle to balance competing priorities while playing complex coalition politics.
"People are getting more and more frustrated about increasing inequality, and the DPJ has to take care of this national frustration," says Koji Murata, a professor at Doshisha University in Kyoto, about the labor bill.
"But this type of regulation may decrease Japanese companies' competitiveness. That's a Catch-22 for the Japanese economy."
Promises, promises
The measure fulfills a campaign pledge made by the DPJ during last summer's election campaign.
The bill approved by the cabinet Friday will ban "dispatch" work, or short-term contract work arranged through a third company, in the manufacturing sector. That rolls back liberalization measures in 2004 under the more business-friendly Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) government.
The new measures would also ban one-or two-day dispatch work contracts.
The bill now goes to the Diet, or parliament, where it is expected to pass within weeks.
Such measures are a response to widespread indignation over the mass firing of dispatch laborers when the recession hit in 2008.
Dispatch workers, along with part-time, subcontract, and other nonpermanent labor, now make up about one-third of Japan's 56 million-strong workforce.
The labor reforms are supported by Rengo, Japan's largest trade union confederation and a pillar of DPJ support. Most of its nearly 7 million members are permanent, full-time workers at big-name firms like Toyota and Panasonic.
But former dispatch workers, activists, and smaller unions representing temp workers say the changes won't take effect for three to five years, and that firms will easily find ways to sidestep the new measures.
‘Just in time’ workforce
As recently as the 1980s, Japan was famous for its social bargain. Salarymen gave firms long hours and unquestioned loyalty, and in return, companies took care of them for life.
Firms began relying on temporary labor in the late 1990s, with the help of LDP-led deregulation, says Yasushi Iguchi, a labor expert at Kwansei Gakuin University. Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi's policies accelerated that trend.
Firms took on more part-time workers, dispatch labor, migrant labor from depressed regions like the northern island of Hokkaido, and foreign labor, especially Brazilians of Japanese descent and low-paid Chinese "trainees."
In 1999, 26 specialized sectors were allowed to hire dispatch labor, he said, and in 2004, dispatch work was allowed in manufacturing firms. Dispatch labor boomed, peaking at 2.2 million in 2007, only to plunge during the global recession as firms shed workers.
Mr. Iguchi called such dispatch labor a "just-in-time" workforce, complementing the famous "just-in-time" manufacturing model of Japan's corporate titans like Toyota. Workers are hired only when needed, and cut when orders are slack.
Such an arrangement has helped Japanese firms control costs. But it provides little security for workers, who are paid less and receive fewer benefits than permanent, directly hired employees.
Skeptical workers
At a union office in Japan's manufacturing heartland, one tousle-haired former dispatch worker, who did not want his name used, told a typical tale.
He worked for 6-1/2 years as a dispatch worker for Mitsubishi Electric in Aichi Prefecture. He clocked 60-hour weeks and had the same responsibilities as permanent workers. But he earned less than half of what they made, only 1,120 yen (about $12.40) per hour.
Mitsubishi sometimes gave two or three dispatch workers permanent jobs, giving hope to the rest. "Me and my co-workers thought, maybe one day we'll be taken on, too," he says.
Instead, in December 2008 he and 40 other dispatch workers in his unit were summoned by Mitsubishi bosses and fired, with a week's notice. The recession had hit with full force and they were no longer needed; the unit's 20 permanent employees would stay on.
Now, he's supporting his wife and child with a job training allowance provided by the government, which he can receive for six months.
He and two other former dispatch workers have taken legal action against Mitsubishi. They're asking for 6 million yen ($66,000) each in compensation. They argue that under labor regulations, Mitsubishi was required to offer permanent employment after three years of work. Mitsubishi Electric declined comment, saying the case was still in litigation.
The worker says the DPJ's reforms don't go far enough. "They're no good," he says flatly. "People will still be able to be fired easily, and in practice nothing will change for workers like me."
The wrong solution?
Chie Matsumoto, a Tokyo-based labor rights activist, agrees. "There are other temporary employment systems in Japan that would still leave working conditions unstable," she says.
Iguchi, the labor economist, says firms will simply turn to other avenues of hiring nonpermanent workers. He says that improving unemployment benefits would have more impact.
