Amenee Siahpush

Ameneé Siahpush
Oaxaca, Mexico
Global Workers Justice Alliance (GWJA)

Today an estimated 214 million migrants worldwide cross national borders seeking employment. As a population that is largely uninformed of its rights and resources, it’s not a huge surprise to learn about the exploitation migrant workers suffer in the workplace. We’ve all heard about cases of unpaid wages, human trafficking schemes, unlawful termination of employment, or sexual harassment.

But what happens when a worker decides to pursue his case, but is forced to return to his home country – either because of an expiring visa or because of a family emergency – before the case is settled? Before interning with Global Workers Justice Alliance, I had never thought about this before. And as someone who is not a law student, I had a very slippery grasp, at best, on how cases like this unfold.

Here’s an example: “While in the United States working as a landscaper with the H-2 guest worker program, Eric suffered a debilitating knee injury. After various delays, the company eventually complied with the law and provided him medical care. When Eric’s visa expired he followed the law and went home. Once back in Guatemala the insurance company refused to provide him continuing coverage. Eric was barely able to sustain his family with a poor paying construction job that only worsened his condition” (Global Workers).

What typically happens in these situations is that valid claims are abandoned when a worker leaves the United States, which is of course unfair to the worker and leads to unsafe working conditions for those who remain at the job.

Portable justice—the term coined by Global Workers as the right and ability of transnational migrants to access justice even after they have departed their country of employment—is key to ensuring migrants are no longer treated as a disposable workforce. In promoting portable justice, Global Workers has created a Defender Network, which is a network of human rights organizations that partner with Global Workers to act as advocates and resources for migrants in their home countries and abroad. Through this Defender Network, Global Workers was actually able to transfer Eric’s case to a law school clinic in his hometown, which then secured his medical care for the future.

A few weeks ago I had the incredible opportunity to join Global Workers at their third New Defender Training in Mexico City. Nearly 30 human rights advocates and lawyers from all over Mexico gathered to learn about labor laws, the judicial system in the U.S., and the steps in facilitating labor cases for workers who have come to the U.S. and have suffered labor rights abuses. Through the training, I was constantly reminded of the importance of grounding human rights projects in cross-organization and cross-agency collaboration. It’s because of this collaborative model that migrants are getting support and education on both sides of the border, that we’re able to see the commonalities between migrant’s rights and, for example, women’s rights, and (selfishly) that I’m getting introduced to so many dedicated people doing such incredible work.

A few photos of the from the training:

Ameneé Siahpush
Oaxaca, Mexico
Global Workers Justice Alliance (GWJA)

Aggravated by the effects of the recession, or perhaps by the inability to continue ignoring the situation, public concern over immigration has once again taken hold in US national politics. Within this dialogue, there is a common understanding across the political spectrum that the current immigration system in the US is broken, but very little consensus on how to fix it. When we scratch past the surface of immigration reform as it is debated by politicians and legislators, we see individuals and families who are living within this broken system, many for generations.

Meet Maria: She is a single mother of two, living in the tiny town of Santa Rosa, Oaxaca. Her first trip to the US was in 1990, at twelve years old, with her little brother and father. They lived and worked in the countryside of Oregon, side to side with other migrants, primarily from Mexico, but also from parts of Central America. She moved back and forth between the US and Mexico three different times, totaling over 12 years spent working in strawberry, cucumber, and grape farms in the US. Marie never had legal documentation to work in the States, although both of her children were born there.

There are conflicting theories on the unique ways that migration affects women. One common theme is the potential for Mexican women to find empowerment and emancipation through labor migration. By becoming active participants in the labor market, women have gained more control over budgetary and other household decision-making, a process that was traditionally reserved for men. However, other scholars have questioned the equalizing effect of migration on gender relations, as it occurs in the larger context of stratification by race, class, and legal status. In addition, women’s shift into the workforce as wage earners has often meant longer workdays and heavier workloads, as they are now responsible for both outside work and domestic chores. Outside of the home, women are taking on tasks that were once associated with masculinity; however, men are not undergoing an equal reorganization of their own traditional gender roles, and child-rearing and household chores still fall into the laps of women.

Maria confirmed the complexities of migration. Yes, she was able to contribute to her family’s income. Yes, it provided an opportunity to learn English and to know more about the world outside of Oaxaca. And yes, machismo still holds strong in some families, and regardless of whether she was in Mexico or in the US, she was still expected to cook, clean, and raise her children, even after a long day in the fields.

