A 'Little Joy' for Migrant Workers
In his native Philippines, Maryknoll Father Joyalito Tajonera's first name means "a little joy," and that's just what he brings to hundreds of foreign migrant workers in Taipei, Taiwan. Wherever they gather—at church, a train station or even at a garbage collection point—he is there with a welcome hand or a shoulder to lean on.
"I see my work more as a ministry of presence to the overseas contract worker (OCW)," the 45-year-old missioner from Manila says. "If they have issues or problems concerning work or anything personal, I try to respond."
Taipei is home to some 350,000 OCWs, about half of the city's foreign residents. They come from around the world, but especially from the Philippines, Thailand, Vietnam and Indonesia. "Most of the jobs of the OCW are jobs the Taiwanese don't want,"? Tajonera says. "They're dirty, dangerous and low paying."
Migrants, particularly from the Philippines, make up half the Catholic population of about 200,000 on this island of 23 million people. "The Church for Filipino migrants is 100 percent more significant here than it was for them back in the Philippines," Tajonera says. "Upon entering a foreign country and encountering loneliness and, in some cases, injustice and discrimination, migrants have no one to turn to except God. So religion becomes a very important factor in their lives."
That's evident on Sunday mornings at Sacred Heart parish in Shulin City, a suburb 25 miles south of Taipei, where Tajonera celebrates Mass. About 200 Filipinos—mostly young, single and evenly divided between men and women—gather in the small, cinder-block church. The choir members, garbed in purple vests emblazoned with "Filipino Community" in gold letters on their backs, sing, Let all the earth cry out to God with joy.
After Mass, Jaime Biño, a 31-year-old migrant who works at a factory that makes keypads, speaks well of his employer and living situation but admits he's lonely. "Every Sunday I go to church. It's a source of comfort and spiritual support," says Biño. "It's also an opportunity to meet my friends."
Many migrant workers are not allowed to have visitors where they live, and don't have a day off, not even on weekends. "The only time they're allowed to leave the house is to shop or take out the garbage," Tajonera says. "So on weekdays I meet them at the market or at garbage collection points. Sometimes I even bring them Communion and hear confessions."
On Sundays, the subway station serves as a provisional gathering place and underground mall where ocws of different nationalities stake out their turf. A group of Filipinos picnic on the floor near an exit with little pedestrian traffic. Clearly happy to see Tajonera, they invite him for a bite to eat.
Low self-esteem, says Tajonera, is probably the greatest challenge the OCWs face. "Many migrant workers, especially domestic helpers, are treated poorly," he says. "I tell the people that no matter how lowly you're being treated, never lose your dignity as a human being. Always remember that somebody cares about and loves you."
Tajonera is also an advocate for those subjected to abuse or unhealthy working conditions. Giving city officials good marks for their treatment of migrant workers, Tajonera saves his disdain for labor brokers in Taiwan and the Philippines.
"They're nothing but pimps," he says. "They're like vampires that suck the blood of the OCW." Still, the broker isn't the real culprit behind the suffering of migrant workers and the families they leave back home. "It's the poverty that drives them in droves to the airport," Tajonera says.
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