The government should also enforce equal pay for equal work, he says, to close the wage gap between regular and "irregular" workers. He cites research showing that a full-time male worker in Japan typically makes more than three times what a part-time female worker makes for the same work.
"The idea that if you ban dispatch labor you'll have no 'working poor' – it's an illusion," he says.
Saichi Kurematsu, chairperson of the Aichi Prefectural Federation of Trade Unions, says some of the new measures were welcome, such as banning one-day contracts.
But he says 70 percent of the dispatch workers fired during the recent recession were on monthly contracts, not daily ones. He called for better unemployment benefits, and said companies should be required to offer permanent employment to any temps who work for them for longer than a year.
"During the Koizumi government, the liberalization of labor rules created a very difficult situation for workers," says Mr. Kurematsu. "We were very happy to see that administration thrown out. But after six months [of DPJ-led government], we're less happy."
"We think the reforms are insufficient," he says. "They don't deal with the real problems."
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Silicon Sweatshops part 5: A promising model
There's no easy way to police supply chains in Asia. But one US high-tech firm and its Taiwan supplier are taking a creative approach that might just work.Global Post, November 17, 2009 (fifth in a 5-part series)
With Kathleen E. McLaughlin
DONGGUAN, China — If fixing labor conditions in the high-tech supply chain seems hopeless, consider the case of Xiao Yang.
Xiao, a young migrant worker from Henan Province, works at a factory in Dongguan, this one a 5,000-employee high-tech firm owned by Taiwan's Chicony. The firm supplies keyboards, computer mice and other peripherals to the world's top PC firm, HP, and other major brands.
The factory looks like any other in this part of China, and doesn't have state-of-the-art facilities. But it feels like a different world.
"At this factory, we get paid for annual leave and other conditions, according to the law," said Xiao, while showing a GlobalPost reporter around tidy dorm rooms. "It's well-known among other workers as a good factory."
Workers have access to KTV (karaoke) and a basketball court. They get free annual medical checks. And every once in a while they dine on chicken feet – considered a big delicacy for Chinese kids from the countryside, and unheard of at other factories.
Most importantly, though, they say they know their rights, and management listens to them. A telephone hotline allows them to make anonymous complaints. Every Friday, managers post a list of the complaints they've received and how they're being resolved.
All this didn't happen on its own. In what is thought to be the first project of its kind in the industry, HP collaborated with several Hong Kong nonprofit groups to improve conditions at its supplier factories.
Starting in the summer of 2007, the nonprofits worked with Chicony to educate workers about their rights. One group, the Chinese Working Women Network, set up and ran the workers' complaint hotline, and then trained workers themselves to run it.
HP covered the Chinese Working Women Network's costs for the training, but declined to reveal the total amount. Chicony pitched in its own funds to improve the factory's food and other working conditions.
"The cost is affordable to any company — even small suppliers could handle the amount," said Ernest Wong, a Hong Kong-based supply chain responsibility official for HP. "But the cost isn't the critical point. The key is how you engage with the supplier company."
At first, convincing skeptical Chicony managers to work with an NGO wasn't easy, said Jenny Chan, formerly with the Hong Kong-based group Students and Scholars against Corporate Misbehavior (SACOM), which coordinated the project at Chicony (SACOM says it receives no direct funding from HP).
"It's like a marathon," said Chan. "It's so tough to convince factory managers that these are new expectations, not only from your customers, but from global citizens and how they think of a good and competitive factory."
But to listen to one Chicony manager, the firm has found the corporate responsibility religion. Chen Jianqiao said that the program has created a "win-win situation" for both management and workers. Workers are more efficient because they feel their voices are heard and respected; management wins points and new business with Western customers and has fewer conflicts with employees.
"The benefit to the workers is a benefit to the company," said Chen. "Because of this program, our customers have noticed, and our business is going well despite the economic crisis. We haven't experienced any downturn."
Involving workers and rights groups
In a globalized world, where Taiwanese bosses run factories using Filipino and Chinese workers to produce gadgets for American consumers, there's no easy fix to the problem of rampant labor rights abuses.
