boutons_
12-31-2005, 12:21 PM
Like immigrant workers in all countries, the Mexican illegals will do the dirty, shitty, low-paid, uninsured work nobody else will. But NO is so fucked up, it hasn't been an "el Dorado" for the MIs:
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In New Orleans, No Easy Work for Willing Latinos
By Manuel Roig-Franzia
NEW ORLEANS -- The come-on was irresistible: Hop in the truck. Go to New Orleans. Make a pile of cash.
Arturo jumped at it. Since that day when he left Houston, more than two months ago, he has slept on the floors of moldy houses, idled endlessly at day-laborer pickup stops and second-guessed himself nearly every minute.
For Arturo and countless Latinos, many of them also in the country illegally, flooded-out New Orleans has not turned out to be a modern-day El Dorado, where the streets are paved with gold. Instead, they have often been abandoned without transportation or shelter by the contractors who brought them to the city. They have struggled to find employment and been paid less than they were promised -- or not at all -- when they can find work.
"This is no way to live," Arturo said wearily in Spanish. "I don't know how much longer I can take it."
Arturo, a dour Mexican from Michoacan who did not want to disclose his last name for fear of deportation, stands at the nexus of the post-Hurricane Katrina labor crisis in New Orleans. A city desperate for workers is filling with desperate workers who either cannot find jobs or whose conditions are so miserable, and whose salaries are so low, that they become discouraged and leave.
President Bush has been promoting a guest-worker program that would give foreign workers temporary legal status for jobs that citizens leave unfilled. Latino activists here say workers such as Arturo demonstrate the need for changes in the law, particularly in disaster zones hungry for laborers.
"You have a labor force willing to come in and live and work in conditions others are not willing to," said Martin Gutierrez, director of the Hispanic Apostolate of the Catholic Archdiocese of New Orleans. "If you had a system by which these workers could become legal workers in the U.S., then the wages would increase."
Gutierrez has seen a huge spike in complaints about mistreatment of Latino workers, about such things as employers refusing to pay them and a lack of access to medical care for injuries. KGLA, a Spanish-language radio station in suburban New Orleans, logs several hundred complaint calls a day. "They come with great illusions, and they find injustice," said disc jockey Azucena Diaz, whose show "Chile, Tomate y Cebolla" -- chili, tomato and onion -- was named to mimic the green, red and white colors of the Mexican flag.
The city's reaction to the influx of Latinos has been frosty, even as demographers predict that the Hispanic population will soar from its current levels of 3 percent in New Orleans and 7 percent in suburban Jefferson Parish.
In a speech to a business group, Mayor C. Ray Nagin asked how he could "stop New Orleans from being overrun by Mexican workers." At a New Orleans town hall meeting in Atlanta, displaced black civil rights activist Carl Galmon complained: "They're bringing in foreign workers from South America, Central America and Mexico, paying them $5 an hour sometimes for 80 hours a week. They are undercutting the American labor force in New Orleans."
But, judging from the miles and miles of houses waiting to be gutted or repaired, there has been no great rush to snap up the work that Galmon fears losing to undocumented laborers. The city is awash in "Now Hiring" signs, and complaints about labor shortages are endemic. For those who find work, conditions can be abominable, with laborers such as Rico Barrios and his wife, Guadalupe Garcia, slashing through the cough-inducing mold on walls in flooded Lakeview with only thin masks to shield their lungs, even though she is pregnant. "It's hard," said Barrios, who is from Mexico City, his face glistening with sweat.
Before light one recent morning, Arturo, a stocky 38-year-old with droopy eyelids, leaned against a fence behind a Shell station in Metairie, the largest New Orleans suburb. The contractor who brought Arturo to New Orleans vanished after eight days. The $150-a-day salary -- cut to $100 without explanation -- vanished with him.
The men around Arturo -- dozens of Hondurans, Guatemalans, Mexicans, Ecuadorans and Salvadorans -- swarmed when a red truck pulled up.
