Human rights not always observed in Washington

Domestic servants don't only suffer abuse in the third world, but also in Washington, at the hands of diplomats and highly-paid executives of international lending agencies. Martha Honey reports for the Inter Press Service.

WASHINGTON (IPS): Some of them have probably written or given speeches on human rights while many sit in meetings in which decisions that affect the world's downtrodden are made.

But it is becoming apparent that many diplomats and executives who work for the likes of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) have difficulties putting their own houses in order and often abuse their domestic helpers.

"I've been shocked to find that these domestics -- they are (almost) always women-- have been virtually under house arrest, forced to work seven days a week, basically around the clock, haven't seen the light of day for two or three years," says Edward Leavy, a Washington attorney who represent runaways.

If the servants complained, Leavy says, "they are threatened with deportation. It's slavery in the shadow of the Capitol."

These workers had entered the United States legally, under a special State Department program that permits international bureaucrats and diplomats to "import" live-in household help on temporary visas. Last year, the State Department issued 3,400 such visas.

The right to import domestic help is just one of the job perks enjoyed by Washington's international upper crust. According to figures provided by the World Bank and IMF, average salaries at both agencies are over US$65,000 tax free, or about US$120,000 when their benefit packages are included.

A World Bank spokesman told IPS that its "compensation system is designed to maintain pay scales that keep pace with labor markets where we recruit staff."

The labor markets from which staffers recruit their domestic help are, in contrast, the poor communities of Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Many are single mothers.

"If they come here, it's because they are very poor in their own countries and they need to support their families," says Sister Manuela Vencela, a Spanish nun who has personally handled hundreds of cases involving runaway domestic helpers.

To bring domestic help here, foreign employers must agree -- usually in writing -- to provide "reasonable living and working conditions" as defined by the U.S. labor laws. Immigration lawyers say this must include the minimum wage, fixed hours and time off.

In reality, though, many live-in domestics are forced to work long hours for little and, in a few cases, no pay. Says Sister Manuela: "Some were paid only US$50 a month, and quite a few never receive a single penny after two or three years working."

Scattered across or near the U.S. capital thus are a growing number of safe houses for maids who have run away from their bosses -- many of whom are the city's most highly-paid international civil servants.

In a brick town house in northern Virginia, for instance, is a clandestine shelter for foreign domestic helpers who have escaped exploitative and sometimes physically abusive jobs.

Recently, at least a half dozen young Filipina women were there, all hiding from their powerful employers.

Those involved in the underground network say the abusive treatment follows certain patterns. International officials tend to bring in domestic servants from their own countries, often a distant relative or clan member.

Typically, the employer takes the maid's passport, withholds the person's salary or sends it to an overseas bank account, forbids the person to leave the house alone or develop independent friendships, and threatens to send home anyone who complains.

Celia Rivas, an employment officer at the Spanish Catholic Center in Maryland, says she recently counseled a runaway Chilean housekeeper who was terrified of being arrested and deported.

The woman said her Chilean employer, a World Bank official who lives in the exclusive Potomac neighborhood, took her passport, ignored their signed contract, paid her only US$50 a week, and allowed her to eat only rice, beans and bread.

One night when she asked for her documents, her employer angrily shouted, "Take them -- but you have to leave the house now." The Chilean servant was forced to walk over an hour to reach a pay phone where she managed to call someone she had met at church.

Leavy recalls a case involving a Tanzanian World Bank analyst who brought a registered nurse to work as a nanny and domestic, agreeing to pay her a minimum wage and send her to university.

For two years, she was paid only $50 to $100 a week, forced to work seven days a week, and never allowed to go to school. When she finally complained to the Bank's of Ethics Office, the Bank tried unsuccessfully to settle the dispute by convening 'Council of Elders' comprised of Africans working for the Bank.

"This is downtown Washington, not an African village," contends, Leavy who argues that the Bank should have handled it as a straightforward breach of contract case.

Through Leavy and another lawyer, the woman, who asked that her name not to be used, finally reached an out-of-court settlement for $21,000. Lawyers say in many instances Bank and IMF employers move to settle quickly out of court to avoid embarrassing publicity.

Nepali domestic helper Sangita Sanya was awarded $40,000 in compensation from her Nepali employer, IMF economist Sukhdev Shah and his wife Vijaya, in 1991.

Sanyal was provided with food and lodging by her employers but no salary. Shah sent Sanyal's father in Nepal $50 a month.

Filipina Marina Caracas came to this city to work for Annie Tioseco, an IMF economist and distant relative, in March 1994.

When she arrived, her employer took her passport away and forced her to work in a day-care center for over 16 hours a day, seven days a week, run by Tioseco's mother. She was paid $230 a month in contrast to the $600 a month that each child paid to attend the center.

The institutions insist that abuse of domestic servants is not common. James Roan, an official with the Bank's Ethics Office, says he receives only "infrequent complaints".

An IMF spokesman dismisses the problem as not serious because "very very few" cases have actually been brought to court, and a State Department official says he receives "about one" complaint a year.

While both the Bank and IMF routinely handle the paperwork for staffers who want to import domestic help, they have no procedure for monitoring compliance with the contracts and U.S. labor law. "We're a facilitator, not a policeman, " contended an IMF official.

Social workers and lawyers involved in the network, however, suspect they see just the tip of the iceberg. Virginia lawyer John Connoly calls abuse of foreign domestics "a very serious problem."

He blames "the State Department for not following through and attempting to monitor these private employment agreements" and "the IMF and World Bank (for) not (attempting) to ensure that their employees are acting in accordance with U.S. law."

Lawyer Leavy is even blunter: "These folks who are supposed to be curing the developing world should at least abide by American law and pay the minimum wage when they hire servants."