Staying Home, Going Far

Who knew it was possible to hide so many men in plain sight? But when 14 students stayed in Singapore for GO-FAR 2020, a news-writing course which ought to have taken us overseas, they discovered people and places they knew too little about, right at home.

Nothing took me further from my HDB heartland and shopping mall existence than visiting Mustafa Centre in Little India, Peninsula Plaza at Coleman Street, in the very heart of the city, and Golden Mile Complex along Beach Road.

At the narrow alleys near Mustafa, I was taken aback every time by pedestrians moving as they pleased between passing cars, motorcycles and bicycles. And inside the cavernous 24-hour mall, there was that endless maze of aisles packed from floor to ceiling with everything from spices, vegetables and fresh fish to clothes, shoes, watches and gold. A slice of India, air-conditioned for Singapore.

At Peninsula, the food smells in the air were different, and led to restaurants serving specialities from Myanmar. Golden Mile always felt like every shop had been plucked from a corner of Bangkok and transported to this thriving, crumbling shopping centre where everyone spoke Thai and the heady scent of burning incense permeated throughout.

Some days I’d head to an assignment telling my friends: “I’m going to Myanmar today.” Or I’d announce, with a laugh: “I’ll be in Thailand until 4pm, before heading over to India for the evening.”

There are about 1.4 million migrant workers in Singapore. These include 252,600 women who are foreign domestic workers from countries like the Philippines, Indonesia and Myanmar. The majority of migrant workers, however, are men from Bangladesh, India and China, working in construction, marine shipyards, process plants and cleaning.

Who knew tiny Singapore possessed remote locations so distant that going there could feel like visiting another country?

Looking for migrant worker dormitories took Cornelius Tang to Tuas South for the first time in his life. “That Sunday afternoon felt like an overseas experience for me,” he recalled. “The wide empty roads, lack of stores and absence of people all felt like a whole new side of Singapore that I never knew.”

When he finally found the dormitory, everyone was a foreigner. “I was the only local,” he said. Over two weeks, he made his way onto a construction site, was chased by a dog and sat in a lorry with workers who had just recovered from Covid-19. To speak to a worker confined to a high-rise dormitory, he shouted from the roadside and resorted to sign language to get the man’s phone number.

“I was heartened by the hospitality and friendliness of the migrant workers I met. It felt as if they were welcoming me into their world. Afterwards, it made me wonder if we, as a country, are as welcoming to them.”

Migrant workers live in private quarters such as HDB flats or in dormitories. These include mega-dormitories that house up to 25,000 workers, smaller dorms converted from factory buildings that can take up to 300 workers each, and temporary quarters often in construction sites. With the Covid-19 pandemic, Quick Build Dorms were added to meet new space regulations. The largest dorms are found in far-flung places such as Tuas, Kranji and Punggol.

GO-FAR 2020 enabled us to see the invisible men who had been among us all our lives. We entered their dormitories, and visited them in sparsely furnished rooms above Little India shophouses.

A few of us regularly greeted the cleaners in our neighbourhood with a smile or a nod, but never knew their names, where they came from, or who was waiting for them at home.

Over a cup of tea or a simple meal, these men from Bangladesh and India told us about the hopes and dreams that brought them to Singapore to do menial work, and the mountain of debt they had to clear as they earned well below $1,000 a month.

Jonathan Chew said he realised how separated these men were from the rest of Singaporeans, from their remote dormitory locations to the movement restrictions imposed during Covid-19.

“Imagine knowing absolutely nothing about entire cultures right within your country. That was the thought always at the back of my mind during GO-FAR. This experience opened my eyes to a world I’d never viewed as a part of my life,” he said.

“I felt I was part of the system that had failed them, yet they were more than willing to share their stories with me, to offer me a drink and treat me as a fellow human being, something not many Singaporeans might do for them.”

Osmond Chia never forgot the first migrant worker he interviewed, a man who was once sent home to India because he was injured. Rattling off his questions, Osmond did not notice that the man was finding it painful to answer because his situation left him feeling embarrassed, ashamed.

“I did not realise I had brought tears to his eyes,” Osmond said. “One thing was clear to me: I knew nothing about migrant workers.”

After that, Osmond made it a point to get to know the men a little before diving into asking questions. “Many were in dorms without the support of their employers, who did not pay them. Many were sick with non-Covid-19 illnesses but could not get treatment and were worried about their families at home. Several asked me, ‘Who is looking after me?’ I always felt a sense of helplessness.”

In February, a handful of migrant workers got Covid-19, but by April, up to 1,000 men were testing positive a day. The government imposed a lockdown on dormitories on April 21, and infected workers were shuttled to quarantine facilities including cruise ships, hotels and the Singapore Expo to reduce the risk of transmission and re-infection.

Entering the world of the migrant workers meant learning what it takes to travel a long way from home to be a labourer for low wages, living cheek-by-jowl with thousands of other men. But they do not dwell on hardship, because they are here to earn a living.

Matthew Loh was taken aback to discover that these men eat cheap catered meals that often turn rancid by lunchtime. Yet they did not complain because this was all they could afford, and they needed to fill their bellies.