The best solution would be found in Asia itself. In Taiwan, that means better legal protections for foreign migrant workers, and major reform or scrapping of the exploitative labor brokerage system. For Taiwanese workers, labor-management communication needs to be improved, and unions may help. In China, basic labor regulations need to be better enforced.
Getting such change is likely to be a long, slow process. And activists say it will depend in part on Filipinos, Taiwanese and Chinese themselves demanding better labor rights.
In the meantime, activists say big brands should follow the lead of HP, by enlisting outside NGOs and factory workers in improving conditions at their suppliers. Such an approach, they say, is a big improvement on toothless "codes of conduct" and spot audits, which too often turn into dog-and-pony shows. Some in the industry agree that audits have only limited usefulness.
"The natural reaction for the audited party is to try to pass the audit and therefore not to show eventual issues to the auditor," wrote Sony Ericsson corporate responsibility official Mats Pellback-Scharp, according to a report last year from one rights group. "Audits can never be more than, at best, a snapshot of the situation."
Labor rights activists make a few other suggestions. One is that big brands be more transparent by making public their list of suppliers. This makes it easier for NGOs to identify who's making what for whom, and therefore which firms need to take responsibility.
"Consumers have the right to demand that companies be transparent about the work they conduct," said Sara Nordbrand, a researcher at the Stockholm-based NGO Swedwatch. "Most electronics brands still do not acknowledge customers' right to information about the circumstances under which the products they buy are produced," she said. "Many companies still, for example, regard the names of their suppliers as being 'business secrets' and do not comment on findings of journalists and organizations."
Apple, for example, has refused to publicize its supplier list. Per company policy, it doesn't usually confirm or deny its supplier relationships. (It made an exception by denying any current relationship with the specific Dongguan Masstop factory mentioned in this series.) "We respect confidentiality, which is one of the reasons why we don't go into details about our suppliers and who they are," said Apple spokesperson Jill Tan.
Activists say big brands should also provide more financial support for programs like the HP and Chicony project. "Pushing prices down while at the same time demanding better working conditions is an equation that's hard to solve for suppliers down the chain," said Annika Torstensson, project leader of the Stockholm-based Fair Trade Center.
Apple, for example, was making record profits at the time of allegations described in this series — while Wintek was being hammered by months of losses. The brands can afford corrective measures much more than their low-margin contractors.
“Baby steps”
Chicony's factory isn't perfect, of course, and neither was HP's pilot project. "These are only baby steps," said Chan, the activist. But it shows what can happen when a big U.S. brand takes a creative, open-minded approach to corporate responsibility, collaborates with NGOs and, importantly, ponies up the cash.
Chicony also deserves credit for opening its doors to an outside NGO — the stuff of nightmares for many a factory boss — and committing itself to improving communication with its workers.
HP isn't immune from criticism. Critics point to one gripe: While it publishes a list of its suppliers, it doesn't give information on specific factory locations, making it difficult for outsiders to monitor.
But of the big high-tech firms, labor rights groups consistently give HP the highest marks. "Hewlett Packard is setting the pace for social responsibility in China," rights groups wrote in a 2008 report.
A more recent report by the Dutch group SOMO this past May remarked, "For a code [of conduct] to be implemented in such a way that it will have effect on the workplace, companies have to work with local organizations and trade unions. So far only HP works, in some cases, with civil society organizations ... only HP has worked with NGOs in China on implementation and worker trainings."
At least one other company, Dell, has shown interest in following HP's example. "Dell is open to working with NGOs that are willing to collaborate in building capability with suppliers," said Dell in an emailed statement.
Meanwhile, rights groups give Apple some credit for bulking up its social responsibility team in recent years — but low marks for a lack of transparency. Fujitsu-Siemens Computers got the booby prize, for what rights groups said was its reluctance to accept responsibility for its supply chain. "The company is neither committed nor transparent," two groups said in the 2008 report. Fujitsu spokesman Archie Mochizuki said in an emailed response that the firm "has and continues to carefully evaluate working conditions at its suppliers," and that it had made clear to suppliers that "cooperation would be suspended" with firms that do not meet its code of conduct.
Critics, though, remain firm in their belief that more can be done.
