Made in the Philippines: Gendered Discourses and the Making of Migrants (Routledgecurzon Pacific Rim Geographies, 5)

MADE IN THE PHILIPPINES

The Philippines is the world’s largest exporter of temporary contract labor with a huge 700,000 workers a year being deployed to over 160 countries on either six-month or two-year contracts. This labor migration is highly regulated by the government, private, and non-governmental/ non-private organizations. Women in particular are channeled into vulnerable occupations, including domestic service and entertainment. This challenging work confronts the darker side of contract migration raising such uncomfortable questions as does the Philippine government permit and encourage the trafficking, exploitation and abuse of women? Drawing upon the writings of Foucault, Made in the Philippines argues that migrants and migrations are socially and politically produced. By controlling meanings and discourses governments are able to reposition their policies to encourage a more positive reading of their strategies. Tyner delves behind this political façade to examine, on a number of levels, how the “making” of migrants furthers the government’s accumulation of capital. Initially documenting how the Philippine government has discursively framed overseas employment since its inception in 1974, the book traces through the many discourses, both dominant and peripheral, which represent female entertainers, before finally focusing on a case study of one female migrant and how she negotiates her daily life. Employing a poststructural feminist perspective, Made in the Philippines provides a new direction in the study of gender and migration which ultimately calls for a repolitization of migration studies. Population geographers, feminist geographers, and migration scholars of Asia will find this controversial work both enlightening and thought-provoking. James A. Tyner is Associate Professor of Geography at Kent State University.

ROUTLEDGECURZON PACIFIC RIM GEOGRAPHIES Series editors: John Connell, Lily Kong and John Lea

1 LANDSCAPES OF GLOBALIZATION Human geographies of economic change in the Philippines Philip Kelly 2 SEX WORK IN SOUTHEAST ASIA The place of desire in a time of AIDS Lisa Law 3 URBANISATION IN THE ISLAND PACIFIC Towards sustainable development John Connell and John Lea 4 MALAYSIA, MODERNITY AND THE MULTIMEDIA SUPER CORRIDOR The construction of a high-tech city region Tim Bunnell 5 MADE IN THE PHILIPPINES Gendered discourses and the making of migrants James A. Tyner

MADE IN THE PHILIPPINES Gendered discourses and the making of migrants

James A. Tyner

First published 2004 by RoutledgeCurzon 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeCurzon 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group © 2004 James A. Tyner All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Tyner, James A., 1966– Made in the Philippines: gendered discourses and the making of migrants/James A. Tyner. p. cm. – (RoutledgeCurzon Pacific Rim geographies ; 5) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Alien labor, Philippine. 2. Filipinos–Employment–Foreign countries. 3. Philippines–Emigration and immigration–Government policy. I. Title. II. Series. HD6305.F55T94 2004 331.6⬘2599–dc21 2003010299 ISBN 0-203-79989-5 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-68218-1 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0–415–70015–9 (Print Edition)

FOR GERALD, JUDITH, BELINDA, AND JESSICA

CONTENTS

1

List of tables Acknowledgments

ix xi

Introduction

1

Defining migration 4 Approaching gendered migration 6 Poststructural feminism and Foucault 9 Theoretical sign-posts 11 Structure of the book 19 2

The discontinuities of Philippine migration

21

A path toward overseas employment 27 Development diplomacy and personal sacrifice 31 Migration as self-fulfillment 38 The embodiment of globalization 41 A possessive market society 49 3

The making of migrants

55

Accumulating bodies 59 The objectification of migrants 64 The discursive marketing of migrants 67 Non-discursive practices 70 Discursive formations and subjective incorporations 77 4

The professionalization of entertainment Entertaining discourses 87 vii

85

CONTENTS

The death of Maricris Sioson 94 The professionalization of overseas performing artists 100 5

Performing migration

109

Bodies and subjectivities 111 The embodiment of a migrant entertainer 114 6

The political process of making migrants

133

The politicization of migration 138 References Index

143 156

viii

TABLES

2.1 Deployed migrant workers from selected Asian countries, 1990–8 2.2 Land-based deployed Filipino overseas workers by region, 1984–2000 2.3 Top ten host countries of Filipino overseas workers, selected years 2.4 Land-based newly hired Filipino overseas workers by sex, 1992–2001 2.5 Land-based newly hired Filipino overseas workers by skill and sex, 2000 2.6 Deployed professional new-hires by sub-skill and sex, 1992–2000

ix

22 23 23 24 24 24

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Michel Foucault (1972: 23) writes that a “book is not simply the object that one holds in one’s hand”. Instead, Foucault describes a book as a node within a network. So it is with Made in the Philippines. My project on gendered migration and the Philippines began twelve years ago when I was a doctoral student in geography at the University of Southern California. My interest in migration, though, was formed much earlier, as a geography undergraduate at California State University Long Beach and later as a master’s student in geography at San Diego State University. Over the years I have acquired an extensive social network that includes universities, government agencies, and families stretching from Asia to the United States. At the University of Southern California, I thank my committee members: Curt Roseman, who stimulated my passion for migration and encouraged me to pursue my studies of the Philippines; Michael Dear, who instilled a deep and profound respect for social theory; and Don Van Arsdol, who taught me the importance of a policy perspective. Stimulation, guidance, and friendship were provided also by Bernie Bauer, Tom Jablonsky, Nazli Kibria, Laura Pulido, Doug Sherman, Jennifer Wolch, Steve Kolletty, Wei Li, and Rob Wilton. Special thanks are forwarded to Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo who has provided encouragement over the years. Since my arrival at Kent State in 1997 I have been fortunate to work with a number of graduate students who have helped me clarify my own positions on both migration and social theory. These include Olaf Kuhlke, Donna Houston, Dan Donaldson, and Josh Inwood. I am particularly grateful to Rob Kruse who provided critical comments on earlier drafts of this book. Watch for Rob to make the next major shift in the field of cultural geography. Last my deepest gratitude is extended to Tom Schmidlin, former chair of geography at Kent, who provided an xi

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ideal environment in which to offer classes on social theory. His support and encouragement are greatly appreciated. Throughout my career, both as student and faculty, I have benefited from the guidance, support, and friendship of a number of people, including Stuart Aitken, Adrian Bailey, Larry Brown, Keith Collins, Dennis Conway, Ernie Griffith, Kevin McHugh, Jan Monk, Gary Peters, Nanda Shrestha, and Richard Ulack. I have also been fortunate to present my work at universities and conferences throughout the United States and Asia. I gratefully acknowledge the comments and criticisms of Rochelle Ball, Graziano Battistella, Paul Boyle, Nicole Constable, Shirlena Huang, Graeme Hugo, Philip Kelly, Lisa Law, Deirdre McKay, Hector Morada, Rhacel Parreñas, Nicola Piper, Rachel Silvey, Nobue Suzuki, Richard Wright, and Brenda Yeoh. In the Philippines, special thanks are extended to Servillano “Jimmy” Boton, Ricardo Casco, Jay Francisco, Max Garming, Nicanor Javier, Tess Laurel, Nestor Nario, Carmelita Nuqui, and Alfredo Palmiery. Many of these individuals are intimately associated with Philippine overseas employment, either as government officials or as members of non-governmental organizations or private recruitment agencies. In some sections of this book I am critical of certain policies and practices. I state up front that this book is neither a blanket critique nor condemnation of these individuals and their respective institutions. Throughout my research over the years I have become acquainted with many “frontline” personnel who are committed to ensuring the welfare of overseas workers. To be sure, I have also encountered many individuals, in both the government and private sectors, who are quick to capitalize on the misfortune of others. I conduct this research with the firm belief that through conscientious work, and by sifting through the abundance of political discourse, viable policies will be found. The following articles have been revised for inclusion here and appear with permission. I am sincerely grateful to the editors and journals. Chapter 2 is a revised version of “Migrant labour and the politics of scale: gendering the Philippine state”, Asia Pacific Viewpoint 41(2): 131–54. Chapter 4 is based on “Constructions of Filipina migrant entertainers”, Gender, Place and Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography 3(1): 77– 93 and “Constructing images, constructing policy: the case of Filipina migrant performing artists”, Gender, Place and Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography 4(1): 19–35. Further information on Gender, Place and Culture is available at http://www.tandf.co.uk. An earlier version of Chapter 5 appeared as “The globalization of transnational labor

xii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

migration and the Filipino family: a narrative”, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 11(1): 95–116. Sincere thanks are extended to the series editors John Connell, Lily Kong, and John Lea. Further thanks are given to my editor at Routledge, Stephanie Rogers. Her assistance in seeing this manuscript through to completion has been invaluable. A note of gratitude is extended to Bond, my puppy, and Jamaica, my cat, both of whom spent many (bored) hours sitting next to (or on) me as I plugged away at the computer late at night. I thank also my parents Dr. Gerald Tyner and Dr. Judith Tyner for their encouragement and support over the years. It was their passion for geography, and particularly their unyielding respect for the teaching profession, that set the stage for my career. I also thank my other family members, including my brother David, my grandmother Floris, and my aunt Karen. I also pay homage to the memories of my relatives who were never able to see the completion of this book, including my grandfathers Joe and Bud, my grandmother Virginia, and my uncle Lee. Last, it is my wife, Belinda, to whom I owe the greatest debt. Words cannot begin to express my gratitude for her support, encouragement, and positive outlook on this project. Were it not for her, this book would never have materialized. But, more importantly, Belinda provided me with something that means more than words on a page. In October 2002, as I was writing the final draft of this book, Belinda gave birth to Jessica Patricio Tyner. This event singularly transformed our lives and reaffirmed what is truly important. The pleasures of writing this book – and there were many – pale in comparison to the miracle of watching Jessie over these last few months. And I write, in all honesty, that a bedtime reading of Foucault is an effective way of putting a baby to sleep.

xiii

1 INTRODUCTION

“Filipino lives for sale at Philippine export market! All that’s needed is to brand them ‘Made in the Philippines’ before being shipped off.” So argues Teodoro Locsin in his scathing commentary about “the Great Philippine export trade” (1991: 6). Locsin’s article, however, represents just one of many critical commentaries on the Philippine overseas employment program. The export of labor is as contested in the Philippines as it is entrenched in Philippine society. There are an estimated four to five million Filipinos living and working in over 160 countries and territories. In terms of both magnitude and geographic scope, the Philippines is the world’s largest exporter of governmentsponsored, temporary contract work. Each year, approximately 700,000 workers are deployed on either six-month or two-year contracts. This does not include, moreover, the untold thousands of workers who migrate illegally. Overseas employment has injected considerable sums of money into the Philippine economy. Remittances garnered US$18 billion between 1975 and 1994 (Gonzalez 1998: 73); in 1997 alone, overseas Filipino workers remitted over US$5.7 billion. Moreover, this source of foreign exchange accounts for nearly 20 percent of total exports in the Philippines. The importance of overseas monies is important at the household level as well. In Manila, for example, approximately 11 percent of all families receive their main source of income from abroad (National Statistics Office 1992: Table 9). By way of comparison, only 14 percent of families receive their main source of income through entrepreneurial activities. And yet, as the title of an edited book asks, “At what cost?” (PalmaBeltran and de Dios 1992). Opponents of overseas employment, such as Locsin, direct attention to the vulnerability and exploitation of migrants and especially of female migrants. Situated within a context 1

INTRODUCTION

of remittances and foreign exchange, stories of rape, murder, sexual abuse, and torture tell an alternative tale of state neglect. The government is especially targeted for condemnation. Regarding, for example, the migration of female performing artists to Japan – many of whom are employed in the sex industry – de Dios (1992: 54) writes, “By facilitating through official channels, the employment of women in this type of entertainment, the Japanese and Philippine governments have provided a legal cover for the massive trafficking of Asian women in Japan and are, in effect[,] parties to its perpetuation.” But to view the Philippine state as simply bowing to the spatial logic of capitalism potentially obfuscates the contradictory and contested activities of the state. Although capital accumulation, such as the desire for remittances, is a primary catalyst for state intervention, the state must also cope with the equally important political repercussions of social relations and the fundamental problem of sustaining legitimacy in the eyes of its citizenry (Clark and Dear 1984: 34). Rochelle Ball (1997) effectively captures the tension of the Philippine state in its balance of capital accumulation and worker protection. She explains that: State intervention . . . revolves around the need of the state to legitimize its role in the Philippine political economy, and this occurs through its efforts to mediate and balance a range of often competing interests such as those between overseas workers and their families, recruiters and foreign employers, and the macroeconomic need of the state for foreign exchange for its continued viability. (Ball 1997: 1618) The balance of these often contradictory interventions significantly influences state legitimacy and informs the discourses of migrant labor. Such was the context of Philippine overseas employment when I initiated this project over a decade ago. What began as a fairly traditional geographic study of migration rapidly transformed into a critical engagement of the politics of migration and the indeterminancy of language. While speaking with members of various Philippine government institutions, private recruitment agencies, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), academics, and migrants, it became clear that although we were all talking about “migration,” we were not speaking the same language. For some individuals, migration signified a route to better opportunities – for both the migrants themselves as well as the Philippines; for others, migration represented a form of neocolonialism, 2

INTRODUCTION

and the deployment of migrant workers constituted a massive trafficking of sexed and gendered bodies. The “migrants,” likewise, were alternatively portrayed as commodities, heroes, victims, opportunists, prostitutes, or criminals. During these conversations, moreover, subtle and not-so-subtle differences in the representation of male or female migrants also became apparent. Female migrants were presumed to be more susceptible to exploitation and oppression; they were also considered to be motivated more by familial considerations than by personal empowerment. And, in most cases, whether government officials or private recruiters, activists or academics, the participants spoke with a knowing authority, their formal positions carrying an aura of legitimacy. Migration and migrant: I began to question why these terms were employed so uncritically both in debates on overseas employment and in the formulation of policy. It was time to deconstruct these terms. My central premise is that to appreciate fully the construction of migration policy, and its influence on patterns and processes of migration, it is necessary to question the very ontology of migrant and migration. I concur with Eve Sedgwick (1990: 27) whose main strategy in her work has been “Repeatedly to ask how certain categorizations work, what enactments they are performing and what they are creating, rather than what they essentially mean.” To this end, I examine how the terms “migration” and “migrant” especially are used as political resources. Specifically, through a case study of the Philippine state migratory apparatus, I examine how discourses of gendered migration are central to the organization, regulation, and enforcement of overseas employment programs. In short, I address the “making” of migrants and migration. In so doing, I incorporate a poststructural feminist perspective into the study of gender and migration. How do “migrants” come to be made, conceived, articulated, and understood? Drawing on the work of Michel Foucault, I forward the argument that migrations and migrants are made discursively. When governments, private recruitment agencies, employers, activists, and the “migrants” themselves speak of migrations, they do so within their own discourses, their own understandings and interpretations. Such discourses generate the meanings of migration through language and the social relations of state and private agencies, employers, migrants, and so forth. Consequently, through the deployment (literally and metaphorically) of discursively made migrants, spatial (and gendered) patterns of migration are produced. To argue that migrants and migration are discursively produced is not 3

INTRODUCTION

to suggest that people do not move. What I mean by this term is that the meanings and our interpretations of their movement is predicated on our knowledge of migration. It is through this process that bodies are transformed into “migrants,” “refugees,” “guest-workers,” or some other mobile-defined identity. Consider the following scenario: A 23year-old woman moves from Manila to Singapore, is employed for three years as a domestic worker, and then returns to the Philippines. To some researchers, she is an “international labor migrant”; to others, she is a “transnational migrant”; for others still, she is a “sojourner.” Our labels change, but has the woman? Or her experiences of moving from Manila to Singapore and back again? The inscription of terms onto her body – whether international labor migrant, transnational migrant, or sojourner – constitutes a political act: an act that is intended to classify her, categorize her, control her. At one level, therefore, this book provides an ontological critique of the employment of categories previously conceptualized, for the most part, as natural and unproblematic (e.g., migration, migrant). This resonates with existing studies that have likewise questioned the ontology of specific migrant types. Geraldine Pratt (1998), for example, has queried the discursive/material construction of Filipina domestic workers, while Chavez (2001) has examined the discursive constitution of “immigrants” and “nation” through a deconstruction of magazine covers. At a second level, I am concerned not only with the author but also with his or her authority to categorize. This second level thus represents an epistemological confrontation of how understandings of migration and migrants are formed and forwarded, and reveals the power dynamics inherent in the construction of representations.

Defining migration Critical to my project is a questioning of the ontological basis of “migrant” and “migration.” As terms, “migrant” and “migration” are widely employed, and yet carry many alternative significations. Papastergiadis (2000: 51), for example, observes that: The term ‘migrant’ has a looming presence. It has an ambivalent association. For some it suggests a positive image of cosmopolitanism and adventure. To others it issues a defensive reaction against the so-called ‘dirty’ foreigners and ‘bogus’ asylumseekers who, according to some commentators, unfairly abuse the limited welfare resources of the nation-state. 4

INTRODUCTION

Boyle et al. (1998: 38) likewise explain that: Although it appears simple at first to explain what the term migration refers to, various qualifications need to be considered when defining who migrants are and, once defined, distinguishing the various categories of migrant. How far have they moved? How long did they move for? . . . Do the movers believe themselves to be migrants? Was the migration forced or was the move essentially voluntary? The “fixing” of migrant and migration is thus recognized as being both academically elusive and politically charged. Nevertheless, there have been many attempts to “fix” the definitions of both migrants and migrations. Lee (1966: 49), for example, defines migration “as the permanent or semi-permanent change of residence. No restriction is placed upon the distance of the move.” Migration is also commonly defined as the crossing of a civil boundary, such as a county or state line (Shryock and Siegel 1971). In recognition of the complexity of defining migration, social scientists utilize a number of qualifiers to stabilize it. Terms used include circular migration, commuters, seasonal migration, international migration, internal migration, rural–urban migration, return migration, and so on. A number of typologies, additionally, have been forwarded in an attempt to classify migration. Petersen (1958), for example, provided an early typology that included five basic types of migration: primitive, group/mass, free individual, restricted, and impelled/forced. More recently, Sassen (1988), classified labor migration systems based on their relationship to sites of capital accumulation. For some researchers the definition of migration is based on data availability. The United States census, for example, defines migration by spatial changes in an individual’s current place of residence, place of residence five years earlier, and place of birth. The Department of Statistics in Malaysia, by comparison, collects information on respondents’ usual place of residence on two specific dates which are one year apart; a change in this location constitutes migration. What these attempts at defining and classifying migrants and migration indicate is that the process of “migration” cannot be essentialized in any one way that reflects the specificity of any particular instance of human spatial mobility. The range of migratory systems and experiences is so great as to make any generalized definition meaningless. Definitions of migration, in short, only work within particular contexts. At the risk of stating a tautology, the definition of migrants and migration is contingent 5

INTRODUCTION

upon the way in which one studies migrants and migration. It is partially for this reason that the definition of what constitutes a “migration” (or refugee flow, for that matter), or who is to be considered a “migrant,” is discursive. Discursive formations limit what it is possible to say, what are the criteria of “truth,” who is allowed to speak with authority, and where such speech can be spoken (Selden and Widdowson 1993: 129). To argue thus, however, is not to perform academic acrobatics. Indeed, the discursive “making” of migrations and migrants can and does have significant material and legal consequences for both individuals and institutions. Consider, for example, the following questions: Are the people under consideration eligible for government assistance? Do they fall under the rubric of local labor laws? Are they at risk of deportation? Are they guaranteed protection by the sending government? The definition of migrants and migration, far from being a curious intellectual endeavor buried within the halls of academia, clearly underlies very real issues of rights and responsibilities. Mitchell (1992: 23), for example, identifies how foreign policy affects immigration policy through dialogues involving the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of the US government, along with special interest groups. Pointedly Mitchell (1992) and Kahn (1996) both detail how during the Cold War people fleeing from “adversarial” governments (e.g., Cuba, Nicaragua) tended to be welcomed to the United States as refugees, whereas those individuals fleeing regimes friendly to the United States (e.g., El Salvador) were labeled as “undocumented aliens.” In short, people fleeing similar conditions were treated differently based on ideological reasoning and discursive formulations. Those who were labeled as “refugees” received benefits, whereas those defined as “illegal” were subject to incarceration and deportation.

Approaching gendered migration Since the late 1970s, but especially during the 1980s and 1990s, there has been an increasing number of studies on gender and migration. “Women” have become more visible in migration research. However, the theoretical study of gender and migration has just begun. Sylvia Chant and Sarah Radcliffe (1992: 19), for example, write that “although sex has long been recognized as a variable in migrant selectivity, female migration has only recently been included within the rubric of general migration theories.” New migration research, as Patricia Pessar (1999: 577) contends, is 6

INTRODUCTION

developing a more sophisticated understanding of gender. The study of women in migration has, in fact, paralleled advances made within the larger field of feminist studies, shifting from an emphasis on the documentation of patterns, to an explanation of those patterns (see McDowell 1999). Feminist scholars are confronted with three overriding concerns in the study of gender and migration. First, an effort has been made to document the existence of women in migration flows – a corrective to earlier studies of migration patterns. As Weedon (1997: 7) argues, “the feminist critique of patriarchal histories and scholarship . . . includes women’s absence from the long history of post-Renaissance science and social theory which has taken man as its object, either excluding women as unworthy of attention or, more recently, claiming to speak for women as well as men in an allegedly ungendered humanism.” Doris Weatherford, for example, writes that the impetus for her book, Foreign and Female: Immigrant Women in America, 1840–1930, came when she discovered that “there was no inclusive, general book that simply spelled out the story of immigrant women” (1995, xvi). Kofman et al. (2000: 22– 3) concur, noting that where women’s migration was analyzed at all, it adopted an “add women and stir” approach; the experiences of women migrants were fitted into models created to understand, explain, and predict male migration, thus assuming that women have the same reasons for migrating as men. Early work, therefore, sought to document the existence – and differences – of women in migration. Many of the chapters contained in Annie Phizacklea’s (1983) One Way Ticket: Migration and Female Labor and Rita Simon and Caroline Brettle’s (1986) International Migration: The Female Experience speak to the historic neglect of female-based migration systems. Research has thus provided a much-needed corrective to our historical and geographical understanding of women in migration: an understanding that is reflected in the diversity of women migrants. Chant and Radcliffe (1992) observe that differences in the selectivity of women are usually dealt with by the inclusion of objective and measurable traits, such as education and rural/urban origins. But the complex issue of subjectivities, and the intersection of social integuments such as gender, ethnicity, and class, need to be more critically incorporated. Here, the work of Glenn (1986), Hondagneu-Sotelo (1994), Yung (1995), Gamburd (2000), and Parreñas (2001) is especially germane. A second task of feminist scholarship has been to counter the existent masculinist dominance of migration studies. Traditionally, migration has been approached from a positivist ontology. Indeed, most early theories 7

INTRODUCTION

of migration are strongly rooted in neoclassical economics (Boyle et al. 1998: 61; for an overview, see Massey et al. 1993). Studies of migration within the context of positivism presuppose the ability to quantify the causes of migration, whether in economic variables of employment levels and wage rates, or more behavioral variables such as place utility and stress. The act of migration, therefore, is premised as a by-product of rational decisions made by profit-maximizing (and usually male) migrants. Moreover, these approaches “in effect naturalize migration regarding it in very benign terms; migration is something that is always there and is a ‘good thing’ because it leads to better living conditions, higher wages and more pleasant residential environments” (Boyle et al. 1998: 65). The political dimensions, however, are largely ignored in these studies. Third, and stemming also from a masculinity ontology, feminists have challenged methodological biases such as interviewing only “male” heads of households (a bias following neoclassical economic theories of migration); interviewing women with their spouses or other household members present (e.g., fathers); discounting women’s labor force participation and hence ignoring economic motives for female migration; and the inclusion of assumptions that women migrant predominantly with, or to join, men. Lee (1966: 51), for example, in his often-cited article “A Theory of Migration”, asserts that “children are carried along by their parents, willy-nilly, and wives accompany their husbands though it tears them away from the environment they love.” Women migrants, in short, have been theoretically and methodologically represented as economically dependent, overly emotional, and without agency; they are typecast as mothers or wives, daughters or sisters, confined to their social and/or biological reproductive roles. In recognition of these critiques, scholars of migration are increasingly challenging the dominance of meta-narratives, of overarching and allencompassing models and theories grounded in masculinist precepts. Accordingly, the past decade has witnessed a burgeoning literature advocating a synthesis of approaches, and the incorporation of new (or, more precisely, rediscovered) qualitative techniques such as narratives. Feminist-inspired migration studies, as such, have exhibited a shift from “explaining” migration to “understanding” migration. Current work, therefore, has provided insight into unequal power relations within households and the exploitation and oppression of migrants, but also into the empowerment and agency of migrants. This work, though, has been directed primarily at the level of the individual and has not addressed broader questions at the level of the state or institutions. 8

INTRODUCTION

Missing, also, are critical engagements with discourses surrounding migrants and migration. It is within this realm that a poststructural feminism offers a radical departure in the theoretical study of migration.