"You need work?" they said in broken English, bumping against one another to get to the head of the line.
"I work cheap. I work hard."
Two young men piled into the pickup, with a heavyset man behind the wheel. Arturo was left behind.
Arturo said he slipped into the United States about 10 months ago, guided through the Mexican desert into Texas by a smuggler, known as a coyote, whom he paid $1,800. Arturo has made about $3,000, he said, barely covering expenses and leaving just a few hundred dollars to send back to his three children and wife in Michoacan.
By midmorning, the station owner had complained and the men were run off by a sheriff's deputy.
"I don't know why they want to harass us. All we want is to work," Arturo said. "We came to lift the city up."
Arturo drifted over to the only man he knows who has transportation: a tall, genial Honduran named Victor Manuel Gonzalez. Arturo needed to offer something to get a ride. And on this morning, he had something. A hot tip.
There was work, Arturo said he had heard, in a town that started with an S. Struggling with the pronunciation, he took out a sheet of paper and scribbled the letters S-L-I-D-E-L-I, coming close to the spelling of the far-flung New Orleans suburb, Slidell.
An impromptu crew formed, Arturo and three Hondurans, all undocumented, all out of work for days, all living in a gutted house -- Gonzalez, 36; Carlos Medina, 40; and a wisecracking 18-year-old named Marcos, who would not reveal his last name but who tells everyone they should call him Marc Antony.
Slidell looked promising as they crossed a bridge at the narrow eastern edge of Lake Pontchartrain. The houses were big, and broken. Blue tarps were everywhere. Arturo thought they were on to something: "Let's see if we're lucky. By the grace of God, we will be."
The pickup eased into a subdivision, and Gonzalez leapt out. Before he could cross the lawn, a man in a baseball hat was already shaking his head and gruffly saying, "I ain't got no work for you."
The process repeated itself over and over. After an hour and a dozen rejections, Marcos was restless. Medina was angry. The conversation turned to a small recent roundup of undocumented workers in New Orleans.
"If they catch me, it would be all the same to me," Medina said. "I'm not making anything here."
Another half-hour oozed by. Nothing.
The men drove by dozens of signs advertising jobs, all unattainable because the workers are in this country illegally. Discouraged, they gave up, and Gonzalez pointed his pickup southwest.
Back in New Orleans, they encountered empty streets and more shaking heads. Sometimes, a head poked out of a broken window, another Latino face, someone who had beaten them to the job, someone they might see at the gas station the next morning.
"Let's get out of here," Medina implored.
Gonzalez was frustrated but willing to keep going. "Just a few more streets."
Around midday, across from a church in eastern New Orleans, they spotted a woman in a garage, struggling with an armful of splintered wood. "I make you good price," Medina told her.
"How good?" Marie Croson responded.
Their first bite. Medina whispered something to Gonzalez and then blurted out, "Eight hundred dollars."
Then Croson was interested. She has been trying for weeks to get her house gutted. A church group from out of state had offered to do the work at no charge, but it backed off upon learning she had insurance, even though she has yet to receive a penny from her policy. A neighbor was demanding $4,000 to do the job, way more than she could afford.
"Bleach, too?" she said.
"One thousand dollars, and we finish at 5, 6 o'clock," Medina said.
She nodded her head and Arturo raced into the house, punching his bare fist through rotting drywall before the word "deal" had slipped out of Croson's mouth.
Two other friends, trailing in a separate car, joined them. After paying for gas, they'll each make about $150 -- their biggest payday in weeks.
"That was god-sent ," Croson told her friend Joyce Bennett.
Behind her, Arturo was emerging with an armload of mold-spotted muck that used to be Croson's living-room wall. A smile spread across his face. It was his first of the day.
Staff writer Ceci Connolly in Atlanta and research editor Lucy Shackelford in Washington contributed to this report.
