I arrive at the Rome Airport, thrilled at the notion of living in Italy. As I step out of the customs hall, I immediately see my boyfriend, waiting to meet me. His parents, whom I've never met, are with him and as I turn to them with my perfectly-rehearsed Italian greeting, they appear very confused. 'No- no' they stammer, a perplexed expression on their faces. They turn to Massimo: 'But where is your girlfriend—the American? Why did she send the maid?'
The perception of my boyfriend's parents, that all Filipinos are servants, is not uncommon. With an estimated two hundred thousand Filipino domestic workers in Italy, of which 67 percent are female,[1] Filipinos and domestic work are synonymous in the country. Throughout Europe, the number of Filipino overseas workers is estimated at a conservative six hundred thousand.[2] The high number of domestic workers from the Philippines living in Greece prompted a new entry in a local dictionary: Filipineza [Filipina], a 'domestic servant; someone who performs non-essential auxiliary tasks.'[3] This migration is not only limited to Europe, but spans across the globe to the Middle East and other parts of Asia, usually Hong Kong and Singapore. Filipina domestic workers are so commonplace in Hong Kong that action dolls were manufactured, complete with a Philippine passport and work contract as accessories. Packaged in a box that enquires, 'Won't you please sign my work contract?' these dolls caused an uproar in the global Filipino community. Only after much protest from the Philippine government and from domestic servants themselves were the offensive dolls recalled.
My first weeks in Italy were marred by recurrences of the airport scene. Many were surprised to find that I was not the stereotypical American that they envisioned. 'But are you really American?' they would ask. Another common and explicit query was, 'Why don't you work as a maid?' As I continued to be introduced to friends and family, I almost wished that like the Hong Kong dolls, I could wave my American passport as an accessory, thus not only to prove my nationality, but also to distinguish myself from the other Filipinas—those who worked as servants and thus were viewed as lower class. I am ashamed to admit it now, but as I look back at my first months, I recall doing everything possible to widen the gap between them and me. I took every opportunity to project my nasal accent for which Americans are faulted, or dress in the characteristically American blue jeans and tennies ensemble. But no one could tell the nuances of American English, or cared long enough to ask where I came from. Following their own assumptions, the Italians read my native Filipina features: the broad nose, dark skin, and long straight hair—as the signifier for domestic servitude in Italy.
As I met domestic workers at the train stations, bus stops, and markets, I realise that since most work in private homes, they are largely invisible, occupying only the private spaces of Italian society. Their presence becomes only obvious when a large number congregates in public, usually on Sundays. Otherwise, they live outside the fringes of society, invisibly performing acts of servitude. One or two might be seen pushing a pram on the way to the park or pulling on a shopping trolley, but most remained behind the closed doors and high walls of their employers' homes. When I did see Filipinas in public, I immediately saw marginalised, unhappy victims, with very little choices in life. After all, I was aware of numerous stories of domestic servants who have been abused, raped, and even killed while working abroad. Before even meeting the domestic workers, I already knew that I, as an outsider, would perceive and portray them as victims. Perhaps I wanted to present this viewpoint because after a few weeks in Italy, I felt like a domestic worker myself. I was prey to sharp glances in stores and restaurants, and talk followed whenever I walked down the narrow roads to my home.
Losing what I thought of as my unquestionable 'American' identity proved so difficult that I almost fled the country in the first month. Italian friends instructed me to keep secret from the shopkeepers that I am American, arguing that they will overcharge me if they knew. Despite this, I continued to announce my nationality, not only by speaking loudly, but by specifically buying American products, hoping that the jars of peanut butter I overbought would confirm my identity. The consequence, enduring cruel words from the shopkeeper, or worst, having my movement closely monitored whilst inside the shoppe, was too painful to consider. Though I had only been in the country for a few weeks, I was aware of xenophobic and nationalist sentiments among Italians. A survey conducted in 1991 by the Institute for Population Research found that 61 percent of the respondents believed that immigration represented 'only or mainly disadvantages' to Italian society.[4] Numerous articles I read all pointed to a population that is prone to nationalism.[5] In her study of social exclusion of immigrants in Italy, Anna Triandafyllidou writes that immigrants were believed to 'disrupt the political and cultural order of the nation. They represent a threat to its 'purity' and 'authenticity'. Therefore they have to be kept 'outside', if not physically at least symbolically.'[6] I knew that I could not live as an 'outsider' with all of its exclusions. I wondered, as I saw other Filipinas, how they could survive such treatment.