Poststructural feminism and Foucault There is no single definition of poststructuralism, nor of poststructural feminism. Rather, the terms refer to a collection of theories based on the writings of Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Roland Barthes, and Judith Butler, among others. Poststructuralists asks fundamental questions about language, meaning, and subjectivity In particular, poststructural approaches disrupt meaning, labels, and categories; in other words, poststructuralism challenges terms that are assumed to be natural and unchanging. In so doing, poststructuralists propose that the distinctions we make are not necessarily given by the world around us, but are instead produced by the symbolizing systems we learn (Belsey 2002: 7). Poststructural epistemology, furthermore, permanently troubles the notion that there can be a direct relationship between objects and the meanings that they denote. Thus, there is no pre-interpreted reality of “migration,” nor is there an essential identity of “migrant” waiting to be discovered; rather, the meanings of migrant and migration are made discursively. A basic understanding of semiotics is fundamental to all poststructuralism (for more extensive discussions, see Leitch 1992, Sarup 1993, Selden and Widdowson 1993, and Belsey 2002). The Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure proposed that meanings should not depend on reference to “real” objects or ideas. Rather, he suggested that meaning only resides in a sign and nowhere else. Saussure explained that a sign consists of two terms, a signifier (e.g., sound, written image, or graphic), and a signified (i.e., meaning). A sign, thus, is the associative total of the first two terms and derives meaning from being different from all other signs. Moreover, the relationship is arbitrary. The signifier does not express the meaning, nor does the signified resemble the form or sound; to use a term appropriately is to know what it means (Belsey 2002: 11). A textbook example is the traffic light as sign. The colors red, yellow, and green each signify a particular action (e.g., stop, prepare to stop or go, and go) but these associations are purely arbitrary. There is nothing inherent in the color red, for example, that must denote the action to stop. Saussure, and other “structuralists,” attempted to “fix” meanings within a language system. The problem with this perspective, as Weedon 9

INTRODUCTION

(1997: 24) explains, is that it does not account for the plurality of meaning or for changes in meaning. In contrast, poststructuralists have demonstrated the malleability of signs. Seldon and Widdowson (1993: 126–7), for example, illustrate that the dictionary confirms the relentless deferment of meaning, as opposed to the unity of any given sign: Not only do we find for every signifier several signifieds (a “crib” signifies a manger, a child’s bed, a hut, a job, a mine-shaft lining, a plagiarism, a literal translation, discarded cards at cribbage), but each of the signifieds becomes yet another signifier which can be traced in the dictionary with its own array of signifieds (“bed” signifies a place for sleeping, a garden plot, a layer of oysters, a channel of a river, a stratum). The process continues interminably, as the signifers lead a chameleon-like existence, changing their colours with each new context. The indeterminancy and contingency of language is further – and aptly – illustrated in Derrida’s discussion of the word “pharmakon.” A Greek word, its meaning can either be “poison” or “cure,” depending on the context of translation. In like manner, the meaning of the signifier “woman” varies depending on its context. “Woman,” as Weedon (1997: 25) identifies, may signify “victim” or “object of sexual desire.” Poststructuralists thus argue that no particular signifier can refer to any particular signified; indeed, every signified functions in turn as a signifier in an endless play of signification (Sarup 1993: 41). Similarly, the meaning of both “migrant” and “migration,” as signs, are open to multiple interpretations and will signify different things in different contexts. What a sign means at any particular moment, therefore, depends on the discursive relations within which it is located, and it is open to constant rereading and reinterpretation (Weedon 1997: 25). Poststructural feminism builds on these ideas. Thus, while in agreement that “discursive fields consist of competing ways of giving meaning to the world and or organizing social institutions and processes,” poststructural feminists claim that these discourses have to be understood in the context of widely held beliefs about female sexuality and women’s proper place and lifestyle which cross a whole range of discursive fields from the family, religion, education and employment to the representation of women in the media. (Weedon 1997: 34–5) 10

INTRODUCTION

To this end, one important focus of poststructural feminist thought has been to deconstruct binary oppositions on which traditional ideas of difference, such as man/woman, rest (Weedon 1999: 105). Related, also, are challenges to the homogenization and universalization of categories such as “woman.” Mohanty (1991: 51), for example, challenges the tendency of some feminist-inspired work in producing the “third world woman” as a singular monolithic subject. Poststructural feminists have also argued strongly against the exclusion of the materiality of bodies (Butler 1990, 1993; Grosz 1994, 1995; Weedon 1997, 1999; Pratt 1998). In poststructural feminist approaches which draw on the work of Foucault, for instance, discourse is material in the sense that it is located in institutions and practices which define difference and shape the material world, including bodies (Weedon 1999: 103).Care should be taken, therefore, not to ignore the critical role of labor.

Theoretical sign-posts The discursive making of migrants and migration and, subsequently, the construction of policy, should not be viewed as a theoretically abstract exercise, but rather as a guide toward an understanding of power and its material effect on the lives of people. Consequently, a feminist-inspired Foucauldian approach provides a useful starting point. In the remainder of this chapter I highlight four concepts – discourse, institutions, discipline, and subjectivities – that buttress my argument and which will be interwoven throughout succeeding chapters. Discourse and the power/knowledge nexus In an earlier section I highlighted the difficulty of defining the terms migrant and migration. Specifically, I suggested that our understanding and usage – our knowledge – of these terms is contingent upon the broader aims and objectives of our research. Knowledge about any given object, and especially the production of that knowledge, is thus critical to subsequent political practices. In the many writings of Foucault, knowledge assumes a central place. Indeed, a dominant motif of Foucault’s work was to provide a critique of the way modern societies control and discipline their populations by sanctioning the knowledge claims and practices of the human sciences (Sarup 1993: 72). In other words, a Foucauldian approach would be concerned with how knowledge is produced and subsequently deployed. We may assert, for 11

INTRODUCTION

example, that the construction of migration policy is predicated on a “knowledge” of migration, and that this knowledge is derived from the efforts of academics, activists, policymakers, and so on. The knowledge, furthermore, is produced via research, personal observation, and various forms of “data collection.” For Foucault, however, knowledge is inseparable from power. Foucault (1979: 27) explains that power and knowledge directly imply one another; there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations. Power as conceived by Foucault, moreover, differs from traditional accounts. In Discipline and Punish (1979: 26), Foucault asserts that power is exercised rather than possessed; later, he elaborates that “Power must be analysed as something which circulates, or rather as something which only functions in the form of a chain. It is never localised here or there, never in anybody’s hands, never appropriated as a commodity or piece of wealth” (Foucault 1980b: 98). The forwarding of power as exercised is significant in that it directs our attention from focusing on a dominant class or institution; power and the production of knowledge are not simply the result of an oppressive capitalist system or its apparatuses. On this count Foucault is clear: power is not the privileged domain of dominant class; authorities do not have a monopoly on the exercise of power, or on the production of knowledge (1979: 26). Indeed, in his History of Sexuality, Volume I (1990: 94–5), Foucault explains that power is not something that is acquired, seized, or shared; relations of power are not in a position of exteriority with respect to other types of relationships (e.g., economic processes, knowledge relationships); there is no binary and allencompassing opposition between rulers and ruled at the root of power relations; there is no power that is exercised without a series of aims and objectives; and where there is power, there is resistance, and this resistance is never in a position of exteriority in relation to power. Accordingly, researchers should direct their attention to the exercise of power in the production of knowledge vis-à-vis migrants and migration. Who has the authority, the legitimacy, to define migrants and migration? Who has the opportunity to label one person a refugee and another as an illegal migrant? How are the consequences of migration explained to the public? Are migrants, for example, “stealing” jobs or transmitting diseases? Do migrants constitute a drain on the welfare system? A threat to local labor markets? Moreover, to what extent do social integuments, such as gender, factor into the making of migrants and migration? Chang 12

INTRODUCTION

(2000), for example, identifies that in the United States male immigrants historically have been viewed as the primary threat, in that they “stole” American jobs. More recently, however, anti-immigrant rhetoric has targeted female immigrants who are presumed to be “welfare moms.” In short, then, a focus on power/knowledge relations leads to an engagement with discourses. For Foucault, discourse refers not to the standard dictionary definition of a conversation or written expression, but rather to disciplines of knowledge. In The Archaeology of Knowledge, Foucault’s principal text in which he outlines the coordinates of discourse and discursive formations, discourse is derived from statements which have four attributes. First, a statement must have a material existence. By this, Foucault simply means that statements must appear, must be articulated. The form, however, is open: graphs, charts, and so forth may all be considered statements. Second, statements must have a substance; they are manifest in particular places and specific times. When these contexts change, so too does the discourse. Third, statements do not have as their correlate an individual or a particular object that is designated by this or that word (Foucault 1972: 91). This is crucial, for it directs attention to the fact that there is no “true” referent that we are attempting to describe. Rather, there are bodies, and any statement that ascribes the label “migrant” to these individuals does so discursively. Hence, when officials or academics refer to migrants, they are not referring to fixed objects, for there is no “true” or “essential” migrant. Instead, a statement has a discursive object which does not derive in any sense from a particular state of things, but stems from the statement itself (Deleuze 1988: 7–8). Fourth, statements are always bordered by other statements. There is no statement, Foucault argues (1972: 99), that is free, neutral, or independent; instead, a statement always belongs to a series or a whole, always plays a role among other statements, deriving support from them. In short, according to Foucault, every institution, every organization, every discipline enunciates statements which manifest themselves in rules, regulations, mandates, and contracts. Combined, a group of statements constitutes a discursive formation, and discursive formations produce bodies of knowledge. Having established the parameters of statements, and the notion of discursive formations, Foucault forwards a number of principles that guide his understanding of discourses. First, Foucault suggests that discourse must be treated as a discontinuous activity, its different manifestations sometimes coming together, but just as easily unaware of, or excluding, each other (Foucault 1972: 229). Foucault refers to this as 13

INTRODUCTION

the principle of discontinuity. Second, Foucault details a principle of “rarity,” arguing that “everything is never said” (1972: 118). All knowledges are partial and, consequently, discourses are selective. However, the absences, or silences, are not to be automatically thought of as an indication of repression. This is critical when considering government discourses. We cannot presume that discursive practices conceal a hidden reality. Third, there exists a principle of specificity, which states that a particular discourse cannot be resolved by a prior system of significations; in other words, we should not imagine that the world presents us with a legible face, leaving us merely to decipher it (Foucault 1972: 229). Lastly, discourse, to Foucault (1972: 41), finds a way of limiting its domain, of defining what it is talking about, of giving it the status of an object – and therefore of making it manifest, nameable, and describable. A Foucauldian approach is to view discourses not as groups of signs (signifying elements referring to contents or representations) but as practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak (Foucault 1972: 49). Consequently, the knowledge that enables us to answer questions pertaining to a particular field is informed by the discursive practice constituting and demarcating the field (Gordon 2002: 27). Discourses of migration, consequently, do not speak of migrants as objects, but rather produce migrants as objects. Furthermore, there can never be a singular discourse of migration, but rather multiple, contradictory, and contested discourses of migration. Institutions, apparatuses and migration As we go about our daily activities, we encounter multiple and competing claims of authority and legitimacy. Politicians and teachers, doctors and lawyers, plumbers and electricians: all of these produce their own discourses, their own claims of knowledge. As Brown (2000: 45) identifies, the responsibility, the legitimacy, the authority to classify, hierarchize, measure, quantify, appraise, and label is found not only in government bodies, but also in courts of law, medical practice, and scientific inquiry. In the realm of migration policy, legislative bodies, government officials, special-interest groups, labor unions, academics, and the migrants themselves articulate their own specific discourses. Discourses, consequently, may be sought within institutions. A major aim, indeed, of a Foucauldian analysis is to understand the institutions that produce knowledge and, hence, discourses. As Foucault (1972: 48– 9) explains in The Archaeology of Knowledge, his purpose was to “show that ‘discourses’, in the form in which they can be heard or read, are 14

INTRODUCTION

not . . . a mere intersection of things and words” but instead, by “analyzing discourses themselves, one sees the loosening of the embrace . . . of words and things, and the emergence of a group of rules proper to discursive practice.” Within the study of migration, however, the role of institutions has received minimal attention. As Hugo (1997: 279) observes, existing studies generally fail to interview or observe recruiters and other informal and formal institutional elements which initiate and facilitate migration. Goss and Lindquist (1995: 337) likewise assert that the “employer and the complex network of recruitment agencies that link it with the migrant are remarkable in their absence in most accounts of international labor migration.” Those who do examine the recruitment processes generally focus on the costs to migrants to the neglect of discourses. Even more pressing is that when institutions are examined in the study of migration, a gendered perspective has not been forwarded. A need exists, therefore, critically to engage the institutional construction of gendered migrant discourses. How though, are we to define institutions for this study? I am sensitive to the paradoxical necessity of defining a term such as institution in a study in which I advocate the instability of terms such as migration. Nevertheless, a poststructural sensibility does not imply a position of academic anarchy; instead, we must temporarily “fix” certain terms in order to emphasize the malleability of others. Accordingly, following Leitch (1992: 127), institutions constitute and disseminate systems of rules, conventions, and practices that condition the creation, circulation, and use of resources, information, knowledge, and belief. Our temporary fixing of institutions provides an opportune window through which to view the discursive practices of which Foucault writes. Foucault (1980b: 101), for instance, explains that: It is only if we grasp these techniques of power and demonstrate the economic advantages or political utility that derive from them in a given context for specific reasons, that we can understand how these mechanisms come to be effectively incorporated into the social whole. As such, an institutional focus establishes a specific context to analyze the emergence and perpetuation of migrant discourses. This is not to suggest, however, that an institutional perspective, especially one centered on the role of state apparatuses, should neglect other actors. Indeed, since power is neither localized nor monopolized in the state, “nothing in society will 15

INTRODUCTION

be changed if the mechanisms of power that function outside, below and alongside the State apparatuses, on a much more minute and everyday level, are not also changed” (Foucault 1980a: 60). Lastly, an engagement with migrant institutions should be sympathetic to questions of gender. Studies of migration, to this end, can learn from other feminist-inspired studies of gendered employment segregation and organizations (Bradley 1989; Hall 1993). McDowell (1999: 136), for example, identifies that there has been a shift from what might be termed the “gender-in-organization model” in which organizations are seen as settings in which gendered actors behave – as gender-neutral places which affect men and women differently because of their own different attributes – to theorizing organizations themselves as embedded with gendered meanings and structured by the social relations of sexuality. Thus, following McDowell (1999: 135), we may assert that institutions are not gender-neutral as in the traditional bureaucratic organization, but are in fact saturated with gendered meanings and practices that construct both gendered subjectivities at work and different categories of work as congruent with particular identities. Gendered migrants, I contend, are discursively made through the activities of government and private institutions (among other arenas), rather than as essentialized gendered individuals entering the global labor market with their gendered and occupational subjectivities fixed. Disciplining migrants Certain migrant institutions, such as recruitment agencies, are in the business of supplying temporary workers to foreign employers. Accordingly, these migrant institutions discipline bodies to make them productive – to make them into migrant workers. Moreover, these institutions produce specific types of bodies, and market these workers to labor-importing locations. In pursuit of this line of argument, my approach to migration – although still concerned foremost with institutions – is highly corporeal; the body is prominent. Indeed, Foucault’s exposure of the relationship between individuality and power puts an end to the idea that labor power, or any other bodily capacity, is a “given” human attribute (see McHoul and Grace 1997: 74). Thus, the discursive “making” of migrants is accompanied by a disciplining process that is manifest at the level of the individual. Foucault (1979: 215) explains that discipline is a type of power, “a modality for its exercise, comprising a whole set of instruments, techniques, procedures, levels of applications.” Moreover, discipline may 16

INTRODUCTION

be appropriated by various institutions, such as prisons, schools, the military or, as discussed in later chapters, migrant institutions. Disciplinary techniques, moreover, share a number of characteristics. First, disciplinary techniques are dual-sided in that they simultaneously enable and repress, organize and atomize (Marsden 1998: 120). Foucault, in other words, counters the traditional notion that power as manifest in discipline is a purely negative process, of one individual or institution exerting its hegemony over another. Power, even within disciplining practices, is always diffuse. Second, disciplinary techniques render each individual a “case”: an object of knowledge and a target of power (Marsden 1998: 121). Foucault (1977: 204) explains that “knowledge follows the advances of power, discovering [rather, producing] new objects of knowledge over all the surfaces on which power is exercised.” Third, power and knowledge are manifest in rules (Marsden 1998: 121). Discipline, in the words of Foucault (1979: 138), produces subjected and practiced bodies. More concretely, disciplinary techniques are used for specific purposes by specific institutions and, with respect to this study, those institutions that interact with migrants and migration attempt to discipline particular bodies into particular positions. In sum, the discursive “making” of migrants is essential to the disciplining of migrant bodies; by extension, this disciplining is required for political, economic, or other objectives. For this reason, I suggest a reorientation of migration studies, following Foucault (1980b: 104) toward an engagement with the various mechanisms of power which permit time and labor, rather than wealth and commodities, to be extracted from bodies. Bodies, subjectivities, and technologies of the self The “body” is central to feminist analysis of the oppression of women because it is upon biological difference between male and female bodies that the edifice of gender inequality is built and legitimized (McNay 1992: 17). Women reduced to biological components of reproduction. One of the most important contributions that Foucault has made to feminist thought is a way of conceiving of the body as a concrete phenomenon without eliding its materiality with a fixed biological or prediscursive essence (McNay 1992: 17). In particular, Foucault’s (2000: 326–7) project was to create a history of the different modes by which human beings are made subjects. Accordingly, much of his early work addressed the disciplinary techniques by which bodies were discursively made. His last works, particularly those on sexuality, however, were 17

INTRODUCTION

explorations in “the way a human being turns him- or herself into a subject” (Foucault 2000: 327). Following both Foucault and recent developments in poststructuralism, in this book I strategically employ the term “subject” rather than “identity.” As Belsey (2002: 52) explains, the term “subject” first places the emphasis squarely on the language we learn, and from which we internalize the meanings, including the meanings of “man” and “woman” our culture expects us to live by. Second, “subject” reflects its own ambiguities, its double meanings. As Foucault (2000: 331) writes, there are two meanings of the word “subject”: “subject to someone else by control and dependence, and tied to his own identity by a conscience or self-knowledge. Both meanings suggest a form of power that subjugates and makes subject to.” Third, “subject” allows for discontinuities and contradictions, whereas “identity” implies sameness; subjects, though, can differ – even from themselves (Belsey 2002: 52). It is the body that is the object of knowledge and the target for disciplinary practices. Consequently, critics of Foucault have claimed that he presents a passive, docile subject that is devoid of agency. As such, a Foucauldian approach is nihilistic and non-political. However, as McLaren (2002) and others counter, disciplinary practices do not necessarily translate into a disciplined society. Smart (2002: 91), for example, agrees that Foucault’s conception of the disciplinary society is open to a degree of misunderstanding in so far as a possible implication of the term is that modern societies are “disciplined” societies. However, he also notes that modern societies may have been described as “disciplinary” but they are far from “disciplined” (Smart 2002: 106). Although disciplinary techniques may permeate societies, there always remain spaces of resistance. This follows from Foucault’s assertion that no one class, no one institution maintains a monopoly of power. This notion of resistance, as Mills (2002: 42) writes, has been particularly useful for feminist theorists and has helped move theory away from a concern with oppressor–victim models of dominance. Foucault locates resistance at the level of the everyday, of countering specific disciplinary techniques that categorize individuals, marks their individuality, and inscribes particular subjectivities. The exercise of power does open up possibilities of resistance. Accordingly, in his later work Foucault (1997: 225) introduced the concept of “technologies of the self” which “permit individuals to effect by their own means, a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being.” In many feminist appropriations of Foucault, Derrida, and others, 18

INTRODUCTION

therefore, agency is seen as discursively produced in the social interactions between culturally produced, contradictory subjects (Weedon 1999: 107). What this implies is that the “making” of migrants does not produce a set of passive bodies to be branded “made in the Philippines.” Instead, poststructural feminism proposes a subjectivity which is precarious, contradictory, and in process, constantly being reconstituted in discourse each time we think or speak (Weedon 1997: 32). Consequently, subjectivities are neither fixed nor necessarily coherent; a person is not reducible to labels such as “Filipino,” “woman,” or “migrant” because there is no essential quality to these labels. Weedon (1997: 26) elaborates: How we live our lives as conscious thinking subjects, and how we give meaning to the material social relations under which we live and which structure our everyday lives, depends on the range and social power of existing discourses, our access to them and the political strength of the interests which they represent.

Structure of the book My argument is straightforward. Migrants and migrations are discursively produced through the exercise of disciplinary techniques of power. To the extent that gender (or race) are incorporated into these discourses, spatial patterns of gendered (or racialized) migration follow. These discursive formations, additionally, are inscribed upon bodies for strategic purposes. State institutions, not uncommonly, produce migrants as a means of furthering capital accumulation. Rather than passive receptors of these discourses, however, subjects both comply and resist these inscriptions. Chapter 2 provides a genealogy of the Philippine state migratory apparatus and documents the malleability of migrant discursive formations. Following Foucault, I temporarily suspend certain conventional approaches to the chronicling of migration histories. For example, I hold in abeyance traditional periodizations that imply a linearity and connectivity between events, as well as a presumption of causality. I am concerned, therefore, with identifying the discontinuities of migration and migrant discourses. Accordingly, once a presumption of continuity is suspended, it becomes possible to reconstruct a particular field of discursive events. In the Philippines, specifically, I chart the existence of multiple discursive formations, including “development diplomacy,” “embodied globalizations,” and “possessive market strategies.” Chapter 19

INTRODUCTION

2 further shows that these formations are both contested and contingent upon changing political, economic, and social contexts. The discursive making of “migrants” is the subject of Chapter 3. First, I articulate an understanding of the “body” as a site of capital accumulation. Drawing on the work of David Harvey, I reposition “migrants” as simultaneously producers, commodities, and consumers. This conceptualization is then expanded to consider how bodies become objectified as migrants, the non-discursive practices that are exercised in the making of migrants, and the discursive formations that are forwarded to persuade individuals to participate in their own objectification. Chapter 4 further elaborates the discursive making of migrants, though the focus is on a particular type of migrant. Here I discuss the gendered making of Filipina overseas performing artists and emphasize how these discourses have been incorporated in the construction of actual policies. Accordingly, the connections of discourse and nondiscursive practices, as well as the materiality of these connections, is more firmly drawn. Sexuality figures prominently in these discourses, although, conforming with Foucault’s principle of rarity, it is also evident that discourses of sexuality are often set aside in the construction of policy. Having established the discursive making of migrants, in Chapter 5 I consider how one particular body – a Filipina overseas performing artist – negotiates and contests the discursive formations that are constantly inscribed upon herself. The chapter begins, though, with an extended theoretical discussion on the relationship between “bodies” and “subjectivities.” It concludes with a consideration of the intersection of technologies of domination and technologies of self. Lastly, Chapter 6 calls for a repoliticization of the study of migration. Having challenged certain normative assumptions that currently undergird the study of migration, as well as critiquing the ontological and epistemological basis of the terms “migrant” and “migration,” I conclude this book with directions for a poststructural feminist approach to the study of gendered migration.

20

2 THE DISCONTINUITIES OF PHILIPPINE MIGRATION

With over 700,000 workers deployed annually to over 160 countries and territories, the Philippines is the world’s largest supplier of governmentsponsored contract labor (Table 2.1). This figure, moreover, does not include the estimated 1.9 million Filipinos living abroad with “unauthorized” migration status. Table 2.2 shows the distribution of Filipino workers by region. Spatially and temporally, patterns reflect both changes in the global economy and also internal organizational changes. Whereas in the early 1970s Philippine workers were deployed overwhelmingly to the oil-producing states of the Middle East, by 1997 destinations in Asia were most common. In 1984, for example, Middle Eastern destinations (e.g., Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, United Arab Emirates) accounted for 83 percent of all deployed land-based Philippine workers, but by 1997 this region accounted for only 40 percent. Conversely, the Asian share increased from 13 percent to over 48 percent during this same period. Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Japan emerged as the principal destinations. Table 2.3 reflects the top ten destinations of Filipino contract workers between 1975 and 2001. Contemporary patterns of overseas employment are also highly feminized. Table 2.4 indicates that of all newly hired land-based workers, females have greatly surpassed their male counterparts in terms of total deployment over the past decade. This feminization is further reflected when figures are divided up according to sex and occupation. Table 2.5, for example, disaggregates all newly hired land-based Filipino workers by skills category and sex. The two largest sectors of female workers include service occupations (92 percent) and professional occupations (86 percent). Male workers, conversely, are largely employed in production-related occupations. Particular skills also reveal strong differences depending on sex. Thus, while relatively few Filipinos are deployed as managerial workers, those who are employed in this sector 21

103,775 141,816 86,264 113,800 446,095 42,625 63,024

Bangladesh India Indonesia Pakistan Philippines Sri Lanka Thailand

147,131 192,003 149,777 147,145 615,019 65,068 63,849

1991 188,108 416,874 172,197 195,985 686,461 124,494 81,718

1992 244,590 438,338 159,995 157,387 696,630 129,076 137,950

1993 186,203 366,425 141,287 114,019 719,602 130,027 169,764

1994 187,43 – 120,603 122,620 654,022 172,462 202,296

1995

211,714 – 220,162 127,784 660,122 162,572 185,436

1996

Source: Scalabrini Migration Center, Asian Migration Atlas 2000: http://www.scalabrini.asn.au/atlas/amatlas.htm

1990

Origin

Table 2.1 Deployed migrant workers from selected Asian countries, 1990–8

231,077 – 502,977 153,929 747,696 149,843 183,673

1997

– – – 104,044 755,684 158,287 –

1998

THE DISCONTINUITIES OF PHILIPPINE MIGRATION

Table 2.2 Land-based deployed Filipino overseas workers by region, 1984–2000 Year

Total

Middle East

Asia

Other

1984 1985 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000

300,378 320,494 323,517 382,229 385,117 355,346 334,883 476,693 517,632 509,653 517,662 436,884 424,259 486,627 486,045 640,331 636,379

250,210 253,867 236,434 272,038 267,035 241,081 218,110 302,825 340,604 302,975 286,387 234,310 221,224 221,047 226,803 287,076 283,291

38,817 (12.9%) 52,838 (16.5%) 72,536 (22.4%) 90,434 (16.7%) 92,648 (24.1%) 86,196 (24.3%) 90,768 (27.1%) 132,592 (27.8%) 134,776 (26.0%) 168,205 (33.0%) 194,120 (37.5%) 166,774 (38.2%) 174,308 (41.1%) 235,129 (48.3%) 221,257 (45.5%) 299,521 (46.8%) 292,067 (45.9%)

11,351 (3.8%) 13,789 (4.3%) 14,547 (4.5%) 19,757 (5.2%) 25,434 (6.6%) 28,069 (7.9%) 26,005 (7.8%) 41,540 (8.7%) 42,252 (8.2%) 38,473 (7.5%) 37,155 (7.2%) 35,800 (8.2%) 28,727 (6.8%) 30,451 (6.3%) 37,985 (7.8%) 53,734 (8.4%) 61,021 (9.6%)

(83.3%) (79.2%) (73.1%) (71.2%) (69.3%) (67.8%) (65.1%) (63.5%) (65.8%) (59.4%) (55.3%) (53.6%) (52.1%) (45.4%) (46.7%) (44.8%) (44.5%)

Source: unpublished data provided by POEA.

