My blood is as black as coal. We’re all miners in my family: niece, daughter, granddaughter, sister, cousin, wife, mother... It’s not like I was born with a piece of coal in my hand, but almost, like everybody else in these parts. When the coal mine shut down, it was a total disaster. There was no work. Young people started to leave, the villages became desolate, businesses closed.

You carry those roots deep inside you. We are a different kind of people. We see things from a different perspective. You get used to living with fear. You make it your ally.  

When I was little I saw how nervous my  mother was for my father. Later I was the same when my husband and my son also went down the mines. You just want them to come home, don't you?

When I was little, our kitchen overlooked a small hospital where they used to treat miners when they had accidents. As soon as the ambulance arrived, all the neighbours, the whole town would be there to find out what had happened.

A just transition to a new, greener life

My life has been very complicated, too complicated. Both my parents developed a terminal illness, and I was left without a mother when I was fifteen and without a father when I was sixteen. I didn't know how to work. I didn't know how to do anything.

When I was eighteen, I worked in a bar, then I went to live in Tenerife and later in Madrid. Then a friend in my village told me they had started hiring women at the local opencast mine. They didn’t ask for experience. You only needed a normal driving licence. I applied and got the job. I started working at the mine in 2007 when I was 33. 

At the beginning it was difficult learning to drive the quarry truck, until I got used to its size.

In the beginning it made me dizzy driving the quarry truck. They’re heavy vehicles and quite big. I spent three or four months with an experienced colleague sitting next to me, and bit by bit I learned how to manoeuvre it. 

Over the years I did training on moving earth and on occupational risk prevention. I love working with heavy machinery and the working environment.

Your truck becomes your partner in life. You spend more hours in it than at home. You have to look after it, just as it has to look after you.

The problems at the mine started in 2010 and in 2013 it shut down.  The last inland mine was closed in 2018.

It was devastating. We suddenly found that we didn't have jobs, and it took a long time for the mining company to pay what was owed. 

Many of the older miners were lucky and were able to take early retirement, but others fell by the wayside.

In 2013 the mine shut down. It was devastating. We suddenly found that we didn't have jobs.

There was no other industry in the region where you could go to do something else. Most of the people didn't know how to do anything else either. It was a very difficult time. Everybody was affected, both directly and indirectly. It got to a point where it was so bad that people had to start closing their businesses and reinventing themselves in some way. 

A lot of people decided to put it all behind them, get out of here and look for other jobs. Because of course, you have to live on something. 

It’s terrible to see the streets of all the towns around here since the mines shut down. Many businesses closed. The streets are empty. 

Shortly after I stopped working, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had to put the brakes on my life almost completely. 

I've always been a very positive person, so I decided that I wasn't going to give in to it. I was going to fight it. I had a lot to live for. I have a beautiful grandson who I want to see every day, and cuddle and kiss and hear him say what a cool grandma he has!

I underwent very rigorous treatment including chemotherapy and radiotherapy. Then I had reconstruction surgery. It's been three years now that everything is OK. 

After the mines closed, they created a jobs bank for the workers. It offered us training courses and told us about potential jobs. They created a Whatsapp group where they would send you job offers.

In 2022, we heard from the job centre that there were plans to restore the dis-used mines to their natural setting.  They had already restored parts of one former mine and there was a lot of talk that they were going to restore the site of the big open pit mine La Gran Corta of Fabero, in León.  

The job centre sent the company people’s CVs. One day, to my surprise I got a call telling me that I had been selected to drive a quarry truck as part of the restoration project.

The project to restore the dis-used mining site involves moving a lot of earth!

What we’re doing now is restoring everything that was destroyed by the mining. We’re preparing the site to be reforested so that it will no longer look like the surface of Mars! It’s going to take time as it’s a very big site but eventually it will all be green again. 

We’re preparing the mining site to be reforested so that it will no longer look like the surface of Mars! Eventually it will all be green again. 

My hope is that all of this will have a positive impact on our region and that it will start to prosper again. Because the truth is that it's terrible going out in the streets of any town around here. You may only see a handful of people to say hello to and that’s it.

