In January, I interviewed four female migrant workers employed by a large-scale garment manufacturer in Bangalore about working in a pandemic. From juggling the decision to go back home versus work in the city, living life in lockdown, returning to work in a newly infectious world & the enduring impacts of these developments in their lives, our conversations were telling.

If you’re thinking that a narrative piece about the effects of COVID-19 on migrant workers feels a year too late, you aren’t mistaken. My interviewees too were bemused at my efforts to dredge up the particulars of their decisions and feelings from a year past.

Indeed, a flurry of human interest stories and rapid surveys — drawing attention to pressing concerns in factories like massive furloughs, default on payments, extortive overtime, inadequate personal protective equipment (PPE)[1] and increased workplace harassment[2] — were published in real time last year.

Unlike segments of the garment industry most commonly covered in such media, the four women I spoke to kept their jobs, were paid (in full, and on time), received basic PPE like masks and sanitizers, and had access to healthcare via a factory clinic and Employees’ State Insurance (ESI) benefits — all courtesy of a large employer who could stay afloat.

In other words, my respondents constitute that segment of garment workers who have been going to the factory day-after-day, powering through all manner of uncertainty in a transforming, high-risk workplace.

What has enabled them to do this? What barriers have interfered?

More than one year from that first lockdown, here are eight snapshots from working on the frontlines in the garment industry.

INSIDE:

• #1 Are we staying or going: was leaving cities really a choice?
• #2 Fireflies in a jar: glimmers of hope in a locked down world
• #3 Get ’em early: the benefits of quick communication
• #4 Reaping the seeds of trust: the premium of consistency
• #5 Comeback kid: who was able to return to factories?
• #6 Keep calm and comply: the state of health standards compliance
• #7 Back to business as usual…but that’s a problem
• #8 Death by a 1000 cuts

Note: All the workers’ names have been changed to preserve anonymity.

#1 Are we staying or going: was leaving cities really a choice?

For migrant workers who lost jobs or wages in the lockdown (first announced in India in March 2020), living in the city was becoming increasingly infeasible. Many simply did not have enough savings to meet basic expenses like food and rent, especially as prospects of reopening and future employment remained uncertain. Consequently, they were forced out of cities in droves [3].

In comparison, workers who still had a job ostensibly had a choice: wait out the lockdown living in a city with rapidly increasing numbers of COVID-19 cases, or leave for the familiar social networks in villages while still risking contracting the disease during travel, or worse, not being able to return.

In practice though, migrants couldn’t always act on their decision. Even if they wished to leave, the sudden decree meant no time to plan a viable means of transport[4]. Furthermore, some workers self-policed any desire to leave out of fear of contracting or spreading the virus. Rupa, a 25-year-old migrant from Odisha, explains her thinking back then: “The hostel warden explained that the incidence of cases in Bangalore is high, but everything is good (safe) in our villages. If we travel home, then we have to use transport like local trains and will come into contact with many people, and might get sick that way. So, we are safe in Bangalore, and we stayed back.”

Even when restrictions were lifted and it was easier to travel, the risk of losing pay (and potentially their job) discouraged leaving. Preeta, 29 years old, who suffered a severe gastric condition, decided against taking time off even after repeated pleas from her family:

“My friends actually helped book a flight ticket for me to go to Odisha… And I was ready to leave. But then I realized that if I go back, I will not be paid my wages, so I convinced myself to stay back, and cancelled my ticket. My brother wanted to come here, but I have only one brother and if he comes here, he will lose his job. I asked him to stay with my mother and take care of her, as we also need that money.”

#2 Fireflies in a jar: glimmers of hope in a locked down world

Of the women I interviewed, three live in hostels provided by the factory. Through April and May 2020, they observed 45 days of strict quarantine. Precautions included buying a month’s worth of rations to avoid repeated trips outside, and the hostel organising a vegetable vendor to come to the doorstep every week, so residents could file out individually for purchases. Otherwise, the women were encouraged to be in their rooms at all times; they tried to pass the time in conversation or on apps like YouTube and Facebook.