Table 2.3 Top ten host countries of Filipino overseas workers, selected years Rank

1975

1987

1994

2001

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Japan USA Hong Kong Papua New Guinea Saudi Arabia Italy Saipan Nigeria Singapore Bahrain

Saudi Arabia Japan Hong Kong UAE Kuwait Singapore Qatar Bahrain Oman Libya

Saudi Arabia Hong Kong Japan Taiwan UAE Malaysia Kuwait Singapore Brunei Qatar

Saudi Arabia Hong Kong Japan UAE Taiwan Singapore Italy Kuwait Brunei Qatar

Source: Gonzalez (1999, Table 2.3); POEA website: http://www.poea.gov.ph

are overwhelming men. Agricultural work is another male-dominated occupation. The occupational distribution of professionals is somewhat misleading, however, since performing artists (e.g., dancers, musicians) are classified in this category (Table 2.6). Hence, further disaggregation of the data reveals that of the 67,454 female professionals deployed in 2000, approximately 85 percent were performing artists. Conversely, of the 11,230 male professional workers, only 18 percent were employed in 23

THE DISCONTINUITIES OF PHILIPPINE MIGRATION

Table 2.4 Land-based newly hired Filipino overseas workers by sex, 1992–2001 Year

Male

Female

Total

1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001

130,725 (50.2%) 117,955 (46.0%) 105,482 (40.7%) 89,335 (41.7%) 94,304 (45.8%) 97,842 (44.2%) 85,757 (39.1%) 85,420 (36.0%) 74,707 (29.5%) 72,186 (28.0%)

129,869 138,242 153,504 124,822 111,487 123,399 133,458 151,840 178,323 186,018

(49.8%) (54.0%) (59.3%) (58.3%) (54.2%) (55.8%) (60.9%) (64.0%) (70.5%) (72.0%)

260,594 256,197 258,986 214,157 205,791 221,241 219,215 237,260 253,030 258,204

Source: POEA website: http://www.poea.gov.ph

Table 2.5 Land-based newly hired Filipino overseas workers by skill and sex, 2000 Skill

Male

Female

Total

Professional/technical Managerial Clerical Sales Service Agricultural Production Other skills Total

11,231 (14%) 208 (73%) 1,367 (58%) 1,134 (54%) 7,412 (8%) 520 (99%) 41,379 (72%) 11,456 (57%) 74,707 (30%)

67,454 (86%) 76 (27%) 1,000 (42%) 949 (46%) 83,794 (92%) 6 (1%) 16,428 (28%) 8,616 (43%) 178,323 (70%)

78,685 284 2,367 2,083 91,206 526 57,807 20,072 253,030

Source: POEA website: http://www.poea.gov.ph

Table 2.6 Deployed professional new-hires by sub-skill and sex, 1992–2000 Year

1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000

Total professional Dancers

Singers, musicians Nurses

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

13,666 11,784 11,834 11,469 11,723 14,014 13,916 11,749 11,230

44,308 21,737 37,100 25,158 22,790 37,222 41,519 50,146 67,454

1,552 370 846 657 647 802 720 606 1,063

33,979 12,342 26,620 14,498 13,445 24,833 25,923 28,731 34,475

416 247 387 221 245 283 485 610 919

2,572 941 1,963 1,220 1,869 4,164 7,781 13,602 23,048

536 599 948 1,133 640 669 663 828 1,273

4,230 5,231 5,357 6,295 4,017 3,552 3,892 4,497 6,410

Source: Scalabrini Migration Center, Asian Migration Atlas 2000: http://www.scalabrini. asn.au/atlas/amatlas.htm

24

THE DISCONTINUITIES OF PHILIPPINE MIGRATION

the entertainment sector. Chapter 4 examines more closely the “professionalization” of entertainment workers. The increased “feminization” and “Asianization” of Philippine overseas employment is explained by economic shifts occurring within both Middle Eastern and Asian labor markets. By the mid- to late 1980s, the oil-rich Gulf states (e.g., Saudi Arabia, Kuwait) had completed many of their massive infrastructural projects and no longer needed “male” production and construction workers; the gendered demand for migrant workforces switched to “female” workers who could maintain and service the infrastructure (Humphrey 1991). Simultaneously, the increased demand for factory workers and (female) domestic workers throughout Asia has contributed to the growth of this region. The liberalization of foreign worker policies in Taiwan, especially, has spearheaded this shift. These patterns of overseas employment are neither “natural” nor “inevitable.” Rather, they are testimony to an intricate network of social, economic, and political relations linking the Philippines with foreign labor markets. Sassen (1993: 73) argues that “migrations do not just happen; they are produced. And migrations do not involve just any possible combination; they are patterned.” In this chapter I document the production of gendered migrations and, in the process, trace the genealogy of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. Here, my argument diverges from earlier studies of Philippine migration in that I emphasize the discursive continuities and discontinuities that surround the governmental organization and regulation of overseas employment. My intent in this present work, consequently, is not to trace the nearly four centuries of Philippine “migration”; this has been thoroughly discussed in the literature. Antonio Pido (1986) and Joaquin Gonzalez (1998), among others, provide excellent surveys of the centuries of Philippine mobility, from the colonial movements associated with the Spanish occupation (1565–1898) to the student and labor movements during the American colonial period (1898–1946). In contrast, my argument focuses upon the ways in which contemporary population movements are produced by Philippine governmental institutions. Earlier population movements from the Philippines, for example, were produced by foreign powers, including both the Spanish and American colonial governments. Even the 1915 Act, passed by the Philippine legislature under American colonial rule, was to take advantage of the high private sector demand for cheap labor from the Philippines to raise revenue for the United States government. My concern, therefore, is on the discursive production of contemporary patterns of gendered 25

THE DISCONTINUITIES OF PHILIPPINE MIGRATION

migration by the Philippine state migratory apparatus; this migration, moreover, constitutes a radical break, or rupture, from earlier movements. There is no unitary, continuous history of Philippine migration – a seamless chronology of successive periods, stages, or phrases of movement. From a Foucauldian standpoint, it is not possible to reconstruct a (continuous) history of Philippine migration, for the simple reason that “migration” is discursively produced. From this perspective, there can be no constants, no essences, no immobile forms of uninterrupted continuities structuring the past (Sarup 1993: 59). In other words, the referents to which “migrant” and “migration” were directed in earlier time periods are not the same referents that are employed currently. As McLaren (2002: 35) writes, Foucault’s genealogies are a form of social criticism; through a consistent emphasis on the contingency of historical (and geographical) processes, Foucault indicates that things could be otherwise. We should not, additionally, be seduced by abstract and potentially arbitrary or misleading periodizations (e.g., decades or presidential terms), as if these breaks carry some explanatory power. For example, it is possible to identify radically different discursive formations within single presidencies. The purpose, rather, is to identify particular discursive formations that appear to provide explanatory power for particular policies and practices. This necessitates a more in-depth genealogy of specific modes of regulation. Harvey (1989: 122) explains that an examination of the mode of regulation focuses our attention upon the complex interrelations, habits, political practices, and cultural forms that allow a highly dynamic, and consequently unstable, capitalist system to acquire sufficient semblance of order to function coherently at least for a certain period of time. By extension, we may suppose that any given mode of regulation will be accompanied by a particular discursive formation. As Bevir (1999: 348) writes, the statements of a given era coalesce to form a tentative grouping of statements in accord with the contingent regularities and connections that link them to one another. In this chapter, accordingly, I map the discursive formations accompanying the transformations of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. The term “state apparatus,” as employed in this book, refers to a set of institutions and organizations through which state power is exercised (Clark and Dear 1984: 45). 26

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Hence, the state migratory apparatus is a collective term, and includes those institutions through which state power is exercised within the realm of population mobility. Within the broader state migratory apparatus it is possible to identify specific institutions. In the Philippines, the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA) is the main institution in the state migratory apparatus. Other institutions include the Overseas Workers Welfare Administration (OWWA) and the Commission on Filipinos Overseas (CFO). Following Clark and Dear (1984: 36), a comprehensive analysis of state apparatuses requires an understanding of state functions (in Foucauldian terms, non-discursive practices) which, in turn, must be derived from an analysis of state form. Form, in this usage, refers to how the specific state structure is constituted by, and evolves within, a given mode of regulation; state functions refer to those activities undertaken in the name of the state. The form of any state apparatus emerges through a series of struggles and crises. Indeed, as Jessop (1982: 223) argues, to treat the state as a real subject with a pre-given unity is to exclude from view political struggles within and between state apparatuses as well as the effects of its institutional structure or the constitution and conduct of political struggles beyond the state.

A path toward overseas employment The emergence of the Philippine state migratory apparatus is related to changes in the Philippines’ political economy during the period of the postcolonial Philippine state (1946–66). As Kelly (2000: 30) details, this period was marked by a negotiated relationship between the Philippine political economy and outside influences. The Tydings–McDuffie Act of 1934 granted the Philippines its independence from the United States after ten years; because of World War II, official independence did not materialize until 4 July 1946. The Philippines emerged from the war with most of its resources devastated: factories and mines were either destroyed or badly in need of repair; the physical infrastructure of the country, including roads, bridges, railroad lines, and port facilities were destroyed. A combination of economic and political instability, coupled with the physical destruction of the country’s infrastructure, therefore, impelled the incipient Philippine government to solicit assistance from the United States (Gonzalez 1998: 58). This assistance came in the form of the Bell Mission, headed by Daniel Bell. United States influence on the Philippine political economy, over the next three decades, remained significant. Under American advice, the 27

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Philippine government adopted a development strategy which mainly concentrated on the processing of primary products, chiefly raw materials and agricultural products, for export to the mainland United States (Gonzalez 1998: 59). The Bell Trade Act of 1946, for example, dictated free trade until 1954, followed by a gradual increase in tariffs until 1973, when full duties would be imposed (Kelly 2000: 30). Moreover, the Philippine state was required to grant “parity rights” for American businesses which subsequently enabled US firms to exploit the country. During the 1940s and 1950s, however, a “Filipino First” policy was advanced by President Carlos Garcia. The Philippines adopted an importsubstitution industrialization (ISI) strategy which would, ostensibly, favor Filipino-run domestic industries. Kelly (2000: 31) concludes that the imposition of an ISI strategy satisfied both a political and a transnational economic coalition of interests in that an economic program directed toward Filipino-owned businesses partially met the demands of a growing nationalist movement in the country. The success of the Philippines’ ISI program, however, was short-lived (Jayasuriya 1987; Jose 1991). Many of the older, established manufacturing industries were unable to expand beyond the limited, protected domestic market, and industrial growth could not absorb the expanding labor force – estimated at 700,000 new workers per year (Villegas 1986). Moreover, transformations in the global economy, including a decline in the value of Philippine exports and the growth in overseas borrowings, converged to stunt economic growth (Hutchinson 1997: 69–70). Equally important, though, was the revelation that the ISI strategy failed due to the dominant presence of the United States in Philippine firms (Gonzalez 1998: 60). Beset with a balance of payments deficit and a mounting external debt, the Philippine government during the 1960s experienced increased intervention by external institutions, such as the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank (Villegas 1988). Citing the “South Korean Miracle” and the “Brazilian Miracle,” IMF and World Bank officials concluded that rapid industrial growth could only materialize through a strategy of export-oriented industrialization (EOI) (Gonzalez 1998: 60). Export-oriented industrialization was heavily promoted under the presidency of Ferdinand Marcos during the late 1960s and early 1970s, as manifest in the passage of the Investment Incentives Act of 1967 (RA 5186) and the Export Incentives Act of 1970 (RA 6135). The Philippine economy during this period was oriented towards the production of not only traditional agricultural export products (e.g., sugar, copra), but also 28

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non-traditional products such as electronic chips and garments (Villegas 1988: 56). The export of labor was not yet a component of the Philippines’ shifting economic strategy, but the conditions were forming. On 21 September 1972 President Marcos declared martial law. Although the causes (e.g., population growth, economic instability, communist insurgencies) and motivations (personal gain on behalf of Marcos) of this act were (and remain) widely debated (Wurfel 1988), one effect is clear: by choosing to declare martial law, Marcos cleared the way for a concerted effort to shift the nation onto the path of export-led industrialization (Hawes 1987: 45). Indeed, Presidential Decree No. 1, Marcos’s first act following the declaration of martial law, addressed not civil unrest or the potential for revolution, but rather administrative reorganization. Specifically, PD No. 1 abolished the National Economic Council; and all economic planning and implementation was concentrated in the National Economic Development Authority (NEDA) (Wurfel 1988: 135). Other decrees included: the reversal of the Supreme Court’s decision which declared that the right of US corporations and citizens to own and control resources on an equal basis with Filipinos had expired; the opening of the Philippines to foreign oil corporations for the exploration of oil; and the setting up of a free trade zone in Bataan, for the expansion of exports (Villegas 1988: 59). As Kelly (2000: 33) concludes, the abolition of Congress, and the suppression of labor organizations and dissident intellectuals, enabled the president to give his technocrats a free hand in reorienting the economy. It was this reorientation that would contribute to the establishment of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. The martial law period (1972–81) is characterized by a significant economic transformation of the Philippines, as the country during this decade was more fully incorporated into the global economy. Marcos’s “New Society,” as he termed the period, was framed as a means to rectify existent social, political, and economic problems confronting the country. Economic policies were designed primarily to attract new private investment as Philippine development policy became increasingly oriented towards export production (Kelly 2000: 33; see also Bello et al. 1982; Hawes 1987). Thus, following the success of other Asian states such as South Korea and Singapore, Marcos promised his version of “Martial law, Philippine style” (Overholt 1987: 91). Marcos, legislating through presidential decrees, directives, executive orders, and letters of instruction, facilitated a major overhaul of labor relations within the country. In 1973, for example, Marcos created a committee from the Department of Labor whose task was to codify for 29

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the first time all the existing labor laws of the Philippines (Villegas 1988: 60). The committee was instructed to gear the Labor Code towards the development thrust of the government, which was for the expansion of exports and the creation of labor-intensive industries for export (Villegas 1988: 60). Chaired by Undersecretary of Labor Amado Inciong, the committee was subsequently directed to codify the labor laws to conform with the recommendations suggested by the Ranis Mission. This latter mission, a project of the International Labor Organization and supported by the World Bank, had released in 1973 specific recommendations for employment and growth policies to be adopted by the Marcos martial law administration (Villegas 1988: 60). Apart from a continuation of an export-oriented industrialization strategy and a liberalization of imports, the Ranis Mission advocated wage restraint as an effective policy to enable employers to expand operations, thus easing unemployment (Villegas 1988: 60). The Labor Code was finally signed on 1 May 1974 by President Marcos. Upon signing, Marcos declared that a new “Magna Carta of Labor” had been won by the Filipino working class (Villegas 1988: 61). Subsequent events suggest otherwise. In particular, the 1974 Labor Code, and the attendant presidential decrees, combined to favor foreign investors, selective members of the landed oligarchy, and Marcos personally, to the detriment of the Philippine masses. One key to the Philippines’ economic strategy was the discursive marketing of an “internationally attractive labor force,” i.e., a cheap and docile workforce prevented from unionizing or striking. Consequently, for a fiveyear period (1974–9), the Labor Code made unfair labor practices such as “union busting” administrative offenses rather than criminal offenses; the upshot of this, Villegas (1988: 66) argues, was to further weaken workers’ stance against management. As a corollary to the declaration of martial law, moreover, Marcos issued General Order No. 5 which imposed a total ban on strikes and other forms of public assembly (Villegas 1988: 61). This was later amended to limit the ban on strikes to only “vital” industries which, not surprisingly, included companies engaged in the production or processing of essential commodities or products for export. The Labor Code, likewise, permitted employers to pay new employees only 75 percent of the basic minimum wage during a six-month “probationary” period (Bello et al. 1982). By releasing workers after this period, multinational corporations effectively instituted a high turnover rate. Multinational corporations further benefited from the selective recruitment and hiring of (often young and single) female workers. Hence, by capitalizing on patriarchal structures which 30

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encouraged reduced labor costs, women’s comparative disadvantage in the capitalist wage-labor market enhanced the comparative advantage of firms that employed women in labor-intensive industries (Lim 1983; see also Chant and McIlwaine 1995).

Development diplomacy and personal sacrifice Throughout the 1970s the restructuring of the Philippine economy toward commercial agriculture and export-oriented industrialization radically altered domestic labor market conditions and relations. Denied access to traditional economic forms of subsistence (through the lack of landownership), yet more fully incorporated into the waged labor force, many Filipinos found in-country employment opportunities unavailable or untenable due to low wages. Indeed, Hutchinson (1997: 76) notes that approximately 82 percent of the non-agricultural workforce was outside the formal sector. As Peck (1996: 27) identifies, in capitalist societies the preparedness of workers to offer their labor in the labor market is largely secured by the systematic erosion of possibilities of subsistence outside the wage system. By extension, the erosion of subsistence-level wages within local labor markets serves to incorporate workers into the global labor market. The reorganization of the Philippine political economy was predicated on a discursive formation that emphasized individual and national discipline and, concurrently, the sacrifice of personal liberties for economic development (Timberman 1991: 91). The “New Society” was built on a repressive labor policy which banned strikes, eliminated unions, and entailed a downward revision of existing labor protection standards (Kuruvilla 1995: 130). Marcos claimed that the loss of civil liberties was regrettable, but a temporary price that Filipinos would have to pay for political stability, economic growth, and social reform (Rosenberg 1987: 331). As quoted in Villegas (1988: 70), Marcos explained that the Philippines “now has one of the lowest average [wage] levels in this part of the world. We intend to see to it that our export program is not placed in jeopardy at an early stage by a rapid rise in the general wage level.” The imbrication of martial law, the 1974 Labor Code, and a strategy of EOI provided a context for the emergence of overseas employment as a development strategy in the Philippines. Reflecting what Harvey would term a spatial fix, the emergent Philippine state migratory apparatus attempted to resolve internal economic problems through a disciplinary technique of labor exportation. Overseas employment as a state-mandated 31

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economic policy, though, constituted a reversal of governmental intention. Thus, while the earliest law (Act 2486) addressing overseas contract migration was passed by the Philippine legislature in 1915, the rationale of this act (and subsequent amendments) was to take advantage of the high private sector demand for cheap labor from the Philippine islands to raise revenue for the US government’s coffers (Gonzalez 1998: 119). Moreover, apart from these acts that were based on colonialism, prior to the 1970s Philippine government intervention in labor export was minimal. A prevalent discourse through the 1960s, for example, was concern with the ramifications of a potential brain-drain through the emigration of professionals (e.g., nurses). Consequently, although the export of labor was permitted, it was far from encouraged. Indeed, according to Go (1972), emigration of any sort was a source of concern. During the early 1970s, for example, numerous proposals surfaced that would reduce the volume and type of movement. Measures sought to curb the emigration of Filipino medical personnel by 50 percent, and to mandate new graduates to practice in the Philippines for a specified number of years before being allowed to leave the country. As codified in the 1974 Labor Code, all labor policies and programs were to be realigned with overall development goals. The emergence of the Philippine state migratory apparatus was thus firmly situated within the Marcos regime’s policy of development diplomacy. This policy perspective was predicated on the observation that “less-developed” countries contained large population bases as well as vital natural resources and that these would be used. In the case of the Philippines, the Marcos regime attempted to utilize the country’s surplus labor and the high demand for labor in oil-producing countries to demonstrate the feasibility of “interdependent development” (Gonzalez 1998: 34). Situated within a discourse of development diplomacy overseas employment emerged as an attractive opportunity to satisfy a variety of goals. First, overseas employment was expected to reduce levels of unemployment and underemployment (especially of the educated, professional surplus population) Second, overseas employment was presumed to improve the stock of human capital as workers returned with skills acquired from abroad. Third, the strategy was expected to promote Philippine development and alleviate balance of payment problems through mandatory remittances. As indicated in Article 22 of the Labor Code, all Filipino workers were (and still are) required to remit a portion of their foreign exchange earnings to their families, dependants, and/or beneficiaries in the Philippines. The amount varies by occupation: sea-based workers are mandated to remit 80 percent of their earnings; 32

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doctors, engineers, teachers, nurses, and other professional workers whose contracts provide for free board and lodging must remit 70 percent; and domestic and other service workers are required to remit 50 percent. A promotion of overseas employment, finally, also carried – potentially – political benefits. Overseas employment, for example, was perceived by the government as a politically safe and advantageous strategy. It was presented in such as way that the government was seen as providing jobs – although overseas – to the masses of unemployed and underemployed workers. The 1974 Labor Code (see Nolledo 1993) facilitated this shift in policy. Article 3, for example, specifies that the “State shall afford protection to labor, promote full employment, ensure equal work opportunities regardless of sex, race or creed, and regulate the relations between workers and employers.” Additionally, as stipulated in Article 12, it is the policy of the State to (1) promote and maintain a state of full employment through manpower training, (2) protect every citizen desiring to work locally or overseas through the securing of the best possible terms and conditions of employment, (3) facilitate a free choice of available employment, and (4) facilitate and regulate the movement of workers in conformity with the national interest. Lastly, as mandated in Articles 17.1 and 17.2 of the Labor Code, the Philippine state was to promote the overseas employment of Filipino workers through a comprehensive market promotion and development program and, in the process, “to secure the best possible terms and conditions of employment of Filipino contract workers on a government-to-government basis.” In terms of form, the initial Philippine state migratory apparatus was composed of three sub-apparatuses: the newly created Overseas Employment Development Board (OEDB) and the National Seaman Board (NSB), and the existing Bureau of Employment Services (BES) which was housed in the Ministry of Labor and Employment (MOLE; later renamed the Development of Labor and Employment, or DOLE). The OEDB and the NSB were responsible for market development, recruitment, and the securing of the best possible terms of employment for land-based and seabased workers, respectively. The BES was a government-run temporary employment agency that placed workers in domestic firms. Villegas (1988: 70) finds that the majority of Filipino workers drawn by local capital from BES employment offices replenished the production and assembly lines of Philippine industry, dominated by American interests. Hence, the one existing agency prior to the promulgation of overseas employment already had a history of catering to foreign interests. Consistent with the increasingly centralized regime of Marcos, and 33

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similar to developments in the export-agricultural sectors, the form of the Philippines’ overseas employment program was envisioned to be a government monopoly benefiting first and foremost the Marcos regime (see Hawes 1987; Alegado 1992). This was to be accomplished by the gradual phase-out of all private recruitment agencies. The public justification for the government monopoly, however, was that “since the Labor Code provided for the network of public employment which is supposed to be the premier vehicle for [the] national employment program, all tactical measures, including the overseas employment program, must serve to strengthen the network” (Martinez 1990, quoted in Alegado 1992: 171). The state monopoly of overseas employment failed to materialize for four interconnected reasons. First, the OEDB and the NSB were marred by corruption and inefficiency; second, the over-centralized government apparatus began to atrophy; third, the OEDB and the NSB were unable to manage effectively all facets of overseas employment; and, fourth, the private sector and coalitions of private recruitment agencies legally challenged the government’s proposed monopoly. In short, in its desire more fully to exploit the dynamic global labor market, and to profit from the mandatory remittances of overseas workers, the Philippine government allowed for greater private sector participation. By 1978, following Presidential Decree Number 1412, the government relinquished its proposed monopoly. The impact of this shift is clearly evident in the rise of the private sector. At the outset of the Philippines’ overseas employment program, there were 19 licensed agencies involved with recruitment and deployment; by 1979 the number had grown to 75. Currently there are over 2,000 licensed agencies in operation. The struggle for monopoly significantly transformed the nondiscursive practices of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. State institutions, specifically, assumed more regulatory functions and worked to strengthen the state–private sector relation. The bulk of the day-to-day recruitment and placement activities, on the other hand, were performed by the private sector. Following this merger, the magnitude of overseas employment increased rapidly. Between 1975 and 1982, for example, the total number of processed workers increased by 772 percent. Spatially, however, opportunities remained directed toward the oil-rich but labordeficient economies of the Middle East, namely Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. The incipient Philippine state migratory apparatus was thus able to capitalize on newly emerging employment opportunities throughout the Middle East and Asia. The 1973 oil embargo, for example, led to a 34

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quadrupling of oil prices. Consequently, with increased revenues, many Middle Eastern states (e.g., Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain) initiated massive infrastructure projects. Faced with acute labor shortages, either absolute or relative, these governments turned to the import of labor. Certain countries in Asia, likewise, were rapidly industrializing and thus required large supplies of cheap, disposable labor. Government officials in the Philippines were all too eager to take advantage of these demands. A particular discursive formation undergirding Marcos’s development diplomacy is apparent, namely that of neoclassical liberalism. Neoclassical approaches to migration posits population movement as a “natural” response to regional disparities. Usually approached from individual-oriented perspectives, people are presumed to make costbenefit decisions based on preexisting regional imbalances in wage and/ or employment rates. In the aggregate, neoclassical models expect that, through movement, wage levels reach an equilibrium, at which time migration will cease. The adoption of a neoclassical discourse of migration leads to the conclusion that, first, migration is beneficial and, second, that governmental interventions should facilitate movement. This is to be accomplished, for example, through the provision of information on employment opportunities, and a reduction to bureaucratic barriers to mobility (e.g., visas, medical clearances, and other forms of worker documentation). As current senator and former Secretary of Labor Blas Ople (1993: 22) writes, “When . . . I started the overseas employment program in 1974, I premised this on the theory that in less than two decades that the Philippine economy will have grown so robust the program could then self-destruct.” He further notes that “What began as an interim policy . . . has turned into an open-ended one” (Ople 1993: 23). Ople’s neoclassical understanding, though, was not the only discursive formation in operation. It is also evident that the Philippine state migratory apparatus was predicated on a discourse that sacrificed “bodies” for a more global vision of the nation-state. This is seen, for example, in a 1976 speech by Marcos: We have provided jobs for our people not only in our new and expanding industries but also in the world labour market. Filipino talents and skills are becoming ubiquitous in many parts of the world. Returning Filipino workers have helped improve our skills and technological standards. (Catholic Institute for International Relations 1987: 120) 35

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The emergence of overseas employment was thus situated within a nationalized developmental discourse coupled with a discourse of “personal sacrifice for national good.” To facilitate these visions, the government worked with the private sector in establishing model employment contracts for oversea workers. This signified an attempt to standardize the process and to create a highly efficient, regulated system to capitalize on foreign labor markets. Regulation, as Foucault reminds us, is not necessarily negative or exploitative. Indeed, greater regulation may facilitate better working conditions for contract laborers. The government, for example, was instrumental in setting standards for upgrading employment benefits, free passage, non-discriminatory wage rates, life insurance coverage, and the formalization of bilateral agreements. A significant transformation of the Philippine state migratory apparatus occurred in 1982 with the merger of the OEDB, the NSB, and the BES into the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA). This reorganization, as Asis (1992) writes, signified an intensified effort on behalf of the Philippine government to capitalize on the global economy and to use overseas employment as a national development strategy. As a sub-apparatus of the overall state migratory apparatus, the POEA today remains the most important government institution in the regulation of overseas employment. Presidential Decree No. 797 assigned the POEA with the formulation, implementation, and monitoring of overseas employment, hence intensifying its regulatory functions. Operationally, the POEA as a subapparatus has concentrated primarily on the regulation of recruitment agencies and the marketing of workers, leaving to the private sector almost the complete operation of the actual recruitment and placement of overseas workers. Statistically, the declining role of the government in the daily processing of workers is readily apparent: in 1975 the OEDB processed 48 percent of all overseas contract workers, yet following the creation of the POEA in 1982, the government’s share declined to just 2 percent. As enunciated in the Rules and Regulations Governing Overseas Employment, it is the policy of the POEA to: a b c

promote and develop overseas employment opportunities in cooperation with relevant government institutions and the private sector; establish the environment conducive to the continued operations of legitimate, responsible, and professional private agencies; afford protection to Filipino workers and their families, promote their interests and safeguard their welfare; and 36

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d

develop and implement programs for the effective monitoring of returning contract workers promoting their retraining and reemployment or their smooth reintegration into the mainstream of the national economy.