Eunice Chua was struck by the way the men entertained themselves by making fun TikTok videos while they were confined to their dormitories for months. They were anxious about falling sick, feared the uncertainty that lay ahead, and worried about jobs and money, but you did not see any of this on TikTok.

“Many workers shared videos of the free food they received, along with captions thanking the Singapore government for their generosity,” said Eunice. “Some shared videos of stacks of boxes overflowing with packet drinks and fruit.” Through their videos, the men said:

"Look at all these things I’m getting."

"Don’t be scared for me, many of us are sick, but here in the dormitory I have all I need."

"Do you like my improvised Thaipusam dance? I still know all the moves."

"See all my friends in my video, I'm not alone."

"Look, the Singaporean doctors are leading us in dances and they’re playing Indian songs! We’re all so well cared for here."

The comments section was flooded with messages from other migrant workers, in Singapore, from all over Southeast Asia and as far away as the Gulf states, as well as from their family and friends at home.

“Wow.”

“Amazing.”

“Super.”

“Thank you, SG government.”

The men told Eunice the responses made them feel happy, less lonely, even popular. “I found my common humanity with these men,” she said. “We were from separate communities living in the same country during a pandemic, showing our friends the best side of our lives although really, that was not reality.”

Excuse me, do you know any Singaporeans?

All of us had to face the fact that we, like most Singaporeans, rarely interacted with migrant workers. It was as if we had been taught not to see these men, and somehow we had learnt: “If I do not see them, they do not exist.”

Many of the men described feeling excited when locals spoke to them, but years could go by without their ever getting to know a Singaporean.

Natasha Ganesan said: “I came to realise how even the smallest friendly gesture could go a long way. A simple smile or nod really gives the workers lots of joy.”

A common attitude among Singaporeans is that migrant workers should be grateful for the opportunities in Singapore compared to their own countries. Tiffany Tan was surprised to learn that many had degrees or diplomas. “They are considered privileged in their societies, and yet when they enter ours, they become the underprivileged,” she said.

Most workers accept meagre wages for the hard work they do. Some, who stay 10 years or longer, earn more by upgrading their qualifications. “Some have taken more than a decade, even two, to earn $4,000 a month,” said Tiffany, and it made her wonder how many Singaporeans would accept that rate of progress at work. “Although I was happy that they’d come such a long way, I also felt a deep sense of guilt knowing they deserved much better.”

Nicole Fong lost count of the number of migrant workers she spoke to over two weeks, but they left a deep impression. “From sitting with five grasscutters while they ate lunch and told me about their work schedules, to late night Zoom calls with a migrant worker who revealed it was a broken heart that made him leave home, I realised that Singapore is a city of dreams for these low-wage workers,” she said.

“There’s a certain anger that comes from understanding the migrant worker’s life. It stems from knowing that each of these men has a story, a family and had to fight to get here. And while we see them as disposable, transient workers, they see Singapore as safe, clean and a way to a better life.”

Many migrant workers, in disputes with their employers over salaries or compensation for workplace injuries, often end up waiting months, even years, while their cases are investigated and settled. Many live in Little India, supported by non-governmental organisations that help with food and rent. In 2018, migrant workers filed more than 5,000 salary claims against their employers. There are no further statistics.

Bangladeshi worker Hasan Mehedi made a deep impression on Osmond. “He was an injured worker with a long list of health problems, including a back injury, a dislocated shoulder and chronic ailments, but he could not see a specialist as his dormitory was under lockdown. His employers were unwilling to accompany him to the hospital as they had fallen out over his work injury dispute.”

Osmond tried to have him sent by ambulance to the hospital, but it did not work out and Mr Mehedi was crushed. “Over the weeks, I thought about texting him, but did not know what to say to help lift his spirits. And that is the reality of so many workers, stuck and helpless in cramped rooms with a dozen other men. As the dormitory lockdown continued for months on end, some of these men could see no end in sight.”

Little India is where many workers stay while waiting for their various problems over salary disputes or injury compensation claims to be sorted out. They can end up staying months, even years, and it is a struggle for those not allowed to work while they wait.

“I will never see Little India in the same light,” said Joel Chan, who found his way into the workers’ living quarters above the district’s shophouses. “I will never forget the dimness, the cramped environment and my feeling of dread once the door closed behind me. How could anyone live in these conditions? How could anyone live in these conditions during the circuit breaker? It helped me realise the extraordinary resilience of these men.”

Speaking to the workers left Joel feeling moved and inspired. “Even though their future seemed bleak and hazy, they never stopped believing that things would work out. They never stopped smiling. That was priceless.”

Thousands of migrant workers went home after the Covid-19 pandemic left them jobless. For healthy workers in essential services, temporary dormitories were set up to ensure they return to work. These places were close to where Singaporeans live, such as HDB flats in Redhill Close, the former Tampines Junior College and the private residential estate Chancery Court on Dunearn Road.

At Changi Airport, Mandy Lee watched planeloads of men leaving for home before their dreams of making it in Singapore could come true. Some had been given so little notice that they were leaving, there was no time to buy a Singapore souvenir for their children at home.