"We have to know more about how a product is made, and about the people who are really creating value for society," said Chan. "Workers deserve basic respect. I hope we can treat them as human beings, not just as working machines.”
Previous:
Silicon Sweatshops, introduction
Shattered dreams
Disposable workforce
The China connection
Silicon Sweatshops part 4: the China Connection
For migrant workers, an electronics factory job can be a ticket into China's booming middle class. But for many, it turns into a nightmare of poor working conditions and indifferent bosses.Global Post, November 17, 2009 (fourth in a 5-part series)
With Kathleen E. McLaughlin
DONGGUAN, China — Months after a massive strike halted assembly lines at an electronics firm here in southern China, the factory's workers are fatalistic.
"Even after the strike, nothing gets better," said a shaggy-haired, 25-year-old from Hubei province who's worked at the factory, Dongguan Masstop, for a year and a half. "Conditions are still very bad. The food gets worse and worse. And every time I see my supervisor, I tell him it's too hot at my work station."
"It's depressing, because nothing ever changes," he said.
After several months of plunging profits, the electronics components maker Dongguan Masstop — a fully owned subsidiary of Taiwan's Wintek — told workers in February that their overtime pay rate would be slashed as a cost-cutting measure, labor groups said. Activists said that managers cut workers' salaries without negotiating with them first.
Wintek insists it got approval for this measure from the local government and an "employee representative meeting," according to the company's statement.
Workers rejected the pay cut and took several other gripes to management, including bad food and unsanitary dining conditions. (See the blog of one Dongguan Masstop worker, in simplified Chinese.) According to the Hong Kong-based labor rights group Students and Scholars Against Corporate Misbehavior (SACOM), 100 workers were hospitalized with food poisoning in March as a result of unhealthy conditions.
Seeing no improvement, the workers went on strike in April. Most returned to the lines when the firm agreed to keep their overtime pay rate untouched. Activists said 19 workers who continued to strike were laid off.
Complex and murky
Wintek has supplied Apple, Nokia and other top brands, according to eight current and former employees, labor rights groups and industry analysts. (Nokia confirmed that Wintek is a supplier; Apple said it does not confirm supplier relationships.) Dongguan Masstop is one of the Wintek group's key factories in China.
But Masstop's exact relationship with global electronics brands is unclear. Workers at Dongguan Masstop don't even know who exactly they're making components for. Both Apple and Nokia insist none of their parts or products come out of this specific factory, which has been the target of relentless criticism from labor rights groups since April.
Jenny Chan, formerly with SACOM, said her group has heard from workers that Wintek was handling rush orders from Apple at the time of the troubles in April. "We think they also got the Dongguan facility to do some part," said Chan. SACOM also says Nokia visited the factory in September on an inspection tour, as a potential customer (Nokia had no comment).
Wintek has production lines in Taiwan, China and India, said Chan, and can move orders around as needed. So when Nokia disassociated itself from the Dongguan Masstop factory in conversations with SACOM about conditions there, Chan urged the firm to take a broader view of its corporate responsibility.
"Their excuse was that at the Dongguan factory, none of the assembly lines are directly related to Nokia," said Chan. "But next month, Wintek could redistribute orders, so we said, 'Don't be so short-sighted.'"
GlobalPost interviewed three Dongguan Masstop workers near the factory, in this gritty manufacturing hub. Inside, some 10,000 workers — mostly young migrants from far-flung Chinese provinces — toil around the clock making electronic components.
Welcome to go-go China
The workers are chasing a dream of upward mobility in the go-go factory towns of southern China. It's a way to earn a pile of cash before they return to the provinces. And for the lucky, it can be a stepping-stone into China's rapidly growing middle class.
The three young workers spoke on condition of anonymity, fearing they'd be fired or punished for complaining. They said the factory's treatment of its workers hasn't improved since April, and may even be getting worse.
"Working conditions in the factory haven't changed at all," since the strike, said a 19-year-old woman from Hunan Province with a springy, wedge haircut who has worked at the factory for three years.
If the workers complaints' are correct, the factory is violating one key electronics industry group's code of conduct, and possibly Chinese labor laws.
