Daily social media posts showcasing the good, bad and banal are luring East Timorese temporary migrant workers in Australia away from their nominated employers and on to the road in search of better labour conditions and wages.
On YouTube, smiling berry pickers remind audiences to “love your job — everything will be easy” and that strawberries are sweet but “not as sweet as your smile”. On TikTok, machines propelled by the sound of Céline Dion travel at lightning speed through sun-drenched crops. On Facebook, workers dance their way through rain, hail and shine to the motto: “Although the wind and rain may blow, we work with happiness. Be strong brothers and sisters.”
A two-part Crikey investigation has revealed the precarious lives led by East Timorese in Australia working under the Pacific Australia Labour Mobility (PALM), many of whom have learnt the hard way that a protection visa is neither a financial safety net nor a means to work.
Like any young generation of people abroad, these workers live a large part of their lives online. Anthropologist from the University of Adelaide Dr Michael Rose told Crikey the volume of videos and social posts covering work, life, religion, sport, humour and the odd round of politics was having a “grass is greener” effect on many Timorese: “You have all these workers that are connected and sharing notes. Some are stuck on farms or in factories, but on social media they’re seeing their friends travelling around Australia. Of course, they’ll want to leave. The temptation is real.”
Dr Rose got to know many of the Timorese through his fieldwork moving from meat-processing facility to farm. He joined the travelling troupe as they cherrypicked the most lucrative locations to work: “They had a Mad Max-style convoy of 10 clapped-out cars that moved from place to place around the country. If the fruit picking was good, they’d stay, and if not they jumped in the car and kept moving.”
Most of this was captured and uploaded online. The result was a digital map of hotspots to work.
First secretary of the Timor-Leste embassy in Australia Samuel Soares visited many of these pinned places to touch base with travelling Timorese. “A lot of workers in the field are luring them, saying you will get more pay than with the a labour hire company,” he said. “They all have different information and their capacity to manage it is limited with language barriers and cultural issues.”
PALM worker Pedro Ley has also witnessed the effect of social media on his fellow East Timorese who’ve decided to abscond from labour mobility programs. “They often trust something or someone that posts on social media,” he said. “Some of us don’t analyse or try to find out more about the information, so they easily fall for it and make wrong decisions.”
Wrong decisions or false expectations? To many East Timorese, Australia has the allure of opportunity. Unemployment back home is high, wages are low, and Australia is marketed as an antidote to economic hardship. In some ways it is, in others not at all, but this slick “saviour story” makes the Timorese incredibly susceptible to tales of wealth.
“When workers arrive in Australia they have expectations, but it is very hard to explain to them at the time you might not achieve that,” Soares said. They hope to make money and save money. But upon arrival, they make but don’t save. So they start asking themselves if it’s good to stay.”
Social media is telling them to walk away. One East Timorese TikToker told their friends: “We’re free, safe, drive around in a car, and can work where and how we want. So you can see from all this we’re here legally. I’ve had a lot of questions about this. If you have any I recommend asking someone [like me] who is working in Australia and they will explain it to you.”
There are few filters to help them sort through the news they receive. So where is the safety net?
Under the PALM scheme, support staff are stationed within 300km of workers and welfare hotlines are open, but senior social justice advocate from the Uniting Church Mark Zirnsak said these resources break down if workers don’t trust them. “There is a desirability bias,” he said. “Workers shop around. The union says ‘no’, so they turn to a community group. If they say ‘no’, they turn to other workers. They’re chasing an outcome and selecting information based on who they trust.”
Which is why workers gravitate towards their social media networks.
The Australian government launched a campaign last November on the “risks and consequences” of absconding, but the messaging got lost around the line “You may bring shame to your family”. So too did the trust.
Zirnsak was clear that employers cannot expect to retain workers without establishing trust: “Employers that do have workers who don’t leave them.” There is no better resource than a long-serving worker.
Resources go a long way, but as Rose explained, unless the parameters of the PALM program are changed, the problem is unlikely to go away.
“Absconders have said to me that there is no reason why people from the Pacific and Timor-Leste shouldn’t be able to move around and work for lots of places like other work visas allow,” he said. “Being tied to one employer makes people a lot more vulnerable. At the end of the day if a worker doesn’t have the option to walk, then their power is greatly reduced.”