My colleagues are great. Sometimes they'll tease me, but I tease them right back! Even though I'm the only woman, I've never had any problems with them.

I’ve been doing this job for five months now. Even though I’m the only woman, I’ve never had a problem with my colleagues.  On the contrary, they are always there to help me as much as they can. If there is a leak in the truck, for example, and I don't know where it comes from, a colleague will quickly come and together we’ll figure it out. 

It's a very good opportunity. The company treats us well, so I’m delighted. What more do I want? I have great bosses, my colleagues are great, and I like what I do. I can't ask for more right now, and I hope this goes on for many years.

Having come out of an illness like cancer, it's like I’ve been given a second chance. I want this life and I'm not going to be stopped by anything or anyone. Life goes on, and it has to go on for the better.

This job is a great opportunity. I hope this goes on for many years.

Spain shut down its coalmines in 2018 as part of its commitment to fight climate change. Its Ministry for Ecological Transition rolled out a “just transition” strategy negotiated with trade unions and employers. 

It provided support to affected mining communities through early retirement benefits, training opportunities and job placements. This has included work on the environmental restoration of dis-used mines. 

The 111th Session of the International Labour Conference, 5-16 June 2023, will discuss achieving a just transition towards environmentally sustainable economies and societies for all. It will consider industrial policies and technology, and the urgent need for environmental sustainability in the world of work.

A just transition means promoting a fair and inclusive green economy, creating decent work opportunities, maximizing benefits of climate action, and managing challenges through social dialogue, stakeholder engagement and respect for fundamental principles and rights at work.

The ILO’s Guidelines for A Just Transition represents its framework for action. They offer a comprehensive set of policies that countries can draw on to implement their climate change commitments.

At the 2019 UN Climate Action Summit, the UN Secretary-General launched the Climate Action for Jobs Initiative. It unites various stakeholders to promote climate action, decent jobs and social justice, to facilitate a just transition to a sustainable future.

General Discussion Committee on a Just Transition, International Labour Conference, 5-16 June 2023

Ministry for the Ecological Transition and the Demographic Challenge (MITECO), Spain

Guidelines for a just transition towards environmentally sustainable economies and societies for all

Green jobs, green economy, just transition and related concepts

Decent Work in Nature-based Solutions 2022

Cristina Carro lost her job as a quarry truck driver when the coal mines in Spain shut down as part of the government's commitment to fight climate change. A government-led “just transition” project helped Cristina find a new job, restoring a dis-used mine to its natural setting.

English Podcast on ILS V.1_1.mp3

Standards Review Mechanism Tripartite Working Group

Standard-Setting Committee on Apprenticeships, 111th International Labour Conference

111th International Labour Conference, 5-16 June 2023

International labour standards are at the heart of the ILO’s mandate and play an essential role in creating fair business competition and combatting work-related exploitation. So, how are they created?

International labour standards  - Conventions, Recommendations and Protocols - are at the heart of the ILO’s mandate. They play an essential role in creating a level playing field for business and combatting the exploitation of workers. But the global economy is changing faster than ever, and changes in technology, migration and demographics are constantly creating new challenges for regulators. In addition, different countries, with different levels of development, economic systems and cultures, have a wide range of priorities and requirements.

So how are international labour standards created and kept fit for purpose. What topics might they need to address next?

Writing the rules of the game – how international labour standards are created

The forest used to be the source of everything for my people, the Orang Asli. It was like a bank or a supermarket. It provided everything we wanted to eat. That was before the miners came and destroyed the forest. We grieved when the mining began but we did not know how to stop them.

We are the original people of Peninsula Malaysia.  Our region and people are special. We have a close relationship with the forest and the natural environment, following the same ways we inherited from our ancestors. The forest is our home, we were raised in it, and it has traditionally been our source of livelihood.   

We ask the forest’s permission to enter, so that we are blessed and protected from whatever creatures are there. When we visit a new area of the forest, we wash our face with water from the nearest river. If you don't do this, it will rain - or so the superstition goes. 

In the past, we moved around wherever we liked. We could build a house and live there and then move and go elsewhere. But now it's not like before. We can't move freely. It's forbidden for us to go from one place to another. The authorities don't allow it. 