These policies effectively construct the framework of overseas employment, from the incorporation and allocation of workers into the global economy to the reintegration of workers to the Philippines. Significantly, though, these policies suggest that overseas employment is not part of the mainstream of the national economy, indicating perhaps a deviation from the imbrication of overseas employment and development. Rather than discursively connecting the export of labor with broader national development goals, overseas employment is increasingly portrayed as a means unto itself: the generation of capital for capital’s sake. The increased regulatory function of the POEA, combined with the broader structural changes of the global economy, resulted in significant changes in the gendered spatial patterns of deployed contract workers. A primary mission of the newly formed POEA, for instance, was actively to diversify the occupational and geographical make-up of overseas employment. Numerically, for example, the overall number of destinations increased from 74 countries and territories in 1975 to 130 in 1987. Moreover, although the majority of destinations remained in the Middle East, throughout the 1980s and 1990s Asian destinations were most common. Indeed, during the 1980s the proportion of Middle East-bound contract workers steadily decreased while, concurrently, the share of Asian-bound workers increased. This indicates, on the one hand, the “success” with which the Philippine state migratory apparatus was able to penetrate the dynamic Asian labor markets (see Skeldon 1992; Jones and Findlay 1998). Within Asia, economic and demographic trends conjoined to produce a significant demand for domestic work. The incorporation of women into the paid labor force, in particular, generated a high demand for domestic servants (Skeldon 1997; Huang and Yeoh 1996; Constable 1997). Moreover, the importation of female foreign domestic workers was (and continues to be) encouraged through labor-importing and labor-exporting state relationships. In 1978, for example, the Singapore government initiated a Foreign Maids Scheme which was designed to provide low-cost foreign domestic workers for dual-income families. Indeed, the labor force participation rate of skilled women in high-growth economies is still being sustained primarily by the continued immigration of women from low-growth countries (Huang and Yeoh 1996: 488). 37

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Migration as self-fulfillment The political downfall of Marcos and the concomitant accession of Corazon Aquino as president heralded significant changes for the political economy of the Philippines. Significantly, Aquino came to power with promises of democratic rule and the renewed participation of the masses. Indeed, her presidential slogan of “People’s Power” signified – or at least suggested – a shift away from the authoritarian rule of the previous government regime. As Chant and McIlwaine (1995) conclude, however, the overthrow of the Marcos regime was not a “social” revolution which led to fundamental changes in the organization of the government. Accordingly, despite mounting criticism of overseas employment, the new government effectively maintained, and indeed expanded, the existing policy of labor export. In particular, a renewed emphasis on labor in relation to social and economic goals was proclaimed in the first policy speech by President Aquino (Khan 1988: 9). The constitutional mandate and labor policy pronouncements under the Aquino government were reiterated as national development goals in the Medium-Term Philippine Development Plan for 1987–92. Those applicable to overseas employment include: 1

2

Overseas employment will continue to provide interim employment until such time that the domestic economy can generate enough jobs. Greater protection will be accorded to overseas contract workers against violations of contracts to ensure that they are employed under reasonable terms and conditions. More systematic processing of employment contracts shall be pursued, while productive investment schemes will be devised to generate additional revenues to finance welfare programs for overseas workers. Labor market facilitation for both local and overseas workers shall be improved to bring people and jobs together. Local employment services, public employment programs and job exchange centers shall be revitalized and upgraded to cope with the demands of an expanding labor force.

Thus, as a means of combating rising unemployment, the Philippine government continued to rely on overseas employment as an outlet. The state migratory apparatus, also, continued to view contract migration as a temporary stop-gap. The thrust of the new administration’s stance on overseas employment is summarized in Executive Order (EO) 247, passed in 1987: 38

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Whereas, it has become necessary to institute changes in the functional structure of the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration in order to enhance its effectiveness in responding to changing market and economic conditions and to the call of the national development plan for the strengthening of the worker protection and regulation components of the overseas employment program. Moreover, Section 4 of EO 247 states that the POEA will be “established along the areas of firstly market development and then employment, welfare, licensing, regulation and adjudication.” Significantly, EO 247 makes reference to the contradictions embedded within the Philippine state migratory apparatus, namely the penetration of foreign labor markets and the provision of migrant welfare and protection. However, the discursive emphasis clearly leans toward the marketing side. This is reflected in materials disseminated by the POEA in its marketing of workers. In 1987 the Marketing Branch of the Pre-Employment Services Division of the POEA launched its Overseas Info Series (OIS). As part of the “Information Network” of the International Labor Organization (ILO), the OIS regularly published articles on overseas employment, special sections such as “market situationer,” and statistical information. In the inaugural issue of the OIS, the POEA indicated that the administration was on the “verge of greater intensive market planning and strategizing” (POEA 1987: 5). Accordingly, the philosophy of the POEA was to adopt a “discriminating marketing approach” in the “development of labor markets for Filipino overseas contract workers” (POEA 1987: 5). This was to be accomplished through the penetration of “non-traditional markets” defined as either skills-based or geographybased, in the search for “high-benefit, high-growth areas suited for grooming [the] premium international image for the Filipino workers” (POEA 1987: 5). Moreover, it was the POEA’s mission to “equip itself with suitable surplus labor to fill demand trends” and to “ensure that no one market spoils [the Philippines’] overall market image and/or blocks . . . entry to newly emerging opportunities” (POEA 1987: 5). An overt concern with the representation of migrant workers is apparent. Government documents especially reflect a concern that any one particular occupation might spoil the image of the “ubiquitous” Filipino worker. In short, the POEA was apprehensive that it might be typecast as a provider of only one type of worker, such as domestic workers. Such a narrow image, it was felt, would jeopardize the POEA’s ability to 39

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exploit more fully other labor niches, such as technical fields. Accordingly the POEA, through its marketing division, developed occupationspecific strategies to diversify more actively the type of worker exported. In an ironic twist, the POEA’s guiding mission was to avoid fixing or essentializing the Filipino migrant worker. A second component of the POEA’s revised marketing philosophy was to equip itself with a suitable supply of surplus labor. This statement would suggest, therefore, that the primary concern of the POEA was not ceteris paribus to utilize existing unemployed or underemployed labor, but rather to generate further surpluses of labor. This was to be accomplished through the enticement of Philippine citizens to participate more actively in overseas employment, as well as through the continued emphasis of job training programs on marketable occupations. Thus, although the rhetoric of self-sacrifice – prevalent during the Marcos administration – was missing, the Aquino government remained weak on the provision of migrant welfare. The government was largely unresponsive to demands by critics to eliminate the program of overseas employment. Concurrently, numbers of processed and deployed workers steadily increased. Whereas in 1986 the POEA registered just over 323,000 workers deployed, by 1992 this figure had increased to nearly 550,000. This favorable and supportive attitude toward overseas employment remained throughout the Aquino administration (1986–92) and into the presidency of Fidel V. Ramos. Indeed, as Gonzalez (1998: 124) concludes, the Ramos administration’s policy on overseas employment remained similar to the past governments’ stance – strong in stating that it would maximize the economic benefits but weak in voicing its determination to minimize the social costs. According to President Ramos, “Overseas employment remains a strategic development program of our government” (1992: 6). To Ramos (1992: 6), “the overseas employment program is a major pillar of national development” and aside from easing the employment situation, it “also generates invaluable foreign exchange which is necessary to fund development projects and strategic programs.” Moreover, Ramos asserted that “Overseas employment . . . helps rectify world imbalances of income and human resources” and that “countries with large incomes but inadequate skilled manpower are able to help and get help from low-income countries with labor surpluses through international labor migration” (1992: 6). The Ramos administration, similar to previous regimes, continued to view overseas employment – now in its second decade of existence – as a temporary program. President Ramos opined that labor export would 40

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dwindle away as more industries located in the Philippines, an assumption articulated a decade earlier by Blas Ople. Perhaps indicative of a discursive shift, though, the POEA did claim in 1994 that “Overseas employment remains a viable and legitimate alternative for Filipino workers. However, it should be among many available options – not as a single, almost desperate, path to social mobility and personal growth” (1994: 3). This quote is revealing in that it simultaneously introduces a discourse of legitimacy (a concern made popular during the Sioson incident, see Chapter 4), but also a discourse of empowerment. Over the next few years the POEA in particular, but the Philippine state more broadly, would reposition overseas employment as a path toward “social mobility” and “personal growth.” Hence, overseas employment was discursive, framed as a means to provide self-fulfillment rather than simply jobs or money. In the post-Marcos political sphere, blatant assertions of self-sacrifice clearly would not suffice.

The embodiment of globalization The year 1995 marked a turning point in the development of the Philippine state migratory apparatus, and especially of the POEA. Two highly publicized trials of Philippine overseas contract workers threatened the very existence of the country’s overseas employment policy and further challenged the legitimacy of the broader Philippine state. The first case centered on Flor Contemplacion, a female domestic worker employed in Singapore; the second centered on Sarah Balabagan, also a female domestic worker, though employed in the United Arab Emirates. In 1991 Contemplacion was charged with the double murder of a Filipina domestic worker – Delia Maga – and a four-year-old Singaporean boy. Contemplacion had pleaded guilty to both charges, and in 1995 she was sentenced to death. Rumors surfaced that Contemplacion had been framed and forced to confess to both crimes. May (1997), though, suggests that with the upcoming government elections in the Philippines, politicians seized on the Contemplacion case. Throughout the trial, Contemplacion was repositioned as a martyr. President Ramos requested a stay of execution from the Singaporean government; Catholic Church leader Jamie Sin – who was instrumental in the People’s Power revolution that ousted Marcos – sought Pope John Paul’s intervention. All attempts, however, provide futile and, on 17 March 1995, Contemplacion was executed. Public outcry was tremendous in the Philippines. Protests were held; 41

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the Singaporean flag was burned. Adding to the furor, on the day of Contemplacion’s execution, President Ramos was in West Asia and Europe negotiating for trade and investment for the country, fueling arguments that the government willfully sacrificed Contemplacion’s case for monetary reasons (see Gonzalez 1998: 6). Criticism of Philippine officials was widespread, including the denouncing of the Philippine ambassador to Singapore and various top-ranking officials of the POEA. Congressional committees initiated inquiries into the Contemplacion case, as well as the broader context of overseas employment. During the summer of 1995, just months after the execution of Contemplacion, Sarah Balabagan went on trial for murder. Balabagan was a 15-year-old girl who entered the United Arab Emirates on a forged passport (she claimed to be 28 years old in order to bypass POEA regulations). In July of 1994 Balabagan was allegedly attacked and raped by her 85-year-old male employer and, in self-defense, Balabagan overpowered her employer and killed him. At the conclusion of the trial, Balabagan was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to seven years imprisonment. Paradoxically, she was also awarded US$27,000 as compensation for being raped. The judgment, not surprisingly given the verdict, was challenged by both the prosecution and the defense. Relatives of slain employer insisted that seven years’ imprisonment was insufficient punishment for “murder”; Balabagan’s lawyers reaffirmed that the domestic worker had acted in self-defense and thus was not guilty of manslaughter. In September of 1995 the seven-year sentence was overturned; however, Balabagan, incredulously, was re-sentenced to death. Following the political furor of the Contemplacion case, the potential execution of another Filipina domestic worker initiated substantial public protest in the Philippines. Ultimately the president of the UAE personally intervened. As a result of his negotiations, relatives of the slain employer dropped their demand for execution in return for a monetary “blood” payment of approximately US$41,000. In October, Balabagan was resentenced a third time, this time to 100 cane lashes and a 12-month imprisonment (of which she served approximately eight months). These two cases followed another highly sensationalized case, that of Maricris Sioson. In Chapter 4 I discuss in greater detail the events surrounding the death of Sioson; here, I simply mention that Sioson was an “entertainer” who died in Japan under suspicious circumstances. In many ways, the death of Sioson crystallized the plight of female entertainers and ushered in a radical reorganization of the legal deployment of female entertainers. The twin cases of Contemplacion and Balabagan, 42

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however, resulted in more farreaching changes. As Gonzalez (1998: 6) identifies: Contemplacion’s death heightened long-standing debates in the Philippines and exposed the lack of adequate government attention to the plight of Filipino overseas contract workers, not just in Singapore, but in all the labour-receiving countries. As a result, opposition parties, church associations, women’s groups, labour unions, and other OCW-oriented non-governmental organizations, assisted by one of the freest presses in the world, capitalized on the Ramos administration’s political vulnerability during the election campaign period. The events of 1995 resulted in the most significant reorganizations of the Philippine state migratory apparatus since the POEA merger of 1982. In April of 1995, following the execution of Contemplacion and during the trial of Balabagan, the Department of Labor and Employment disseminated a “White Paper on Overseas Employment” to provide the Philippine Congress background information for subsequent deliberations of bills to protect migrant workers. Subsequently, the drafting of House Bill No. 14314 and of Senate Bill No. 2077 was eventually consolidated into Republic Act (RA) 8042 and signed into law by President Ramos on 7 June 1995. Hailed as the “Magna Carta” of overseas employment (an ironic title given Marcos’s proclamation of the 1974 Labor Code), the Migrant Workers and Overseas Filipino Act of 1995, as RA 8042 was titled, signaled ominous transformations of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. Specifically, RA 8042 was an explicit avowal by the government that it did not promote overseas employment as part of the country’s development program. This is not the same, though, as eliminating overseas employment. As articulated in RA 8042: While recognizing the significant contribution of Filipino migrant workers to the national economy through their foreign exchange remittances, the State does not promote overseas employment as a means to sustain economic growth and achieve national development. The existence of the overseas employment program rests solely on the assurance that the dignity and fundamental human rights and freedoms of the Filipino citizen shall not, at any time, be compromised or violated. The State, therefore, shall continuously create local employment opportunities and 43

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promote the equitable distribution of wealth and the benefits of development. (POEA 1996: 2) As stipulated in this act, Filipino migrant workers now embody a key element in the national economy but, more importantly, the state ostensibly does not promote or capitalize on the movement of migrant workers as a source of capital accumulation. RA 8042, however, is more explicit in its attack on the POEA and, more generally, on overseas employment. Section 29 mandates the DOLE to formulate a five-year comprehensive deregulation plan on recruitment activities, while Section 30 mandates a gradual phase-out of all regulatory functions to occur within five years. This act, as Ball and Piper (2002: 1022) suggest, is based on the strong endorsement of a neoliberal stance of deregulating the responsibility of its institutions – the POEA and the Department of Foreign Affairs and its consular offices – for worker welfare. With its institutional existence in doubt, accordingly, the POEA recast its policies on overseas employment. In October of 1998 the POEA disseminated a “White Paper” on overseas employment. Entitled Managing International Labor Migration and the Framework for the Deregulation of the POEA, this paper was written to “allay fears about POEA deregulation and clarify deep seated concerns on [the POEA’s] new paradigm of managing migration” (Casco 1997: 2). Within this document, the POEA emphasizes its legal mandate as articulated by the 1974 Labor Code. More fundamental, however, is that the document outlines a specific discourse legitimizing the state’s existence as well as “migration.” The White Paper contends: “Managing a global phenomenon starts with understanding the philosophy of humankind, dynamics of migration, history and natural laws which cannot be repealed” (Casco 1997: 2). The POEA, and other constituent parts of the Philippine state migratory apparatus, are portrayed as being “controlled” by natural global laws. The document continues: The economic law of supply and demand is an irrepressible force in the global labour market, [more so] now with the globalization era. Unfortunately, this reality seems overshadowed by the application of national labour laws and administrative systems that perpetuate a pathological fallacy that labour migration is a program creation or innovation of government to address employment gaps. (Casco 1997: 2–3) 44

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This discursive positioning of migration as a natural feature appeared earlier; in a 1994 policy statement, the POEA indicated that “overseas employment is an inherent structural feature of the international economy.” Combined, these discourses of globalization deflect attention away from the actions of government institutions, suggesting that with or without governmental intervention, migration will continue. This essentialist explanation frames migration as a natural feature of not only the global economy, but also of humankind, and that migration operates beyond the reach of institutions. According to this discursive remaking, the POEA emerged not as a specific program of capital accumulation, but rather as an institution to “manage” a natural process. Indeed, this is evidenced by the POEA’s website wherein it boldly asserts that “Labor migration is a global phenomenon that should be managed” (http:// www.poea.org.ph). Compare this statement, however, with an earlier pronunciation of the POEA’s responsibilities: A discriminate marketing approach guides the development of labor markets for Filipino overseas contract workers. Tapping on non-traditional markets, whether skill-based or geographicbased, is geared towards high-benefit, high-growth areas suited for grooming premium international image for the Filipino workers. Responding to future higher skills demand, it is the mission of our marketing program to equip itself with suitable surplus labor to fill demand trends. It is our further concern to ensure that no one market spoils our overall market image and/or blocks our entry to newly emerging opportunities. When net returns are ascertained to be unfavorable in any market segment, it becomes our task to recommend suspension and/or closure of such market and pour resources into better alternatives. (POEA 1988: 6) In this passage, the POEA is clearly concerned with doing more than just managing a natural phenomenon. Rather, the POEA is actively producing migration through specific policies designed to exploit new labor markets, maintain existing markets, or to eliminate non-profitable markets. Unlike the emergent globalization discourse, this earlier statement indicates that the POEA articulated a pro-active policy that attempted to shape itself to the changing contours of the global labor market. Aside from natural laws the White Paper also discursively situates the 45

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Philippines within a particular global economy: What is the Philippine standing in the global imbalance of human resources? Media sensationalism tends to overshadow the fact that the global presence of Filipino labour is our strategic contribution to the global development, from which we reap net rewards central to the goals of our social economy. Managing means being able to objectively recognize and subsequently dominate our niche and comparative advantage and empowering from our weaknesses. (emphasis in original; Casco 1997: 4) This statement illuminates two key points. First, not only is international labor migration now represented as an inherent feature of the global economy, the Philippines likewise has been relegated by some natural law to a labor supply niche. Just as other countries are “blessed” with abundant supplies of natural resources such as coal or petroleum, the Philippines has been blessed – according to the POEA – with abundant supplies of labor. Structural conditions, such as the promotion of exportoriented industrialization and the expansion of agribusiness, fade dimly into the background. The Philippine state migratory apparatus must, for the benefit of the country, capitalize on this market niche – its natural comparative advantage in the global economy. Of course, this discourse denies any complicity on behalf of the Philippine government, or of any other government for that matter, in (re)producing conditions of global inequality. At another level, this statement is revealing in its allusion to the POEA’s ability to “objectively” recognize the economic playing field. The POEA, accordingly, draws upon a stock of representations associated with objectivity and the scientific understanding of migration. As Escobar (1995: 20) explains, science and expert discourses produce powerful truths and ways of creating and intervening in the world. The POEA, in effect, has repositioned itself not as a tool for capital accumulation, but rather as an omniscient authority that seeks objectively to manage a natural process. This objectivity, accordingly, masks the capitalist rationale underlying the promotion of overseas employment. A corollary discourse accompanies the globalization discourse, this being a shift from broader structural features to that of the “migrant” body. This embodied discourse subsequently hinges on the concept of “empowerment” and contains allusions to the recent political history of the Philippines. As stated in the “Declaration of Policies” of RA 8042: 46

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“The right of Filipino migrant workers and all overseas Filipinos to participate in the democratic decision-making processes of the State and to be represented in institutions relevant to overseas employment is recognized and guaranteed” (POEA 1996: 2). The POEA’s reading of RA 8042 is that the act “introduces a new legal paradigm, cognizant of an emerging trend in the global economy whereby individuals are becoming more and more empowered to freely access . . . global information and avail [themselves] of new modes for interactive distance communication” (Casco 1997: 5). This statement reveals continuities with earlier statements of the POEA, namely that “the empowerment of the worker populace in making well-informed decisions for which they will be held primarily responsible has been and is a key recognition” (Casco 1995: 1). In both of these documents, however, a discontinuity exists in that a movement away from migrant workers as “heroes and heroines” of the country is evident. Now, symbolically, the POEA’s discourse refers back to the revolutionary spirit that captivated the Philippines throughout Aquino’s “People’s Power” movement and the subsequent overthrow of Marcos. In another apparent reference to the dictatorial regime of Marcos, the White Paper explains: As human rights with democratic ideology, our migrant workers assert their constitutional rights and exercise their faculty of judgement to satisfy their socioeconomic needs and wants. No amount of legislative or other structural barriers can effectively suppress these natural drives and human rights unless enforcement of such barriers is undertaken strictly under an authoritarian regime. (Casco 1997: 4) Thus, in an ironic twist of historic interpretation, to deny Filipinos the right to seek overseas employment is equated with the very same authoritarian regime that contributed to the emergence of large-scale, government-sponsored overseas employment. Migrants are no longer discursively framed simply as heroes, sacrificing their bodies for national economic development. Rather, “migration” is now framed as an essential feature of one’s identity, and to deny individuals from acting upon these “natural drives” would be a violation of human rights. Through a discourse of the body, the Philippine state migratory apparatus claims to facilitate the empowerment of individuals in expressing their constitutional and basic human rights of movement. 47

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Empowerment, furthermore, is to be fulfilled through non-discursive practices that are predicated on a discourse of “full disclosure.” As outlined in an earlier POEA position paper, full disclosure calls for the policy norm that: honesty is the best policy. To promote a culture of well-informed public is to stimulate a universal environment conducive to it. . . . Full disclosure is not a matter of recognizing and accepting one provision of the employment contract and rejecting the others. It is laying the cards on the table and when one makes a decision, he is primarily responsible for that decision. (Casco 1995: 4) Through a neoliberal policy of full disclosure, therefore, all government and private institutions are tasked to provide all information – wages, working conditions, and so on – to empower potential workers to make informed decisions regarding overseas employment. The POEA thus seeks to empower individuals to make free and rational employment choices. However, the POEA further notes that migrant empowerment will still require the verification of information. Hence, “only a regulatory intervention which establishes legal liabilities of contracting parties [i.e., employers, employees, labor recruiters] and mandates an accountable institution to conduct verification can address this point of doubt” (Casco 1997: 6). Accordingly, the POEA maintains a prerogative to maintain and impose standards, but the ultimate decision is that rendered by the employer and the employee, each with “full” understanding of the “rewards and risks” (Casco 1995: 4). Following the logic of this policy, abused women and men are therefore considered to be willing participants in overseas migration through free and rational choice, with accountability for cases of exploitation being transferred to the migrants (Ball and Piper 2002:1023). As such, rather than increasing worker welfare, and despite the rhetoric, the full disclosure policy could be regarded as an undermining of worker welfare through state retreat from its responsibilities, with the transference of responsibility for exploitation away from government and private institutions towards the migrants (Ball and Piper 2002: 1023). The emergence of an “empowered migrant worker” has occurred simultaneously with other efforts of the Philippine state. As Kelly (1997: 157) identifies, the Ramos administration elided the prescriptions of neoliberalism with the cause of personal freedom. Kelly (1997: 157) identifies that, in the Medium-Term Development Plan (MTPDP) of 1995, 48

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The efforts of communicating the MTPDP/Philippines 2000 have been pushed into a more personal but dynamic dimension through the conceptualization of a modern Filipino role model – Juan Kaunlaran [John Progress]. As conceived, Juan Kuanlaran is the modern Filipino, empowered and globally competitive, who has risen above the self-deprecating images of the indolent Juan Tamad [John Lazy] and the submissive Juan de la Cruz. (National Economic and Development Authority 1995, as quoted in Kelly 1997: 157) As portrayed by the POEA, “Juan Kaunlaran” becomes an empowered, globally competitive migrant worker. Publicly, the POEA’s website reaffirms this position: The Overseas Filipino Worker is the heart of our existence. He is competitive and employed productively. He continues to hone his skills through education and training. He contributes to the country’s economic, social and cultural development through technology application in local industries and sharing of international experiences . . . Recognizing that labor migration is a global phenomenon, we maintain overseas employment as one option for the fulfillment of his aspirations. (http://www.poea.org.ph) A discourse of the body reveals both a continuity of earlier discursive formations, namely viewing migrant bodies as rational decision-makers, but a discontinuity in the specifics of decision-making. Previously, “migrants” may have decided to move as part of a grand altruistic motive to help the ailing Philippine economy. More recently, the decision to move is seen as liberating, empowering, a personal choice made in the context of the full understanding of the risks and rewards. The government, subsequently, promotes itself as an organization committed to the protection of individual rights, chiefly the right of individuals to choose migration. Discursively, this counters the claim that the state promotes or “exports” its workers in its quest for foreign capital. Consequently, the state effectively upholds the democratic principles of free choice and the freedom of movement.