The Electronic Industry Citizenship Coalition includes most major electronics brands. Its code of conduct says workers should get at least one day off every seven days, and only work more than 60 hours a week in "emergency or unusual" circumstances. It also bans pre-employment tests that could discriminate against some potential workers.
Dongguan Masstop workers said they clock 70-hour weeks — 10-hour shifts every day of the week, making from $235 to $366 a month, which comes out to as little as 83 cents per hour.
The 25-year-old from Hubei said his last day off had been nearly three weeks before, and only because he started working the night shift. "Before that, I can't remember my last day off," he said.
All three believe they were tested for Hepatitis B, a common pre-employment procedure in southern China factories. The test can lead to discrimination against carriers of the disease, even though it's not transmittable in casual contact.
All three said the factory employs under-aged workers, though they couldn't offer proof. They say labor shortages in the south are now making child labor more common. "Many factories have workers that are too young, especially the places that have trouble recruiting," said a 21-year-old female worker from Hubei. It's routine in Dongguan to get fake or borrowed documents to change one's age.
"There's a boy from my hometown who is so thin and small, I knew he couldn't be more than 14," said the young man from Hubei. "I asked, and he said that he hadn't finished middle school."
The workers said Dongguan Masstop put up a notice saying Nokia was coming on an inspection tour. While there was no specific "coaching" or threats, the three said that the notice was a tacit message to workers to keep their mouths shut.
"We weren't told exactly [what to say] by our bosses, but we know what we're supposed to say to Nokia and the others," said the young man. "It's common knowledge what you can and can't say."
And when the factory's big customers do come in to interview workers about conditions, their Taiwanese bosses sit next to them, the workers said.
Wintek declined to comment on any of these specific allegations by workers, which were emailed to the company. "The activities of each company in the Wintek Group are conducted in accordance with local laws and regulations," said Wintek Vice President James Chen, in an email.
"We also take care to fulfill our corporate social responsibilities and to ensure a comfortable, healthy and safe environment for our employees. We keep good communication with our employees to make sure their rights and interests under legal requirement are guaranteed."
Next in the series: "A Promising Model"
Previous:
Silicon Sweatshops, Introduction
Shattered dreams
Disposable workforce
Silicon Sweatshops part 3: Disposable Workforce
Laid-off Taiwanese workers accuse their firm of violating industry codes even when times were good.Global Post, November 17, 2009 (third in a 5-part series)
TAICHUNG, Taiwan — When she left work at dawn on Dec. 17 last year, Gao Yun-sheng, 49, got a rude surprise.
She worked for eleven and a half years at the Wintek factory, which she and eight other current and former employees interviewed by GlobalPost say has supplied Apple, Nokia, Motorola and other electronics brands. Lately, Gao had been working the graveyard shift, making about $720 a month mounting components on circuit boards.
But when she clocked out that morning, her managers had a message for her. "They told me, tomorrow you don't need to come in," said Gao. "I couldn't accept it."
When co-worker Chen Hsiu-zhi, 41, showed up a few hours later to begin the day shift, they told her "you can't come in," she said. She'd also been canned.
Compared with migrant workers from Southeast Asia, Taiwanese workers have it good. They have better salaries, benefits and legal protection.
But that didn't make much difference for Gao, Chen and about 600 other Taiwanese workers at the Wintek factory. Gao and Chen said they were laid off with no warning late last year, when the global economic recession hit. The workers who stayed were forced to take unpaid leave, the two said.
Long hours, fear of organizing
Apple's code prohibits workweeks of more than 60 hours except in "emergency or unusual" situations, and says overtime should be voluntary. The former Wintek workers said employees routinely clocked 65- to 70-hour weeks, and "if you don't cooperate with overtime, they'll deduct money from your salary," said Liu Jie, 42.
Instead of being paid an overtime salary, workers were often given extra paid vacation time and could only take it with the firm's approval, the former workers said.
Apple's code requires a telephone hotline or other anonymous grievance mechanism for workers; Wintek has none, the former workers said. “Our bosses are blind and deaf," said Liu, putting her hand over her eyes then ears.
Apple's code says its suppliers' employees should be able to join workers' associations and bargain collectively. The former workers said even talk of unionizing would put their jobs in jeopardy.