I used to follow my mother deep into the forest, but now the thick forests are gone. My sadness is for the children of the current generation because they will never experience what I knew as a child before the forest was exploited by miners.

We lost our precious forest but found a way to survive

Now our forest is gone, there are many challenges for us. We must encourage our children to go to school and mix with the outside community so that they can survive and live their lives in the modern world.

In the past it was okay not to go to school, but now if children don't go to school, it will be hard for them. Like me, I didn’t go to school and it’s hard for me now. 

I used to work at the mines collecting ore. After that, we thought about how else we could provide for ourselves, so we also made handicrafts, such as blowpipes and necklaces. I also tapped rubber trees, but with the uncertain weather, it was difficult.

But now we make a living as organic farmers.

I enjoy organic farming and how it’s helping to improve my community.

In 2018, people from the neighbouring village introduced us to an organization that had showed them how to grow organic vegetables. We listened to their ideas and suggestions and saw how they had planted everything. I was interested and signed up for a three-month organic vegetable farming course, travelling daily to the school in Gumun village.  

The next step was to find an area in our village to set up a community farm.  I discussed this with everyone. We managed to get less educated people like me interested in the idea. It's open to all residents of the village. 

I’m now the Chair of the Melai village community organic farm. My role is to successfully manage the farm and ensure everything runs smoothly. I enjoy this work. I think the villagers chose me because I am friendly and approachable. 

Before, we didn’t come together that much, even among relatives. Community organic vegetable farming has brought us closer together and it’s also helped people in the local community find work. Now we meet regularly to discuss and find solutions, such as how to deal with troublesome insects. Organic farming created a common ground for our family and friendship ties to grow.

Community organic vegetable farming has brought us closer together and it’s also helped people in the local community find work.  

Chair of the Melai village community organic farm

Before having the organic farm, jobs were uncertain and it was a struggle to make a living. Now, as organic farmers, we no longer worry how to support ourselves. Our income is enough to support our children and pay their school fees.  

We can earn over 1000 Ringgit (USD 222) on vegetable sales when the weather is good.  But with this recent rainy season, and the uncertain weather, our earnings will be below that.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, work stopped in the palm oil plantations and rubber factories but vegetables were not difficult to sell at all.

Our vegetables are sold at the supermarket, Jaya Grocer. A lorry transports them to the supermarkets.

Everyone in the village is welcome to work at our community organic farm.

Those who feel capable of taking on more work, can do more. Your income is the direct result of your efforts. Each person’s earnings are based on the plots that they farm. 

For me, so long as there is interest, anyone can show up and work on the farm. For example, I'm a woman and my husband is unwell, so he cannot do heavy work. Even though it may seem like heavy work to level the vegetable patches, hoe, fertilise, and shape the beds without machinery, I am able to do it.

Since I started organic farming, my life has changed and I no longer have to worry about how to support my seven children. 

If you are bearing the costs on your own, covering equipment repairs and buying things like fish fertilizer is very expensive.

But with community farming, we all contribute to a savings fund. Each time a farmer sells their produce, they give one ringgit to the fund.

This has really helped, for example, during times of natural disaster, like floods, which often happen in November.

I’ve had the experience of working on my own and when I compare it to working with the community, I see that it’s easier - the cooperation among members of the community helps to lighten the workload.

We teach our children about organic farming concepts, usually at home after school. We want to equip them so that they can develop an interest and know how to set up and establish an organic farm.

Not only is organic farming giving us a sustainable livelihood, but it’s also helping us take care of the environment. It doesn’t need a large area - one or two acres are enough - unlike a palm oil plantation which needs hundreds of acres. 

Also, we don’t use chemicals. We only use materials like chicken and goat manure that will return to the earth. When you use chemicals, the soil is damaged. 

We’d like to promote the concept of organic vegetable farming with other Orang Asli communities. We plan one day to have a space where we can share our experiences with friends and the public.

We also want to build a pond and a dam so that we have a more secure source of water for the farm. Eventually we’ve also thought about farming fish.

Part of my work is to share the concept of community organic vegetable farming with others.