A possessive market society On 3 May 2002 the POEA celebrated its twentieth birthday. The event was marked by inspirational messages delivered by high-ranking officials 49

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of the DOLE, POEA, OWWA, and other state apparatuses. Discursively, the POEA begins its third decade of existence under a renewed mandate, one that is discordant with a policy of “managed migration” but continues to resonate with earlier positions. In effect, the current discursive formation, one that I term a “possessive market society,” underlying the Philippine state migratory apparatus reveals both continuities and discontinuities with earlier formations. This discursive shift is evident in recent governmental publications, such as the Medium-Term Philippine Development Plan, 2001–2004. As articulated in this document, “Good governance operates under an investor-friendly and transparent regulatory framework and a level playing field” (NEDA 2001: 270). Reference to a transparent framework clearly forms a bridge with concerns of full disclosure; reference to investor-friendly practices, though, signifies something entirely different. In particular, the MTPDP trumpets a greater incorporation of Philippine labor into the global economy – an incorporation predicated not only on disclosure and globalization, but also aggressive marketing. Abandoning its earlier discourse of “managed migration” and migration being a natural process, the current state migratory apparatus is committed to an intensified program of worker deployment. Efficiency, based on a minimization of bureaucratic red tape, becomes a defining feature of contemporary discourse. President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, in her 2001 “State of the Nation” address (NEDA 2001: xiii–xxvi), for example, advanced an “anti-poverty” ideology. This consisted of four components: (1) an economic philosophy of free enterprise; (2) a modernized agricultural sector; (3) a social bias toward the disadvantaged; and (4) increased moral standards for government and society. To address the economics, Macapagal-Arroyo intimated that the way to fight poverty is through the creation of jobs, not their destruction. Accordingly, this “job creation” is to be accomplished through the attraction of foreign investment. A central point of the Philippines’ development strategy, therefore, is to “minimize bottlenecks to productivity” which includes “red tape at the national and local governmental levels” (NEDA 2001: xvi). The MTPDP indicates that the “private sector is the primary engine for employment generation,” whereas the government’s role is to “develop a competent, professional and productive bureaucracy that effectively enables the private sector to perform its role” (NEDA 2001: 32). Hence, the present formation exhibits continuity with earlier (circa 1980s) modes of incorporation of migrant workers in that the state (as typified

50

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by the POEA) fosters greater interaction between government and private agencies. As stated in the MTPDP 2001–2004: Overseas employment remains to be a legitimate option for the country’s work force. As such the government shall fully respect labor mobility, including the preference of workers for overseas employment. Protection shall be provided to Filipinos who choose to work abroad and programs to effectively reintegrate them into the domestic economy upon their return shall be put up. Better employment opportunities and modes of engagement in overseas labor markets shall be actively explored and developed, consistent with regional and international commitments and agreements. (italics added; NEDA 2001: 33) Reflecting a discontinuity from positions forwarded since the mid-1990s, however, the state currently does not portray migration as a natural process, but rather as something that is supported and controlled, not simply managed. Indeed, as specified in the MTPDP, one strategy entails the “forging of multilateral and bilateral labor agreements and arrangements for overseas employment” (NEDA 2001: 37). Also, similar to earlier programs during the aggressive marketing of workers of the 1980s, employment enhancement strategies target education and training programs in priority areas such as export-oriented industries, economic zones, the agricultural sector, and the overseas labor market (NEDA 2001: 38). Clearly paramount in the new era of overseas employment is the removal of bureaucratic obstacles. Accordingly, the state migratory apparatus is working to accelerate the implementation of the equivalency and accreditation programs of workers, as well as a streamlining of governmental regulations and restrictions to ensure greater efficiency in the promotion and movement of Philippine labor (see Chapter 3). In recognition of these efforts, I forward the argument that the current attitude of the Philippine state migratory apparatus exhibits consonance with Macpherson’s (1962) concept of a possessive market society. By this he means a society where there is no authoritative allocation of work or rewards, but rather a society in which there is a market in labor as well as in products. This conception resonates with the earlier discourse that migration is a natural phenomenon and that the POEA simply assumes the role of manager. And although the POEA has currently shifted its

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discourse away from migration as a natural phenomenon, there remains a continuity in the supposition that the provision of labor remains the Philippines’ global comparative advantage. This, then, conforms with the presumption that the market dictates wages. Macpherson suggests that labor is a commodity that is regarded not as an integral part of one’s personality, but rather as a possession, the use of which may be exchanged for a price. Within a possessive market society, market relations so shape or permeate social relations that it may properly be called a market society, and not merely a market economy (1962: 48). A market society is thus one in which individuals are presumed to “rationally maximize their utilities”; hence, each individual’s capacity is alienable (1962: 54). In other words, migrant workers, from the perspective of the POEA, willingly sell their labor – their property – on the market. Hence, their labor is something that is alienable but one that is a self-imposed alienation. Conceived, therefore, as rational, selfinterested calculators of their own welfare, protection is presumably placed on the workers as well. The Philippine state migratory apparatus, through educational campaigns and the provision of orientation seminars, attempts to provide information as to the risks and rewards of overseas employment. Thus, in accordance with a discourse of full disclosure, individuals weigh the perceived costs and benefits of overseas employment and subsequently act in their own best interest. In this chapter I have discussed the genealogy of the Philippine state migratory apparatus and highlighted the changing discourses that have accompanied its growth. Initially, migrant workers were perceived as taking away vital skills (brain-drain); later, particularly following martial law, overseas employment was promoted. International labor migration was seen as providing needed economic stimulants to a lethargic economy. Abuses were acknowledged, but it was up to individual migrants to make personal sacrifices for the good of the country. Hence, a continuity of Philippine migrant workers as heroes and heroines is evident. Following cases of abuse, though, there emerges a questioning of the “type” of migrants who are obtaining employment overseas (this will be revisited in Chapter 4). Most recently, the Philippine state migratory apparatus has represented migration not solely as a natural process, but clearly from a neoclassical understanding. There remains a discursive consonance in that, with concepts of full disclosure and empowerment, migrants are portrayed as individuals making free choices. Based on the contemporary – and competing – discourses of the global and the body, the Philippine state is (discursively) divested of any responsibility for either the current economic conditions of the country 52

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or of the exploitation of its workers. And although an argument can be made that the Philippines is in an unenviable position vis-à-vis the global economy, the impression remains that the government assumes no responsibility for the continuation of its overseas employment program. Moreover, accountability for cases of exploitation is transferred to the migrants. The overall regulatory function of the Philippine state migratory apparatus, as rearticulated following the imposition of RA 8042, is based on a conception of international labor migration at the global scale. The naturalness of migration, the succumbing of the Philippines to global laws of supply and demand, the Philippines’ naturally determined comparative advantage as a supplier of labor at the global level: all of these “factors” contribute to a global discourse of migrant labor. And yet the responsibility, the culpability, is played out at the level of the individual. Under an epistemology of full disclosure, it is the “migrant” who, in the final instance, decides whether or not to take a job overseas. And since he/she is fully aware of the risks, the government is not held accountable. This, again, serves to absolve the government of any responsibility and, at the same time, implicitly denies any culpability in reproducing the conditions that may augment exploitation. Last, this chapter indicates that discourses centered around a politics of scale are effective tools to garner support for existent and subsequent policies, and to deflect attention away from controversial or sensitive areas. Accordingly, policies that are pursued by the Philippine state migratory apparatus, that do in fact exacerbate conditions of exploitation and abuse, are ignored. Individuals are held accountable, not the POEA. In the next chapter I provide a discussion of the specifics in the making of migrant bodies.

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3 THE MAKING OF MIGRANTS

In 1969 only 3,694 contract workers left the Philippines to work in foreign countries. Now, approximately 4,000 workers leave the Philippines each day on a contractual basis. Between January and August 2002, for example, over 636,000 Filipino contract workers departed the country to work in 166 countries and territories. This constitutes a 4 percent increase over the same eight-month period for 2001. These statistics underscore the importance of institutional factors in the production of migration. Were it not for the emergence of state agencies such as the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA) (as described in Chapter 2), and the more than 2,000 private recruitment agencies, the geographical scale and scope of Philippine international labor migration would nowhere approach its present numbers. As Alegado (1997: 21) writes, [the] POEA, the “super” government agency in labor export policy, has gone about mobilizing the large pool of skilled Philippine labor for the international labor market with uncharacteristic efficiency, in the process redefining the way international labor migration is organized at levels unparalleled elsewhere in the world. Indeed, the POEA is literally a “model” apparatus, in that government officials from around the world, including Bangladesh, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, Eritrea, Hong Kong, and Sri Lanka have received orientations on POEA operations. Although the phrase “migration industry” is becoming well established in the literature (Hugo 1997; Jones and Pardthaisong 1999), the contribution of institutions to the production of migrants and migration, however, has not been well explored, either theoretically or empirically. 55

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Goss and Lindquist (1995: 335), for example, assert that the complex network of recruitment agencies and state institutions is remarkable in its absence from most accounts of international labor migration. Jones and Pardthaisong (1999: 33) likewise note that the role of various intermediaries, including recruiters, lawyers, and travel agents, remains little studied or understood. Only recently has a concerted effort been directed toward an understanding of the role of institutions within population movements. Here, the works of Manolo Abella, Kitty Calavita, Rochelle Ball, and Graeme Hugo stand out in particular. Given the relative lack of attention directed toward institutions within migration scholarship, it should come as no surprise that a concern with migrant discourses has also not been widely incorporated into the field. And yet, as Coe and Kelly (2002: 344) suggest, power over labor is not exercised solely through economic or legal compulsion, but is also asserted discursively through the creation of popular understandings of labor’s place in the economy and society. In this chapter I seek partially to fill this gap in the discussion of institutions, migration, and discourse. Leitch (1992: 131) observes that Foucault’s rendition of the knowledge/power nexus continues to galvanize theorists of institutions, though not, I suggest, in the field of migration studies. And yet it is through the interactions of power and knowledge that fields of objects (i.e., migrants) are made real through the activities of state apparatuses, universities, research foundations, the media, and so on. As Leitch (1992: 127) writes, it is through various discursive and technical means that institutions constitute and disseminate the systems of rules, conventions, and practices that condition the creation, circulation, and use of resources, information, knowledge, and belief. More properly, these institutionally situated discursive formations position the body as both an object of knowledge and a space for the exercise of power. Foucault is clear on this matter, in that he sees the subject and the knowledge of the subject, together with the institutional expression of that knowledge, as produced together (Edkins 1999: 50). Foucault, in making this point, uses the example of the “delinquent” and the discipline of criminology; I suggest that the same idea holds for migrants, refugees, and other “types,” and the corresponding study of human mobility: The penitentiary technique and the delinquent are in a sense twin brothers. It is not true that it was the discovery of the delinquent through a scientific rationality that introduced into our old prisons the refinement of penitentiary techniques. Nor is it true that the internal elaboration of penitentiary methods has finally 56

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brought to light the “objective” existence of a delinquency that the abstraction and rigidity of the law were unable to perceive. They appeared together, the one extending from the other, as a technological ensemble that forms and fragments the object to which it applies its instruments. (Foucault 1979: 255) My discussion so far has charted the production of migration as a socially constructed process; discursive formations as articulated by various state apparatuses purporting to provide a knowledgeable understanding of migration. However, to know the migrant is to make the migrant. This making, moreover, is not an abstract activity, but rather is contingent upon broader political and economic strategies. Within the Philippines’ overseas employment program, for example, the making of migrants is critical to the accumulation of capital. As Said (1979: 36) writes, knowledge of subjects is what makes their management easy and profitable; knowledge gives power, more power requires more knowledge, and so on in an increasingly profitable dialectic of information and control. Although in this chapter I consider at length the “migrant body,” I should also indicate up front that I do not subscribe to the concept of a transcendental self. Migrants, as I argue throughout this book, do not exist ontologically, but instead are discursively made. My immediate concern, therefore, is not so much with living bodies and individual behavior, but instead with the genealogy of discourses of migrants. In this way, I depart from previous theoretical conceptions of migration that posit the existence of a preexisting, transcendental migrant. Whether structural or behavioral, neoclassical or Marxian, migration studies presuppose the existence of (usually) rational decision-makers. Migrants are presumed to think, to make choices, and to act in response to a particular set of motivations and determinants. Consider, for example, Brochmann’s (1993) informative study of Sri Lankan female migrants to the Gulf. As a guiding question, Brochmann (1993: 39) asks: “Do the female migrants follow basically a bread-winning logic for the family as a collective, or do they also have their individual ambitions and desires?” The problem with this question, from a Foucauldian perspective, is that Brochmann presupposes a difference between “migrant” women and “non-migrant” women, thus obfuscating the observation that bodies choose to move, and thus through institutional processes become gendered labor migrants. This is a (perhaps) subtle difference, but significant nonetheless in that our understanding of the behavior of 57

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individuals is already positioned through the label of “migrant.” For this reason I concur with Foucault (1980a: 59), who explains that: one [has] to dispense with the constituent subject, to get rid of the subject itself, that’s to say, to arrive at an analysis which can account for the constitution of the subject within a historical framework . . . without having to make reference to a subject which is either transcendental in relation to the field of events or runs in its empty sameness throughout the course of history. In short, to paraphrase both Roland Barthes and Foucault, I call for the “death” of the migrant. To argue that migrants are discursively made, therefore, is not to suggest that people neither exist, nor move; nor is it to deny the importance of individual agency. Rather, it is to convey that the meanings associated with migration are politically and culturally contested. As Laclau and Mouffe (1985: 108) explain: The fact that every object is constituted as an object of discourse has nothing to do with whether there is a world external to thought, or with the realism/idealism opposition. An earthquake or the falling of a brick is an event that certainly exists, in the sense that it occurs here and now, independently of my will . . . What is denied is not that such objects exist externally to thought, but the rather different assertion that they could constitute themselves as objects outside any discursive condition of emergence. This “meaning” of migration is well illustrated in contemporary studies on “illegal migration.” Andreas (2000: 8), for example, documents that in the United States political actors do not merely respond to public pressure to “do something” about illegal migration but they “use images, symbols, and language to communicate what the problem is, where it comes from, and what the state is or should be doing about it.” Nevins (2002: 118) similarly argues that: like any other discursive device, a term such as “illegal” can serve to obfuscate . . . Thus, [for instance,] while many unauthorized immigrants come from Canada, Ireland, and Poland [to the United States], the dominant image of the “illegal” . . . is the former “wetback” – an unauthorized entrant coming from Mexico. 58

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Accordingly, the problem is to address the formation of discourses and to consider the effects of these discourses. In this chapter specifically, and this book in general, I emphasize economic conditions in the discursive formation of gendered migrant bodies. In so doing, I deviate from Foucault who, throughout his writings, simultaneously attempted to divert the analysis of power away from capitalist structures as well as state apparatuses. My deviation is based on two observations. First, I agree with Harvey (2000: 102), who contends that since we all live within the world of capital circulation and accumulation this has to be a part of any argument about the nature of the contemporary body. Second, as detailed in Chapter 2, the emergence of the contemporary Philippine state migratory apparatus’ discourse on migration is intimately associated with capital accumulation. For these reasons, therefore, it is salient to consider the institution-based discursive nexus of knowledge, capital, and power.

Accumulating bodies The Philippine state migratory apparatus currently operates within a discursive formation that positions surplus labor as the Philippines’ comparative advantage within the global economy. Accordingly, overseas employment, at least to the government, remains a viable development strategy to further capital accumulation. Migrant workers are represented as autonomous, knowledgeable, and empowered agents rationally acting in their own best interest. Underlying this representation, however, are numerous techniques of disciplinary power that contribute to this particular making of migrants. An engagement with these discursive formations and non-discursive practices is the main goal of this chapter: how are labor migrants made objects of knowledge and targets of power? However, to better appreciate these techniques it is necessary first to temporarily reposition the migrant as a body operating within a capitalist space of production, exchange, and consumption. In this initial section, accordingly, I draw on Harvey’s stretching of Marx to frame the migrant body as a site of accumulation. Unlike slave owners, capitalists do not purchase workers per se, but rather the capacity to work: labor power (Peck 1996: 23). Following Marx, the term variable capital designates the sale, purchase, and use of labor power as a commodity. Moreover, as Harvey (2000: 102–3) identifies, there is a distinct circulation process to variable capital, in that the laborer sells labor power to the capitalist to use in the labor process, in return for a wage which permits the laborer to purchase commodities, 59

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and onward in cyclical fashion. In consideration of the effect this circulation of variable capital has on bodies, Harvey further suggests that this process be segmented into three moments: productive consumption, exchange, and individual consumption. Bodies are transformed into components to facilitate the accumulation of capital. More properly, the productiveness of a person gets reduced to the ability to produce surplus value (Harvey 2000: 106). However, capital requires bodies in contradictory yet overlapping ways. Markedly, capital requires educated and flexible laborers, but simultaneously refuses the idea that laborers should think for themselves; capital requires certain skills, but abhors monopolizable skills; subservience and respect for authority is paramount, yet “creative passions” are still liberated and mobilized (Harvey 2000: 103). Accordingly, these contradictions must be worked out within the labor force but, as Harvey (2000: 104) further explains, the perpetual shifting that occurs within the capitalist mode of production ensures that requirements, definition of skill, systems of authority, divisions of labor, and so on are never stabilized for long. Notions of a corporeal productivity thus are imbricated within the contemporary discourse of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. The concept of “migrant” is constantly reworked to adapt to changing structural conditions. Likewise, these considerations set in place the context for the production of gendered bodies. Feminist scholars have contributed significantly to the understanding of these processes (Bradley 1989; McDowell 1999). This research has documented, for example, that women are often relegated to selected tasks, including the provision of food, care of the home, childcare, nursing the sick, teaching, and the manufacture of clothing. Apart from gender, other “traits” have been utilized by capital, often in overlapping ways. To this end, feminists have argued that while women operate within gender-restricted labor markets, racism and discrimination ensure that the position of “women of color” is even more restricted. Because of the heterogeneous demands of capital, a diverse labor force is required and thus employers may exploit these social divisions. Consequently, at any given moment, particular bodies are inserted into the production system to satisfy perceived needs and requirements. Historically, gender, “race,” age, and nationality have all signified what a certain kind of laborer is capable of doing or permitted to do (Harvey 2000: 105; see also Glenn 1992). For this reason, McDowell (1999: 134) argues that studies of institutions must “shift their attention to the characteristics of work rather than the workers, to explore the

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ways in which gender-specific traits and characteristics are attributed to men and women through the work they do.” Given that these social attributes figure prominently in the exchange of variable capital (labor power), it is important to consider more concretely how they are implicated in the making of migrants. Peck (1996: 34), for example, writes that the process of assessing a person for a job goes beyond whether they are capable of operating the technology in the required way, but also involves consideration of inherently unpredictable factors such as reliability, creativity, sociality, adaptability, and deference to authority. He further explains that these traits follow from the fact that labor is not a commodity, but rather a set of capacities borne by people. Nevertheless, these traits are inscribed on particular bodies, and, through marketing techniques, become commodified in the labor market. In agreement, Harvey concludes (2000: 106) that: insofar as gender, race, and ethnicity are all understood as social constructions rather than essentialist categories, so the effect of their insertion into the circulation of variable capital . . . has to be seen as a powerful force reconstructing them in distinctively capitalist ways. Discussions of labor exchange not uncommonly privilege the circulation of capital to the neglect of labor. Harvey (2000: 109), for instance, explains that different bodily qualities and modes of valuation achieved in different places are brought into a spatially competitive environment through the circulation of capital. However, capital is not the only mobile element, for migrant bodies literally embody the circulation of variable capital. Accordingly, following Harvey, we can speak either of the migration of capital to sites of labor sources or, conversely, the migration of labor to sites of capital. Sassen (1988), in The Mobility of Labor and Capital, expands on this consideration of labor–capital exchange. Specifically, Sassen (1988: 31) identifies four systems in which labor importation has played a significant role in the constitution of the labor supply needed for the capital accumulation process. In the first type, labor was imported into sites of capitalist accumulation that occurred in less “developed” areas, although the capital was ultimately transferred to “developed” countries. Examples of this association of labor and capital include the British importation of South Asian workers into the British colonies of present-day Malaysia, or the importation of Japanese workers into United States-owned plantations in Hawaii. The second

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form entails the import of labor in connection with capitalist expansion into lesser-developed regions, such as the large-scale movements of laborers to the United States during the nineteenth century. In a third type, labor imports are utilized to replace (or displace) labor in developed countries. This is seen in the practice of using foreign workers to discipline local workers. Lastly, labor importation is used to facilitate the accumulation of capital in developed countries, such as the current importation of workers into Japan. Crucial to the identification of these instances of labor importation and capital accumulation is that the representation of migrant workers will differ. Traditional studies of migration, for example, might position workers of the first, third, and fourth instances as either contract workers or, perhaps, as sojourners, whereas workers of the second instance may be portrayed as “permanent migrants,” “immigrants,” or even “settlers.” In short, the exchange of variable labor will entail a multitude of forms and, by extension, these forms will each be accompanied by distinctive discursive formations. Lastly, Harvey explains that laborers are not solely producers and the pivot of labor/capital exchange practices, but are also consumers in their own right. As participants of a capitalist system, workers receive wages in exchange for their labor power. Consequently, their ability to purchase commodities, and more broadly to participate in this circulation of labor, contributes to further capital accumulation. Critical here is the question of the consumption patterns of the workers: what do laborers purchase with their disposable income? Harvey (2000: 113) writes that: The organization, mobilization, and channeling of human desires, the active political engagement with tactics of persuasion, surveillance, and coercion, become part of the consumptuary apparatus of capitalism, in turn producing all manner of pressures on the body as a site of and a performative agent for “rational consumption” for further accumulation. These practices of persuasion, surveillance, and coercion are manifest, for example, in advertisements extolling the material benefits of overseas employment. Hence, newspapers and magazines in the Philippines routinely publish advertisements that show returning migrant workers laden with gifts (e.g., television sets, clothes, jewelry). In this manner, the production of migrant workers and the exchange of labor power in the global labor market are coupled with the encouragement to purchase consumer goods. Harvey (2000: 115) summarizes his argument on the circulation of variable capital: 62

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Capital continuously strives to shape bodies to its own requirements, while at the same time internalizing within its modus operandi effects of shifting and endlessly open bodily desires, wants, needs, and social relations (sometimes overtly expressed as collective class, community, or identity-based struggles) on the part of the laborer. Accordingly, migrant bodies are simultaneously producers, commodities, and consumers. This repositioning of migrants conforms with the existing discursive formation articulated by the Philippine state migratory apparatus. As empowered, rational decision-makers, “migrant” workers weigh the costs and benefits of overseas employment and, consequently, are seen to choose to participate in a process of capital production, exchange, and consumption. The incorporation of gendered, raced, and sexed migrant bodies in the Philippines’ development strategy, consequently, is far from a “natural process”; rather, it has been facilitated by what Foucault terms a “micro-physics of power.” Foucault (1979: 26) explains that: it is largely as a force of production that the body is invested with relations of power and domination; but, on the other hand, its constitution as labor power is possible only if it is caught up in a system of subjection . . . the body becomes a useful force only if it is both a productive body and a subjected body. This exercise of “bio-power,” a Foucauldian term which refers to the governmental regulation of populations, is critical in the incorporation of labor in that it constitutes “an indispensable element in the development of capital; the latter would not have been possible without the controlled insertion of bodies into the machinery of production and the adjustment of the phenomenon of population to economic processes” (Foucault 1990: 140–1). In other words, the making of migrants as objects, and the deliberate insertion of these workers into a strategy of overseas employment, has been critical for the continuation of capital accumulation. Again, as Sassen (1988: 26) demonstrates, the use of foreign labor, whether slaves or migrants, has been a basic tendency in the development of industrial economies. This discussion of bodies as sites of accumulation, though, remains incomplete with respect to the making of migrants. How, for example, are bodies initially made into objects? What means are employed discursively to produce migrants as objects for consumption by foreign 63

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capitalists? What non-discursive practices are exercised in relation to these discourses? And, last, what discursive formations are forwarded to individuals to participate in their own circulation (migration) as corporeal sites of accumulation? The remainder of this chapter addresses these four questions.

