The dormitories in which Singapore’s migrant workers live have, until recently, been almost hidden from view. The vast, steel buildings are mostly on the outskirts of town, tucked inside industrial estates, far away from the city-state’s glittering skyscrapers and luxury hotels.
Inside, the men who carry out backbreaking work to build Singapore’s infrastructure, sleep on bunk beds, crammed into rooms with as many as 20 people. The biggest dormitory complex houses up to 24,000 workers.
In recent weeks, as the coronavirus has ripped through the facilities, their unsanitary and overcrowded conditions have quickly become the subject of international attention. Singapore, recently lauded for its gold-standard approach to testing and tracing, now demonstrates both the dangers of neglecting marginalised communities, and the vulnerability of nations to a second wave of infections.
On Wednesday, the number of cases surpassed 10,000. This compares with just 200 infections recorded on 15 March, when its outbreak appeared to be nearly under control. Almost all new reports involve migrant workers.
Last week, the country extended a partial shutdown that was introduced at the start of April, with people told to stay indoors as much as possible. All migrant workers have been told not to leave their dorms, and are instead having food delivered by authorities.
“It feels like we’re in a prison. [It is] too difficult. [There is] too much heat in the room,” says A, who asked to remain anonymous, fearing that he might face repercussions for speaking to the media. Outside, the sound of ambulance sirens could be heard, he adds. None of the hundreds of people living on his floor has tested positive.
When the coronavirus outbreak in China began to escalate in January, it was feared that Singapore, a major regional business hub, would be especially vulnerable. The country acted quickly to minimise the risk of transmission: border restrictions were introduced, an exhaustive contract-tracing programme rolled out and a home quarantine system was strictly enforced. Tests were also made free for all. The country, which avoided sweeping shutdown measures throughout March, appeared to have contained the virus.
But rights groups say little attention was paid to migrant workers who, despite the pandemic, continued to live in close quarters, and spent hours a day travelling on the back of crowded lorries to get to and from construction sites. “The way the workers were stacked in [on the back of lorries], it was like the way goats are stacked in when they are taken to a slaughter house,” says B, a second worker, who also asked to be anonymous.
Activists say they raised concerns about the risks posed by the virus to migrant workers as early as February. In March, the campaign group Transient Workers Count Too (TWC2) said the risk of an outbreak among this community was “undeniable”.
Inequality laid bare
When clusters began to emerge, the government moved 7,000 workers, mostly people who do essential jobs such as working on power plants, out of the buildings. About 293,000 remain housed in such facilities. Authorities say they will prioritise relocating older people. Cleaning services have been increased to improve hygiene, officials say, and meals are also being delivered to prevent workers needing to use communal kitchens.
The outbreak has brought to the surface the glaring inequality in Singapore, which relies heavily on a workforce of about a million migrant workers to build its famous skyscrapers, and clean its gleaming shopping malls. Most have travelled to the country from Bangladesh, India and other south Asian countries, in the hope of sending money back home. Their lifestyles are a stark contrast to the country’s wealthy elite and financial workers.
Kokila Annamalai, a local activist who supports migrant workers, fears that the spread of Covid-19 within the dormitories has fanned the flames of xenophobia and racism. She points to comments made online and in the media. “On top of [the view that] ‘it’s their fault for not being clean and for their eating habits’ and things like that, there is also this almost worse mindset of ‘they’re driving our numbers up and it makes us look bad on the world stage, and they should go home’,” she said.
While such remarks have been condemned by Singapore’s home affairs and law minister, Kasiviswanathan Shanmugam, campaigners say official messages have also been unhelpful. Workers have been urged to “be responsible”, wear face masks at all times, report symptoms to their dormitory operators and stay at least one metre from one another.
A recent study by Mohan Dutta, a professor at Massey University in New Zealand, suggests such guidance is often just impractical. The overwhelming majority of about 100 workers surveyed said they were unable to maintain such a distance at all times. More than half described their rooms as unhygienic.
Just last week, workers reported that they did not have enough soap to wash their hands.
‘I had no idea I would have to live like this’
Workers are generally reluctant to voice complaints. Most take out huge debts in order to work in Singapore, often to find on arrival that they will be paid less than promised. A typical salary is around S$500-750 (£285-£425) a month. They are required to hold temporary work permits, but these are tied to their employer, making them extremely vulnerable to exploitation.
B sold his family land and took loans so he could afford to pay an agency about S$7,000 to work in Singapore, where he hoped he would earn a high salary. As the eldest son, he is responsible for supporting his extended family, as well as his own wife and children. He knew that he would be required to work hard in Singapore, but his body was unprepared for the long hours of heavy lifting on construction sites. He did not expect that he would live, initially, in a container with eight others. “[I] had no idea that I would have to live like this and be in this much pain,” he said.
Now, about a decade later, he says he is at least lucky to share a dorm room with just 12 people – fewer than many of his peers, and a contrast to his previous room, which had virtually no natural light. A also shares a room with 12 others. The heat is so suffocating, that everyone sleeps on the floor, he says. He is afraid to use the communal toilets, which are unclean.
Many in Singapore are sympathetic towards the workers. “They deserve more. They deserve what every Singaporean deserves,” says William Lai, a photographer. “I don’t know what is going through the minds of these people [who blame workers] ... It is not their fault. They don’t want to be affected by this.”
In a speech this week, Singapore’s prime minister, Lee Hsien Loong, said migrant workers would be cared for in the same way as Singaporeans: “We will look after your health, your welfare and your livelihood.” Almost all the migrant workers infected have only mild symptoms, he added.
Dutta believes the crisis could present an opportunity to reform how migrant workers are treated, but he added that small tweaks would not be enough. “Substantive changes are needed in how Singapore looks at migrant workers, what rights migrant workers have, and how they are able to advocate for their own health and wellbeing,” says Dutta.
B says that, for a start, migrant worker dormitories should be more strictly controlled, with caps on the number of workers allowed per room and per bathroom facilities. “It is not like Singapore cannot regulate it.”
“This entire city is built on our labour and on our hard work,” he adds. “That tells you what you need to be told about the culture that we bring, and how our culture makes up the clean and sparkling facade of the city.”
Workers, he adds, do not expect special kindness, just their basic labour rights.
Additional reporting by Redwan Ahmed