For now, my hope is that my community will continue to move forward together.  That no one thinks only about themselves. 

I also hope that the mining will stop so that we can preserve the forest that remains. I don't really know how to protect the forest from outsiders. Perhaps letters can bring matters to the attention of those in power. I can’t do much because I don’t have an education and my writing is limited. It's young people who will need to continue the fight for our rights.

I hope the next generation, a generation which is educated, will be able to defend the rights of the Orang Asli people and help protect the forest. 

Maimun received her community organic vegetable farming training from OA Organik, a project which provides Orang Asli communities with the means to establish their own organic farms and a market to sell their produce to at a fair price. 

OA Organik is a project of the Foundation for Community Studies and Development (YKPM), which runs development programmes, including literacy classes and start-up income-generating projects for Orang Asli communities.

OA Organik participated in a capacity-building workshop as part of the ILO’s “Strengthening the social and solidarity economy in Asia” project, funded by the Republic of Korea.

On April 18, 2023, the United Nations General Assembly passed a resolution, “Promoting the social and solidarity economy for sustainable development”. The resolution recognizes the social and solidarity economy's contributions toward the achievement of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs).

ILO Convention No. 169 promotes the rights of indigenous and tribal peoples.

OA Organik and the Foundation for Community Studies and Development (YKPM)

Strengthening the Social and Solidarity Economy in Asia project

ILO welcomes new UN resolution on social and solidarity economy

ILO Strategy and Action Plan on Decent Work and the Social and Solidarity Economy 

ILO topic portal on indigenous and tribal peoples

Mining and deforestation have destroyed the Orang Asli indigenous peoples’ way of life in Peninsular Malaysia. Maimun is helping to restore her people’s connection to the land through a community organic vegetable farm that is giving them a sustainable livelihood.

When I was five years old, I felt different to my other family members. I began to feel confused about who the real me was. My body was that of a boy, but my soul was a girl.

My name is Echi and my real name is Sukoco Anggi Saputra. I was born 50 years ago in Lahat Regency, South Sumatra, Indonesia. I was the youngest of eight siblings. My mother died giving birth to me. My father put me in the care of my big brother who had already married and was raising children I was close to one of the daughters as we were almost the same age. I liked to play with her dolls.

An old family snapshot when I was 9 years old. I am in my father’s arms bottom right, holding a doll.

When I was in junior high, I tried to find a way to be myself. I modified my school uniform to be a little girly. I added accessories to the sleeves and I tightened the uniform shorts. As a result, my school friends asked why I looked like a girl. 

They often bullied me and called me ‘bencong’, which is Indonesian slang for unmanly man or lady boy. My closest friend, who sat next to me, always defended me.

At school they bullied me and called me ‘bencong’, which is Indonesian slang for lady boy. I decided to ignore all the bullies and show them who I really was.

Community Support Officer for transgender people living with HIV, Srikandi Sejati Foundation 

Although my schoolteachers were nice, they kept urging me to be macho and manly. I tried, but I could not pretend. I decided to ignore all the bullies and show them who I really was. Gradually, over time, they understood and accepted me.

My family also warned me to not act like a girl. They kept giving me boys’ toys. But I liked playing as a hairdresser. My dream was to own a beauty salon. I liked to braid my friends’ hair and play with make-up. 

When I graduated from high school, I was determined to show my family that I could support myself. I worked at a beauty salon and one day I came home from work dressed as a woman. My family did not resent me. They accepted me and said, “you have always been a girl since childhood.” 

I wasn’t the only transgender person in our neighbourhood. Our family neighbour wastransgender and there were many other transgender people nearby. My family was thankful that I was not alone.

I moved to Jakarta when I was 20. My dream was to own a beauty salon.

When I was 20 years old, my transgender neighbour asked me if I wanted to move to the capital city of Jakarta with her. She said I could work at a beauty salon. But I could not find a job. I ended up working on the street for 26 years from 1989 to 2015. I worked for five to six hours from 4 to 10 pm or midnight to 5 am. To make ends meet, I also opened a small beauty salon at my rented house in West Jakarta. 