“Most of the men I spoke to had lost their jobs because they got injured at work or their companies were not doing well. What stood out for me was the gamble that these men had taken to come to Singapore, and the risk of being stuck with huge debts.”

Bangladeshi Hossen Amin, 28, married with two children, was $15,000 in debt. He told Mandy he had a diploma in computer engineering and came to Singapore three times, working for only a year each time as a cleaner or construction worker, before being made to go home. Each time, he took a loan of about S$7,000 to pay job agents in Bangladesh.

He was earning $600 a month when he lost his job last year, after falling two metres while cleaning a shipping container. On the day he was discharged from hospital, his employer told him to pack his bags to move elsewhere. He was suspicious, because a previous co-worker in similar circumstances was driven to the airport and put on a flight home. Instead, Mr Hossen packed his things and left to stay with a friend in Little India.

He said he felt betrayed by the job agents who took his money and promised better than he got. And it was bad luck that his jobs did not work out. Even if he had to return home, his dream was to return to Singapore again. “He hoped that his luck would be better next time,” said Mandy.

Some prejudice, some sympathy, but will anything change?

Through the months of the pandemic, there was an outpouring of sympathy for the migrant workers, with NGOs and volunteers stepping forward to help then with food, masks, cleaning supplies and more. It made Yong Jun Yuan wonder if the pandemic helped to change Singaporeans’ attitudes to these foreigners.

“As I visited various locations where temporary accommodations had been set up for migrant workers performing essential services, I was struck by the opinions residents expressed, some of which were xenophobic and racist,” said Jun Yuan.

“At Choa Chu Kang, where a temporary dormitory opened, a resident said the workers’ presence made him worry for the safety of his wife and child because ‘you don’t know what they’ll do’. Another resident was concerned that curry smells would emanate from the dormitories. I kept hoping for a more positive response, but of the 26 Singaporeans I approached, the best was, ‘It’s okay for them to stay here, but I wouldn’t want them wandering in my neighbourhood’.”

GO-FAR 2020 made us see that a big reason for the lack of understanding is that Singaporeans rarely interact with migrant workers. If we began to care more for them, it was because we began to learn more about them, and start seeing them less as anonymous migrant workers than human beings with hopes and dreams that were sometimes dashed in Singapore.

Tiffany recalled a worker who said he had been in Singapore for 13 years but never made a Singaporean friend. “It broke my heart to hear that no Singaporean had ever spoken to him or asked about his life,” she said.

Matthew could not sleep the night he first learnt of the workers’ crippling debts some workers face after paying job agents to help them get to Singapore. “I asked myself if there was any place in Singapore not been built by exploited hands, and I could not think of any. I was haunted by the thought that even my family’s flat in Pasir Ris was likely built by these men.”

Olyvia Lim said GO-FAR helped her understand the reality of inequality and made her wonder how much might change in the long-run for migrant workers. “Increasing their pay, giving them better living conditions and working hours are on the list of things we hope will change, but there are so many considerations that to expect drastic change soon might seem idealistic,” she said.

Jun Yuan remembered one Bangladeshi man, Mr Anisur Rahman Mohamed, who had a hard time recovering from Covid-19.

“No one would tell him what was wrong with Mr Anisur as he was being shuttled from facility to facility, and he could not access his bank account to check his salary. For the first time in seven years, he could not send money home for the Eid al Adha celebrations. He did not even know if he still had a job,” Jun Yuan said. “Yet, Mr Anisur volunteered to cut the hair of 240 workers at Singapore Expo while he stayed there. They offered to pay him $1 each, but he said he couldn’t take their money because no one was earning anything.”

One day, Mr Anisur asked Jun Yuan for a favour. “I expected him to ask for help with a referral to an NGO, but he simply said, ‘Please pray for me, pray that I can secure my job’. Now when I see a migrant worker, I find myself wondering what his story is, and what he prayed for in his darkest hour. If more of us knew about each man’s story, maybe we could start to do more than pray.”

Alvin Lim recalled riding a double-decker bus from Little India one day in August. “I stared out the window at the rows of brightly lit shophouses selling everything from saris to samosas, and at crowded bars blaring pop music and serving craft beer and bites. I could not help peering into the rooms above the shophouses, where heavily-laden clotheslines were silhouetted against bare light bulbs hanging above the migrant workers living there,” he said.

“Only five bus stops separate Little India’s crowded alleys from the immaculate, gleaming skyscrapers of the Central Business District. It’s nice to hope that the sympathetic response to migrant workers during the pandemic might indicate an awakening among Singaporeans towards these men. Realistically, though, I fear that once we’re far enough down the road, we’ll look away again.”

To contain the spread of Covid-19, the Ministry of Manpower said its strategy is to test workers every 14 days, and enforce safe distancing at dorms and workplaces, and on rest days. The ministry added it is carrying out very aggressive testing operations in dormitories based on their potential risk of spread. The ministry said it did not aim to achieve herd immunity among migrant workers.

(Sep 2020 for Go-Far 2020: Singapore's Migrant Workers, a journalism module at the Wee Kim Wee School of Communication and Information)