COVID-19 shows ugly plight of migrant workers

The COVID-19 pandemic has revealed the sludge beneath the sheen of our global cities in a so-called ‘shining India’. The spotlight has been turned on those who remain in the city’s shadows in ‘normal’ times – the millions of migrant workers who build our cities. The story of metro rail workers in Bommanahalli serves as an example as it throws up critical issues that cut across organisations and the industry at large: the treatment of contract workers in the informal sector who make up more than 80% of the country’s workforce.

Regardless of whether or not BMRCL, as the principal employer, owns up its responsibility for the grim condition of the workers, the incident has exposed the exploitative conditions under the sleek, high-tech surface of the metro, all of which existed prior to the lockdown. The current situation pushes otherwise unaware commuters to sit up and take note of what goes into building and running the metro. Our air-conditioned ‘seamless’ ride comes at a human cost, whether in Bengaluru, Delhi or elsewhere.

Everything about the Bengaluru metro, and metro rail systems in other Indian cities, is said to be ‘cutting edge.’ The ambience within stations and trains, the quiet technology that moves them and the glass facades of buildings that flank the line, all transport us to a city of the future. However, from the perspective of workers, management-worker relations on the ground seem regressive and out of place in a high-tech ‘sarkari’ or state-owned enterprise.

In BMRCL, the allegations of unfair labour practices move all through the line from the permanent non-management cadre workers (1,200-odd men and women who operate the metro and the stations) to the 1,000-plus contract workers employed in security, ticket vending and housekeeping who are responsible for maintaining the impressive ‘global look’ of trains and stations.

BMRCL, like most other companies, runs on workers hired through multiple contractors, making it difficult for any kind of collective action or parity in wages and conditions. Workers face precarity of employment, low pay scales and are deprived of pay hikes, paid leave, etc. The curious case of a woman guard who fell on the track in a faint while guarding the rail to prevent accidents raised questions among workers about possible fatigue from working multiple jobs (Deccan Herald, Nov 20, 2018). The lowest on the pay rung within BMRCL and the least visible are the sanitary workers who clean the bathrooms.

BMRCL permanent workers, the ‘labour aristocracy,’ who are several notches above contract workers, themselves feel disadvantaged. The union, which is yet to be recognised by the management, claims that supervisors are high-handed and the working atmosphere repressive: transfers and work allotments are arbitrary and there is no bona fide grievance procedure that protects them. They allege that the management has contested their claim to be recognised as workers under the Industrial Disputes Act (1947) and, in effect, denying them a host of other rights. One young worker sums up his experience: “The management is very proud to say that the metro carries four lakh people every day. But who makes it run? They thank the public but have not bothered to recognise our work.”

Those who build the metro, as we know, are simply written out of the narrative.

It is almost as if the life of the metro runs on a parallel track — its ‘public persona’ as a means of high-tech world-class transport seems to be disconnected from the messy details of human relations that build and run it. For the average commuter, the comfort of the metro ride carries no hint of the eddies below as employees are prohibited from disclosing details to the public.

The metro is a fetish – a symbol of our collective dream of modernity as it glides above the congestion and disorder of the city below. It holds the blueprint of a future city that we would like to belong to. Our ambitions and desires ride on narratives that harp on ‘efficiency’, ‘public good’ and ‘mobility’, which conceal the harsh conditions that lie beneath.

Hidden stories of conflict are not peculiar to BMRCL but common across organisations. Most companies and organisations – private or public -- have inner lives that remain inaccessible to the general public. Reports of brutal conditions that create fissures in the façade of prestigious projects are met with denial or distancing. Within organisations, prevailing unfair labour practices are ‘public secrets’ that everyone is aware of yet no one ‘outs’ or acts on. The edifice of rationality, efficiency and ‘civility’ is maintained through secrecy and the perpetuation of a deafening silence.

As I write this, my thoughts are interrupted by the endless piling sound of metro construction that has resumed post-lockdown. At what human cost is it being built and under what conditions? In the light of the recent news about Bengaluru’s builders and the state government obstructing the homeward journey of migrants in order to “kickstart the economy,” I remind myself that the story of the metro’s migrant workers is one among many. The entire city rests on the unrewarded and undervalued labour of those who are denied the voice to question why. This moment of re-imagining a post-lockdown ‘normal’ is an opportunity to push for a structural shift in the way ‘informal sector’ workers are treated within gargantuan industries like construction that supposedly fuel our economy. Let’s stop to ask who fuels it and how.

(The writer is an urban anthropologist and freelance researcher)