I met my husband early on. He was my client and he worked as a security guard. After ten years together, we got married in my hometown. Both of our families accepted us. Throughout our relationship I continued working on the street and my husband accepted my decision. 

In 2007, I became a mother. My husband and I adopted a four-year old child. The child was the eighth child of my landlady, whose house I have rented since 2000. She was always kind to me and we were like family. When the child was born in 2003, I felt close to the baby, as I often babysat for  my landlady. When she died in 2007, her wish was for me to adopt her youngest son. Her husband and other family supported her wish and I felt like all my dreams had come true: being a trans woman, a wife and a mother. 

It was a hard life working on the street, full of sadness and grief. But this was the profession that I knew. While working, I could accept all the bullies and intimidation, as long as they did not harm me physically. But then, a traumatic incident in 2014 changed my life. One night on the way home after work, a thug dragged me to an empty house where four others were waiting inside. They abused and assaulted me. I couldn’t fight back. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even report it to the police. There was no one I could turn to.

The incident made me decide it was time to quit. I felt unsafe and traumatised. My son was growing up and I didn’t want him to see me working on the street. I decided to focus on my small beauty salon. 

Since my arrival in Jakarta, I had always maintained a close relationship with the local transgender community. I am an active member of the Transgender Community of West Jakarta, where we hang out together and play sports. But it had never crossed my mind to be an activist.

My life changed when I began working at an organization that supports transgender people.

When the head of the Transgender Community of West Jakarta heard that I was trying to change my life, she asked me if I wanted to volunteer at an organization called the Srikandi Sejati Foundation, where she was a field officer. I became a volunteer and within six months I was promoted to field officer, which is what I do now. Established in 1998, Srikandi Sejati Foundation is an organization for the empowerment of trans women.

As an activist, I learnt that a transgender person has the same right to be recognized as a citizen as anyone else. I recalled my own reluctance years back when being informed about the importance of obtaining a national identity card. I felt ashamed and was afraid of going to the government office because of the stigma and discrimination that exists against transgender people.  I felt I was better off without an ID card.  

However, without an ID, I could not open a bank account, receive government social aid or be covered by health and employment insurance. I finally got my ID in 2000 but I had to pay a lot more for it than others. 

I felt ashamed and was afraid of going to the government office because of the stigma and discrimination that exists against transgender people. I felt I was better off without an ID card. 

Community Support Officer for transgender people living with HIV, Srikandi Sejati Foundation

I was determined that other transgender people in my community should not go through the same experience. 

There was one time when I had to help bury two trans women. I learnt that without any IDs, they couldn’t be buried in the public cemetery. What hit me most was that I didn’t even know their real names and their fathers’ names so they could be engraved on the tombs. I only knew their nicknames. It took a lot of effort to deal with the bureaucracy and we had to pay a lot of money for the burial.  

I was heartbroken, and I said to myself, ”Dear Lord, why should the life of a transgender person be like this?” It motivated me even further to ensure that transgender people should have IDs and be recognized. My determination was acknowledged by a joint programme of SuaraKita (Our Voice), an organization, which focuses on equality and justice for the LGBTQ community, and the Indonesia AIDS Coalition (IAC), with support from the International Labour Organization (ILO) in 2022. 

I participated in a series of meetings on how to help transgender people get IDs, navigate the bureaucracy, understand and follow procedures and how to deal with the officers of the Population and Civil Service Offices at the Ministry of Home Affairs. I also learned how to change the mindset of transgender people about the importance of having IDs. 

Most people in the transgender community think that having an ID is not important. Some say they have survived without an ID for years. Meanwhile others say that they feel ashamed and discriminated against when dealing with government officers, as they often ask “What are you? A man or woman?”

I travel across West and South Jakarta to meet with members of the transgender community to raise awareness about the importance of obtaining national identity cards. 

My first step was to raise awareness about the importance of IDs; to meet with and identify the challenges faced by transgender people. Using a WhatsApp group, I promoted the importance of IDs. I also personally went door to door to visit and discuss the issue. Using a motorcycle taxi, I could visit around five houses a day.

The longest time it took me to persuade someone to change their mindset was a year. I tirelessly reminded her about the benefits and the importance of the ID. I was relieved when she finally agreed to get one!

