Thread: The changing face of the Gulf Coast work force

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The changing face of the Gulf Coast work force

Web Posted: 03/19/2006 12:00 AM CST
Hernán Rozemberg
Express-News Immigration Writer

NEW ORLEANS — After placing two steaks on a paper-fueled grill, Héctor Arredondo leaned back in a rickety lawn chair, pulled out the words to a heartbreak song he had recently penned and asked longtime buddy Lucio Mendieta, staring at the sizzling meat with hungry eyes, to belt it out.

It was a Sunday night, the only time of the week for a decent dinner and recreation for the group of nine Mexican and Honduran immigrants. Meat is too expensive as a daily staple.

They had light to read by, and could watch television for a few hours, thanks to their small generator.

Any other night, their return from 12 to 14 hours of repairing houses damaged by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita — maybe for no pay — consisted of a cold-water shower in the dark and some canned beans devoured by the dull glare of a streetlamp, a growing pile of debris at their feet.

There wasn't much more they could do without any electricity or hot water, except lie down on moldy mattresses and blankets — dumped remnants from the hurricanes — on the second floor of the uninhabited damaged home in a mostly deserted neighborhood, and dream of happier times.

"This is life for us illegals," said Honduran Dimas Cruz, 52, the group elder. "I've been all over the country, living rough, but this is a new low. We're treated worse than dogs."

Thousands of immigrants, mostly undocumented Mexicans and Central Americans, have descended on the Gulf Coast, primarily Louisiana and Mississippi, lured by a construction boom created by the pair of colossal hurricanes six months ago that annihilated countless coastal communities.

But the economic free-for-all also has left migrants defenseless against discrimination and exploitation at the hands of money-grubbing contractors.

And the growing Latino presence is adding an unlikely cultural ingredient to the area's long-established Southern ethnic recipe that not many locals care to taste, creating a pressure-cooker environment that already has led to tension and division.

Migrants are arriving primarily from other U.S. cities, though word of jobs has carried far south of the border, evident in the unusual increase in Border Patrol arrests in the area after the hurricanes, compared with the previous year.

The Gulf Coast has been home to a small immigrant population since the 1970s. But the demand for manual labor has drawn a steady influx of Mexican workers that, according to one report released last week, has boosted the area's Hispanic population to 230,000.

Most estimates put the area's immigrant population before the storm at 100,000.

Demographers say the migration wave isn't surprising, since migrants always have immediately mobilized upon hearing of available jobs.

But while profit-driven contractors bless their presence daily, not everyone is willing to extend them a welcome mat — many long-time residents say local jobs should stay in local hands.

New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin has argued in favor of the city regaining its black majority, once even asking business leaders what could be done to curb the flood of Mexican workers.

Though his statements didn't sit well with many of his constituents, his point about prioritizing jobs for local residents was loudly welcomed in numerous neighborhoods.

"If other people want to cut costs by hiring outsiders, so be it," said Richard Thomas, a lifelong African American resident whose house took seven feet of water. "But as far as I'm concerned, if you're not local, ain't nothin' you can do for me."

Across the state line in Mississippi, the concern narrows: It's not about outsiders in general, but the specific threat posed by undocumented migrants.

Unlike in the New Orleans area, in Mississippi the issue of illegal immigration routinely makes headlines and receives intense interest from legislators, who in the current session alone have considered 16 bills limiting migrants' access to services and benefits.

Immigration restrictionists were bolstered last month after the state auditor released a report concluding that Mississippi's estimated 49,000 — and counting— undocumented immigrants cost taxpayers $25 million annually.

The state has to take immediate action to keep them out unless it doesn't care about its coastal areas turning into a migrant-heavy center like Houston, according to the Mississippi Federation for Immigration Reform and Enforcement.

"We simply want to send the message that if you're in the country illegally, Mississippi is not where you want to be," said Michael Lott, a state representative who volunteers as the group's leader.

Message received: Migrants said they routinely receive nasty looks and often are the targets of rude treatment.

Numerous migrants point to feeling particularly victimized by black people they encounter, whether at work or on the street.

Sitting on railroad tracks at the back of a gas station adjacent to a Home Depot in West Gulfport, a group of seven migrants nodded in unison upon hearing another migrant complaining of a combative black woman behind the convenience store counter.

"She's there every morning when we go get coffee," said the migrant, requesting anonymity. "She insults us all the time, throws the change on the floor, tells us we can't use the bathroom. I'm through dealing with her, I'm not going back in there."

Demographic shift


Unlike many other U.S. cities and towns that may be experiencing a similar yet more gradual growth of their immigrant populations, the overwhelming and immediate need for post-hurricane work has put the Gulf Coast on a fast-track adaptation process.
The enigma remains: What will be the ultimate impact of the migration wave? If most immigrants eventually leave once the work dries up and many or most evacuees come back, there's a good chance Gulf Coast communities may return to their roots.