"Before, some people [publicly] brought up forming a union," said Gao. "Two or three days later, they were gone. They'd been fired. So people are afraid of losing their jobs."
The four workers weren't familiar with details of Apple's code of conduct until they were read to them. They said they'd heard from co-workers who had returned to Wintek that the company had warned about careless talk and told employees to say good things about Wintek ahead of an Apple visit early this summer. Such "coaching" is yet another Apple code violation.
"They [Wintek] are cheating Apple," said Gao. "What Apple tells the Wintek bosses goes in one ear and out the other. Wintek wants Apple's orders, so of course they would say 'OK' to everything."
"Apple also has some responsibility," said Liu, as the others nodded. "Apple has no idea they have such a badly managed company making their products."
"If Apple sees a company has problems, but still gives them orders, then Apple has a problem too, doesn't it?" added Chen.
Months of protest
After the layoffs last year, about 60 of the laid-off workers and labor activists launched protests. The company agreed to rehire pregnant workers and some long-time employees (12 years or more at the firm), the former workers said. That didn't satisfy the remaining laid-off workers.
So they and activists took their grievances directly to Apple, with a protest outside the U.S. firm's Taipei offices in late May.
Four months later, organizers said there was some progress on getting overtime pay after the company got bad publicity.
"After we went to protest at Apple, it gave Wintek a lot of pressure, not just from Apple, but from other customers, like Nokia," said Chu Wei-li, secretary-general of the Taipei-based National Federation of Independent Trade Unions, in an interview at a Taipei coffee shop in September. "Their customers got a bit nervous."
About half of the 60 who protested returned to jobs at Wintek, the former workers and activists said. The company offered the other 30 temporary or "dispatch" work, at $3 an hour or $30 for a day. They rejected this, saying the salary was too low, with no guarantee of steady work.
Meanwhile, at another Wintek plant in northern Taiwan, workers formed perhaps the island's first union at a high-tech firm. A union member who asked only to be identified by her family name, Chiu, said they organized in August after work conditions had gotten out of hand.
"The company laid off a lot of people because of last year's financial tsunami (a popular term here for the global recession)," said Chiu. "Conditions got worse and worse. One person was doing two or three people's work. We all felt bitter. Our salary was so small, but there was so much work."
Chiu said the workers have had some difficulties forming the union, because "when people hear the word union, they get scared." She said the union has only had a minor impact so far — workers are still owed back pay for several holidays, for example — and she didn't want to reveal how many union members there were because they might lose bargaining leverage.
Chiu said she'd only very recently heard about Apple's "code of conduct," while doing her own surfing on the internet.
No “material” issue
Neither Wintek nor Apple would confirm their business relationship, citing confidentiality. Nokia confirmed that Wintek is one its suppliers. Motorola declined to comment.
Wintek declined to respond to any of the specific allegations made by former and current workers. "We have communication with these employees, when they raise any issues, we will communicate with them," said Wintek Vice President James Chen. "Currently we keep this dialogue smoothly, so we don't think there's any material pending issue."
Apple also declined to respond to any specific allegations made by workers. Spokesperson Jill Tan referred GlobalPost back to the company's latest report on its auditing activity. She also pointed to Apple's programs on workers' rights training.
Chu, the trade unionist, said Wintek insisted to him that the situation has improved, while there's been "absolutely no response" from Apple on the workers' complaints. Chu hopes that U.S. labor unions will show solidarity and launch their own actions against Apple. But he's not optimistic.
Meanwhile, Wintek slapped him and two other activists with a defamation suit, he said.
"We think that Apple and Wintek's attitude is 'hen zaogao,'" said Chu, using a phrase that loosely translates as "messed up." "Apple is such a high-quality brand, with very good products. But they should pay more attention to the labor exploitation problem. They make so much money because of these workers."
Shaking his head, Chu said: "Apple has ignored its responsibility."
Next in the series: The China Connection
Previous:
Silicon Sweatshops, introduction
Shattered dreams
Original site
Silicon Sweatshops part 2: Shattered Dreams
Migrant workers making gadgets at Taiwan's high-tech parks sign deals that make them modern-day indentured servants. Global Post, November 17, 2009 (second in a 5-part series)
TANZI, Taiwan — For Filipina workers at the export processing zone here, complaining too loudly about your employer can get you fired.