I was thrilled to see a 68-year-old trans woman getting her ID card for the first time. She was the oldest, while the youngest one was a 17-year-old trans woman who could finally access health and employment insurance.

I also witnessed how the ID helped a fellow trans woman get the surgery she needed for free. Two weeks after she got her ID, she was covered by the health insurance and could undergo the surgery and further treatment. 

With their IDs, others could now register for employment insurance and gain benefits such as a pension or support in the event of a work accident or death. They could also open a bank account and apply for a credit loan to buy a motorcycle or house.

I have helped 75 trans women so far to obtain a national identity card.

In addition to not having IDs at all, other problems faced by transgender people include changing the ID photo to their current appearance and changing the address from their hometown to Jakarta. Although we have to use our real name and our real gender on the ID, we can use our current appearance for the photo. By understanding their needs, I have been able to assist my fellow trans women to get to the right government unit or department to obtain their IDs.

New staff at the Population and Civil Service Offices can also cause a delay. They are sometimes not aware of the letter from the Ministry of Home Affairs granting access for transgender people to IDs.  I have had to discuss with new staff, explaining about the letter. If I get ignored or rejected, I just keep going back!

Ignoring the appointment date is another problem faced by trans women. Some don’t show up to their appointments because they have worked late at night or because they are focussing on their work. I have had sleepless nights, trying to figure out what I could do to convince them.

With their IDs, transgender people in my community could register for employment insurance and gain benefits such as a pension or support in the event of a work accident or death. They could also open a bank account and apply for a credit loan.

I am proud that I have been able to contribute to this programme which has assisted a total of 255 transgender people in the five cities of Jakarta, West Java, Central Java, Yogyakarta and Bali.

And I am grateful and happy that transgender people now have easier access to IDs. Looking at the bright faces of my fellow trans women getting their IDs makes me feel that if I have to die now, I will die in peace.

Nesha Sofia, a member of Echi’s transgender community in Jakarta, holds up her national health insurance card.

ILO surveys in 2018 and 2020 in Indonesia found that transgender people living with HIV have limited access to social protection due to not having ID cards.

Around the world, LGBTIQ+ people face harassment, violence and discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, gender identity, gender expression and sex characteristics.

The ILO Discrimination (Employment and Occupation) Convention, 1958 (No. 111), provides explicit protection against discrimination based on sex.  

Progress on diversity and inclusion remains slow. Only a third of enterprises have adopted diversity and inclusion measures, according to an ILO study “Transforming enterprises through diversity and inclusion”. 

As of December 2020, 81 United Nations Member States provided protection against discrimination based on sexual orientation in employment according to the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual Trans and Intersex Association (ILGA).

Srikandi Sejati Foundation (in Indonesian)

International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual Trans and Intersex Association (ILGA)

Country envelopes 2023 global project – Accelerating progress on HIV and AIDS and ending inequalities in the world of work

Inclusion of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex and queer (LGBTIQ+) persons in the world of work: A learning guide

Social justice: Mission and impact of the ILO

Echi is a transgender woman and activist from Indonesia who has faced discrimination and stigmatization for much of her life. She has helped 75 transgender women obtain national identity cards so they can access social protection, including health care and employment insurance.

I help transgender women claim their rights

I am a sewer worker in Lahore, Pakistan. I clear sewer system blockages. Every time I enter a sewer I don’t know if I will get out alive. I risk getting cut by blades and broken glass. Getting injured is a normal part of my job. The most frightening thing is the gases that can be released. Some sewer gases can't be assessed from the outside. It’s only when you’re in and move your feet in the sludge that those gases rise up. They can be so toxic that a person can die within seconds.

My name is Shafique Massih and I’m 45 years old. I was born in Lahore. My father was also a sanitation worker, and my mother was a cleaner. When I was five years old my father died. From that day on my life has been difficult. 

When I was seven my mother remarried, and I went to live with my paternal uncle. The teacher at the school was very kind to me and supported me financially with my studies until middle school.