Case studies and fieldwork on Filipina migrant workers recount the same stories of women who sacrifice for their families at all costs. They are workhorses for their families, employers, and their government who profit from their hard labour. But the Filipinas whom I met did not warrant such simple categorisation. I wanted stories of employer maltreatment, tragic stories of families torn apart, martyr-figures of self-sacrifice. Instead, the weak, unaware, victimised and choiceless Filipinas I sought eluded me.
Although there are male domestic workers, housekeeping, along with childcare, is gendered to the 'feminine' and primarily available to women only. The Philippine government maintains that for every Filipina worker in Italy, there are many more women who remain in the Philippines unemployed and desperate to work abroad. Stories of success and the visible wealth of the returned workers encourage these desperate women to seek work abroad. Though it might be unfathomable that women will vie for the chance to cook, clean and care for strangers, both the Philippine government and the Filipinos themselves promote domestic work as an escape from poverty, a chance to see the larger world, or the first step towards more opportunities. The Filipinas whom I met viewed themselves as more than 'just maids,' defining themselves instead through the professional and personal roles they once held in their native country as mothers or daughters, business women or educators. Only through the security of their former selves, and the careful construction of a new identity in Italy are the women able to withstand their marginalised position in Italy.
An extended stay in Venice gave me the opportunity to become intimate with several Filipinas. Their community is a practical one to study—the city is small and compact. It is easy to spot the approximately five hundred Filipinos who live there. Though the 43 women with whom I spoke have said that family separation is an unfortunate consequence of their work, resulting in loneliness and isolation, not one of them considered herself a victim.[7] 'If it's so bad here,' one 28-year old tells me, 'I can always go home. My obligations have been met, and no one is forcing me to stay.'[8] This is indeed true in most cases. While workers usually borrow a large amount of money in order to secure their passage abroad, there were only a few women who had outstanding debts. Additionally, remittances[9]—the money overseas workers send home to their families and once a requirement imposed by the Philippine government— are now voluntary and dependent on the deep sense of responsibility, loyalty, and obligation of the worker. No one is forcing the workers to remain abroad to send in remittances that stand at an estimated US$6 billion a year, representing 8.9 percent of the country's GDP.[10] The question then remains to be asked: What drives these women, year after year to remain in a country where the dominant society views them with a mixture of contempt and gratitude?
Constructing a New Identity
Filipinas in Italy rely heavily on their own group for support. Moral support, practical advice, and financial help are freely given within the group. Ties with the Philippines remain strong and identification with Italian society is very weak. Since I was new to the country I also needed support and naturally turned to the American expatriate community. It became quickly and painfully obvious that my experiences of isolation and otracism bore little resemblance to the other American expatriates, making worse my burgeoning identity crisis. Outside the protective American space wherein I was raised, and where Asian Americans number one out of three in San Francisco, a complicated set of questions is posed for me. With whom should I identify? And which group identifies with me? Though I wanted to ally with the privilege of 'American-ness', my physical appearance betrayed me. In the end, it was my colour and its negative position in Italian society that dictated my community and identity.
As I turned more and more to the Filipina community, I continued to meet with women who would instruct me in the Italian way of life. At first they were skeptical, unsure whether I should be accepted into the community. Reading my occupation as an indicator of nationality, the women regarded me as an American. One woman argued that since I do not work as a maid, I could not really understand their situation.
Al Fresco Dining
Our afternoon shopping behind us, I invite Lilia and Josephine to dinner. We choose a reasonable trattoria a short walk from our neighbourhood. A warm evening, we decide to sit outside, and occupied a table near the entrance. My companions are uncomfortable, and I quickly assume that it's because they are not accustomed to eating out, living frugally in order to save their wages for family back home. The waiter approaches our table, and recommends we sit inside. 'Inside is more comfortable for you,' he says forcefully, through a smile. Enjoying the cool evening breeze, I refuse to leave the table, but my companions are already on their feet, the waiter leading them by the arm. I follow them into the empty restaurant, where we are seated at that proverbial back table. An hour later, we walk out of the still-empty dining room, and onto the front patio, now jumping with patrons enjoying their dinners, al fresco. I am seething at what I believe to be blatant discrimination, but my companions are unscathed, content with our meal together. Sensing my anger, Josephine takes my arm and says, 'You'll have to loosen up, if you want to live here.'