So says Father Joy Tajonera, who preaches and helps such workers from his center here on busy Zhongshan Road as part of the Ugnayan Migrant and Immigrant Ministry.
"Women who stand up for their rights end up losing their jobs," said Tajonera. "Their names will be blacklisted, so they can't come back [to work in Taiwan]. So they say 'let's keep quiet.'"
After dark on a September night, before the start of her shift, one such Filipina worker, 25, walked from her dorm, past a jumble of shops and traffic on Zhongshan Road, through Tajonera's humble first-floor Catholic chapel, and up the stairs. She, too, was afraid to talk, and asked to be called "Claire."
She sat on a couch on the second floor, with Tajonera beside her. Then she described the deal with the devil she made to work in Taiwan.
First, she had to pay a 50,000 pesos ($1,050) "placement fee" in the Philippines. She borrowed half that. The limit for such fees should be about $550 under Taiwan regulations.
The young woman then handed over her passport to her broker, who still has it in "safe keeping." Now, she works the 8 p.m. to 5 a.m. graveyard shift at the high-tech firm Wintek. She makes Taiwan's minimum wage, $550 per month.
But in the first year, her take-home salary was just $300, after taxes and deductions for her monthly brokers' fee, dorm fee and "forced savings.” The latter is a practice by which brokers keep part of a worker's salary in hock until their contract is finished.
They'll clock as many hours as possible, to send money to the families they've left behind in the Philippines. During their off-hours, they sleep six or seven to a room in soulless dorms in or near the industrial parks.
A proud “breadwinner”
The Wintek factory where Claire works is one of the world's top suppliers of handset panels. It supplies Finland's Nokia. It also makes panels for Motorola and Apple, possibly including iPod Touch panels and iPhone panels, according to current and former employees, labor activists and industry analysts.
In recent months the firm has also been mentioned by Taiwan's Commercial Times, Dow Jones and other media as a possible supplier of touch screens for Apple's much-hyped, supposedly forthcoming "iTablet" gadget.
Motorola declined to comment. Neither Wintek nor Apple will confirm the two companies' business ties, citing confidentiality. Current and former workers say it's common knowledge that Apple is a customer, but describe a secretive process in which components are shipped with no logos, and not directly to Apple.
Three other Filipina migrant workers at Wintek reported placement fees, deductions, passport "safe-keeping" and "forced savings" similar to Claire's. Seven migrant workers at other firms in the same export zone reported to GlobalPost placement fees from $945 to $1,675.
All the fees, loans and salary deductions can add up to more than a year's wages, making Taiwan's foreign workers' scheme a modern-day form of indentured servitude.
Economic conditions in the Philippines are so bleak that thousands gladly accept such arrangements. In three years they can still make more than they could back home — provided they complete their full contract.
"I could find a job there [in the Philippines] but it can't meet my family's needs," said Claire. "I'm happy here, because I can help my family. I'm a breadwinner."
Moreover, she says she has little stomach for fighting her company or broker. "A lot of us would really like to make a protest, but I don't have any support," she said, shyly. "In my case, we're only 50 workers [in her unit]. How can I be sure all of us want what I want?"
Asked if Apple had a vested interest in exploited migrant workers like her, Claire answered quickly, "Yes, because when their suppliers hire foreign workers they can make more money.”
Aware of the problem
In its most recent report, Apple itself fretted about the treatment of migrant workers.
"We learned that some of our suppliers work with third-party labor agencies to source workers from other countries. These agencies, in turn, work through multiple sub-agencies — both in the hiring country and the worker's home country — in some cases, all the way back to recruiters in the workers' home village."
"By the time the worker has paid each agency, the total fees may be equivalent to many month's wages and exceed legal limits,” the report states.
Apple said it had made such practices a "core violation," its most serious. The firm said it had forced its suppliers to return to workers $852,000 in illegal placement fees, but did not name or locate those suppliers.