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November 4, 2005
The Workers
In Louisiana, Worker Influx Causes Ill Will
By LESLIE EATON
GOOD HOPE, La. - Near this speck on the map southwest of New Orleans, where an oil refinery spouts flames into the sky and alligators are said to lurk in the green canals, sits something that is causing consternation across Louisiana: a camp for out-of-state workers cleaning up after the flood.
The camp, operated by a New York company called LVI Services, is not much to look at: a row of tractor-trailers crammed with bunks, a long line of portable toilets, a couple of R.V.'s and three tents with striped roofs. Gun-packing guards wear black T-shirts reading, "Police."
It is a temporary home for hundreds of LVI's workers, some of whom said they were in the United States illegally. They are commuting into New Orleans, swabbing the mold off walls, ripping the guts out of buildings, removing mountains of soggy debris.
And they are stirring up resentment. Louisianians, from high-level public officials to low-wage workers, have begun to complain about the influx of outsiders they perceive as having come to profit off their pain.
"People from other states, we appreciate their help," said Aubrey D. Cheatham, a union electrician from New Orleans who believes he lost a job to lower-paid workers from outside Louisiana. "But everybody else is getting work, not us."
Workers from all over have been pouring into Louisiana, some bused in by contracting companies, others simply turning up on their own in search of jobs. While nobody seems to know how many are here, there is plenty of work; the federal government estimates it will spend more than $450 million just to clean up hurricane debris.
And as that work continues, Louisianians are casting unhappy eyes on everyone from the giant construction companies that won federal contracts to the small-town builders driving big pickup trucks with out-of-state license plates.
Much of the overt hostility is focused on the army of Latino workers who appear to be doing much of the dirtiest cleanup work, often in the employ of those big companies, and often for less money that local workers might insist on.
State officials have expressed concerns, with Senator Mary L. Landrieu, Democrat of Louisiana, calling on Oct. 24 for an investigation of federal contractors, whom she said were hiring "low-wage undocumented workers." And in Kenner, just west of New Orleans, the City Council has passed an emergency ordinance to try to regulate workers' trailers and tents that have mushroomed all over the city.
"We're trying to be as considerate and compassionate as we can be to our out-of-town guests, but we need to preserve the quality of life for our residents as well," said Philip J. Ramon, chief of staff for Kenner's mayor.
Employers point out that they are not required to investigate the authenticity of employees' documents. And as for bringing in workers, some say they have no choice.
"People in the area of impact are disjointed, disoriented," said Burton T. Fried, president of LVI Services.
But in places where LVI will be working for a while, it tries to make a transition to local workers, Mr. Fried said. "The purpose is, forgetting morality, that we don't have to pay per diems, food service, transportation," he said.
The focus on Hispanic immigrants worries people like Representative Nydia M. Velázquez of New York, the ranking Democrat on the House Small Business Committee.
"I am afraid the anger and frustration of hurricane victims is going to be turned against undocumented workers, who are being taken advantage of," Ms. Velázquez said.
Louisiana has only a small Spanish-speaking population, which is concentrated in and around Kenner. New Orleans itself is 3.1 percent Hispanic, according to the latest census, and the state as a whole is just 2.4 percent, far less than the national average of 12.5 percent. Therefore many of the newcomers stand out.
The worker encampments are also not hard to spot: next to a cemetery on Airline Highway in Metairie, around the side of a Winn-Dixie supermarket on Williams Boulevard in Kenner, on the campus of Delgado Community College in New Orleans.
There are less formal living arrangements, too. On the west side of City Park, in the north part of New Orleans, campers are parked next to forklifts, tents have sprouted next to dump trucks and hammocks are slung next to front-end loaders. Judging by the license plates on the trucks, many of the inhabitants appear to be from nearby states.
But not all, at least not originally. José L. Garcia and five of his friends were camping recently under a live oak tree, sharing three tents, eating food from a church kitchen and bathing in a plastic garbage can. The men live in Charlotte, N.C., but said most of them knew one other from the Mexican state of Michoacán.