Reports during the early days of the quarantine had already raised the alarm on how factory accommodations easily lent themselves to the rapid spread of infection[5]. Residents in such places are often packed in groups of 3–6 people per room, and must share common spaces like the kitchen, bathroom and dining rooms. Even though my respondents reported wearing masks every time they stepped out of their rooms, it cannot be denied that such spaces compromise social distancing.

However, in the rush to dismiss hostels as inappropriate, we miss the small ways they have enabled workers to cope. A less talked about angle is the social support people draw from community living. In an ambiguous and scary time, having others around you go through the same thing can be a boost to one’s motivation to pursue normal life. For Rupa, her fears were tempered by the fact that, “Whatever is happening — it’s not happening to me alone. There are 150–200 girls, all experiencing this event together and trying to manage.”

The hostel warden also emerged a matronly figure who could be relied on to enforce hygiene rules. “I felt safe here in the hostel — the warden is here to take care of us. She keeps repeatedly telling us to be safe and maintain social distance,” 21-year-old Odisha migrant Sushmita cites as one less reason to have trepidation about staying back.

Remembrances of quarantined life remain mixed. Some workers diplomatically describe the time as uneventful and a necessary precaution. Thirty two-year-old Raji — a mother of 3 — is more emphatic about the struggle:

“When you go to work freely everyday and then come home, you feel good. Suddenly, being home all the time you feel like someone has tied you up or imprisoned you….it was very difficult. It’s nice to come home after a day’s work, but I can’t be home all the time.”

#3 Get ’em early: the benefits of quick communication

In a series of free-to-access guides that it published on building resilience, the International Labor Organization (ILO) encouraged factories to communicate with employees early and often, so as to nip anxieties and the spread of misinformation[6]. The factory did exactly that, with managers, HR staff and supervisors visiting the hostels periodically for the first few weeks after production halted. Even for workers like Raji, who were not in hostels, communication with the factory remained open via SMS.

These in-person visits served multiple purposes. First, to provide information about symptoms and the safety precautions to be taken. For two of the four migrants I interviewed, this was the first source of information they had received related to the virus. As hostel inmates were limited from going outside, these visits were also used to distribute masks and sanitizers. Multiple sessions with the warden which reinforced the importance of mask and sanitizer use and ready access to these materials, allowed safety behaviors to be more conveniently adopted by workers.

Second, the factory management communicated how long they expected the lockdown to be, assured the group they would continue to be paid during this time, and how they could access their wages (via ATMs within the factory premises, which was a 5 minute walk away). Sushmita, my shyest respondent, admitted that these sessions helped reduce her doubts about her future employment and wage prospects.

Overall, all the workers appreciated the visits from the factory staff, citing that it gave them more information on the situation and evidence that the factory cared about their welfare. Preetha, who was particularly moved by the gesture, sums up:

“The sirs from the factory came and visited us, and I will not be able to forget that. They took care of us like we were their kids, I’m not sure even my parents might take care of us like that…”

#4 Reaping the seeds of trust: the premium of consistency

When I asked workers if they worried about losing their job, reduced incomes or not being paid on time (or at all) during those turbulent months, all of them were insistent that these fears never struck them. The source of their certitude seemed to stem from the factory’s past good faith actions in paying its dues timely. Preetha dismissed my line of questioning by saying,

“I had trust that I had my job and that I would be paid. We did not think that our supervisors would do such a thing to us. Plus, I have been working here for eight years, and have not had any difficulty with them.”

It seems a tad unlikely that everyone harbored such goodwill towards their employer, especially in the thick of the crisis. In fact, a rapid survey conducted by GBL with a similar population in April 2020 showed that 46% of workers reported being worried about their employment prospects[4], and news reports from the time described the status of labor in garment industries as far from certain[7].

Perhaps the women I spoke to really did believe everything would work out. Or, in recollecting their experiences, succumbed to confirmation bias — willing to attribute the trust they feel in their employer now, to their past selves. Even so, it is telling that the workers attached a premium on the past actions and words of their employers. It reiterates the role consistency can play in building trust amongst the workforce.

