By Maribel Hernandez and Reyna Alvarez
Like most of our coworkers, we spend about five months every year peeling crawfish in Louisiana. The majority of us are single mothers from northern Mexico on H-2B guestworker visas. And although we were living a couple of rooms apart and working shoulder to shoulder, we barely knew each other. But when we got sick after a COVID-19 outbreak struck our workplace, we became each other’s rocks. We managed to pick each other up and went to the hospital together. Then, our employer fired us and reported us to immigration authorities.
When we arrived in Louisiana, COVID-19 wasn't even a rumor. In March, our family members started warning us about the pandemic. That’s when our employer said he wouldn’t take care of any expenses if we got sick. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) was not doing workplace or housing inspections; an outbreak was more than predictable. We were working so close to one another that our elbows would touch. We shared a house with around 40 coworkers. Bedrooms were so crowded, we could hardly move around crammed suitcases and bunk beds. Our main fear was financial. If we got sick, we wouldn’t be able to work. If we had to get treated at the hospital, how would we pay the bills?
By late April, we learned that our colleague and housemate was sick with COVID-19. Everyone started panicking. But leaving was not an option; we rented our house from our employer and our visas tied us to the company, so quitting meant losing our immigration status and becoming homeless.
Not long after, the inevitable happened: We began developing symptoms. First headaches and fatigue, then fever and a dry cough. When our supervisor had medical staff come to the plant to test us for the virus, she claimed most of us tested negative, even those who could barely stand. We suspected she was lying.
Eventually, our symptoms worsened, and we had to stop working. Our employer never paid us for our sick days, so we were running out of money. But we found strength in one another—we fed and helped each other out of bed. We reminded each other that our children were counting on us to return home healthy.
One night, as we struggled to breathe, we came to the same realization: If we stay here, we’re going to die. That’s when our employer ordered us to move to more isolated cabins for the remainder of the quarantine. But he was the same man who had us working shoulder to shoulder in the middle of a pandemic, and we suspected he had lied to us about our test results. Trusting him seemed like a threat to our health. After our supervisor denied a request to go to the hospital, we decided to pack our bags and go on our own.
As we were leaving the hospital, a coworker told us that our employer had reported us to immigration authorities. We know employers are supposed to contact the Department of Homeland Security when guestworkers leave before their contract ends. But we can bet that he didn’t disclose why we left: We were trying to survive, not quit.
As we awaited our diagnosis, our employer formally informed us that he had fired us. We didn’t have the physical strength and capability to care.
It was such a relief when the hospital eventually called us to confirm we had COVID-19. We were not paranoid or weak—we were gravely ill.
With support from Centro de los Derechos del Migrante, we submitted complaints to OSHA and the National Labor Relations Board; our employer retaliated against us when we stood up for our right to health and safety. The risk doesn’t end when we lose our job. We could get blacklisted, risking our chances of ever being hired on H-2B visas again. Our right to speak out is more important than ever, and so are local efforts like the Seafood Workers’ Alliance, an organizing project of the New Orleans Worker Center for Racial Justice.
This is why we’re demanding that OSHA issue an Enforceable Emergency Temporary Standard to protect all workers, regardless of immigration status, during this pandemic. The agency needs to ensure employers provide safe workplaces and housing. Employers know H-2B workers can’t change jobs; they know migrant workers face language barriers and have limited access to justice. And without OSHA inspections, employers know they can get away with abusing workers.
We’re still recovering from COVID-19. But this isn’t only about us or guestworkers or the crawfish industry—every single person who is working during this pandemic is putting their life on the line. While feeding the world, “essential” food workers are trying to make ends meet. We're fighting to provide for our families and get our kids through school. OSHA can and should prevent employers from using our reliance on these jobs as a weapon to exploit us.
Maribel and Reyna are two Mexican, H-2B crawfish workers employed in Louisiana. With the support of Centro de los Derechos del Migrante, they have co-written this piece. Centro de los Derechos del Migrante provides crucial legal services for migrant workers like Maribel and Reyna.