Mom told me to
never doubt people who work
which is another way to say
trust the masses
My mother is the reason I’m a labor organizer today. She embodies working-class pride without even realizing it. Growing up, I didn’t recognize that the values instilled in me came from a long history of oppression of working-class people around the world. My family is from Isabela, a province in the northern Philippines.
Most people are familiar with Manila, the country’s capital, a developed city with many buildings and activities for tourists. However, most Filipinos do not live in Manila and reside in the provinces which are in stark contrast to the city. In the provinces, much of the work that is available for Filipinos is agricultural work on lands that they do not own. Because they do not have control of this land, many of them face abusive and brutal conditions – my mom and her family being one of many. Because of these conditions, many Filipinos look for other options, and every day, over 6,000 Filipinos leave the country due to the lack of jobs.
As the eldest sibling, my mom had the responsibility to take care of her younger siblings, and with the extreme lack of available jobs in the country, she was forced to search for work abroad. The process for securing work abroad is expensive and includes fees for processing paperwork, applying for visas, medical examinations, training courses, and placement fees from recruitment agencies. After this paperwork is processed, Filipinos, referred to as Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), are then sent overseas.
When my mom became an OFW, she left her family and everything she knew behind. She was employed as a domestic worker in Dubai and Hong Kong, where she and other Filipinos she and others faced violence beyond imagination. I’ll never forget her story about a domestic worker in Dubai who had her skin burned off by her employer for “talking back”. Such conditions were tragically common, and what my mom witnessed is only one out of many examples of the abuses migrant workers endure abroad. These workers often faced long hours, physical and emotional abuse, and severe violations of their basic human rights. Despite these horrors, they endured such treatment due to the lack of job opportunities back home and the overwhelming financial responsibilities they carried. The absence of protections from both the Philippine government and the host countries exacerbated their vulnerability, making it nearly impossible for them to seek justice or improve their working conditions.
When my mom came to the U.S., she hoped for better conditions but was disappointed. Her first job was as a housekeeper at Embassy Suites Hotel in the mid-90s. The work was physically and mentally exhausting, involving cleaning numerous rooms, dealing with rude guests, and coping with frequent management changes. In the early 2000s, I witnessed these harsh conditions firsthand when she had to bring me to work due to a lack of childcare. One of my core childhood memories is of my mom being insulted by a guest, an older white man, who called her a racial slur when she informed him his room wouldn’t be ready on time. At five years old, I didn’t understand the word but knew it was malicious. When I told my mom it wasn’t right, she said, “What can we do about it? Let it go.” I learned later that these sentiments were common for many migrant workers in the United States. This incident left me grappling with her question, “What can we do about it?” Though I had no answers at the time, it made me question the idea that our parents came here for a better life. Is the promise of a better life in the U.S. real if we can’t fight back against injustices that are happening here?
My mother wasn’t alone in her experiences and grievances. The other housekeepers she worked with were migrants from Mexico, El Salvador, Jamaica, and other countries, and these women supported each other through workplace and life struggles. When I started Pre-K, it was my mom’s coworkers who were picking me up after school when she could not. When I was sick or had to go to the doctor and my mom couldn’t take off, it was her coworkers who stepped in. Despite the exploitation they faced, my mom’s workplace was also a place for community, and they were a resource to one another. Little did I know, that what I was witnessing for the first time was what organizing in the workplace can look like. Of course, they did not see it as such, but the workers were creating systems for what their job was not offering, including childcare, transportation, and time to rest. The women at my mom’s job were the reason I was able to survive when many of our basic needs weren’t met.
When I started college, I found progressive spaces that sparked my interest in organizing. The idea of collective action and being able to hold people accountable for injustices was something I still saw as important. I don’t think I’ve ever let go of the anger I had when seeing the exploitation my mom and others faced. Later, I became involved in organizing with other Filipinos, which helped me contextualize my own history as a Filipina in the U.S. What I discovered during this time was that the struggles I witnessed my mom facing had a root cause and that every one of us has a responsibility to fight against such injustices with one another.
Now as I work as a campaign organizer with 9to5 Georgia and across a variety of women’s issues, this work solidifies for me the need for us to organize our workplaces, build community, and collectively fight against oppressive conditions and policies that have marginalized workers, like my mom. Through this work, I’ve come to understand the power of organizing not just as a means of addressing immediate concerns, but as a pathway to systemic change. It’s about recognizing the interconnectedness of our struggles and the importance of standing together in solidarity. It’s also about learning about the history of both your people and the place where you reside, understanding how past injustices continue to shape our present realities. KNow History, KNow Self – these words from Philippine National Hero, Jose Rizal, resonate deeply with me now more than ever, as I continue to advocate for justice and dignity for all workers.