The objectification of migrants The object of a discourse is not a transcendental referent. As mentioned earlier, discourse is not about objects, for discourses constitute objects. This section details how bodies are discursively made into migratory objects by the Philippine state migratory apparatus as a means to further the accumulation of capital. An early caveat, however, is in order. I do not suggest that these discursive formations are “true” of population movements in general; rather, I provide a particular reading of the discursive formations as articulated by the Philippine state migratory apparatus during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. My intent is therefore not to provide closure or to assert a final, correct, reading. A first step in charting the discursive formation of migrants as objects is to locate the site of production. Initially, the discursive making of migrants – and specifically contract labor migrants – was situated within a collection of detached agencies, such as the Ministry of Labor and Employment (later renamed the Department of Labor and Employment) and the Bureau of Employment Services. More recently, institutions such as the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA), the Overseas Workers’ Welfare Administration (OWWA), and the Philippine Congress have continued in the reification of migrant workers. Other non-governmental institutions, such as the media and “migrant” assistance agencies provide sites of alternative discourses. Combined, it is through these institutions that objects (migrants) are initially made knowable. Naming and classifying are critical steps in the formation of objects and production of knowledge. Scholars of migration (or, alternatively, producers of knowledge of migration) have forwarded numerous classificatory schemes. Not uncommonly, researchers identify systems of migration and, consequently, deduce specific migrant types from these schemas. As a result, we now speak of internal and international migrants, sojourners, seasonal workers, cyclical migrants and guestworkers, transnational migrants, primary, return and onward migrants, snowbirds and sunbirds, refugees and displaced persons; the list is nearly 64

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endless. The Philippine state migratory apparatus, not surprisingly therefore, has developed its own typology of migrants. A first distinction is made between “settlement” migrants and “contract workers”; these latter migrants are referred to by various acronyms, including OCWs and OFWs (i.e., overseas contract workers and overseas Filipino workers, respectively). The POEA, for example, oversees the regulation of “contract workers” while the Commission on Filipinos Overseas (CFO) manages “settlement migrants.” Secondarily, the POEA further classifies migrant workers as either “land-based” or “sea-based.” Additional differentiation is based on occupation, placement site, and whether the worker was processed by a private recruitment agency, a name-hire (a person hired through personal contacts rather than through a government agency), or through the government-placement branch of the POEA. These classificatory schemes undergird the entire process of data collection, dissemination, and examination. Accordingly, all knowledge of contract labor migration, and consequently the formulation of policy, is predicated on these schemes. The accreditation of licensed recruitment agencies, for example, is based on the “type” of migrant to be deployed. Additional knowledge is produced on overseas labor market conditions. The POEA, for example, regularly disseminates information on demographic trends, shortages in skilled sectors, changes in immigration policies, and infrastructural projects in the planning stages. Moreover, the Philippine state migratory apparatus maintains an assemblage of thirty-three labor attachés and consul generals across the globe. The majority of these officials are stationed in primary labor markets, such as Saudi Arabia, Japan, and Taiwan. The production of knowledge by the Philippine state migratory apparatus intersects with contemporary discourses of contract labor migration as a managed response to globalization. Consider, for example, the statements of Patricia A. Sto. Tomas, Secretary of the Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE), and former Administrator of the POEA: We are looking at the world where competition is so much keener between and among nations not just for goods but for services as well. We are facing globalization and its effects, both within the country as well as relative to the movement of our people. The way we do things, our procedures, really ought to be reexamined in the light of the changes that [are] happening in the world. (POEA 2001: 2) 65

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In this quote Sto. Tomas acknowledges, first, the effects of globalization as a natural process and, second, that the Philippines’ position in the world is a provider of human services. Sto. Tomas continues: I think you also have to redefine just exactly what you are in business for. We used to be primarily concerned with welfare. I think in most of the countries in the world, while welfare continues to be a vital concern, the standard for taking care of the well-being of our compatriots has significantly improved. What we probably need now is a greater focus on marketing and how to ensure that the deployment of our workers can be done faster, better, and at the least cost to them. We probably also ought to set the ground rules for being able to meet market demands very quickly. (POEA 2001: 2) The Philippine state migratory apparatus is fundamentally in the business of labor deployment; bodies are positioned as objects within a global circulation of variable capital. Knowledge – whether of specific migrants or of labor market conditions – is generated to facilitate these circulations. Hence, given that discursive formations produce the objects about which they speak (Dreyfus and Rabinow (1983: 61), the discourse forwarded by the Philippine state migratory apparatus is one that emphasizes individual self-sacrifice and empowerment, imbricated with institutional management and the inevitability of globalization. Gender, however, has not figured prominently in the official production of knowledge by the Philippine state migratory apparatus. Only recently, for example, has the POEA provided detailed information disaggregated by sex; without this breakdown, interpretations of contract labor migration are portrayed as genderless processes and patterns. Missing, for example, is detailed – and timely – information on familial situations, marital status, occupations in the Philippines prior to overseas work, educational status by gender and age, occupations upon return, and so on. Accordingly, scholars generally rely on temporally irregular and geographically limited surveys (cf. Asis 2001). I should note, though, that more detailed information is available by request. For earlier papers, for example, I was provided statistics disaggregated by sex, occupation, origin, and destination (see Tyner 2001; Tyner and Donaldson 1999). Unfortunately, these data are neither regularly published nor easily accessed. Lamenting the restriction of data to broad occupational type, Battistella (1992: 128) identifies that “without such 66

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improvements [in data collection and dissemination], not only research and appropriate action become impossible, but the impression is generated that the only aspect considered of interest is the trend of the labor market.” This situation suggests, again, that the Philippine state migratory apparatus simply considers migration as an economic phenomenon and the migrant as variable capital. Battistella (1992: 128) is thus correct in his assessment in that, through a particular form of knowledge production, as manifest in the classification, collection, and dissemination of data, a particular discourse of migrant workers and migration is forwarded: as an object to facilitate the accumulation of capital.

The discursive marketing of migrants The above quotes of Labor Secretary Sto. Tomas reflect the competitiveness of overseas employment. The Philippine state migratory apparatus, consequently, devotes considerable time and effort in its repositioning of its labor force as a viable commodity. It becomes essential, for both government and private sectors, to discursively construct Filipino contract workers in such a way as to increase their marketability. This has been accomplished initially by ascribing certain desirable traits onto the bodies. The Philippine state migratory apparatus, accordingly, promotes a certain type of worker, consistent with the demands of foreign employers. Images associated with Philippine workers specifically coalesce around traits of reliability, docility, competence, and low cost. One brochure distributed by the POEA, emblazoned with the caption “We’ll do the work for you!” reads “Whether on board ocean going vessels or working in various company projects, Filipinos contribute management and operational know-how in various industry sectors. They are properly educated and well trained, proficient in English and of sound temperament.” While the English-speaking ability is perhaps obvious in a global labor market, the other attributes of being “well trained” and of “sound temperament” signify docility and subservience. Another brochure proclaims that the Philippines is “ahead of the rest when it comes to sending the right man for the job. The Filipino worker offers an international standard of performance excellence, deserved only by the most intelligent hiring decisions.” The brochure further states that “Because he is the skill and talent that you need, we’re sure he’ll be the formula of productivity: ABLE MINDS + ABLE HANDS.” As if this mathematic reasoning is not sufficient, it is explained that Filipino workers “blend with ease with different cultures, environments, and 67

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situations. Their discipline, talent, dedication, facility in communication and loyalty to their employers make them a prime choice in staffing decisions.” Combined, these promotional brochures are revealing in their discursive representation of Philippine migrants workers as “loyal” and “disciplined.” The reference to an “international standard” moreover attempts to distance these workers from those of other countries. Last, this marketing material, through references to “intelligent hiring decisions” and “prime choice in staffing decisions,” caters to the egos of foreign employers by alluding to the rationality of hiring Filipino workers. Significantly, brochures (like the ones referred to above) frequently represent Filipino workers as either genderless or as men (e.g., textual references to “he” and “him”). This is not always the case, however, as other promotional materials draw attention to socially constructed sexual divisions of labor. In these instances, men are most likely to be portrayed as either professional or construction workers, whereas women are depicted as nurses, domestic helpers, or entertainers. In one brochure distributed by the POEA, for example, a photograph depicts three Filipinos and three Filipinas. Of the men, one is dressed (presumably) as an engineer with a t-square in his hand, another as a construction worker, and the third as a ship-based officer. Of the three women, two are dressed in the stereotypical uniforms of a nurse and a maid, while the third is shown wearing a mini-skirt and holding a guitar, thus signifying that she is an entertainer. Not only do these brochures draw on preexisting stereotypes of men and women as a marketing ploy, the existence and continuance of these representations serve to reinforce the notion that these socially constructed sexual divisions of labor are natural and normal. Private recruitment agencies, similar to government institutions, also promote their product (migrant workers) as hard-working and subservient. The Malaysian-based agency Apex Manpower, for example, categorizes domestic helpers according to a “personality” profile. Categories include “D” (dominant), “I” (influential/expressive), “S” (steady/amicable), and “C” (compliant/competent) personalities; it is further suggested that good housemaids are those with a strong “C” or “S” personality, since these types are easier to teach and control (Tyner 1999). Related to questions of psychology, the physical fitness of migrant workers is commonly stressed in marketing campaigns. This resonates with other research that finds that slender, healthy bodies signify a wellmanaged, disciplined individual. It reasons therefore that “fit” bodies 68

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signify disciplined bodies which, in turn, signify disciplined workers. Accordingly, the discourses surrounding the migrant body as a fit body – as seen in the photographs of vibrant, active workers – are mutually reinforcing. McCormack (1999) also contends that health and fitness discourses suggest that the fit body is a flexible body, one that can be matched to the needs of the corporate workplace. But “beautiful” bodies are also important for another reason, and this conforms an additional, and often over-looked, motivation in the hiring of foreign labor, namely the hiring of workers as a status symbol. This is seen perhaps most clearly in the discursive making of domestic helpers (e.g., maids, babysitters, and so on). As previous research identifies, employers of foreign domestic workers, whether in Asia, the Middle East, North America, or Europe, “purchase” more than labor power: this scholarship suggests that employers also purchase a specially cultivated “image” to match their perceived labor needs. Similar to owning the right car, or living in the right neighborhood, it becomes essential for some employers to employ the proper maid. As Chin (1997: 372) finds in Malaysia, the ability to employ a foreign female domestic worker has come to symbolize the achievement of “middle-classhood” and status. Female foreign domestic workers become, in effect, positional goods. Constable (1997), likewise, in her study of Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong, identifies that workers of different class and racial backgrounds can be especially effective for affirming the employer’s status. Constable, moreover, finds that employers attempt to control their employees’ style of clothes (e.g., length of skirt, whether pants are accepted), make-up, shoes, length and style of hair, and even the length of fingernails and toenails. Almost every part of the worker’s body, literally down to her toes, may be subject to the employer’s control (Constable 1997: 96). Also, it is not uncommon to find instances wherein migrant workers are classified by skin complexion (e.g., fair, tanned, or dark). Both Andall (1992) and Humphrey (1991), for example, identify the existence of racial hierarchies in the marketing and hiring of domestic workers. They find that employers in Italy and Jordan, respectively, typically prefer to hire “lighter-skinned” Filipinas as opposed to “darker-skinned” Sri Lankan women. Apart from skin complexion, other corporeal information may be provided, such as age, height, and weight. These bodily characteristics cannot simply be attributed to job performance; instead, this suggests that indeed something more than labor power is being purchased. In recognition of this motivation, the making and marketing of migrant workers proceeds accordingly. In short, the purpose of promotional materials is to sell a product: in this case, the Filipino migrant worker. It does so through the discursive 69

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making of migrants. Filipino labor is packaged, commodified, and advertised. The messages embedded in these materials mirror the motivations – whether the purchase of labor power or of an image – behind the demand for temporary migrant workers.

Non-discursive practices Foucault (1979: 26) explains that “the body becomes a useful force only if it is both a productive body and a subjected body.” What is required, therefore, are techniques for subjecting bodies to be more readily inserted into economic systems. This finds consonance with Marx (2000: 86), who argued that “The product of labor is labor that has solidified itself into an object, made itself into a thing, the objectification of labor.” Indeed, Foucault (1979: 145) writes that “production [is] divided up and the labour process [is] articulated, on the one hand, according to its stages or elementary operations, and, on the other hand, according to the individuals, the particular bodies, that [carry] it out.” The making of migrant workers as a cheap, reliable supply of mobile labor conforms with this perspective. In this section I forward the argument that rules and regulations that undergird “migration” are seen as non-discursive disciplinary practices. It is not quite accurate, however, to suppose that non-discursive practices are merely the material manifestation of discourses. Instead, discourses contribute to the articulation of practices and, in turn, are themselves rearticulated. Thus, rather than positing a cause-and-effect relationship between discursive formations and non-discursive practices, it is best to consider these as dialectical. The Philippine state migratory apparatus advertises Filipino migrant workers as “internationally shared human resources.” In practice, therefore, government institutions must formulate and carry out specific programs to facilitate this corporeal exchange of labor power for capital. To this end the Philippine state migratory apparatus, led by the POEA, has forwarded a three-pronged strategy to actuate its production of contract migration. A first goal is to sustain existing markets. Thus sites where Filipino workers are firmly entrenched, such as the deployment of domestic workers in Singapore and Malaysia, are to be maintained. This is to be effected through specific practices, including marketing missions, the establishment of bilateral agreements, direct-mail campaigns, more effective promotional materials, employer recognition programs, and focused training programs. Consider, for instance, the practice of marketing missions. As explained in an annual report, “A good part of the overseas marketing strategy [is] to preserve the big Filipino market 70

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share [through] the dispatch of overseas missions” (POEA 2000: 9). Marketing missions are specific, state-sanctioned visits of Philippine officials to foreign sites. These missions reflect a variety of purposes. Some may, for example, be welfare-related, or dispatched in response to a particular legal case. Labor market assessment, however, is often the principal reason. Participants involved on any particular mission depend on the situation and type of mission, although in general members of the DOLE, the POEA, the OWWA, and the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) are present. Typically, missions are designed to obtain current information on potential labor markets, or to negotiate a particular labor contract. During one mission in 1989, for example, the POEA dispatched officials to Hong Kong in response to a perceived labor shortage situation: there were an estimated 115,000 advertised vacancies. Receiving word that the Hong Kong authorities were liberalizing the importation of temporary contract workers, the POEA determined that Filipino workers, because of their English-language ability, would be preferred in the hospitality and service sectors (e.g., hotels, travel agencies). Following the completion of the marketing mission, the POEA designed and implemented four specific marketing strategies. First, an active information campaign between the POEA and the private sector was initiated. This was to transmit the most current information on the new labor importation guidelines to the private recruitment agencies in the Philippines. Second, the POEA launched a direct-mail campaign whereby lists of directories of Hong Kong employers were provided to the private sector. Third, the Philippine labor attaché based in Hong Kong was asked to continue to monitor developments and to maintain close contact with the POEA. Last, the POEA set forth to liberalize its own processing procedures for Philippine workers bound for Hong Kong. For example, the authentication of documents for female workers hired under the scheme were to be waived. This liberalization of requirements was designed to make the Philippines more attractive to potential Hong Kong employers. Numerically, total deployment to Hong Kong increased from 50,652 workers in 1991 to over 122,000 in 1998. More recently, and in conjunction with the newly implemented strategies of market development, the Philippine state migratory apparatus has conducted marketing missions to Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, Lebanon, Taiwan, South Korea, Malaysia, Macau, Guam, Palau, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, the Marshall Islands, Panama, Malta, Cyprus, Germany, Ireland, Norway, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and Greece. Apart from marketing missions, the POEA regularly invites delegates from labor-importing 71

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countries to witness firsthand the making of migrants. The POEA likewise regularly publishes labor market updates, country fact-sheets, and immigration regulations. A second goal of the Philippine state migratory apparatus has been to expand existing markets. Japan provides a good illustration of this strategy. Currently, the majority of Philippine contract workers destined for Japan are employed in the entertainment sector (the subject of Chapter 4). Under this new strategy, the POEA will attempt to expand the Japanese market through the export of other types of workers (e.g., nurses). Indeed, in recognition of the aging population of Japan, members of the Philippine state migratory apparatus anticipate an increased need for healthcare workers in Japan in the years ahead. Accordingly, the Philippine state migratory apparatus is attempting to reposition itself to capitalize on this emergent market. Additionally, bilateral agreements have been reached with Denmark and the Netherlands for seafarers, as well as an agreement with Norway for the provision of medical workers. A shortage of 5,000 foreign medical doctors and 3,500 foreign nurses had been identified for the latter country. The POEA has also endeavored to deploy computer engineers and programmers to South Korea, as well as medical and manufacturing workers to Malaysia. A third strategy has been to enter non-traditional labor markets. Consequently, both the DOLE and the POEA have sought arrangements with countries that currently do not, or only minimally, employ Filipino workers. Europe especially has become a site of interest. In 2001 the DOLE identified a substantial demand for highly skilled workers, including nurses, teachers, information-technology (IT) specialists, teachers, and computer technicians in the “knowledge-based economies” of especially Germany, Ireland, and the United Kingdom. Consequently, whereas just 502 Filipinos were deployed to England in 1998, over 10,500 workers were deployed in just the first eight months of 2002. Deployment to Ireland, likewise, increased from only 18 to 3,260 in this same period. Overall, total deployment to Europe increased from 26,422 in 1998 to more than 43,000 in 2001. The POEA likewise has been following developments in lesser-developed countries in Asia, notably Vietnam, Myanmar, Laos, and Cambodia, as these countries are projected to require foreign technical and managerial expertise in the years ahead. Between January and August in 2002, the Philippines deployed 1,104 workers to these four countries, up from 978 deployed over the first eight months of 2001. These non-discursive practices, designed more fully to incorporate 72

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Filipino labor into the global economy, are accomplished through an invigorated government/private sector partnership. Other practices, apart from the dissemination of relevant information on labor market conditions and travel advisories, includes the streamlined registration of employers, an expansion of in-house processing capabilities, a greater use of the internet to process documents, and a deregulation of migrant restrictions in selected geographical areas. In effect, these practices provide greater efficiency in the overall process of contract and deployment of workers; concurrently, however, these practices result in a relaxation of protective mechanisms. To this end, therefore, these nondiscursive practices mesh with the present discursive formation of the Philippines as a provider of fast, efficient, and reliable labor. Recently, for example, a system termed Bilis Dokumento sa POEA (translated as “Speed Documentation at POEA”) was implemented to ensure the processing of documents of migrant workers within 24 hours; likewise, a “Quality Management System” was launched to ensure fewer documentary requirements and shorter processing times for transactions within operating units of the POEA (see POEA 2001: 3). As an indication of institutional efficiency, the POEA is currently able to process worker contracts and overseas employment certificates for land-based workers hired through private agencies within two hours (a reduction from the previous eight hours) while government-placement branch workers are processed in four hours. The accreditation processing time of foreign employers has also been shortened, from three days to just 24 hours now. The processing time for sea-based principals was reduced from 12 days to only 32 hours. These practices are not gender-neutral. As alluded to above, the Philippine state migratory apparatus may selectively promote female workers if dictated by labor market demands. More broadly, however, it is possible to disentangle particular gendered differences in the making of migrants. The work of Abella (1995) and Lim and Oishi (1996: 98), for example, clearly document the gendered aspects of migration practices and policies. Combined, their research indicates how certain administrative requirements or procedures are frequently applied more stringently in the case of women than of their male counterparts. Indeed, Abella (1995: 245) concludes that with few, if any, exceptions no restrictions to male migrant workers are related specifically to their sex. Consider, for example, the following practices. The Indonesian government mandated that women be at least 22 years old to migrate, while the Thai government (in 1980) banned entirely the migration of women, although exceptions have been made for certain countries such 73

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as Japan and Singapore (Abella 1995; Lim and Oishi 1996). Lim and Oishi (1996: 102–3) also note that the Pakistani government initially set a minimum age requirement of 45 years (later reduced to 35 years) on female migration. Gendered restrictions, as these examples indicate, are often fused with geographic or occupational parameters. Lim and Oishi (1996: 102) report, for example, that India banned the migration of women to work as domestic helpers in Western Asia as early as 1961, although this has been relaxed to permit the legal migration of female domestic workers over 30 years of age. Pakistan and Sri Lanka, similarly, had previously prohibited the out-migration of nurses, while Bangladesh would only permit women to work in certain countries as domestic workers if accompanied by their husbands (Abella 1995; Lim and Oishi 1996). With respect to the Philippines, as of the late 1990s women, seeking employment as domestic workers were required to be at least 25 years of age, while female nurses were to be over 23 years old and in possession of a Bachelor of Science degree in nursing and one year of work experience in the Philippines (Lim and Oishi 1996: 103). Entertainers, the subject of Chapters 4 and 5, were to be over 23 years of age. Gender and racial stereotyping underpin labor recruitment in all sectors. Gendered segmentation, in particular, results from social constructions of domestic (sexual) divisions of labor and the segmentation of daily activities into productive tasks and reproductive tasks. Those activities within the productive sphere are posited as contributing to the material well-being of society; reproductive tasks are those commonly associated with the reproduction of society, including cooking, cleaning, and childcare. Reasons for women’s marginalization in paid labor markets is well documented (Kanter 1977; Adkins 1995). Income may be assumed to be secondary to the maintenance of a household, and hence used as a excuse to justify lower wages. Discourses purporting to reflect the attitudes and behaviors of “immigrant women,” likewise, may be used to justify unequal treatment. In Vancouver, for example, Pratt (1997: 167) finds that gendered and racialized stereotypes provide a means of displacing demands for higher wages. Pratt (1997: 167) elaborates that Filpina nannies who demand higher wages are framed as greedy women, in ways that call upon stereotypes of incivility and childishness. Occupations may also be labeled as semi-skilled or nonskilled, thus dictating (in the employers’ eyes) lower wages. (Note that racialized stereotyping, as documented by Stiell and England, further lowers wages.) Women are presumed to have a natural affinity, or inherent skill, for domestic work. Not surprisingly, these gendered (as well as racialized) assumptions permeate the recruitment and deployment 74

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of bodies within the Philippines’ overseas employment program. Among the most prevalent are gendered assumptions of docility, productivity, disposition, and strength. Indeed, as Chant and McIlwaine (1995: 288) explain, “women’s perceived ‘weaknesses’ constitute grounds for their exclusion from jobs identified with strenuous muscular activity; likewise, assumption that women are unable to understand and operate technical equipment excludes them from certain mechanized occupations.” The interconnections of gender, labor market demands, and “race” is perhaps most evident in the recruitment and deployment of female domestic workers. The work of Christine Chin, Kim England, Shirlena Huang, Rhacel Parreñas, Geraldine Pratt, Bernadette Steill, Diana Wong, Brenda Yeoh, among others, on the channeling of female bodies into domestic occupations has been especially illuminating. Important insights have especially been provided into the institutional aspects of gendered occupations. Pratt’s (1997) study of domestic workers in Vancouver, British Columbia, for example, and the intermediary role of agents in “matching” employees with employers, details the prevalence of a racialized hierarchy among European and Asian domestic workers. European “nannies,” in this setting, are viewed as “professionals,” whereas Filipina nannies are perceived more as “servants.” Pratt also provides insights into the process whereby recruitment agents within the labor market inscribe onto Filipinas both gendered and racialized identities. In so doing, she effectively illustrates the heterogeneity of the category “woman” in that the discursive representations and subsequent employment experiences of Filipina and British women are significantly different. She finds, for instance, that recruitment agents were in agreement that Filipina domestic workers were expected to do and actually do more housework than European nannies, and they often labeled Filipinas as housekeepers, while Europeans were referred to as nannies. Pratt’s findings are supported by the work of Bernadette Stiell and Kim England (1997), who examine the discursive construction of domestic workers in Toronto, Canada. Situated in a context of global economic restructuring and a sectoral shift toward services in Toronto, Stiell and England examine the interlocking relational systems of gender, “race,” nationality, and citizenship within the employee–employer relationship. Specifically, they identify that Anglophone nannies were more likely to obtain jobs with better hours and less, or no, housework compared with their Filipina or Caribbean counterparts. Lastly, evidence indicates that female Indonesian domestic workers are typically advertised as being less expensive than their Filipina counterparts, as well as being perceived as more docile, teachable, and obedient (see Tyner 1999). 75

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Gendered and racialized discourses, though, are malleable. Constable (1997: 35), for example, in her study of Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong, notes that “once viewed as a cheap, docile, and ideal solution to the labor shortage, by the late 1980s Filipinas were considered far too savvy, assertive, and contentious.” In other words, as Filipinas began to assert themselves to obtain better working conditions, their discursive representation changed. As such, some Hong Kong employment agencies suggested that Thai women would make better domestic workers; discursively, Thai women are constructed as more passive and submissive, in part because of their Buddhist background (Constable 1997: 36). Aside from exit restrictions, gender figures prominently in specific recruitment practices. Considerable work has documented the numerous forms of recruitment. The maintenance of registries, or “manpower” listings, represents a common form of recruitment. When potential applicants approach either the POEA or a private recruitment agency, they may sign up and wait for an employment opportunity. Formal processing of the workers occurs when the agency receives a job request matching the qualifications of the worker-applicant and a contract is subsequently signed. Another recruitment technique includes the use of advertising. This may be conducted either “on-site,” such as the posting of job listings in the agency’s window, or through advertisement in local newspapers. Often these advertisements, published by either a recruitment agency or even a private employer, reflect gendered, nationality, and/or racialized stereotypes. Typical employment requests printed in Hong Kong newspapers, for example, read: “Cheerful, live-in Filipina maid/cook wanted” or “Temporary Filipina maid wanted . . . clean, tidy appearance” (Mission for Filipino Migrant Workers 1983). Other forms of recruitment include the use of sub-agents. Costs and difficulties, however, mount with these more active techniques. Constraints are embedded within governmental rules and regulations surrounding the recruitment of workers, and legalities exist as to where recruiters may solicit worker applicants. Recruitment-related practices may also contribute to the production of gendered patterns of migration. Abella (1995: 245), for instance, relates that the Indonesian Department of Manpower allowed private recruiters to charge at most US$870 for each man recruited, while it allowed a fee of up to US$1,350 to be charged from foreign employers for each (presumably female) domestic worker placed abroad. Consequently, private recruiters specialized in the recruitment and deployment of female domestic workers. At this point it is important to point out that these patriarchal 76

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assumptions are not formally sanctioned in government documents (Tyner 1994). Most official policies, indeed, specify in some detail that sex discrimination is neither tolerated nor condoned. Accordingly, gendered, racialized, or even nationality-based discourses are manifest in the day-to-day interactions of government officials, labor recruiters, and other members of the state migratory apparatus. Consequently, further research should direct attention to the informal channels that produce specific networks of migration, and the material consequences of these discourses and practices.