#5 Comeback kid: who was able to return to factories?

Garment factories began to open up for operations in mid-May. But new barriers created disparity, as not everyone was able to return to the workforce.

Even though factories reopened, typical transport facilities used by workers like public buses or hired vans were not immediately reinstated[1,8]. According to one worker, the factory initially preferred admitting those who arrived by foot or their private vehicle: “People who lived far away and had to travel to the company by bus or public transport were told not to come.” Lack of adequate transport dissuaded a few workers from returning entirely, and forced others to adopt arduous, expensive and sometimes unsafe measures, such as hitch-hiking, to commute[1].

If local transport was proving bothersome, borders were a real line in the sand. Many garment workers are used to traversing district or state borders to reach the factory daily — if a garment factory is located on the outskirts of a big city, for example. The lockdown and subsequent months of re-opening made travel across state lines difficult, oftentimes leading to a permanent drop-off from the factory[9], as observed by Rupa. “People who come from very far, like Tamil Nadu, don’t come to work anymore,” she said, referring to the neighbouring state which shares a border with the city.

With most garment factories keeping their creches closed when they resumed operations, mothers with young children were left in a bind. They scrambled to arrange alternative childcare, like leaving the children with relatives back in their home villages, in the absence of which they were forced to stop working and stay home instead[10].

Raji was confronted with these barriers when she found herself stuck in Tamil Nadu as the lockdown was announced. She had been visiting her children back in her village, when her stay was unexpectedly extended. So, when the factory resumed operations in May, she could not rejoin and she lost out on two months’ salary until she got back to Bangalore in July; an unfortunate consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And although Raji had decided not to raise her children in the city due to inadequate child care well before 2020, the limitations on travel meant she hasn’t been able to see her children in person for over six months since.

#6 Keep calm and comply: the state of health standards compliance

A host of safety measures welcomed workers upon their return after the lockdown.

A typical workday now begins with sanitizing hands, temperature checks and clocking in at the entry gate. Wearing mandatory masks, workers sit at sewing machines now placed a few feet apart. They clean their own workstations, while factory staff regularly disinfect the shop floor. In the initial few months post reopening, guards would visit the workers 2–3 times a day, checking mask compliance and distributing pumps of hand sanitizers. Employees tend to socially distance everywhere in the factory, including during casual chats and mealtimes in the canteen. Rupa reflects on the mindset this vigilance has created: “It has changed the method in which we work. Before, we would work without any tension about touching each other or things, or maintaining distance. But now that fear is in our minds.”

Everyone seemed satisfied with the safety at the factory, describing it positively. The general air of caution being adopted had convinced workers that the factory grasped the health risks. Furthermore, workers viewed adherence to the new safety rules as both an individual and social responsibility as Preetha describes: “We remind ourselves to keep safe, wear masks, not to go out often and maintain social distance.”

Workers could reliably recollect most existing workplace safety measures, but they diverged while describing certain protocols implemented in the very same unit. Details varied as to when temperature checks occurred (morning and evening versus only evening) or what PPE one received (just masks versus gloves and masks). Even accounting for porous memories, such basic contrasts might indicate protocols were not standardized. They could have even been relaxed over time, as the factory settled into the new normal.

However, more concerning: the factory’s response following a suspected COVID-19 detection seemed a black box. The typical response I received in interviews went something like this:

“If someone’s temperature is high, they are asked to step aside and taken to the dispensary. I don’t know what happens after that — whether they are taken to the hospital, or how they are treated. The HR is informed and deals with them — I am not sure how soon or whether they are allowed to return to work at the unit.”

The opacity extends to prevalence, with all workers admitting they have not heard or been informed about anyone in their unit testing positive. Given that this factory employs over 3000 workers, only abundant good fortune could preclude any positive cases. The factory seems to have made a strategic choice to not disclose information. This alludes to a bigger can of worms around employer disclosure of COVID-19 occurrence: the ethics of revealing patient identities, and the tightrope between transparency and sharing information that can cause undue panic amongst employees[11,12,13].