Behind their pickup trucks were two large trailers, which the men use to transport debris to a dump. They get $10 for every reeking refrigerator they throw out, Mr. Garcia said, but they do not want to do that work anymore - it makes them smell too bad.
Hard and unpleasant as cleanup work is, there are Louisianians willing to do it, said Barry Kaufman, the business manager of Construction and General Laborers' Local 689 in New Orleans. Mr. Kaufman has said he has at least 2,000 people willing to take cleanup jobs, although many of them - and the local's hiring hall - are now displaced in Baton Rouge, more than an hour's drive from New Orleans.
"The local guys are trying, but there's nowhere for them to stay," Mr. Kaufman said, adding that one of the camps "looks like Little Mexico."
The situation is new to Louisiana, which has little tradition of attracting large numbers of transient workers, unlike Florida and other booming areas, said Mark Zandi, chief economist for Economy.com. The stagnant economy here has not provided many job opportunities since 2001.
The complaints also reflect the widespread frustration over the continuing lack of housing in the area. Tens of thousands of houses were destroyed by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, leaving their former residents adrift. Businesses of all sorts are frantically advertising for workers, even as the jobless rate for Louisianians jumped to 11.5 percent in September, from 5.8 percent in August.
It was the promise of housing, as much as anything, that prompted Mr. Cheatham, the union electrician, to take a job wiring a tent city for a subcontractor at the Naval Air Station at Belle Chasse, south of New Orleans, he said. He had lost his house near Lake Pontchartrain to flooding, along with his car; his family was scattered.
Life on the base was tough, he said, but he was particularly troubled by the presence of a large number of people he believed to be illegal immigrants, some of whom were working at the base, others of whom arrived each night on buses for meals. (The Navy said it allowed its contractors to house workers on the base.) "I called immigration several times to complain," Mr. Cheatham said.
Then, abruptly in their view, the subcontractor, BE&K, fired Mr. Cheatham and his fellow union electricians. The electricians, who make about $22 an hour plus benefits, said they believed that their jobs were taken by lower-paid, illegal workers.
Their boss, Albert Knight of Knight Enterprises in Lacombe, La., complained to Senate Democrats, who demanded an investigation. And, in fact, federal officials have since found more than two dozen illegal workers at the base, although only two worked for BE&K, which says it did not replace the electricians with lower-paid workers.
According to an August report by the Government Accountability Office, enforcement of workplace laws has become a low priority for federal immigration authorities, which fined only three companies for improper hiring in the 2004 fiscal year, down from 417 in the 1999 fiscal year. Arrests have also plummeted.
For workers, company-provided housing can be as much a curse as a blessing, said Frank J. Curiel, an organizer for the Laborers International Union. Some workers have been cast into the street with nowhere to go, he said, while others cannot quit their jobs because they would become homeless.
It is not hard to find such people, as Mr. Curiel demonstrated by striking up a conversation with three men outside an LVI building down the road from the housing camp. The men said they were making $10 an hour cleaning up debris and were bunking at the camp, which they said had an atmosphere like a jail.
One man, a Honduran who said he was afraid to give his real name, said he wanted nothing more than to return to Houston, where he had lived for six months. But he did not have enough money after sending most of his last paycheck back to his family.
The man said he did not like working with strong chemicals and had been having health problems. When he did not want to work one day, he said, his supervisor told him that he was fired and that he had to leave the camp. He was not sure what he would do next.
One of his friends, a teenager who gave his name as Valentine Morales (which was not the name on the plastic ID tag he was wearing), said he was from the Mexican state of Chiapas and had been living in Springfield, Mass. He had heard there was a lot of work after the hurricane, he said, so he took a bus to Mississippi and made his way to Louisiana.
Soon, he will move on to Florida, the young man said. "I used to be a farm worker," he explained, "but now I do cleanup work."
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