But if locals don't return and immigrants realize that jobs will remain abundant and thus decide to stay put, their permanent presence likely would alter the traditional black-white makeup of the area.

"There's a lot up for grabs," said renowned demographer William Frey with the Brookings Institution, a Washington think tank, who co-authored a research project released last week examining recent migration trends.

"Certainly, it (New Orleans) will be more of a Hispanic city than before. The real issue is how well immigrants will be integrated into the community," Frey said.

These days, with many coastal towns still looking as if they'd just been pummeled by the hurricanes, it's hard to think about demographic changes.

For locals, the task at hand is overcoming grief and deciding whether financial circumstances will allow them to return, or whether they will have to start new lives in cities such as San Antonio and Houston.

Yet no matter how long they've been around, all are keenly aware of widely circulating horror stories: False promises by apparently fake or unscrupulous contractors who guarantee lodging, meals and high pay but later end up providing none or decrepit housing, no food and little or no pay at all.

Contractors know the mere threat of their calling immigration agents will keep migrants from retaliating.

But federal authority is a paper tiger, at least for now, since the hurricanes greatly reduced the enforcement agencies' own facilities and manpower.

As they resume enforcement duties with limited resources, immigration agents still must adhere to the post-9-11 directive to target terror threats above all else. Job-seeking undocumented migrants aren't a priority.

The 40 or so Border Patrol agents responsible for the New Orleans sector, which stretches from the Crescent City to the Alabama coast, stick to intercepting smuggling loads on the highways, said Ronny Kastner, assistant sector chief.

And Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents focus on "protecting critical national infrastructure" such as the area's naval shipyards, said Temple Black, a spokesman in the New Orleans office.

"Terrorists come first. Aggravated felons second. Then we deal with other folks when we come across them," Black said.

Keeping an eye on potential abuse of migrants has been left up to advocacy groups, such as the National Council of La Raza, which issued a report this month calling on the federal governments to investigate "widespread worker abuse and exploitation."

Migrants claim abuse


One local activist group, the Mississippi Immigrant Rights Alliance, has taken the lead in tracking and reporting abuses.
Vicky Cintra, who heads the group's effort in the coastal area, said she has fielded more than 300 calls totaling nearly $370,000 in unpaid wages since September.

She has been able to get some of the money back, she noted, principally because the U.S. Labor Department acted on one of her 12 complaints.

Héctor Arredondo, who arrived in New Orleans two days after Katrina struck, said he had such a bad experience with a contractor that he decided to become his own boss by turning into a de facto unlicensed subcontractor, coalescing nine other migrants into a unified crew.

And despite living in squalor now, with no hot water or electricity and often having to skip meals, Arredondo said it's a far cry from the long nights they endured for the first two months, sleeping on pieces of cardboard in the crumbling houses and apartments they were fixing.

It didn't help any that an entire month of work, totaling about $26,000, was never paid, Arredondo lamented.

The contractor, Darré Development Group in New Orleans, kept promising to pay up, yet never did, he said, noting that eventually the group gave up and moved on to other jobs, hoping for better luck.

Laura Darré, owner of the contracting firm, was shocked to hear the accusations. Arredondo should be thanking her for not calling the authorities, she said, noting he and his workers were the culprits.

They trashed the apartment she offered free of rent, stole equipment and drank and slept on the job, she said. Not to mention that many repairs had to be redone because of their shoddy work, she added.

"He was the one taking advantage of us," Darré said, estimating Arredondo had cost her $12,000. "We have great rapport with our subcontractors — he's the only one that has ever given me problems."

Darré and numerous other employers, whether licensed contractors or homeowners looking for a couple of migrant workers to help fix their properties, readily recognized that migrants are the ones bringing the Gulf Coast back to life.

They're a ubiquitous sight throughout New Orleans, doing patch-up jobs to buildings around the famous French Quarter, retiling 40-foot-high roofs on mansions in the Garden District and installing drywall in homes in suburban New Orleans East.

Many migrants arrive through arrangements made by their current contractors in other states. Countless others make their own way, either alone or with a group of friends or relatives, to join the growing ranks of day laborers lining up at prominent gathering spots such as the downtown traffic circle around a statue of Robert E. Lee.

Workers arrive as early as 6 a.m., buy some cheap coffee, pick out a good spot — and wait.

Employers arriving in oversized pickups are immediately swarmed by laborers.

A swift negotiation process ensues, employers detailing how many workers they need and the proposed hourly or daily rate. Many workers actually won't accept what they consider lowball offers; others will.

