a day ago
Filipino seafarers invest in the Philippines. They shouldn't be punished for it.
In mid-2020, Philippine media reported the arrival of a flight carrying the remains of 49 Filipino migrant workers who had died from COVID-19. State officials had spent months finding ways to have their bodies returned home. In his statement to reporters, then-Labor Secretary Silvestre Bello III was noticeably sombre, 'It's very painful to welcome dead heroes who served their families and country well,' he said.
When I shared this story to Nilo, a cruise worker who lost his job during the pandemic, he wondered if he, too, should have returned to the Philippines dead, instead of alive and unemployed. Unlike those who had died overseas, no one considered him a 'hero.' 'We're more like those soldiers who went off to war, got wounded, then were sent home,' he scoffed. 'You served the nation, but now, you're no use to anyone because you lost your leg and can't even walk.'
Nilo's response reflects the struggles that Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) face when forced to return home. While the Philippines celebrates migrants for their contributions, we often fail to recognize their worth beyond their remittances. Still, I found the bitterness in Nilo's statement concerning. While all migrant workers contribute to the Philippine economy, seafarers, I would argue, are among the most committed to the nation. Yet, it is clear that they do not have the support they need within their own country.
A career prone to disruption
When Filipino seafarers set sail, they're not just chasing higher wages. They're investing in a life back home. Working in an oil tanker or a luxury cruise ship does not open doors to long-term residency or citizenship elsewhere. Unlike nurses and teachers, sea-based careers run on short-term contracts, roughly 4 to 10 months at a time. And unlike domestic workers, seafarers return home more frequently, cycling between the Philippines and their work at sea. As such, their dreams are mostly anchored within the country: a small business, a new house, or a good education for their children.
It is true that seafaring pays higher wages than many jobs in the Philippines, but this profession is also vulnerable to disruption. The COVID-19 pandemic was a stark reminder of how little support there is in helping them weather such crises.
As a sociologist, I followed the experiences of Filipino service staff employed in the global cruise industry. The cruise workers I interviewed were retrenched during the pandemic and only returned to their jobs two years later, heavily in debt and working to stay afloat.
Like other Filipinos, they struggled with the sudden loss of income. But, I found that the main cause of their financial distress was the very investments that were supposed to secure their futures.
Risky investments
When the travel industry shut down, cruise workers turned to home businesses and part-time work to get by. While they managed to cover their daily expenses, their biggest expenses were insurance premiums and monthly payments on land, property, and cars. Philippine government officials had promoted these investments as a 'smart' way to maximize migrant remittances, and cruise workers readily bought into these ventures. Few were warned that these investments relied on regular payments and there were no concessions for unforeseen disruptions.
In the first few months of the pandemic, cruise workers tried to keep up with these fees, dipping into hard-earned savings and borrowing money from friends. A year later, they were defaulting on monthly payments, selling their things, and for many, letting banks repossess their property. Glaiza, a massage therapist in her ship's spa, lost a house that she had been paying for the last four years. 'Sumama talaga loob ko (I felt bad),' she lamented. 'Hindi ko naman kasalanan nawalan kami ng trabaho! (It wasn't my fault that I lost my job.)'
While it is easy to point the blame at migrants' lack of financial literacy, perhaps what we should consider is how the smart investments we encourage seafarers to consider were what put them in debt.
Nasaan ang programa namin?
One might argue that Philippine government agencies did have programs specifically directed at seafarers. However, available grants were overwhelmingly focused on entrepreneurship and livelihood projects. While a benefit to some, most cruise workers were intimidated by the multiple requirements for training and business plans. Already stressed over their own bills, the idea of embarking on a new business venture seemed impractical.
Rather than new investment 'opportunities,' cyclical migrants like cruise workers need a stronger safety net in times of disruption. Life insurance may help cope with an untimely death, but it doesn't address the issues that come with sudden retrenchment or a canceled contract. During the pandemic, cruise workers saw unemployment benefits from Philippines' Social Security System as much more helpful compared to small business grants. While these benefits came in small amounts, they addressed workers' immediate needs.
The COVID-19 pandemic was unprecedented in many ways, but the hardships that Filipino seafarers faced reflect a bigger, ongoing problem: the lack of meaningful protections and support for migrant workers who are invested in the nation.
Yasmin Y. Ortiga is an Associate Professor of Sociology at Singapore Management University. Excerpts from this column are taken from her latest book, "Stuck at Home: Pandemic Immobilities in the Nation of Emigration" (Stanford University Press).
