Domestic Help

As in most, if not all, countries where poverty is rampant, and the informal economy is well established and accepted by society at large, the supply of cheap, domestic help in Guatemala appears to have no limit. With the population set to double by sometime around 2050 and no sign that the disparities in wealth distribution will be corrected any time soon, this situation should hold true well into the future. Labor and compensation arrangements vary greatly, from once-a-week cleaners who get paid by the day to live-in maids who receive in-kind payment (room and board and an occasional item of clothing) to salaried employees who receive legal benefits. In general, those performing domestic chores live vulnerable lives - there are no safety nets, there is virtually no job stability and if anything goes missing in the house you know who is the first to get blamed. In addition, labor violations/abuses are all too common.

Like many of the foreigners living here that I know, I grew up with the idea that domestic help was only for the filthy rich as they were the only ones that could afford it. Also, in accordance with my prejudice, the wealthy had their fair share of huevones who couldn't be expected to pick up after themselves and certainly wouldn't lower themselves to push a mop. The simple thought of paying a poor person to do my dirty work for me made me feel uncomfortable on a number of levels.

Whether or not my original thoughts on the matter had any validity, my opinions on a number of related issues have changed over the years (as opinions often do when exposed to new cultures, people and realities). While many of these changes to my point of view took place over time, I was almost immediately forced to acknowledge the fact that I was not as enlightened as I thought I was.

The goes like this. I was working for a public health NGO at the time. While I was idling about outside the office during my lunch break one day, I was approached by a woman who had some sort of connection either with the office itself or one of my coworkers. She asked if I needed someone to help clean my apartment and wash my clothes. I smiled confidently and launched into an explanation about how first of all I was an independent, capable and hard-working individual (I forgave her for lumping me in with the rest of the mara at the office and other Guatemalan professionals who were undoubtedly lazy and the antithesis of what I represented). I then proceeded to tell her that there wasn't all that much to do anyways. Finally, I'm pretty sure I told her that I was uncomfortable with the unequal power relationship that would inevitably exist if she were to take care of my domestic chores for me.

Half-expecting to be on the receiving end of some sort of a power-to-the-people handshake or embrace, I was a little surprised when she reacted angrily. While over ten years have passed since that day, I'm pretty sure I can still remember her exact words. "You have so much and I have so little. I'm not asking for a handout, just a little bit of work so my children can have food to eat." I don't recall how I disengaged from the conversation with her but I'm sure it was abrupt and awkward. It weighed on my mind for months and years to come and, for me, was one of life's many teaching experiences.

Some of the anthropology books I've read have made strong cases for most traditions and cultural beliefs having roots in certain economic benefits or realities. While this may not always be true I feel that it very often is (I often find myself arguing with friends that economic dependency rather than stronger emotional connections is the primary reason behind the common belief held here that Guatemalan families are more close-knit than those in the States). So, I don't know why it took so long, but eventually it dawned on me that the availability and acceptance of domestic help is much more of a function of simple supply and demand rather than a set of inherent values possessed by a certain group of people. If I would have spent my childhood in a society where the rich and super poor live side by side, I would undoubtedly have had a much different opinion on the matter.

I still feel uncomfortable when I go to someone’s house and catch a glimpse of the unacknowledged, live-in muchacha before she retires to the kitchen or to the cubbyhole that serves as her living quarters and bathroom. However, to a certain extent I have come to accept the reality that surrounds me. I don’t know what the proper attitude is towards domestic help but it seems to me that the key is to try to treat the worker as fairly as possible. We now have a woman who comes in once a week to clean and cook. We pay her significantly more than the going rate, ask her to eat her meals with us (which was harder than one might think), talk with her about her life, treat her with respect, etc. Is this enough? Or not? Faced with a lack of any clear legislation/norms on the matter (at least none that is controlled or enforced), it seems that everyone needs to find their own balance between the logical drive to get the best deal for oneself and making an effort to ensure the labor relationship is a just one. Self-policing is forced upon us which, in a land where there is an excess of desperate and vulnerable individuals, inevitably leads to exploitation. Until such time when such labor relationships are regulated it seems to me that a little self-reflection and peer pressure wouldn’t hurt. I suspect we all know many honest and decent families (including our own) that need take a second look at how they treat and compensate their domestic workers.