THE SCRAMBLE FOR JOBS

I listened to the sound of the wind gaily whistling above me. I could see its shadow circling high above my head, forming elongated halos against the clear blue sky. Not a grey cloud in sight to threaten rain. Across the endless rows of red onions, I watched black-hooded goats nibbling on un-mowed grass, braying to no one in particular in between mouthfuls of green blade. The goats and I were separated by distance and a wooden fence. The gaps between each post were covered with chicken wiring, allowing me to take in the gentle scenery of rolling hills and wildlife.

The smell of the onions lingered in the air. Unlike the late summer scent of strawberries at the previous farm by the airport, a sweetness inviting me to work faster and to keep going, the onion aroma was somewhat nauseating and made me want to stop every time I progressed an inch towards completing the row.  

With this job, I was on my hands and knees most days, overworking my bones just to finish so I could get paid. Although this job brought me outdoors, I was not satisfied picking onions. The pay at thirty five cents a meter was low; even after clipping for eight hours, the average hourly wage was less than the minimum. Against the law in New Zealand, I think, but those responsible don’t seem to be held accountable.

The attitude of the contractor made the job even more unbearable. It was difficult pinning down exactly where I would be clipping next, which made it difficult to predict what would happen in the next few weeks. Since I am still in the middle of my appeal at the University of Auckland, but this time was awaiting responses from three entities external to the university responsible for ensuring policies are followed, I needed to work in order to be able to pay my room and board.

It was also hard getting a time-frame from the contractor about the length of the onion season. When I asked, she didn’t answer, which is not an unusual response from her. Silence was usually the go-to answer even if she had one. This lack of information made it difficult to prepare for my next step: will I need to find another short-term job or will the onion season last long enough to keep me employed until the end of the March, when my student visa expires?

It was equally hard getting the contractor to give an honest measurement of the onion rows. The measurements she gave while the rows were being clipped were different from those when the rows were completed. After the second time, it was obvious she changed the measurements, feigning ignorance about where in the block I had clipped, in order to pinch me of some dollars. In the most recent interaction we had, she even claimed that I hadn’t returned the clippers she had lent me and was, therefore, withholding $50.00 until the clippers were returned. After informing her that I had returned the clippers to the husband of the family she knew, she declared in her shouting voice, “I don’t know that family!” I retorted, “Yes you do. Their children are students at the school where you teach and you had spoken to the wife of this husband on the day they gave me a ride to the Papakura rail station.” Funny enough, when he asked for those clippers to be returned to him, he used the same reasoning as the contractor – that they belonged to him, that they cost him $36.00 each. 

These employment issues merely added to the weight of the burdens forced onto me by the politics of the University of Auckland and the bureaucracy of the New Zealand government. I was forced to enter the labor market during the appeal process with the university leadership at the University of Auckland, in which I pointed out the failure of the university to objectively evaluate my academic work. I was not prepared to begin searching for jobs, and certainly not prepared to work in low-skilled employment, since my intention in coming to New Zealand was to be trained as a career academic. I had planned to study full-time, intended to devote all my time to designing my doctorate research, preparing for my fieldwork, and then completing the writing of my thesis before the doctoral examination. This thesis would have given me entry into a career in which I could influence my field, so one can imagine how important this training was to me.

When I entered the appeal process at the University of Auckland, I was forced to be a competitor in the low-skilled labor market just so I could have a place to live and to eat. I decided to look for farm jobs because most were seasonal and picking and packing did not require a lot of training. I wanted to be in and out so that I could file the paperwork to resume my studies and leave for my fieldwork. Since I have been in this situation, I learned that the Kiwi job market is much tighter and constrained than policymakers would have one believe. This was the case even in the farm industry; finding farm work has not been as easy here as it was for me when I did the Harvest Trail in Australia many moons ago. In New Zealand, there aren’t that many farm jobs and most are not advertised. Moreover, many of the jobs I approached tended to protect certain ethnic groups, whereas my experience in Australia demonstrated little barriers. As long as I wanted to work and was willing to learn how to grade fruit or to spot the fruits the farmer wanted picked, I got the job. The reality I was seeing here was far different from the reality portrayed by the New Zealand Herald and the Ministry of Economic Development, both of which tend to put the job market in a more positive light.