Lilia is representative of the women I met in Venice.[11] Thirty years old, she and her husband are active members of the Filipino community, and usually organise social and charitable events. She has a nine-month-old son born in Venice, but who was sent to the Philippines because the couple could not afford to care for him there. Lilia cleans the home of a Venetian family, and has raised its children for the last twelve years. Her earnings have paid for renovation of her parental home in the Philippines, as well as for the education of several brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. Ironically, Lilia's earnings also pay for the wages of two live-in maids and caretakers for her child.
I asked Lilia if she missed her baby, knowing the answer to this all too obvious question. 'Of course,' she replied. 'It's depressing. But I know life in the Philippines will be better for him, if I'm earning here. So I think about that, and since my husband is here too, I'm not lonely. I also have my alaga [employer's child]; she's five years old. She's almost like my own child. I took care of her two days after she was born, and she's been with me 18 hours a day, and sometimes even longer. And you know, this Italian girl is becoming a Filipina; she even knows some Visayan words by now.'
Though I expected her to say that she missed her own child, I did not expect Lilia to be dismissive of her loss of a maternal role, or rather, its displacement from her own child, to the child she is paid to care for. True to her role as surrogate mother, Lilia teaches the child her language and cultural values from infancy, and displays physical affection for her. As for her biological child, Lilia must rely on her extended family and paid caregivers for his physical and emotional care. He cannot expect physical love from his mother, a third world migrant worker whose work is to care for a first world woman's children. A vicious cycle is reproduced here: Lilia's salary in the first world enables her to hire an even poorer and marginalised woman to care for her biological child in the Philippines.
During their time off, usually Thursday afternoons and Sundays, Filipinos take full advantage of the respite from work. From Hong Kong to Paris, much has been written on the gatherings of Filipinos on their days off, simply because of the visible numbers that gather, usually in public places like the park. Reports also mention the small intimate gatherings of people, taking place at home, where they eat traditional foods, sing karaoke, or play cards. They also explore their new home, taking tourist and visiting local museums. When I mentioned that I would be travelling to nearby Verona, several women offered to be my guide to view the legendary balcony of Juliet and the Roman amphitheatre that now houses an opera company. One domestic worker told me that she saw Madame Butterfly there last year. Maids? Shakespeare? Madame Butterfly? While it sounds rather unusual to learn of maids who appreciate Western high culture,[12] it reinforces that Filipinas do not fit the notion that servants are uneducated. An overwhelming 80 percent of the women I surveyed had bachelor degrees, and had held jobs as teachers and nurses. Some viewed their stay in Italy as an extension of their education. Indeed, I would later learn of former maids who returned to the Philippines, only to take up posts as foreign language and arts teachers.
Of course, there are differences among the Filipinos of the community. The majority of the workers hail from urban, middle-class, and educated backgrounds. There are others who come from poorer areas, and have had little education. However these differences are unimportant in Italy where no distinctions are made among Filipinas since they all perform services considered demeaning and unimportant.
Radical changes in the traditional family structures result from crossing borders. While the man is usually the breadwinner in the Philippines, a role reversal occurs when the woman goes abroad. Her elevated income forces her husband to remain at home to care for children. Single women become financially independent, and their increased earnings command respect and recognition among their extended families.[13] Clearly there are negative aspects that result from these migrations, but also some positive ones. In many ways, the women experience a broader range of freedom, including new-found expressions of their sexuality. Over the last several years, there has been much controversy over the visibility of lesbian Filipinas working abroad.[14] While their presence goes against the wholesome image that Filipina workers like to portray, lesbians have found voices as activists and community workers. The theory circulating among Filipina workers is that the women 'turn' lesbians while living abroad, as a form of experimentation or a way to combat boredom. It is more likely that lesbians have found sexual expression to be possible abroad, away from the rigid conservatism of Philippine society and free from the critical gaze of their families, both of which reflect traditional Christian values.