Discursive formations and subjective incorporations Having discussed the formation of migrant bodies as objects and the associative non-discursive practices, I now raise a final question as to why any given individual would participate in this process. The work of Peck (1996), for example, details that a multitude of economic and personal factors will be manifest. As discussed in Chapter 2, the lack of opportunities outside the waged labor system, coupled with limitations within the waged system, contribute to the incorporation of workers into the overseas employment program. Dependent upon waged employment as a means of subsistence, and unable to find adequate employment in local labor markets, workers are induced to seek employment in foreign sites. But these “determinants,” as detailed previously, are not sufficient for the production of migration. Writing of work in general, Peck (1996: 27) suggests that a process of worker socialization serves to underpin the necessity, indeed the desirability, of waged employment: someone is gainfully employed. Peck (1996: 28) continues that waged work plays a key role in the acquisition of adult status and social validation. With respect to overseas employment, both government and private institutions work to ensure the compliance of bodies to participate in their own circulation of variable capital. Consequently, there exists a need to promote the desirability of working overseas (e.g., higher wages), and also a concurrent need to counter negative representations (irrespective of the “truth” of these counter-discourses). Thus, for example, the Philippine state migratory apparatus may attempt to minimize the down-sides of overseas employment, which may include the separation from family and friends as well as the potential increased risks and uncertainties of working in a foreign country, while stressing the benefits of remittances. Following Foucault, I do not support the argument that “migrant bodies” participate in potentially exploitative or oppressive systems 77

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because of some false consciousness. The notion of false consciousness, as Mills (2002: 33) writes, assumes that there is a consciousness which is not false and, by extension, this speaks more broadly to the ontological position that there is simultaneously a true (e.g., right) and a false (e.g., wrong) explanation. Rather, I maintain that there are multiple readings, some consistent, others contradictory, as to why any given individual would “accept” a job overseas. A more pressing project, I believe, is to consider the particular discursive formations and non-discursive practices forwarded by the Philippine state migratory apparatus in an attempt to socialize workers to participate in a program of overseas employment. For the Philippine labor migration industry this is especially prevalent in the discursive making of migrants as heroes and heroines. In March of 1987, for example, President Aquino signed Proclamation No. 91 which declared the last week of March as “Overseas Filipino Contract Workers’ Week.” Additionally, in June of 1988, Proclamation No. 276 heralded December as the “Month of Overseas Filipinos.” Combined, these two proclamations reaffirmed the government’s intention of maintaining overseas employment as a vital development strategy (see Chapter 2). Discursively, however, these contributed also to the signification of contract workers as “heroes and heroines” within the Philippines’ own version of a War On Poverty. More recently, 7 June was declared “Migrant Workers’ Day.” This now annual celebration marks the signing of Republic Act 8042, the “Magna Carta” of overseas employment, and thus signifies the empowerment of migrant workers. On this day the POEA conducts free medical services for migrant workers and their families (e.g., x-rays, blood tests, the distribution of free medicine), legal assistance, and the sale of low-priced commodities such as rice, sugar, soap, and canned goods. According to a DOLE press release detailing Migrant Workers’ Day of 2002, moreover, it was announced that the government had developed an “infomercial” on The Great Filipino Worker to be shown on international channels, including the Discovery Channel. Other festivals and events, beyond the marking of days, weeks, and months, have also been held. Beginning in 1984 (although halted between 1986 and 1988), for example, the Bagong Bayani (loosely translated as “New Heroes”) Awards have been conferred on overseas Filipino workers who, through outstanding deeds or acts of heroism while employed overseas, have brought recognition and honor to the country. Additionally, every December the POEA sponsors Pamaskong Handog (translated as “Christmas Gift”), an event that includes the 78

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provision of assorted services for returning overseas workers, including free medical services, free telephone calls, a trade fair, and entertainment. Lastly, in 2000, a commemorative stamp, in honor of the country’s “modern heroes,” was issued to mark the “Year of the OFW” (POEA 2000: 17). Together, these events, campaigns, and awards discursively position overseas employment not so much as a regular job, but as an opportunity to “stand up” and be recognized as an exemplary citizen. Consequently, the potential dangers and risks associated with overseas employment are reframed as challenges to be overcome in a performance of nationalism. Labor migration thus becomes a technique of social validation wherein self-sacrifice is positioned as a heroic endeavor for both family and nation. Nevertheless, the Philippine state migratory apparatus is mandated with the provision of migrant welfare. This task, however, is seemingly at odds with the making of migrants. It is commonplace, for example, to assert that the Philippine state migratory apparatus is faced with the contradictory goals of market promotion or migrant protection. However, these seemingly contradictory goals may exhibit consonance if one considers that discursive formations and non-discursive practices associated with migrant protection actually facilitate market promotion. Consider, for example, Ball’s (1997: 1620) assertion that: The promotion of worker welfare is the most important and complex of state functions, underriding almost all areas of state intervention, for without the state to be seen to be providing some degree of minimum protection of OCWs, and worker willingness to work abroad, the overseas employment industry would experience serious decline and the state’s legitimacy would be severely compromised as a result of the heavy reliance placed by families, and the state, for their respective survival and continued viability, on the overseas employment industry. (italics in original) This indeed is a critical perspective on the state’s provision of minimum requirements and exhibits consonance with my earlier discussion of the objectification of migrant bodies. The provision of bodily welfare has an ulterior, and latent, purpose: the provision of the state’s own welfare. In this manner the state apparatuses undergirding overseas employment may couch welfare in terms of people’s needs, but these goals are actually utilized to augment the state’s power and to ensure its continued 79

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legitimacy. Ball (1997: 1620) elaborates that “though workers function as commodities, they remain people whose interests must be safeguarded at least to a minimum degree of acceptability if the overseas employment industry is to continue.” This argument, accordingly, affords little room for the provision of counter-discourses, to identify particular practices that merit constructive criticism. In the end, the Philippines’ program of overseas employment is embedded within a capitalist global economy; as such, exploitation will continue despite the machinations of the Philippine government. Moreover, as Ball (1997: 1621) correctly observes, The institutional effectiveness of the POEA is fundamentally compromised by its broad charter which requires that it foster national capital accumulation through the export of its nationals often under circumstances where the rights of workers are difficult, sometimes impossible, to enforce. Specifically, within the realm of international relations, the relative weakness of the Philippines’ political economy restricts its ability to adopt hard-line positions on the subject of migrants’ rights. The dilemma of market promotion or migrant protection appears, at least to Battistella (1999: 238), to be a false one. It should be feasible for the various state apparatuses to promote overseas labor while still maintaining standards of welfare provision. With this in mind, I now consider some lesser-publicized practices of the Philippine state migratory apparatus in the promotion of worker protection, namely those more positive practices that also support the incorporation of bodies into circuits of labor. Perhaps most recognized is the existence of programs designed to provide vital information to workers prior to departure. In 2001 the POEA conducted 756 pre-departure orientation seminars and 846 preemployment orientation seminars, providing information to over 34,000 and 25,000 potential workers, respectively. Since 1983, for example, the POEA has maintained a pre-departure orientation seminar (PDOS) program. Instituted by the first Administrator of the POEA, now Labor Secretary Patricia A. Sto. Tomas, the PDOS has been a mandatory requirement for all Philippine contract workers. These seminars are conducted by the POEA as part of its effort to provide needed information, often on a country-by-country and occupation-by-occupation basis, on the specifics of overseas employment. In principle, PDOSs are to

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include discussions of the disciplinary code and obligations of Filipino contract workers (e.g., familial responsibilities, remittances, payment of taxes); terms and conditions of employment; job site conditions; customs, languages, and practices of the host country; government services available (e.g., embassies, labor attachés); and travel tips. Information on health-related concerns, such as the transmission of HIV/ AIDS is also provided. Indeed, the POEA has worked closely with various NGOs to provide greater awareness of the transmission of HIV/AIDS. The NGO Action for Health Initiatives (ACHIEVE), for example, has participated in various POEA-sponsored events (e.g., Migrant Workers’ Day festivities) and other programs. Under RA 8054, the Philippine AIDS Prevention and Control Act of 1998, all documented Filipino contract workers are required by law to undergo an HIV/AIDS seminar. Apart from the POEA, there currently exist nearly 400 licensed private recruitment agencies, three recruitment associations, and six NGOs that are authorized to conduct pre-departure orientation seminars. The agency associations include the Association of Service Contractors of the Philippines (ASCOP), the Overseas Placement Association of the Philippines (OPAP), and the Philippine Association of Service Exporters, Inc. (PASEI); the six NGOs include the Advancement of Workers Regarding Employment, Inc., the Center for Overseas Workers (COW), KAIBIGAN, the National Greening Movement Foundation, the Women in Development Foundation, and the ZONTA Club. Reintegration programs, focusing on the other “end” of movement, constitute a different type of practice. These are programs designed more fully to integrate returning workers in the Philippines’ local labor markets. Beginning in 1987, for instance, the Overseas Workers’ Welfare Administration has maintained a migrant workers’ reintegration program. More recently, in December 2002, the first Overseas Filipino Worker Family Circle Congress was held. Attended by over 2,000 migrant workers’ families, the event featured keynote addresses by President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and Labor Secretary Sto. Tomas. Currently more than 154,000 families have been helped through such programs. Working toward improvements at the job sites, Labor Secretary Patricia A. Sto. Tomas has been active in seeking protection for Philippine contract workers, working through the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC), the General Agreement in Trade and Services (GATS), and the ASEAN Free Trade Agreement (AFTA). Sto. Tomas likewise has requested the Singapore Trade Development Board to

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undergo labor education sessions provided by the DOLE. Two further examples will suffice. First, as of 1 May 2001, government clinics and hospitals in the UAE no longer provided free or subsidized medicines to foreign workers. This policy change at the destination site would adversely affect lower-paid workers, such as domestic helpers, drivers, and cleaners. Accordingly, the POEA issued Memorandum Circular No. 07, series of 2001, reminding all licensed agencies to strictly enforce the requirement that all Filipino contract workers undergo a pre-employment medical examination. Second, in 2002 the Philippine Overseas Labor Office in Hong Kong helped Beatriz M. Cabanilla, a Filipino contract worker, win a $HK150,000 discrimination settlement. Cabanilla was hired to work in Hong Kong as a domestic helper; after three days of employment, however, she was terminated when her employer noticed that Cabanilla had deformed hands. The Philippine state migratory apparatus must also respond to the death of overseas workers. In December 2001, for example, Rosalia Reyes was killed and four other Filipino workers were injured in a suicide bombing in Haifa, Israel; nine months later, in August 2002, two other Filipinas, Adelina Cunanan and Rebecca Ruga, were killed in a suicide bombing in Israel. In both cases both the DOLE and OWWA provided financial and other assistance to the families of the deceased. No bans on the deployment of workers to Israel, however, were proposed. Other global events have ushered selective bans as well as additional safeguards. The DOLE and the POEA following the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in New York suspended deployment to critical areas, including Afghanistan, Iran, and Pakistan. The DOLE, moreover, maintains contingency evacuation plans in the event that evacuation of overseas Filipino contract workers is required. Beginning in September 2001, accordingly, the government began tracking approximately 600 Filipino workers who were employed in these areas. Additional contingency plans were enacted following United States military intervention in Afghanistan. Coupled with the DOLE and the POEA, other government agencies assisting in the evacuation of Filipino workers will include the DFA, the OWWA, and local-based Philippine overseas labor officers (POLOs). Though far from exhaustive, this discussion has highlighted a series of non-discursive practices that seem to go beyond the provision of minimal standards. Other statements and actions do, though, offset these practices. Battistella (1999: 239), for example, notes that in 1998 the DOLE asked the DFA to lift a travel advisory discouraging migration to

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risky countries, such as Algeria, where the demand for construction workers was increasing. Likewise, Asis (1992: 75) details that the PASEI objected to a ban on the private sector deployment of domestic helpers to Hong Kong by President Aquino. Moreover, studies suggest that certain welfare-based practices, such as the PDOS and PEOS (Pre-Employment Orientation Seminar), do not fulfill their mandates. One study, for example, estimated that as many as 90 percent of private recruitment agencies accredited to give PDOS were providing substandard programs or no programs at all (Scalabrini Migration Center 1992). This same study likewise concluded that “Agencies and associations in the private sector must balance their concern for the worker with the need to sustain profits in the highly competitive recruitment industry” and, as a result, “Recruitment agencies as well as POEA have a vested interest in not stressing the negative aspects of overseas employment” (Scalabrini Migration Center 1992: 12). Finally, Tadiar (1997) persuasively argues that particular discursive formations of migrant workers, and especially of domestic helpers, are used politically to represent the nation-state. Tadiar (1997: 168), for example, writes that: One recognizes a convergence of violating images: the image of the destroyed, drained, destitute labouring body of the nation (a body in debt, in lack), the image of the violated, sullied domestic body, and the image of the shattered and scattered national body abroad. All of these images are invoked by the image of Filipinas being taken out of or leaving their home country and selling the labour which properly belongs within that “home.” What can we conclude from these contradictory discourses and nondiscursive practices? Clearly, members of the Philippine state migratory apparatus are fully aware of their position as the “leading” exporter of labor and intend to maintain this place in the global hierarchy of migrant labor provision. Former President Joseph Estrada (POEA n.d.), for example, explained in a 1999 speech at the Philippine Maritime Summit that “We must . . . uphold our reputation as the manpower capital of the world.” However, presuming a priori that the Philippine state migratory apparatus exists solely to exploit bodies in an attempt to accumulate capital, risks oversimplifying a complex, and highly contested, program that impinges on literally millions of persons. One needs to consider the historical and geographical conditions necessary for the appearance of an object of discourse, the institutional settings, the social practices, the

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competing discourses, and the multiple disciplinary techniques of normalization, classification, hierarchicalization. This is the subject of Chapter 4. Lastly, to suggest that migrant workers are objectified – in short, discursively made – is not to imply that people are mere passive victims and thus devoid of agency. Chapter 5 will address this aspect of the story.

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4 THE PROFESSIONALIZATION OF ENTERTAINMENT

As identified in Chapter 2, female professional workers outnumber their male counterparts by a large margin (see Table 2.6). Between 1992 and 2000, for example, of the 458,819 professionals deployed from the Philippines, 76 percent were women. In 2000 alone, nearly 86 percent of all deployed professionals were women. Of the 78,684 professionals deployed in 2000, moreover, 59,505 (approximately 76 percent) were entertainers. Breakdown by sex is even more pronounced. In 2000 women accounted for 97 percent (57,523 out of 59,505) of all deployed entertainers. An alternative reading of these statistics reveals that of the 67,454 female professionals in 2000, 85 percent were entertainers. Of their male professional counterparts, however, only 18 percent were entertainers. Male professional migrants from the Philippines, in other words, are indeed found in more commonly recognized “skilled” occupations such as engineering and computer programming. Women, however, remain concentrated in “semi-skilled” jobs that are predicated largely on the servicing or entertaining of men. The Philippine Overseas Employment Administration categorizes entertainers – discursively renamed overseas performing artists – as professionals. Overseas performing artists (OPAs) are defined by the Philippine state migratory apparatus as dancers, composers, singers, and musicians. The Philippine state migratory apparatus further identifies that “Entertainers, or Overseas Performing Artists are one of the most vulnerable groups of workers comprising our overseas deployment picture” (POEA 1995: 1). Critics of the deployment of OPAs, however, claim that these women (and men) are in actuality prostitutes who are either coerced or deceived into the sex industries of foreign countries, notably Japan. My concern, at this point, is not whether OPAs should or should not be classified as professional workers. Neither is my purpose to “prove” that 85

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all, most, or some entertainers engage in sexual activities. A more significant question, I maintain, is how this occupation became professionalized. Moreover, what political contestations surrounded this categorization? What alternative discourses are counter to the professional discourse? What non-discursive practices have accompanied the professional discourse of OPAs? In addressing these questions I remain deliberately critical of all discourses surrounding OPAs, whether these discourses are disseminated by government officials, academics, journalists, private recruitment agents, or activists: all of these “knowing” authorities claim to speak the “truth.” In an interview that originally appeared in 1977, Foucault (1980c) spoke of a “political economy of truth.” He suggested that “truth” is characterized by five traits. First, “truth” is embedded in particular discourses and the institutions which produce them. In other words, what is taken (or given) as truth is defined precisely by those individuals and institutions that make use of “truthful” statements. Second, “truth” is contingent upon political, economic, and social demands. “Truth” therefore operates in tandem with political economies. Third, “truth” circulates, is transmitted, and is utilized in different situations by different participants. Fourth, “truth” is produced and transmitted under the control of only a few political and economic apparatuses. These apparatuses include, for example, universities, the media, government agencies (e.g., the POEA), and NGOs. Fifth, “truth” is at the core of political debates and social confrontations. In short, as Foucault (1980c: 132) writes, there is a battle “for truth,” or at least “around truth” – it being understood . . . that by truth I do not mean “the ensemble of truths which are to be discovered and accepted,” but rather “the ensemble of rules according to which the true and the false are separated and specific effects of power attached to the true,” it being understood also that it’s not a matter of a battle “on behalf” of the truth, but of a battle about the status of truth and the economic and political role it plays. Following Foucault, therefore, it is my contention that there is no ontological “truth” regarding migrants in general and OPAs in particular. Rather, there exist political contestations that rise to assertions of truth and not-truth. It is through our temporary suspension of all “truth claims” that the conditions under which questions of truth and falsity emerge in their historical and geographical contingency (McLaren 2002: 44). 86

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A politics of discourse examines discursive formations in terms of what political interests are served, how these formations contribute to a politics of truth, who potentially benefits from these positions, who speaks on behalf of whom and, lastly, what particular subject positions emerge from them (Barker 1998: 15). Moreover, even within a particular discursive formation, there exists a multitude of competing discourses. Sometimes these are muted; at other times they may emerge as hegemonic. Foucault wrote at length in providing a possible method to disentangle the complexities of competing discourses and discursive formations. Among the possible approaches, here I consider three concepts that are critical. First, it is necessary to determine the possible points of diffraction of discourse; how statements are either incompatible or equivalent (Foucault 1972: 65). Second, in recognition that all the possible alternatives are not realized, one must account for the choices that were made out of those that could be made. Foucault refers to this as the “economy of the discursive constellation” (1972: 66). Third, an analysis of statements highlights a “principle of rarity,” namely, a principle that everything is never said (Foucault 1972: 118). Accordingly, one would be concerned not only with the existent discourses – those that are circulated – but also with the absent discourses – those that have not been incorporated into the discursive constellation. In the following section I identify a set of dominant discourses that encompass the movement of overseas performing artists (e.g., the poverty-stricken woman; the willing victim; the prostitute) and one discourse that has not been widely circulated. Later I indicate that in the construction of policy only selected discourses have been incorporated. Last, I identify the emergence of a new discourse – that of a professionalization of performing artists – and relate this back to the broader discourses of making migration as identified in Chapter 2.

Entertaining discourses The movement of Filipinas as entertainers is typically portrayed as a desperate flight of poverty-stricken women using sex as a means to a better life. Indeed, a discourse of poverty is symptomatic of much research on female migration in general. It is commonplace, for example, for academics, journalists, and activists in particular to write of the poverty confronting migrant women. Naoko (1987: 87) thus writes that “poverty . . . is the primary cause of the emergence of migrant women.” David (1991: 13) echoes these sentiments when he argues that the migration of entertainers reflects the “desperation that extreme economic 87

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poverty induces in migrants from an impoverished country.” Discursively, though, this sets apart women from their male counterparts, suggesting that poverty and economic conditions are not reasons for the movement of men. By framing the discussion in gendered terms, men are reified as active agents, whereas women are portrayed as passive victims succumbing to economic hardships. A related discourse to that of the exploited migrant fleeing poverty is that of the willing victim. This discourse, ironically, is linked to feminist studies that have emphasized the agency of women in migratory systems. Studies of Philippine households, for example, have revealed how daughters often migrate to help their families (Lauby and Stark 1988; Trager 1988; Medina 1991; Root and DeJong 1991). Lauby and Stark (1988: 485), for example, find that “families in the Philippines may be willing to rely on daughters to supplement their income, because traditionally daughters maintain close ties with their families of origin, even after marriage.” This results because “daughters are taught to be responsible family members . . . while sons are given more freedom and are expected to be more independent” (Lauby and Stark 1988: 485). Thus, Ballescas (1992: 23) finds that women who migrate as entertainers “do not leave for their own selves but for the sake of their families – their parents, their spouses and children, their brothers and sisters.” Nuqui (1993: 17) likewise observes that: Filipino women often take it upon themselves to sacrifice everything for the sake and well-being of their family. That is why even if the jobs available to the Filipino women entail high risk or sometimes debasement of their dignity, they just ignore the obvious danger that awaits them and the possible stigma by society in hope that their stint abroad would pay off in terms of a better quality of life for her family. Knowing of the risks involved in overseas employment, yet compelled to accept these risks out of family obligation, a discourse of the “willing victim” emerges. According to this discourse, these women are aware of the potential abuses that is associated with their occupations, but nevertheless choose to go. Suzuki (2000: 145) rightly identifies that many activists have made little effort to clarify differences between Filipina migrant workers, arguing simply that Filipinas are abused and exploited. Suzuki (2000: 145) further explains that “As with similar representations of prostitutes elsewhere, Filipina ‘entertainers’ have been contained within prevailing images without being granted any sign of agency, and 88

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have thus been reduced to female ‘slave-dolls’ who come under the control of omnipotent ‘masters’.” This discourse likewise resonates with earlier discursive formations, including the self-sacrificial perspective of the early Marcos years and, later, the embodied migrant operating within a context of full disclosure. Of the various discourses that constitute Filipina migrant entertainers, arguably the most pervasive is that of the prostitute. Indeed, discussions in the literature often equate “entertainers” with “prostitution” although both government organizations and private agencies are quick to question the “truth” in this statement. Nevertheless, both supporters and critics of overseas employment utilize the discourse of prostitution in forwarding their arguments. In the process, Filipinas are recast as either sexually available or sexually deviant women. These discourses, moreover, exhibit a continuity with earlier representations associated with sex tours to the Philippines. During the 1980s, for example, when “sex tours” were widely and openly marketed for tourists to the Philippines, numerous gendered and racialized discourses were in circulation. Filipinas, in particular, were represented as “exotic,” “sensual,” and “readily available.” Wolfe (1974: 35), for example, writing for Travel and Leisure, claimed that “Filipino women are among the loveliest in the world.” Barnes (1981) was more direct: “The exotic cocktail of genes that makes up the Filipino race was mixed with rare finesse – the Filipinos are unreservedly beautiful people.” To paraphrase bell hooks (1992), for tourists to the Philippines, ethnicity was a spice, a seasoning that could liven up the dull dish of their mainstream culture. It was this seasoning of bountiful pleasures, treasures, and wild adventures that helped sell global travelers on the Philippines. Where else but the Philippines, it was said, could one experience the “sophisticated gum-chewing queens of the night and the remote regions [that] still shelter lost tribes of jungle dwellers and head-hunters?” (Barnes 1981). According to one guidebook, “there are many bars with hospitality girls always ready for a chat” (Peters 1987: 58). In fact, during the early 1980s there were an estimated 70,000 to 100,000 women available for a chat in Manila, with another 200,000 to 300,000 throughout the country (Hall 1992: 70). Sex seemed to be anywhere and everywhere (or at least that is how the promoters advertised the country), ready for the taking. Barnes continues that “night in Manila is the liveliest place in Asia. The girls are openly welcoming; many a traveler seeking a brisk thrill has ended up with a wife.” The sexuality of the Philippines was presented as not just in the nightclubs of urbanized areas, but also extending into rural provinces. 89

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Barnes (1981) points out that “just a couple of hundred miles from the scantily clad gogo dancers of Manila bars, the bare-breasted women of the mountain tribes still live a life of eons-old patterns.” Peters (1987: 59) likewise observes that the “private operators” around Manila are “picturesquely” called “hunting girls.” By equating the semi-nude dancers of nightclubs with traditional culture, Barnes’s numerous images of bare-breasted women and references to genetics appear normal, a way of life. In similar fashion, the term “hunting girl” signifies primitive headhunters. The images of the Philippines, and Philippine history and culture, therefore, become conflated and equated with the sexuality of its women. Also references to hunting and allusions to head-hunting bespeak a latent danger, heightening the “sport” of international tourism. We see a repetition of themes, a continuation of the highly publicized media events of boxing matches and beauty pageants. Perhaps it is to be expected that some guidebooks and adult-oriented magazines would represent the Philippines as a land of sexual delights. However, during the heyday of the tourist boom, even more “enlightened” periodicals such as the Far Eastern Economic Review portrayed the Philippines in sexual connotations. In a special “Holidays in Asia Focus” of the FEER, Pinkstone (1973: 5) relates that “Manila is a bachelor’s paradise.” He continues: “prices for drinks and hostesses are cheaper than most other Asian destinations, and a good night out can be had for as little as US$10 to $20.” Tourism in the Philippines was thus bolstered by the commodification of female sexuality, a ploy that was successful because it offered a new delight, one that was marketed as more intense, more satisfying (and yet economically more reasonable). Moreover, the Philippines was discursively represented as offering enticements which were more satisfying than those found elsewhere. Barnes (1981: n.p.) compares the sexuality of the Philippines to that of Thailand, noting that while “There is something profoundly depressing about the expression of infinite Buddhist compassion and sorrow, an understanding that all life is suffering,” in the Philippines “there really does seem to be a little truth [to] the expression goodtime girls” (italics in original). From these observations, Barnes concludes that the sexuality of Filipinas is better in that “the girls of Manila go about their bar-room jobs it seems, with some gusto and enthusiasm.” Indeed, Barnes concludes that, for Filipinas, “the bar seems their natural habitat: a place of raucous and raunchy fellowfeeling.” Thus, not only is it acceptable for Filipinas to patronize bars, but it is expected of them. Why not? Bars are the “natural habitat” of