As a sewer worker, I want respect and safer working conditions

I used to think that I would study and would secure a fine job so that I wouldn’t have to work like my parents in people’s houses, but it didn’t work out that way. I began working at the Water and Sanitation Authority (WASA), which is responsible for cleaning the sewers. I was assigned to work at the sewage disposal station.

I got married and had two children. My daughter was born with a hole in her heart. When she was two, the doctors told me she needed an operation which would cost 1 lakh 10 000 rupees (USD 390). It was difficult for me to get that kind of money, so I had to take out a loan.

The day she was operated on was the most difficult day of my life. I will never forget it. During the operation, the hospital ran out of thread for the stitches. They asked me to get more thread, but I had already taken out a loan and didn’t have any more money. The pharmacy wanted 3500 rupees (USD 12.35). I had just purchased a motorbike in instalments for 34 000 rupees (USD 120). In the end I had no choice and had to sell the bike quickly for 8000 rupees (USD 28). Everyone knows how meaningful a daughter’s life is to a father, so I sold the bike, bought the thread and gave it to the hospital. The doctors completed the operation but six months later, my daughter died. 

It was a very tough time. My daughter was gone, I had no bike, I was in debt. I had to walk 25km to work every day for the next two years. At the time, the roof of my house was made of mud and it leaked. This continued for many years but I couldn’t fix it. When it rained we’d sit all night on a corner of the bed and pray for it to stop so we could sleep. All our belongings got ruined.

It was a very tough time. My daughter was gone, I had no motorbike, I was in debt. I had to walk 25km to work every day.

After my daughter died, my sister asked me and my son to visit her. I took a 100 rupees loan (USD 0.35) from a friend and rented a bike, got petrol for 80 rupees and kept 20 rupees with me. It was summertime and it was very hot. On the way my son asked for water. I saw a stall selling laddu sweets.

I bought one for my son and they gave him a glass of water. But after finishing his laddu, my son said that he was still hungry and wanted more. I didn’t have the 10 rupees I needed to buy my son another laddu. 

That day I felt very helpless that I couldn’t feed my son, and I decided that whatever happened, even if I had to clean sewers or pick up garbage or whatever I had to do, I would never leave my child hungry. After that, I transferred my duties to work in the sewers. The reason being, is that in sewer work, when you are off duty, afterwards you can fix someone's kitchen or bathroom and could earn 100 to 200 rupees. It has been 23 years now that I have worked for WASA, and it has been eight years of working in the sewers.

We find broken glass, blades, sharp pieces of wood, and many other things down there. Every time I go into a sewer, I risk getting injured. April 2023.

No one goes into a sewer willingly. But when your kids are starving, these things do not matter. Children, wife, family, all these things take priority. 

It can take seconds for a man to die in a sewer because the gases are so toxic. He won’t even know what has happened to him. Some gases can be checked for by burning a matchstick, another method is to throw sand in, or when we open the lid of a sewer we can see if it is all white or yellow and that shows that there is gas. But there is another kind of gas inside the sludge that can erupt from beneath and kill you.

It's very dangerous work. It can take seconds for a man to die in a sewer because the gases are so toxic.

When we go to clean a sewage line, we knock on the gates of the houses in the neighbourhood whose pipes are connected to the sewer and inform them that our worker is going inside the sewer pipes to clean them, so please do not use water and do not use the toilet. But people do not listen. 

For instance, if a person flushes the toilet, it flows directly onto the worker sitting inside the sewer. 

Another incident that happened in front of me was when someone was boiling a whole pot of rice. They threw the boiling water down the drain, and it fell all over my co-worker, burning his body.

Some sewers can be cleaned within an hour, but others are huge and can take almost two to three days to clean. April 2023.

Regarding safety, our department bought scuba suits from Japan, but there is an enormous difference between Japan's sewage system and ours. The scuba suit is too heavy to wear and work in. 

Other than that, we have a safety belt that we wear while going down the sewers so that if a person is attacked by a gas, he can easily be pulled out. 

Regarding health, I would say that our eyes, skin and lungs get affected the most. My eyesight is very weak, which worries me. I also have breathing problems and I feel exhausted after only working for a short period of time. I think I will only be able to work for another five, maximum 10 years. 