As to be expected, our conversation fluctuated from the benefits of migration to the extreme difficulties and negative consequences of migration on her community. She expressed deep appreciation for the help she had received from the US government to feed her children. And she laughed when remembering how she could barely work during the first few days in Oregon because she was happily frozen in awe of its beauty. We discussed the high cost of living in the US compared to Mexico, the daily fear of being deported without her children, the sad separation of family members living on different sides of the border, and the unforgettable thirst she experienced after waiting for days in the desert to cross into the US. She was pregnant at the time.

Within the recounting of these memories, the conversation always had a way of coming back to the most basic distinction, in Maria’s opinion, between the US and Oaxaca: the reality that jobs just do not exist in Oaxaca. “What will my kids to do for work after they finish school”, she wondered aloud. Maria’s younger brother has also recently returned from the US. Although he’s successfully used his US earnings to build a home for his wife and 2 children, unfortunately his inability to find work in their hometown plays directly into Maria’s fears for her children. “Of course it’s important to protect the human rights of migrants. Migration is especially difficult for women. They get raped, hit, and murdered while trying to make it north. But we also need to create economic opportunities for our people here. And better education for our children. Our children need motivation to study. Right now, what’s the point of going to school if there aren’t any jobs for them afterwards? This is Oaxaca’s biggest need: better education and more job opportunities. Otherwise, despite the risks of rape and the separation of families, heading north will always appeal to us.”

Ameneé Siahpush
Oaxaca, Mexico
Global Workers Justice Alliance (GWJA)

I arrived at the office today to find twelve women, ranging from 16 to 70 years old, huddled together around a computer politely debating the color of their future logo, as my coworker, Ignacio, scribbled notes about their requests. They were dressed in traditional, long red dresses—perfectly matching except a slight variation of ribbon that ran vertically down the beautiful cloth. Ignacio clicked through the various designs and color combinations and the women eventually settled on what would soon become the logo found on Triqui handicrafts. A bright yellow line cutting through the middle of red letters. You looked at it and instantly thought of a woven basket. Or of the woven dresses that filled the room.

My research and work as a Gallatin fellow, while in constant evolution, is largely defined by the impact of migration on local indigenous communities and on the state as a whole. I am living in Santiago Juxtlahuaca, a rural town of thirty thousand residents, nestled in the mountains of eastern Oaxaca, Mexico. Oaxaca is one of the most ethnically diverse regions in Mexico, with more than seventy-five percent of the population belonging to an indigenous community. It is also situated as Mexico’s second most impoverished state, where rural infrastructures, basic services, and access to health care and education are described as marginal at best. This prevailing poverty, in large part, has solidified migration as one very commonly accepted path toward economic well-being.

However, many are working hard to change this reality.

El Derecho a No Migrar (The Right to Stay Home/Not Migrate) is a one of the principal projects led by my host organization, Frente Indígena de Organizaciones Binacionales (Indigenous Front of Binational Organizations; FIOB). At its foundation, the project aims to empower indigenous migrant communities to create economic opportunities that stand as sustainable alternatives to migration. El Derecho a No Migrar is divided into two parts. With food production and income generation in mind, the first part is focused on agricultural activities and the second is centered around micro-enterprises such as textile and palm weaving cooperatives. (This is where the beautiful Triqui women and their future logo came into the picture.)

So far, my involvement in this project has fallen on the side of pure observation, rather than an ability to offer more active support. While at times frustrating, as I’m often left wishing I could contribute more, I am slowly finding ways to fit myself into the project. Below is a photo of community visit where I was able to assist a FIOB project leader as she taught a Mixteca family how to grow mushrooms that will later be sold in local open-air markets.

In addition to my work with FIOB, I am also completing a research project for the Brooklyn-based, nonprofit organization Global Workers Justice Alliance. Global Workers was created to combat worker exploitation by promoting portable justice for transnational migrants through a cross-border network of worker advocates and resources. (FIOB is one of the most active members of their Defender Network.) The focus of my research is the current migratory flow of Mexicans to the United States, including information on the highest migrant sending and receiving states, top employment industries, and documentation used to migrate. As a Master of Public Administration student at Wagner, I am particularly interested in how my findings can be used to inform and strengthen Global Workers’ program design and defender expansion, as well as their educational interventions and advocacy efforts.

My position between the two organizations—each with distinct, yet complimentary approaches to migration—provides an invaluable perspective on the realities of this phenomenon and the effect it has on Oaxacan communities on both sides of the border. I look forward to diving deeper into my fellowship work over the next few months, with the hope of gaining the ability to tease apart these human rights issues in a more informed and productive way. Please reach out if you have any advice, thoughts or suggestions: amenee.siahpush@nyu.edu. And best of luck to my fellow NYU adventurers!