[Column] Foreign laborers bring hardship to small companies

My father’s skin color is dark, but mine is quite light. When I was young, whenever I saw my father’s face, I thought myself fortunate because my skin color is unlike my father’s. When he got home after a day’s work, my father used to give me a strong hug; it was an unpleasant experience for me, because I was repulsed by his smell of sweat and bleary eyes.

I grew up without facing any hardship. I expected my parents’ house to naturally increase in size; magically, as I grew older, it did, though at the same time my father’s face became darker and his eyes more weary. I am writing of my father as a postscript to my recent article covering the side effects of the influx of foreign workers into South Korea. Korean workers have since shunned the work as wages dropped, and small and medium-sized businesses have been left with no one to train under new technology, as foreign workers only stay in Korea for an average of three years.

I met 47-year-old Kim Shin-gon at an aluminum processing factory in Incheon. He has worked there for about 20 years. When he was hired, the aluminum processing factory represented a glittering future to him. Kim recalled just how happy he was about his job - a happiness which lasted 10 years, as he gained technical skills and met juniors just starting at the company, like he himself once had. New machines were brought in from time to time, and the business seemed like it was expanding. While the job was tough, he had overcome its difficulties due to his motivation and an expectation of future growth for both himsef and his place of work.

However, Kim remembered how his motivation began to turn into frustration in the mid-1990s, when the factory owner stopped investing in facilities and wage growth no longer matched inflation.

Employees in this sector are called "3D workers," those who conduct difficult, dangerous, and dirty work. Kim’s factory is full of the smell of toxic chemicals. Ten foreign workers and one Korean female worker are under Kim’s supervision.

"Who is willing to learn [these skills]? After me, that’s the end. It’s a really sad thing." Kim sighed. His face was quite dark and his eyes bloodshot.

At a dyeing factory in Seoul, only a few machines were in operation. In the early 1990s, there were about 120 workers, but now there are less than 40 - most of them 40-something female workers and foreigners, with a few men in their 60s.

A 45-year-old manager, only identified as his surname Kim, railed against the government’s policy of hiring foreign workers. "Currently we face the worst situation. Foreigners stay here for less than three years. We can do nothing with them in terms of [teaching them the next technology]." The manager blamed the government’s policy of hiring low-cost foreign workers because it has prompted employers to spend less on wages and employee welfare, which has led to a plunge in interest from local job-seekers. When I talked to him, I noticed that Kim smelled of sweat and dye.

Few young Korean workers were at the factories I visited. Twenty-six-year-old Lee Young-hwan, who works for a precision machinery factory in Seoul’s Seongsoo-dong, applied for the job after his military service ended. Lee said factory employers want to pay wages for local workers at a level similar to foreign workers. "I earn about 800,000 won a month. For a part-time job at an Internet cafe, I could earn as much as 1.8 million won per month. Many think this kind of job is a difficult way to make a living because of low wages and a bad working environment."

***

Once, my father, feeling the effects of alcohol, lay down beside me while I was sleeping and said, "Kyung-hwa, I hope you find a job in an office with an air conditioner. When I entered a technical high school, I had confidence. I liked technology and enjoyed managing devices. However, I am now at a standstill." I pretended not to hear his words, but that night I secretly pledged to myself that I would find that job in an air-conditioned office.

I never saw my father’s workplace in 23 years. Only his darkened face and smell of sweat. But when I met workers at factories in Seongsoo-dong and Incheon, I thought I saw my father in ever pair of bleary eyes and every work-tinged face.

In 1970s and 1980s, many young workers started their careers at small and medium-sized factories, offering themselves up as the backbone of the nation’s economic miracle. However, today, the future of those factories is bleak, and of their workers, even bleaker.

Today, as usual, I am using my notebook computer in an air-conditioned office, but I still feel dizzy: I am remembering a black-and-white picture of my father. In the photo, taken when he was young, my father’s face was so light.

This article was written by Song Kyung-hwa, internship reporter at The Hankyoreh and a sophomore in Seoul National University’s geography department.