Issue link: http://cp.revolio.com/i/24680
ISOLATED WORKERS CAN’T EVEN BARGAIN FOR AN AFTERNOON OFF TO GET A MAMMOGRAM. workers organizing in the 1970s gained a few basic rights, such as minimum wage, but the sheer number of work sites, the power imbalance between employers and em- ployees, and the fact that domestic workers still cannot legally form a union make enforcement difficult. Nine out of 10 workers don’t receive health insurance from their employers, and just over one-quarter earn below the poverty line. Two-thirds of the domestic workers surveyed don’t receive overtime. DWU’s proposed bill of rights would upend those statistics. “This workforce is wired for abuse,” says Priscilla Gonzalez, an organizer with DWU. “Isolated workers have no leverage to bargain for something as simple as an afternoon off to receive a mammogram.” The current eco- nomic crisis ups the ante further, according to Assembly- member Wright: “With the recession in full swing and more and more families dismissing their domestic em- ployees, we must work to ensure that our state’s domestic workers have the same rights that others in the state work- force enjoy.” DWU was formed in the late 1990s as a coalition of workers’ centers, advocacy organizations and neighbor- hood associations. Each group tended to be ethnically or racially homogeneous, but they agreed they needed to band together as a “voice for all workers.” Over the past two decades, a dozen organizations around the country similar to DWU—like CASA of Maryland, or San Francisco’s Mujeres Unidas y Activas—have emerged to fight for the rights of private household workers, num- bering 2 million women. In 2007, more than 10 of these local groups from around the country met at the U.S. Social Forum in Atlanta and established a National Domestic Workers Alliance (NDWA). “I have never seen such a large and diverse gath- ering of working-class folks in this country, ever,” says Ai- jen Poo. Still in its infancy,the NDWA is the first national organization of household workers since the early 1970s. Members of the alliance have been struck by the simi- larity of experience when they attend international gath- erings of domestic workers in places like Guatemala and South Africa. “Wherever you go the story is the same,” says Erline Browne, a woman of Afro-Caribbean descent on DWU’s steering committee. “Once you are doing this work, you just do not get respected. You get very little pay. You get abused.” 40 | FALL 2009 THE BROOKLYN CHURCH IS PACKED, with people lining up along the outer wall as well as filling all the chairs. It’s the monthly membership meeting of DWU, and the crowd of 150 includes women from around the globe: African American, South Asian, African, Filipina, Caribbean, Indonesian, Central American. These are the women who scrub the floors, dust the bookcases and burp the babies of New York City’s middle and upper classes, enabling the smooth functioning of day-to-day life. Members of DWU speak confidently about the value of the work they do; they argue that without their labor, the New York City economy would grind to a halt. They’re acutely aware that their low pay, mistreatment and lack of political power are possible because they are poor women of color. Through their work they are forging a transna- tional, antiracist, feminist politics demanding justice, dig- nity and respect for one of the least protected sectors of American labor. If there is a language barrier as the women mingle and talk, they simply smile and nod in solidarity. But there are usually translators around, because understanding each other is essential to DWU’s efforts. Cross-cultural ex- change is also part of all DWU meetings and demonstra- tions: They play salsa music, eat Jamaican curries, recite Spanish-language poetry and, at the close of every meeting, sing a calypso song about the domestic bill of rights. They have formed a bond that DWU member Christine Lewis calls “sista-friends,” connoting both a familial and political relationship. The work of DWU and similar organizations gives workers a voice, and hope that the patterns of exploitation may be addressed. As Irene said at a public testimonial: “I, Irene, ask with all my heart to those who make the laws— the governor, Congress and everyone here today—to do your part so that domestic workers are heard. We are fighting for a just cause.” PREMILLA NADASEN is an associate professor of history at CUNY Queens College and, in 2007, was honored as the first visiting endowed chair in women’s studies at Brooklyn College. She is currently working on a book on the history of domestic- worker organizing in the U.S. A longer version of this essay will appear in New Social Movements in the African Diaspora: Challenging Global Apartheid, Leith Mullings, ed. (Palgrave Macmillan 2009). www.feminist.org