If we get admitted to hospital when we are ill, the department provides support but once we are discharged, we have to pay for medicines ourselves.

After completing our work in any place, we try to get a water hose from the neighbourhood. Some people are nice, they provide us with soap, or we try to carry one with us. If not, then we go to our centre to take a shower and change our clothes. April 2023.

Two, three years ago a TV channel came and interviewed me. I gave the interview thinking that I would be able to bring some improvements for workers like me and I would raise my voice for them, but when the interview was broadcast there were negative consequences.

My son had to leave his school. A student saw the interview and told everyone that their classmate’s father cleaned sewers. After this my son was bullied. They wouldn’t sit and eat with him. They threw his lunch into the garbage. When they were playing with him, they threw the ball into the toilet and told him that his father is a sewer cleaner so he also could do that and bring the ball back. My son got angry and got into fights. I went to the teachers and asked them to stop the kids from doing this, but it didn’t work.

Some relatives and people in the neighbourhood looked at us with hatred.  One of my friends asked my wife to forbid me from doing this work, that he was respected in the community and that it would affect his reputation if people knew he was friends with a sewer worker. 

I got so hurt. A person does everything for his dear ones, and in return, they talk in this way or show hatred that it is heartbreaking. I explained to my wife that I was working hard and not asking anything from anyone, not begging, not taking loans, and earning my own money. Gradually she understood. I also explained to my son so that he wouldn’t hate me. 

In general, society looks down on us sewer workers, calling us degrading, humiliating names. They call us choora, bhangi, gutter cleaner. I am not saying that all of them are bad people. There are some good people. There is a lady in Johar town. Whenever we are working outside her house, she gives us cool water or juice if it is summer and gives us tea and biscuits if it is winter, and she gives it on good crockery.

I hope that my son studies well and secures a good job. I also want to be satisfied that the hard work that I did my entire life won't be wasted. April 2023.

In the future, Pakistan may become a garbage dump, as people are leaving this kind of work because of lack of respect, lack of safety and the salaries are also too low. These things should be made better.

More safety measures should be taken. My life is as important as that of another person. In other countries, sewer workers are provided with proper health checkups every month. We should also have this. Lighter scuba suits should be provided. We also need protective shoes, gloves and masks.

For the last four years I have been trying to raise my voice through different channels to improve the safety and salaries of sewer workers and other sanitation workers. I have reached out to the government and to non-governmental organizations (NGOs). I have also requested that the International Labour Organization (ILO) focus on this. My message to them all is to raise awareness so that people can understand our situation. They should also provide proper training to sewer workers. 

No work is bad, it’s human mentality that needs to be changed. If I don't work, someone else will, and he will also be a human being like me. I am making a living through hard, risky and honest work. I am trying my best and I want a better future for my son and our community. I ask people to please respect the cleaners. You people want cleanliness but don’t want the cleaner. Please don’t do this. Give us respect.

Sanitation workers should be given more respect. We do dangerous, hazardous work so that people can enjoy a clean environment. April 2023.

The ILO runs the Promoting Rights and Social Inclusion through Organization and Formalization (PRS) project, funded by the Government of Japan’s Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare. 

It supports domestic workers, cleaning and sanitation workers, agricultural workers, and construction workers.

The project helps informal economy workers move into the formal economy and promotes decent work for informal economy and marginalized workers by building the capacities of trade unions and employers. 

Occupational safety and health training has been given to 50 sanitation workers, including sewage sanitation workers and street cleaners.

Around 500 sanitation workers have been trained on basic trade union and human rights, and national and international laws.

In June 2022, delegates at the International Labour Conference (ILC) adopted a resolution to add the principle of a safe and healthy working environment to the International Labour Organization’s (ILO) Fundamental Principles and Rights at Work. 

ILO Member States, regardless of their level of economic development, commit to respect and promote these principles and rights, whether or not they have ratified the relevant Conventions.

Promoting Rights and Social Inclusion through Organization and Formalization (PRS)

Cleaning sewers is dangerous, hazardous work that can be lethal. Shafique Massih is a sewer worker in Lahore, Pakistan, calling for safer working conditions and greater respect for sanitation workers.

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