Tajonera said average placement fees are equivalent to 10 months' salary. He said it's hard to get labor regulations enforced because workers are afraid to put their jobs at risk.
That's where a high-profile customer like Apple can make a difference, critics say.
"If the workers knew Apple was on their side, they would pursue justice," said Tajonera. "Only Apple can bend the knee of a corporation and say, 'If you don't do it this way, we won't do business with you.'"
"I know they have this corporate responsibility code, but the problem is, it's not being implemented," he said. "There's no follow-up. It's like handing them [Apple's suppliers] a piece of paper saying 'do this,' but then that's it."
Technically, migrant workers like Claire are employees of the labor broker, not Wintek.
But Apple now requires that suppliers "take responsibility for the entire recruitment process, including the recruitment practices and fees of labor agencies in the workers' home countries," according to its latest report. Pointing to those new rules, Apple spokesperson Jill Tan said, "We've developed an industry-leading position on recruitment practices."
Wintek declined to comment on specific allegations involving Filipino migrant workers at its factories. "We have little to comment on things regarding specific customer’s supplier code of conduct,” Wintek vice president James Chen said in an email.
"The activities of each company in the Wintek Group are conducted in accordance with local laws and regulations," he added.
First to be fired
Tajonera, the Catholic priest who ministers to migrants, said that workers are easily intimidated if they complain alone or in small groups. And when times are good, there's little incentive for them to rock the boat.
But in a global economic crisis, such workers are the first to get downsized. And they find out how few rights they really have.
According to the NGO Migrante, more than 6,800 Filipinos have been laid off by firms in Taiwan and sent home since last November. Most worked at electronics firms. Some workers were given only a few hours' notice before being taken to the airport, Migrante says. Some 600 of those even had to pay for their own plane tickets home.
"In Asia, the economic crisis was experienced by migrant workers first," said Migrante chairperson Garry Martinez, in a phone interview from the Philippines.
In the export zone where Tajonera ministers, the layoffs came just before the start of the traditional pre-Christmas "novena" mass. "I called it the Exodus," said Father Joy. "Our Mass used to have 700 to 800 people — all of the sudden it was half that. All of us were caught off guard."
At the Wintek factory during that period, at least 550 Filipina workers were let go, said Claire. Most of her co-workers left voluntarily, she said, and returned to the Philippines. "They [the company] told people, if you resign now, you will be the first to be rehired," she said. "But there's been no re-hiring."
In a September telephone interview from the Philippines, a 30-year-old former migrant worker in Taiwan told another typical tale. She asked to be called "Catherine,” saying she did not want to give her real name because she's in the midst of legal proceedings.
Catherine paid brokers a $2,130 "placement fee" for arranging work in Taiwan. She had to borrow almost half that.
She started work last July at Sintek Photronic, doing quality control. "My work was OK," said Catherine. Sintek makes touch panels, and color filters that are used in computer monitors.
When the recession hit demand for such computer monitors in the U.S. and other markets, the shock reverberated down the supply chain, all the way to the factory floor where Catherine worked.
In the first week of November, she and other workers were told that plane tickets back to the Philippines had been arranged. They had to leave. On Nov. 26, 2008, Catherine came home — jobless, leaving her husband (a fellow migrant worker) behind in Taiwan, and with no way to pay off a pile of debt.
She got back $180 that had been deducted and stashed away for her as "forced savings." And she received an additional $160 in severance pay. That didn't help much. Catherine said she owed her lenders $1,640, including interest.
Sintek said in an email that it is not involved in migrant workers' fees to labor brokers, and that migrant workers agreed in writing to monthly salary transfers to savings accounts. Sintek said that severance pay for foreign workers dismissed late last year was calculated in consultation with the Taiwan labor ministry and the Philippines representative office in Taiwan, and that workers agreed in writing to the payments.
Now, Catherine says her only hope of paying off her debt is if she wins a suit against her Filipino employment agency, demanding payment for the remainder of her two-year contract and return of part of the exorbitant placement fee.
"Before I went to Taiwan, I dreamed of a good future," said Catherine. "But when I came home, I came home with nothing."
Next in the series: "Disposable Workers"
Previous:
Silicon Sweatshops, Introduction
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