Indeed, the Catholic Church is a significant force in shaping and defining the Filipina identity, as its role in the success of overseas workers is significant. Not only does the Church provide spiritual support; it also provides a tremendous amount of material support. Filipino activities are often held in church halls and community centres and direct involvement with priests are solicited for most social events. Funds are often donated by the church for programs that will project a positive image of contract workers such as celebrations that highlight Filipina achievements and contributions to the community. Furthermore, practice and faith in Catholicism contributes to the Filipina's wide reception, especially in predominantly Catholic countries in Europe. In Italy, the positive reputation of Filipina workers is further enhanced by what employers perceive to be the embodiment of Christian values, citing this as a common ground they share. In Rome, there are twenty churches that perform at least one service in Tagalog each week, and Filipino clergy have been active in forming associations that advocate for overseas workers.[15]
Since overseas workers bring in valuable remittances each year, a carefully crafted sense of nationalism must be constructed. The various industries associated with this—recruitment agencies, banking services, duty free shops, and to some extent, the Church, also benefit from the so-called 'economic heroes', who are regarded with respect, especially when they return to the Philippines for a holiday. Regardless of their status and position in Italy, their status at home has been elevated tremendously by virtue of living and working abroad. In order to encourage continued migration, a false consciousness is created for the workers. To support this several magazines for domestic workers have sprung up, among them Kabayan,Diwaliwan, and Tinig Filipino.[16] The magazines are distributed worldwide to a growing readership in more than a dozen countries in Europe, Asia, North America, and the Middle East. Kabayan claims that its purpose is to 'help ease the loneliness and boredom of our Overseas Contract Workers,' and 'inform, educate, and influence them to continue practicing a set of values, so that the international community will have confidence in the Filipino'.[17]
Tinig Filipino's editor-in-chief, Linda Layosa, boasts of having once been a domestic worker. Though it also has substantial coverage of popular culture, the presence of recipes, advice columns, fashion do's and don'ts, and beauty contests indicate a high female readership, further attesting to the important economic position of women. Kabayan and Diwaliwan are published in the Philippines, and are reputed to be supported by the government and various employment agencies. Both magazines espouse the same mission and serve the same purpose: by encouraging Filipinas to remain honest and hard working, demand for their services will continue to increase, thus ensuring the continuation of remittances. ThoughTinig Filipino is published in Hong Kong and therefore not subject to censorship, its content is similar to the other two publications, though it does encourage articles that portray the realities of workers' lives overseas.
Readers' letters to these publications echo the mantra of 'trustworthy, hardworking, responsible' ethos to which contract workers aspire. A domestic worker in Rome states that the magazine 'encourages us to always practice devotion to duty coupled with honesty, because I am not only representing my name, but also my country.'[18] The nationalist propaganda is obviously working. In another letter to the Editor, a worker advises her colleagues to prove that:
we Filipinos are people with value, honor, and dignity. We can start to prove them right where we are in our places of work—that we are hardworking and honest; in public transport, that we do not make unnecessary noise. In public places—that we do not shout or yell to one another. We do not literally 'litter' ourselves in the corridors or in the passageways [19]
The image of the good Filipina, demure, ladylike, and hardworking is crucial to their continued demand in the work force, and Filipinas are only too eager to promote this image in order to protect their livelihood.
