Employmentweb_low

EmploymEnt, Work, And hEAlth InEquAlItIEs - a global perspective
Case Study 64. Migrant agricultural workers in northern Spain. - carlos e. delclós gómez-Morán
Context
over the last two decades, spain has undergone a significant and rapid transition from its past as a labour-exporting
country to its current status as one of the world’s largest importers of labour. while as recently as 1991, foreign-born
people made up less than one per cent of spain’s total population, this number has increased every year since then to
the extent that, according to the spanish national statistics institute’s provisional data from municipal registers , updated
to 1 January 2008, a total of about 6 million people (13.0% of the total population) currently living in spain were born in
another country, 2.45 million (5.3% of the total population) of whom are eu citizens (instituto nacional de estadística,
2008). this rapid rate of change, coupled with dramatic variations in the ranking of countries of origin most strongly
represented, is frequently cited by politicians and scholars alike as the major impediment to the reliability of data
(especially over time) and, consequently, empirical research and informed political action on issues related to
discrimination in the labour market resulting in poor employment relations, employment conditions, and working
conditions. if statistically significant trends cannot be identified, the argument goes, it is far too difficult to identify the
mechanisms which must be addressed.
while there is certainly some truth to this argument, it also contains a tacit dismissal of information that is difficult
to quantify. in the following reflection concerning an experience that lasted one day, i hope to demonstrate that evidence
of discrimination and its effects does not need to be quantified in order to be visible. since the information used was
obtained through personal experience and not scientific observation, i adopt a narrative approach in which i hope to
contrast the nature of my own participation in a wine harvest with that of a diverse group of migrant workers. despite not
knowing the documentation status and contract type of the individuals mentioned, i can say without hesitation that the
conditions to which they were subjected can effectively be described as hazardous and precarious.
Reflection
associating wine with blood is hardly an original rhetorical trick. in fact, earnest scholars and magicians often warn
their audiences of the dangers inherent in the ease with which one can basically associate anything with everything else
(and thus undermine the logic underlying how they associate things with other things, or create a chaos in which
blessings and curses become indistinguishable incantations). but these abstract considerations only occur to me now,
as i write this reflection. while i, a graduate student and a city mouse in almost every sense of the term, was
recreationally participating in a catalan wine harvest, the association was quite literally visceral: i had cut my hand
deeply without noticing, and couldn’t quite quantify the extent of the bleeding due to the mixing of blood and grape juice
that had been taking place on my hand over a length of time i wasn’t entirely aware of. all i knew was that i was feeling
a bit light-headed.
i had not noticed the occurrence of what turned out to be several gashes because the sharp and quick pain of those
sharp and quick lesions was strongly outweighed by the sustained, increasingly heavy discomfort in my lower back, the
result of awkwardly hunching over to push apart vines and leaves in order to get to the bunches of grapes that i was to
cut. there must be a better way to do this that i’m not aware of, i thought, so i decided to approach one of the paid
workers and ask him how he went about avoiding these cuts and awkward positions. the man closest to me, presumably
from sub-saharan africa (in this part of the world), looked about my age and had also happened to stop cutting grapes
for a moment, so i approached him.
one of my friends, the land-owner’s wife, had already told the workers that i was from the united states and spoke
english, spanish, and French. this coupled with the ridiculous-looking borrowed old clothing i was wearing so as not to soil
my own essentially meant that there was little need to introduce myself or ask the often awkward question of what language
we should communicate in. it also meant that i was not surprised when, after greeting the man in spanish, he answered in
perfect english.
“hey man. hard work, isn’t it”
“it really is,” i replied, “i don’t know how y’all do this all the time. i just cut my hand a few times and didn’t even notice
because my back hurts so much.”
“yeah, that’s oK,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his stylish baseball cap. he wasn’t wearing gloves
either. i asked him if he knew any way to reduce this pain in the lower back. he told me you just get used to it and went right
back to picking grapes. i followed suit.
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