Some undocumented workers are taken into custody and not allowed to get their remaining wages or housing deposits

By Lee Jung-gook, staff reporter in Hwaseong

“Annyeong-haseyo.”

Monu’s greeting came in fluent Korean. It was 11am on June 19, and the 40-year-old Bangladeshi migrant worker was sitting on the other side of a white acrylic screen in the visitors’ area of the Immigration Processing Center in Hwaseong, Gyeonggi Province. He had been apprehended on June 4 at a factory in the province’s Maseok Furniture Complex, where he was making beds, tables, and chairs for motels. Now, he and other undocumented migrant workers caught in the bust were at the center awaiting deportation.

Monu was frustrated. He needed to get his back pay from the factory - some 11 million won (US$9,600) and a 10 million won (US$8,800) deposit on his apartment - before he left the country. That required a temporary release from custody so he could travel to Maseok. The system is currently in place to temporarily allow people like Monu, undocumented migrant workers put in custody and stigmatized as “illegals,” to settle affairs such as unpaid wages and housing deposits before being deported.

“It’s frustrating,” he said. “I’ve got to get out to handle my business with the factory and get my money. I can’t do anything while I’m in here.” He sighed. A lot of people at the center were stuck with the same problem, he said.

“We’re living with about 14 people in one cell,” he explained. “And most of them say they haven’t gotten their pay. Everyone’s at a loss about what to do. Ever since I’ve been here, I’ve been telling them I didn’t get my money, but the Center just told me to wait.”

The Namyangu Foreign Workers’ Welfare Center, where Monu is a familiar face, filed a request on his behalf for a temporary release from custody. On June 20, it was turned down by the Office of Immigration. The reason given was just one sentence stating that the documentation given by the welfare center was “unreliable.”

When asked for specifics by the Hankyoreh, the office said it could not “give out personal information.”

Center secretary-general Lee Young, who filed the request, got no concrete explanation either.

“What is the use of temporary release from custody, if you’re going to make the procedure requirements this tough?” Lee asked. “Groups like us aren’t able to help, and the migrant workers themselves can‘t take care of anything because they’re in custody.”

Lee Jeong-won, an activist with the group Collective Action to Abolish Discrimination Against Migrant Workers and Assert Human and Labor Rights, said securing a temporary release was “almost impossible.”

“Even if you get approval, you have to pay a deposit of up to 20 million won (US$17,500) to the immigrant office to get released from custody,” Lee explained. “Where are migrant workers who aren’t even getting their wages paid supposed to come up with that kind of money?”

Ministry of Justice figures are evidence of the difficulty. In 2011, a total of 137 temporary releases were granted; in 2012, the number was 116. The Office of Immigration said it did not keep separate tallies of applications and denials. But the fact that around 18,000 migrant workers annually have been deported in recent years suggests that when a temporary release is granted, it’s exceptional.

The Ministry of Employment and Labor is not especially interested in the workers’ plight. An official with its labor policy improvement division explained on condition of anonymity, “We don’t have any employees who go check on every one of the people in the Foreigner Processing Centers. Foreign workers typically receive help from human rights organizations to take care of their business.”

This suggests that undocumented migrant workers stuck at processing centers are obliged to file a report themselves.

“The Justice Ministry and Employment and Labor Ministry are both ignoring the problem,” said Lee Young. “They’re claiming it’s not their job. And the reason for that is because government policy is aimed more at getting migrant workers out of here than finding out what their rights are.”

Monu first arrived in South Korea back in 2000. Like many undocumented workers, he came for three months on a short-term employment visa, and then just stayed. His life revolved around the paychecks he sent back home to his parents. A quick study, he picked up a good command of spoken and written Korean. At the Maseok Park, he was a “star” who helped his fellow migrant workers out of financial trouble and hosted various events. He once appeared on television.

Last November, opportunity knocked. A Korean friend who worked with him at the factory made Monu director of a new factory he was opening. The friend was impressed with his strong Korean skills and his extensive network of contacts in the complex. Monu had a lot of experience in production and distribution, and the president handed over the management duties.

Monu’s colleagues said his generosity was the reason he had so much in unpaid wages.

“Monu had a strong sense of responsibility,” one said. “He said he didn’t mind getting paid late for his friends’ sake. That’s why he had so much back pay.”

The 47-year-old factory president, identified by his surname Kim, has been sighing a lot lately.

“Monu’s transactions were more than 50 million won (US$43,800),” he said. “I’m basically going bust now. Even if I try to close up shop, Monu is going to need to come back here and take care of things like the balance. I’m going out of my head here.”

Five other migrant workers were apprehended on the same day as Monu. Dohina, a 29-year-old Bangladeshi who was also arrested, shivered as she recalled the bust.

“It was 10:30 in the morning, and Monu was coming into the factory with coffee when the squad busted in all of a sudden, screaming, ‘Get them,’” she said. “It was scary. I sank down and told them, ‘Please let me go, I have a child.’ They grabbed my arms and legs and forced me into the car.”

Dohina did secure a temporary release, because of her seven-year-old son. But she will have to leave the country in early July. Her husband Kaji , arrested alongside here, was deported on June 17.

Her son Tasin saw his mother being interviewed. “Is that the person who took Daddy away?” he asked, his pronunciation clearer than most Korean children’s.

Dohina recently got word about Mahia, an eight-year-old girl who returned to Bangladesh without citizenship either there or in South Korea, where she was born. Mahia lived next door to Dohina in Maseok. http://www.hani.co.kr/arti/english_edition/e_international/590058.html

“Since going back to Bangladeshi, Mahia has been crying every day to her mother, asking her, ‘Why did you have me?’” Dohina said. “Now I have to go back with Tasin. I’m so worried.”

Such are the frustrations and anxieties that Monu and Dohina face in and outside the processing center.

Please direct questions or comments to [english@hani.co.kr]