In an annual ceremony of the Filipino Community Association in Venice, Milagroz Perez, the Consul General of the Philippines and her entourage are present, some dressed in head-to-toe Versace haute couture. The Filipinos gathered there address the Consul General with an obvious reverence. In her opening remarks, she comments on the length of time Filipinos have been in Italy, and that in a short time, they have distinguished themselves in the field of domestic work. She assures the crowd that the Filipino is more desirable than workers from other countries, as they are known to be trustworthy, honest, caring and responsible. The 'other' workers hail from countries as varied as Cape Verde, Sri Lanka, and Nigeria. The Consul General goes on to say that she hopes Filipinos continue to carry on this reputation of exceptional employees and model citizens.[20]
Among the Filipino community, it is a common and proudly-held belief that Italians prefer to hire Filipinas as maids than any other nationality, citing that they are 'closer' to Italians than most other migrant groups, due to their common religion, moral virtues, and shared heritage with Spain, the Philippines' colonizer. Several women who employ Filipinas in their household confirm this belief. One Italian woman states, 'I used to have a non-Filipina, and she came home one day pregnant. Now I have a Filipina and she is very good. She's been with me for over six years, and she doesn't even look at men. She works hard, very hard all week, saves her money, and at the end of the week, she goes to Church. I hope she stays on.'[21]
Later that evening the party-goers and I make our way home on a vaporetto. We pile onto the boat, along with others who had been waiting at the stop. The conductor waited for us to board, and as the boat pulled away from the docks, yelled, 'biglietti!'—tickets. These inspections are random and occasional—but carry a hefty fine. The system is an honours one—the passenger validates the ticket prior to boarding. One by one, my companions are inspected, and it appears that not one of them has a stamped ticket. Citations are issued to them, while the people with whom we boarded, a group of young Italians men, are not questioned. They blend into the crowds, disappear into the back of the boat, and away from the gaze of the conductor. Later as we all arrived at our destination, someone explains to me, 'That's the first time it happened. We don't want you to think that we do it all the time. We don't want to have a bad reputation in Venice.' I counter that the fare is expensive, over three US dollars, and that I would have also evaded paying had I not overbought tickets. But he insisted: 'they know we buy tickets. It's the Africans who always avoid paying.' However they try to mask it, it is obvious that the Filipinos' carefully constructed identity as honest and law-abiding has not permeated to all levels of Italian society.
Holy Sundays
I am invited to Tito's house on my last Sunday. Sundays are important; it is the one full day off. Some attend the 6pm service at the Santa Maria della Fava Church. Once inside the cool, cavernous church, and surrounded by a thick crowd of Filipino worshippers, I am instantly transported to the Philippines—an eight-year-old clutching my mother's hand as we make our way to mass in our Manila neighborhood. The choir belts out song after song of beautifully pious words in Tagalog and Italian, accompanied by guitar and piano.
Tito's house is a two-room flat on the street level. These are the most economical flats, since flooding occurs in Venice each winter. Tito sectioned off portions of his one-room flat to create a kitchen and a living room. I survey the small room buzzing with energy. Women are sprawled on the couches, gossiping and eating. The men stand in one corner, with some leaning out the window to smoke their cigarettes. Among them are Frank and Wesley, hunched together in an intimate conversation. It is well known that they are lovers, but their public display of affection is limited to the occasional brush of the hand, or playful slaps on the shoulder. This extra precaution allows them to still participate in church activities, and to maintain friendships among other men, most of whom are heterosexuals and proudly masculine.
Frank and Wesley's discretion is unique to the men. The Filipina lesbians who move to Italy enjoy their newfound freedom, with many commenting that they 'outed' themselves within the first year of living there. They openly displayed their sexualities, and used their freedom as a vehicle to activism. On this particular evening, they are belting out tunes on the karaoke machine. There are old standbys: Barbara Streisand's Memories, and Britney Spear's latest. When the karaoke turns to the patriotic tunes of Freddie Aguilar's Bayan Ko, the room is suddenly quiet. All attention is on the singer, and he plays the crowd, his face wrought with feeling, pained and joyous at the same time. One more voice joins in, and together their faces contort with emotion. I look around the room to find the crowd reverent and respectful. Though I understand the words, the song does nothing to me. There are no tears or choked-up feelings that I sometimes get at the humming of the Star Spangled Banner. When the song is over, more eating and gossiping continue into the late Sunday night. I felt privileged to share in intimate gatherings like these that allow a glimpse into the private space of domestic workers, held on the one day of independence, when the Filipina is everything else but simply the maid.
- By projecting native and contrived images of femininity, the Filipina worker protects her livelihood, thus achieving whatever goals she has set for herself. In the last twenty years, Filipinas in Italy have had to negotiate the multiple roles and identities presented to them. To her employer, she is hard working and trustworthy, a woman who willingly sacrifices her own maternal and familial responsibilities and possibilities. To the Philippine government, she is an economic force and steady source of income. To her family, she is the well-respected breadwinner. Little effort is made on her part to join the Italian community. Likewise, there is much resistance to her presence from the wider Italian society. Thus, she is always defined through her work as simply a maid, and a perennial outsider. This notion is not troublesome to Filipinas who view the country only as a temporary space in which to achieve her financial goals. Thus, Filipinas successfully negotiate living and working as outsiders, whether living and working in Italy for one or twenty years.
Source: http://intersections.anu.edu.au/issue8/ebron.html
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