"I'm looking for three muchachos," a sunburned redheaded man said from the driver's seat.

"How much you pay?" asked one worker in broken English. "I can do $8 per hour," the driver replied.

"No, no, no," the migrant countered, vigorously shaking an index finger. He wanted at least $10 per hour.

Unwilling to yield, the contractor shook his head, smiling. Many migrants walked away, but three others hopped inside.

The unofficial pay most Gulf Coast day laborers ask is $10 an hour, much higher than the rates — as low as minimum wage — they received in other cities.

Most migrants actually prefer a daily rate, which ensures them at least a full day's work, perhaps longer if the job requires more time. Most seem satisfied at making $100 a day.

A win-win?


Such was the fate of seven migrants who were driven to a damaged two-story house in an upscale neighborhood on a bayou of Gulfport, Miss., this month.
After settling the $100 daily rate with the contractor, the workers, all Salvadorans and Hondurans, spent about eight hours thoroughly cleaning up the expansive basement of debris and clutter.

The throwaway pile grew by the hour, consisting of anything from a gigantic plastic fish to a foul-smelling refrigerator, washer, dryer, tables, chairs and torn doors.

Contractor Robert Muñoz, who was born in San Antonio and now is based in Gulfport, said the day turned out to be a win-win for everyone. The migrant workers received a decent local wage — a lot more than they're used to, he said.

And he was able to stick to the limited budget the homeowner had given him to clean up the house. Indeed, he noted, the $700 he paid the migrant workers for a day's work would have ballooned to $7,000 had he bid out the job to a licensed subcontractor.

"These immigrants are heaven-sent," Muñoz said. "They're hard workers, not afraid of getting dirty. Locals are staying home, collecting their FEMA checks."

Grumbling under their breath so the Spanish-speaking Muñoz wouldn't hear them, the migrant workers spoke of unhappiness with the arrangement. Sure, it was decent money, they said, but they still undoubtedly were overworked and underpaid.

"See how we're cleaning up this country for (President) Bush?" Alex Matote, 24, muttered as he flung another shovelful of debris into a garbage pail, pausing briefly to wipe sweat droplets trickling down his forehead. "And yet he still wants to kick us out."

Living in squalor


Migrants on the Mississippi coast may be working in a much more bucolic setting than their counterparts in New Orleans, but their working and living conditions don't seem to differ.
For José Márquez, a 21-year-old Salvadoran who trekked here with a few companions from Alexandria, Va., his experience thus far has proven bitterly disappointing.

Márquez shares a twin mattress — found next to a dumpster — with three other migrants in one of two bedrooms in a dilapidated trailer home damaged by the hurricanes, the previous tenants' belongings stacked into piles.

Rent is free only because the workers agreed to fix several wrecked trailers, lined with moldy walls and ceilings and no electricity or running water.

Workers usually wait until the last one has arrived from work, so they all can eat dinner together.

Carlos Menéndez, the unofficial cook, also made the trip from Virginia, yet after more than five months, all he's got to show for it is a broken foot from a 25-foot tree fall while clearing branches, along with a $3,000 hospital bill he said the contractor refused to pay.

On another job prior to the injury, instead of paying $80 as promised, a separate contractor took out a $20 bill and ordered him to scatter before he called the cops.

"Perhaps they don't believe in an almighty God that will ultimately decide our fate, but I do, so I kept my mouth shut, grabbed that $20 and walked away," Menéndez, 37, a former member of the Salvadoran army, shrugged as he prepared a dinner of scrambled egg, sausage and beans.

In New Orleans two days later, on that relaxing Sunday night with a steak dinner, reading light and a movie, Héctor Arredondo and his crew knew the evening soon was coming to an end.

Their dear friend, "la planta," the generator, began making loud banging noises.

A last bang, and then, suddenly, nearing midnight, the lamp on the ground in the driveway went out. Then the television went dark, and the lights upstairs.

No more gasoline, no more generator, no more light, no more movie.

Perhaps they'll finish watching it the following Sunday, if they gather enough pocket change to buy gas for the generator.

For now, it's back to finding their mattresses in the dark.

Come dawn, the migrants will visit yet another hurricane-damaged home in need of repair.



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hrozemberg@express-news.net

Cry me a river. These people took up residence in other people's houses, looted their belongings and now they want me to feel sorry for them?

"This is life for us illegals," said Honduran Dimas Cruz, 52, the group elder. "I've been all over the country, living rough, but this is a new low. We're treated worse than dogs."

GO HOME THEN! We don't want you here anyway.

What was the first thing WE said would happen after Katrina ?. INVASION OF THE GULF COAST. Many of them left the Gulf Coast and came to Florida after Hurricane Wilma in time to get FEMA money here, and where conditions were better.