In New Zealand, with respect to the first job to which I had applied, I was not called for several weeks. On the application, I pointed out I had farm work experience and was consequently familiar with the nature of the work and its physical demands. Only after I had spoken with a law firm through the services offered by the Mangere Community Law Centre about another matter, whereby an attorney at this firm had asked me whether or not I had been looking for work, and if so, where, did I get a call from someone who I presumed to be one of the owners of this farm. With the second job, on the onion fields, I had to call the number listed in the ad several times before the contractor relented and allowed me to start. The barriers remained, however, as the owner failed to show up at the agreed upon meeting spot at the Mobil gas station in Mercer, forcing my co-clipping, co-worker and I to look for the farm.    

Unfortunately, the headaches with this onion contractor didn’t end at the completion of the block. After repeated attempts of texting and calling her in order to find out when to pick up my wages (although with onion pickers belonging to her ethnic group, she offered to drive to their house, to districts as far away from her house in Pukekawa as Mangere, which is where I live) and where, she eventually informed me in a very loud and terse voice that I will have to go to her house (more than an hour away) to pick it up instead of meeting at a place that we both could easily reach – say, a place like Pukekohe rail station.

This woman’s ugly disposition did not end there. On the day she relented to pay me, I was driven to her house by my companion and his friend. What I thought would be a peaceful exchange turned out to be a verbal onslaught of accusations from the onion contractor and justifications for her actions. She accused the driver of swearing at her husband (he did not) and seemed to accuse me of wrongdoing, but I couldn’t pin down what this was. I wanted to get paid for the work I had done, at times in the sweltering dry heat, and once in a drizzle. The only thing she had demonstrated with her actions is that she is a pathological liar and a cheater: she lied about my not returning the clippers just so she could pinch my wages, about not knowing the husband who claimed he was the owner of the clippers so she could justify pinching my wages, and the length of the rows I had clipped so she could pinch my wages. All of this from a contractor of a large, agribusiness, who simply just had to do her job, professionally.

The disposition and the conduct of this onion contractor are reminiscent of those of the academic staff and leadership at the University of Auckland. She, as they had, treated the time and energy I expended into the required work as if they were insignificant and of no consequence. The proof, though, is in the results of my efforts, and the proof of the consequences are in the money I will owe after having invested a sizable amount of federal loan funds into my education and the inability to live here to continue my appeal if I am not paid.

With respect to the latter and in light of the latest development in regards to the work privileges of my student visa, I am convinced that authorities may be creating problems for me on purpose. In recent days, even though my student visa clearly states that I can work at any Occupation for any employer, I was asked by a potential employer (speaking for a low-skilled, seasonal job opportunity) to obtain written confirmation from Immigration New Zealand that I still have work privileges. I pointed out that my student visa clearly states that I do, but what was in question for this potential employer was whether or not I still had work privileges following the university’s withdrawal of me from my doctorate program. So, I made the trip to the Immigration NZ Auckland branch and requested this written confirmation. I was pretty confident that I would have no trouble getting this, as an employee of the Palmerston North branch where the student visas are processed informed me in July 2014 that my work privileges are valid until the expiration date of my student visa. I suspected that the immigration clerk at the Auckland branch already knew this, but wanted to create problems for me. In the time I have lived in New Zealand, I noticed that creating problems for foreigners is a sport for some and shows a lack of consideration for the scope of responsibilities with which an individual might have to contend on a daily basis.

During these trying moments, I try to focus on the rays of light that have come onto my path from time to time throughout my doctorate life in New Zealand: the people, who had offered me rides when I hitched to and from the onion farm just so I could work for the day and get home safely; those who sought workers through Student Job Search, who dutifully paid me when the job was done; those who kindly responded to my questions when most people who are supposed to be in the know choose to deflect my questions or respond to a question I don’t ask. I’ve lived as a foreigner in a variety of countries; I would say that being a foreigner in New Zealand has been more challenging than most.