#7 Back to business as usual…but that’s a problem

As factories attempted to revert to “normal” operational levels, several reports painted a grim picture: production targets were skyrocketing with new incoming orders and operators were working overtime, often with no extra compensation[1]. My interviewees observed no significant changes in their production load or timings in the factory. They seemed a bit puzzled as to why this should be; none of them had heard of the events that transpired in the industry during the lockdown i.e. several brands first cancelling orders[14] and reinstating them when pressured[15].

Rather, a complaint all my respondents did have with the workplace did not emerge from a viral outbreak; it had already been felt for a long time. “I am being paid on time, but the salary I work for is less,” Raji offers before I even broach the topic.

For Raji, who foots the bill for two households — one in Bangalore for herself and her husband, and another in Tamil Nadu for her sons — her salary barely allows her to keep afloat, let alone keep aside a cushion for unexpected circumstances. This delicate balance upended when her husband lost his job, and she could not get back to work immediately post the reopening of factories due to travel restrictions. Struggling to meet basic expenses, she could not afford to pay her sons’ school fees in time and had to pull them out for the year. Instead, she sent them to neighbors for private tuition classes for the rest of the year. She hoped the children could restart school, when we spoke in January.

Rupa, who works in the checking department where she inspects the measurements and quality of the stitched garments, explains that the increasing workload over the years has not been matched monetarily:

“I feel that we are not being paid for the amount of work we are doing; the salary is too less. Supervisors just tell us to increase the number of pieces we produce, and we are expected to do that.”

Workers remain uncertain about whether wages will improve in the immediate future, cognizant of the turbulent economic impacts of the pandemic[16]. According to Raji, “We did ask for an increase in our salary from our supervisor and general manager. Last year [i.e. 2020], we did not receive an increment in the salary due to the lockdown. I am not sure what will happen this year; we will see.”

#8 Death by a 1000 cuts

At first, interviewing the workers about their recollections felt anticlimactic. Primed by all that I had heard and seen about the migrant crisis, I was expecting to hear narratives of the pandemic detonating a cascade of fears and difficulties in their lives. Instead, barring one worker — Raji, who made no bones to admitting the previous year had been a “struggle” — the others seemed to chalk up the previous year to a milder sentiment of, “it wasn’t great, but we were fine”.

And yet, as I combed through the interview transcripts, multiple quotes revealed the new day-to-day anxieties that lurked at the back of the workers’ minds. Workers confessed to worrying about being stuck so far away from home: “…we have come so far and what if something happens to us”; reacclimating to post-lockdown life: “We are very scared of going out and roaming around”; and the (then) future:

“I do sometimes fear that there might be another lockdown. You hear such things on the news, that the disease is spreading more, and things like that. We discuss this among ourselves — some people say there will be another, some people there won’t be. What can we do anyway?”

These recollections of the year past paint the picture of not some singular traumatic event, but a year filled with grinding day-to-day stressors.

What do these women do when it gets too much? It should be noted that, traditionally, workers in the garment industry are no strangers to stressful working environments borne of punishing production pressures, very few breaks, and confrontational supervisors — several studies have even documented the resulting physical and mental health conditions garment workers may experience[17]. My respondents too seemed to already have strategies they used to cope with stress, which now accommodated COVID-19-related anxieties. At the workplace, Raji tries to arrest spiralling negative thoughts with interruptions: “If I’m stressed or scared about anything at work, I usually take a moment to go to the washroom and get a drink of water.” Sushmita sagely prefers to avoid workplace conversations every time rising COVID-19 cases are the topic of choice.

Having someone to converse with about their day, once back home, was something all workers looked forward to; even if they did not necessarily share their worries and concerns in these conversations. Rupa, for instance, said that “Spending time with my roommates and talking and laughing with them helps me forget what I am stressed about”. For Raji, it was speaking to her children: “I ask about their day. I reassure them that I will be able to visit when I get leave.”

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