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Filipinas. Again, this ties back to the entire country as represented as one of sex, exoticism, and primitive delights. Contemporary representations of Filipina performing artists clearly reflect continuities from the marketing of sex tours. These women are viewed as exotic, sensual, and sexual, as well as docile and subservient. Moreover, these images are manifest in the labor incorporation process. Club promoters in foreign destinations not infrequently make requests for migrants based on provincial origins within the Philippines. According to interviews with members of private employment agencies, Filipinas who work in the nightclubs of Manila are not desired (supposedly) as docile bodies to be made into migrants because they are perceived to be “hard to control.” Conversely, Filipinas living in rural provinces are believed to be more “controllable” and even more “beautiful.” Hence, at the request of foreign promoters and employers, labor recruiters in the Philippines commonly target rural villages in search of “young, attractive women” with the prospect of overseas employment as entertainers. These images are reflected in media advertisements, films, and television shows. Newspapers advertise: “Fresh girls from the Philippines for eyes’ delight” (Laguidao 1987: 4). Suzuki (2000) documents that these discursive representations have disseminated to other destinations, including Japan. She notes that, by the mid-1980s, tales about migrant Filipina workers were circulated and consumed as newsworthy objects, primarily because these women were perceived as making good cinematic subjects through their beauty and intriguing personal stories (Suzuki 2000: 144). Piper (1997: 322) concurs, noting that “images of Asian women in Japan are dominated by negative representations of entertainers and sex workers.” She continues that public discourse has dealt almost exclusively with their presence in terms of problems experienced as hostesses or prostitutes” (Piper 1997: 322). In Japan, additionally, the public frequently associates these women with their male clients and underworld exploiters (see Yamanaka 1993). A Japanese Catholic priest purportedly said: “Filipinas are the kind of people who would do anything for money, prostitution, gunrunning, robbery, kidnapping, drug-related crimes, etc. Associating with them scares you that you will catch some infectious disease” (quoted in Laguidao 1987, 3). This anecdote is not only revealing in the comparison with crime and prostitution, but also in the association with (presumably sexual) diseases. This discursive making of (primarily) women as mobile prostitutes has important consequences. Redefined as prostitutes, women are no longer

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viewed as individuals, but rather as commodities – products defined solely by their perceived sexuality and sexual parts. Moreover, these bodies become inscribed with the multiple discourses that permeate the term “prostitute.” Carpenter (1998), for example, identifies a number of representations, including the prostitute as “psychological victim,” “victim of exploitation,” and “agent in the workforce.” These discourses resonate with those of the Filipina entertainer. The prostitute as a victim of exploitation, for instance, is someone who, because of economic hardships and perhaps familial considerations, must “sell herself” as a survival strategy. Doezema (2001) likewise identifies a racialized discourse that permeates discussions of prostitution. She writes that “Third World prostitutes” are often portrayed as “deluded,” “despairing,” and “ignorant” (Doezema 2001; see also Kempadoo 1998). The Filipina migrant entertainer as prostitute is commodified into a sexual being, defined by her body and (perceived) sexuality. To Bartky (1990: 26), the identification of a person with her sexuality becomes oppressive when such an identification becomes habitually extended into every area of her experience. Consider the following case wherein a Japanese club-owner told a Filipina entertainer that “prostitution is about the only work you can do, so why complain? Remember that your life would be even more miserable if you were home [in the Philippines]” (Laguidao 1987: 3). In this instance the sexual elements of employment overshadowed all other attributes, characteristics, or subjectivities of the entertainer concerned. The discourses associated with prostitution invoke either eroticism and pleasure or filth and sin. As a site of pleasure, the Filipina entertainers become playgrounds for others’ delights. Clearly this is parallel to the discourses of sex tours. As sites of filth, these women are positioned as cancers within society. The personal circumstances leading to their employment are largely irrelevant. Some citizens in Japan, for example, often believe that Filipinas destroy family life. In a town in Nagano Prefecture, “local citizens protested against the Japayuki-sans using the public swimming pool for fear that they might be carrying infectious diseases” (Laguidao 1987: 2). Significantly, though, there exist a number of discourses on prostitutes and prostitution that are not part of the Philippine state migratory apparatus’ discursive constellation. Wherever possible, for example, it is common for the POEA and labor recruiters to attempt to disassociate sexuality from entertainment work. Throughout most government documents, for example, sexuality, and particularly the sexual conno-

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tations of the job, rarely appear as subjects of inquiry. Exhibiting a rarity of discourse, these absences raise questions regarding the viability, or advisability, of incorporating competing discourses, such as that of sex work or sexual work, into Philippine governmental discourses on migrant entertainers. Weitzer (2000: 3), for example, contends that “sex work is a generic term for commercial sexual services, performances, or products given in exchange for material compensation.” As such, these terms challenge the dualisms embedded in many discussions of prostitution (Carpenter 1998; Doezema 2001) and avoid sweeping generalizations. Participants – sex workers – are not simply victims (willing or otherwise), nor are they completely autonomous and empowered agents (heroes). Essentialist claims about the intrinsic nature of sex work as either liberating or oppressive clash with the reality of variation in sex work; there are different kinds of work experiences and varying degrees of victimization, exploitation, agency, and choice (Weitzer 2000: 3). Kempadoo (1998: 3) likewise suggests that “sex worker” is a term that views prostitution not as an identity, but as an income-generating activity, or labor, for both women and men. Bishop and Robinson (1998: 243) likewise employ the terms “sex worker” and “sex work” in “feminist discourse precisely because it makes possible, without either sentimentality or moralizing, thinking about prostitution and allied jobs as labor.” These definitions thus stress the social location of those engaged in sex work as working people (Kempadoo 1998: 3). Influenced by the writings of Than-Dam Troung (1990), sex work and sex workers as theoretical and political concepts capture the notion of the utilization of sexual elements of the body and as a way of understanding a productive life force that is employed by women and men (Kempadoo 1998: 4). This discursive formation emphasizes flexibility and variability of sexual labor and reinforces the notion that sex work is not necessarily the sole defining activity around which people’s sense of self or identity is shaped (Kempadoo 1998: 3). In summary, a multitude of competing discourses surrounding female migrant entertainers exist. These discourses are not mutually exclusive. It is not uncommon, for example, to see a coupling of the “entertainer as prostitute” with an “entertainer as willing victim.” Other discourses, such as those addressing prostitution as sexual work, have not permeated the “official” discussion of Filipina migrant entertainers. It is not my purpose, at this point, to ascertain the “truth” or “nontruth” of these discourses. Rather, I claim that an initial identification of these discourses is necessary in that they entail distinct material

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consequences (see Carpenter 1998). In the following section I provide a case study of how these discourses, coupled with non-discursive practices, influence the formation of policy.

The death of Maricris Sioson Maricris Sioson was deployed to Japan as an entertainer on 27 April 1991. She left the Philippines with a valid six-month “entertainer” visa, and worked as a dancer in a nightclub in Fukishima. Beginning in late August, Sioson complained of chronic fatigue and was anorexic. She was admitted into Hanawa Welfare Hospital on 7 September and died seven days later. The immediate cause of death was officially listed as multiple organ failure arising from fulminant hepatitis. Maricris Sioson was 22 years old. Doubts quickly surfaced in the Philippines regarding the cause of death. The remains of Sioson revealed numerous cuts and bruises. In light of these observations, at the request of family members, an autopsy was performed by medical personnel of the Philippine National Bureau of Investigation (NBI). While histopathological examinations did indicate the early presence of hepatitis, the proximate cause of death was attributed to traumatic head injuries. Conflicting medical opinions required clarification. On 17 October a fact-finding mission, led by then Labor Secretary Ruben Torres and members of the POEA, OWWA, and the NBI, went to Japan in search of answers. The team met with doctors and, subsequently, interviewed informants in the Philippine expatriate community as well as other dancers at the club where Sioson worked. Despite explanations offered by Japanese officials, members of the team remained unconvinced that Sioson died of “natural causes.” Secretary Torres reportedly said, “While some agreements have been reached on the explanations of some of the bruises and hematomas found on Maricris’s body, there are still matters which need further investigation” (Duenas 1991b: 16). On 4 November, at the request of Senator Rasul, a second team of Philippine doctors reexamined the histopathological slides. All agreed that fulminant hepatitis was present, most likely contributing to Sioson’s death. Bronchopneumonia and congestive splenitis were also found. Four theories were thus advanced to explain Sioson’s death, which still remains unresolved in the minds of many. The first theory, and still the official cause of death, is fulminant hepatitis. Bronchopneumonia, a second theory, has also been postulated as the cause of death. The third, and perhaps most popular theory, is that Sioson was murdered after 94

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angering her employers. A fourth explanation posits a combination of the other three theories. The case of Maricris Sioson was an international incident and a catalyst for political action. Rallies were conducted in front of the Japanese embassy in Manila; the media engaged in a continued assault on the practice of deploying entertainers. The story of Sioson developed into a film and is sold on video. Her story emcompasses all the elements that sell: sex, violence, organized crime, hints of a conspiracy, and a cover-up. Some labor recruiters – who understandably chose to remain anonymous – maintain that there were political motives behind the actions of Secretary Torres, who was running for Senate at the time. This, according to the informants, is why so much attention was devoted to Sioson’s death. The significance of the incident, however, was the national exposure of the export of female migrant entertainers. Above all, Sioson’s death precipitated the Philippine labor migration industry to search for answers and solutions. The discursive framing of Sioson’s death, as well as the larger context of overseas employment, was critical in the subsequent responses and politics formulations. In the following subsections I examine the sequence of events, and especially the discursive strategies of the media, the Senate, and both the POEA and the DOLE. I document how gendered discourses of “entertainers” were reconstituted in the construction of policies designed to protect migrant female entertainers. I argue that, initially, Sioson’s death was framed around the larger context of the exploitation and oppression of migrant workers in general. As the months passed, however, the causes of exploitation were placed squarely on the “backs” of abused women migrants, and particularly those who supposedly epitomized a dangerous and/or deviant female sexuality. Subsequent policy formulations thus did not propose a significant restructuring of overseas employment, but rather stressed concern over the values and morals of individual female migrants. The media respond Following the initial reports of Sioson’s death, segments of the media were simultaneously sympathetic to the plight of (especially female) migrant workers and highly critical of the government’s policy of overseas employment. Santos (1992: 12), for example, provides a context for the death of Sioson: The gruesome death of a Filipino dancer in Japan has sparked 95

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public outrage in the Philippines against the government’s failure to protect its “Japayuki,” the local word for women bound for Japan. . . . Many people are pointing out that the government’s lavish praise for the billion dollar-earning maids and entertainers as “national heroines” is mere lip service. And nothing illustrates the government’s apathy better than the mysterious death of . . . Maricris Sioson. Furthermore, as indicated by Santos’s article, media reports placed the death of Sioson within the larger issue of human rights abuses directed against migrant workers. Duenas (1991a) situated Sioson’s death in the context of a series of scandals involving Filipina dancers in Japan. Along with Duenas’ article, there also appeared stories on the exploitation of Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong (Lustre 1991) and the Middle East (Llanto 1991). Indeed, Llanto discussed nine other cases of abused Filipinas, ranging from the beatings and murders of mail-order brides in Australia, to accounts of physical and sexual abuse of Filipina domestic workers in Britain. It is important to note, however, that these articles constitute a continuation of public attacks against the government’s policy of overseas employment, and a questioning of the government’s ability to protect its workers. Four years earlier, for example, Duenas (1987a: 14) wrote: The Filipina is a downgraded woman in Japan. In that country where sex dominates the preoccupation of men and is a billiondollar industry, the image of the Filipina is that of a shameless “Japayuki-san” whose only purpose in coming to Japan is to sell her body for Japanese yen. Identifying poverty as the primary impetus for their migration, Todd (1988: 12) likewise had questioned whether Filipina migrant entertainers’ “final deliverance from lives of hunger, poverty, ignorance and degradation actually lies beyond the limits of the present Philippine government.” Duenas (1987b), constructing comparisons with other migratory systems, earlier had observed that the governments of India and Pakistan had ceased the deployment of domestic workers to the Middle East because of continued instances of abuse, and that only the Philippines and Sri Lanka continued to export domestic workers to the Middle East. In short, the Philippine media discursively positioned the death of Sioson within (1) the larger context of migrant abuse and (2) the apparent 96

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inability or unwillingness of the government to ameliorate the problem satisfactorily. The exploitation of migrant workers was tied directly to the rampant poverty existent in the Philippines, and the dangerous work environments which migrant entertainers and domestic workers faced in their overseas employment. Moreover, to some journalists the Philippine government was less interested in affording protection and more concerned with the continued inflow of remittances. These sentiments are clear in Locsin’s (1991: 6) commentary about “The Great Philippine Export Trade” in which he likens the government’s policy of overseas employment to “the African slave trade of the previous centuries which enriched the native slave-owners and the Christian buyers of the human commodity at the slave market.” The Senate responds Members of the Philippine Senate likewise reacted quickly to reports of Sioson’s death. Their responses, however, while exhibiting continuities with the media, also differed significantly. On 9 October Senator Alvarez filed Philippine Senate (PS) Resolution No. 1276 which called for an investigation into the death of Sioson and, more broadly, inquiries into other reports of torture, maltreatment, and violations of human rights of Filipino expatriates. Five days later Senator Rasul filed PS Resolution No. 1277 which also called for an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of Sioson, and to deal with problems encountered by Filipina migrants abroad. Finally, PS Resolution No. 1304, filed on 19 November by Senator Rasul, requested an inquiry into the plight of musicians employed in foreign countries. These resolutions, similar to the media reports, provided an initial context for interpreting the crisis by framing Sioson’s death within a larger context: the exploitation of (primarily) women migrant workers. PS No. 1277, for example, resolved to afford “through appropriate legislative measures additional protection to Filipino women working overseas.” PS No. 1276 likewise resolved to investigate not only “the real cause of death of Maricris Sioson” but also “all other alleged torture, maltreatment and other violation of human rights against Filipino expatriate workers in Japan and other countries.” Subsequent months, however, revealed a transformation of discourse. In December the Philippine Senate provided a more precise, and narrowly defined, frame of reference for understanding the exploitation of migrant entertainers. Although the Senate (1991d) concluded in Committee Report No. 1681 that Philippine migrant workers have been, still are, 97

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and presumably will continue to be abused and exploited in the future, indicating an inherent vulnerability to the occupation, the Senate also established a representation of entertainers as “willing victims.” In a factfinding report, for example, the Philippine Senate (1991d: 24) concluded that “it would not be farfetched . . . if one were to consider [the Filipina migrant entertainer] as a willing victim.” The Senate reasoned that: To make ends meet, because she has accepted pay rates lower than those stipulated, and because of the pressure from her family at home, who are counting solely on her to deliver them from their economic hardships, she would in the extreme, turn to the easiest way of making money – prostitution. And hence, she herself becomes a willing victim. (Philippine Senate 1991d: 24) According to this statement, although women are aware of the potential abuses that are associated with the entertainment industry, they nevertheless “choose” to go owing to familial obligations. These women are thus reified as impoverished yet dutiful daughters, mothers, and wives, who are willing to sacrifice their bodies. Moreover, prostitution is framed as an easy outlet; rather than conceiving of sex work as a legitimate occupation, prostitution is discursively positioned as non-work. Consequently, this framing repositions the women as either morally suspect and/or indolent. As argued by Foucault (1972: 27), the field of discursive events is a grouping that is always finite and limited. The above statement effectively positions the political debate in a particular direction (toward migrant bodies) and away from other possible sites. Accordingly, this discursive formation does not question the policy of migration nor the situation within the job site, but rather the character of the women involved. Indeed, this discursive formation is similar to the attitudes of social reformers in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century who portrayed crime, poverty, and prostitution as inherently moral failings of individuals, rather than as structural deficiencies of a patriarchal-capitalist society. Hence, within the Philippines the causes of exploitation are found within the women themselves, as the sexual nature of their employment is presumed entirely to consume their existence. In effect, abused women become willing participants, and instances of sexual, physical, and verbal abuse become mere occupational hazards (of which the women are fully aware). Concurrently, however, responsibility for exploitation – regardless of the veracity of the Senate’s conclusion 98

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which, incidentally, is deficient in evidence – is transferred away from government and private institutions and toward the women themselves. As such, those agencies engaged in the deployment of entertainers are, ostensibly, absolved of any culpability in the event of abuse. Women who are exploited must, by extension, be morally suspect individuals. The Philippine migratory state apparatus responds The DOLE and the POEA were equally active following the death of Sioson. As articulated in an unpublished memo, “the dramatic albeit unfortunate case, of Maricris Sioson in 1991 underscored [the] vulnerability [of entertainers] which led to policy and program restructuring on the part of government” (POEA 1995: 1). Accordingly, the DOLE and the POEA quickly passed revised guidelines pertaining to the deployment of entertainers, and then spent the next few months trying to explain their actions. Many of these hastily improvised recommendations, though, have remained in the current guidelines. On 20 November 1991, for example, DOLE distributed Circular No. 01-91. This memo prescribed 14 requirements, conditions, and procedures for the deployment of entertainers. Not incidentally, it was during this period that the POEA and DOLE attempted to “professionalize” the migration of entertainers by adopting the discursive label of “performing artist.” Circular No. 01-91, indeed, is one of the first official documents to use the new nomenclature. The first condition of Circular No. 01-91 is indicative of how the crisis over entertainers was framed: No Filipino entertainers shall be deployed outside the Philippines except for legitimate performing artists consisting of musicians, singers and members of dance troupes. In all cases, the performing artists must have a track record of legitimate and reputable performances in the Philippines for at least one year. (italics added) By emphasizing the legitimacy and reputability of deployed workers, a dichotomy begins to emerge: unqualified entertainers are exploited; qualified entertainers are not. This representation suggests, therefore, that occupations in the entertainment sector are not vulnerable. This distinction of whether the occupation of entertainers is vulnerable or not is more than semantics, in that it indicates a dialectical relationship between the construction of migrant entertainers and the construction of 99

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policy. The POEA apparently formulated its understandings of exploitation based on the Philippine Senate’s representation of exploited women as “willing victims.” The discourse shifts away from the problematic conditions encountered by persons working abroad, and on to the personal attributes – “real” or ascribed – of the women. This reconstituted discourse of migrant entertainers as “willing victims,” and the socially constructed distinction between “reputable” and “disreputable” women (which, clearly, is intimately associated with discourses of prostitution), continued to appear in the non-discursive practices of the government sector. On 15 December the DOLE issued the administrative guidelines implementing Department Circular No. 01-91. These guidelines defined “legitimate” performing artists as musicians, singers, and dance troupe members. Qualifications for the deployment of “legitimate” performing artists included that “female performers” must be at least 23 years of age (recall that Sioson was 22 years old), have a minimum of one year of cumulative and reputable performances in the Philippines or abroad, and be certified by a Philippine licensed agency deploying performing artists. The emphasis, again, focuses on the qualifications of the women, rather than on the migratory process or on conditions abroad. Members of NGOs committed to the welfare of migrant workers immediately grasped the significance of the government’s discursive repositioning. In particular, concern was raised as to whether the government was not only shifting responsibility onto the women, but also onto the training programs of the NGOs. As Carmelita Nuqui states bluntly: “The government is trying to wash its hands of the case” (quoted in Santos 1992: 13). The tragic death of a young woman repositioned the discursive constellation of the Philippine state migratory apparatus. Consequently, the making of migrants, and especially the making of Filipina migrant entertainers, required both a discursive and a practical transformation. What emerged was a discourse that foreshadowed contemporary discursive formations of empowerment, full disclosure, and market efficiency.

The professionalization of overseas performing artists The actual “making” of OPAs is specified in a series of departmental orders issued by the DOLE and the POEA, although three stand out above all others. DOLE Department Order No. 3 (hereafter referred to as DO-3) was issued on 6 January 1994. This document contains the revised guidelines on the recruitment, training and training centers, testing, and 100

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deployment of performing artists. DO-3 was followed on 7 March with DOLE Department Order No. 3-A (hereafter referred to as DO-3A) as a circular intended to clarify and expand on the directives contained in DO-3. Last, the DOLE issued Department Order No. 10 (DO-10) on 9 October 2001. Combined, these documents provide the administrative guidelines that buttress the recruitment and deployment of OPAs. Concurrently, however, these documents contribute to the production of a professionalization discourse of OPAs. My purpose in examining these documents is first to question why particular statements appeared and not others. As Smart (2002: 48) summarizes, the purpose of a Foucauldian discourse analysis is to consider what statements survive, disappear, or get reused, repressed, or censured; which terms are recognized as valid, questionable, invalid; what relations exist between the system of present statements and those of the past; and which individuals, groups, or classes have access to particular kinds of discourse. DO-3 and DO-3A are curiously silent on the recruitment of entertainers. In part A of DO-3, “Pre-Selection of Artists,” there is only one provision which addresses recruitment: Section 6, which reads “performing artists shall apply and submit to any accredited training center the necessary requirements for admission to training.” Section I of DO-3A barely elaborates: “The potential artist must apply with either an accredited training center or a licensed agency, and must be physically and mentally fit, capable of academic skills training, and be of good moral character” (emphasis added). While these regulations may at first appear reasonable, they are also vague and of little use. Who, for example, determines capability and what, specifically, constitutes “good moral character”? David Spurr, in his book The Rhetoric of Empire, discusses how, within the history of the natural sciences, “classification moved beyond the mere nomination of the visible to the establishment, for each natural being, of a character based on the internal principle of organic structure.” For the protection of Filipina migrant entertainers, policies were constructed to address the internal character of the women migrants. As worded above, women applicants must, at the time of application, be of “good moral character.” These are not traits that one could, supposedly, learn; rather, they are represented as inherent character traits. An effective policy, according to this discursive formation, would be one which would separate those women who were deemed good or bad. What is missing from these guidelines? Age requirements (23 years old) remain in existence for the deployment of entertainers, but no mention is made regarding actual recruitment techniques. This ignores previous 101

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research which finds recruitment agencies conducting auditions at high schools for women to find employment as entertainers, and of talent managers teaching young girls in the provinces to sing and dance in preparation for future careers as entertainers in Japan (see de Dios 1992: 51). Compared to guidelines on recruitment, the regulations addressing training and training centers are decidedly more substantive (at least in depth of information). Consider, for example, Section III, paragraph 4 on the facilities of training centers, which includes the following two guidelines: “For the training of dancers, at least one (1) 40-square meter dance studio with permanently installed dance bars and wall mirrors at least 5 feet in height with a width measuring at least two-thirds (
) of the dance area’s length. Additional dance studios must be similarly equipped and must be actually situated within its premises” and “One (1) 30square meter classroom with desks, writing boards and other teaching aids with literature.” Section IV, on the “Authorization of Training Centers,” likewise contains 16 paragraphs covering the requirements and procedures for, and validity of, authorization. Guidelines are specified for the suspension or cancellation of authorization, as well as provisions for the renewal and monitoring of permits. Admittedly, the DOLE’s and the POEA’s reasoning might be that it is easier to monitor the physical infrastructure. Also, more stringent restrictions, such as up-front capital investments, may dissuade some potentially abusive and exploitative recruiters from establishing training centers. Still, one must question the amount of detail found within training center guidelines as opposed to the more proximate factors affecting the individuals. Section V, paragraph 25 includes guidelines for the location of, and facilities provided by, testing venues. The building, for example, “should be accessible by public conveyance and located in a peaceful and orderly community.” The facilities must also have a stage with an area of at least 100 square meters and with dance bars to accommodate at least six dancers, with two adjacent dressing rooms with an area of 20 square meters, each provided with costume racks. Additionally, a location map and layout of the testing premises must be provided, along with a list of skills capable of being tested, equipment provided, and resumés and pictures of the owner and staff. A curious omission regarding the level of detail on training, testing, and, by extension, employment site facilities is also evident. The guidelines contain no information on the actual working conditions once the performing artists are deployed. Are guidelines perhaps specified in the contracts of performing artists? 102

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Simply put, no. The model employment contract for Japan-bound Filipina performing artists merely requires a listing of the address of the place of performance. Following the completion of a training program the prospective performing artists must be tested on their abilities. According to Section VII, paragraph 47 of DO-3A: “a performing artist’s job preparedness is measured in terms of work attitude, job understanding, moral values and skills competency and readiness to perform his [sic] production number or repertoire before an audience” (italics added). While I have not been able to obtain copies of the Academic and Skills Test, the above statement again indicates an emphasis on the character of the individuals. This emphasis strongly reinforces the relational image that only “morally unfit” and “disreputable” women (and presumably men) encounter problems overseas and that women with “high” moral values are least likely to be abused. Once the Academic and Skills Test has been successfully passed, Certificates of Competency are awarded individually to performing artists. These certificates bear the picture, job title, code number, and signature, among other details, of each successful applicant. The original certificate is then officially endorsed to the POEA for the issuance of the Artist Record Book (ARB). This document is issued to performing artists and contains information such as the artist’s name, date of birth, photograph, thumb-print, eye color, height, weight, and skills category. Information is also provided on the training and testing venues, academic and skills test results, destination, and the employment agency responsible. Three guidelines are stipulated in DO-3 and DO-3A regarding the eventual deployment of performing artists. Section IX, paragraph 70 states: “Only an artist with a valid ARB may be processed by the POEA for deployment. The submission of such ARB shall be a requirement for the processing of the employment contract of the artist.” Furthermore, two additional guidelines indicate that (1) the licensed recruitment agency assumes responsibility for the authenticity of the ARB, and (2) if the Training Center or Licensed Agency refused to endorse or release the ARB to a performing artist for specified reasons, the performing artist may file a complaint with the POEA and potentially be deployed without an ARB. In the Philippines, skilled migrants are defined as workers who have obtained an academic degree, sufficient training, or experience in the job for which they are applying. But what exactly constitutes “skilled?” Any attempt to map patterns of skilled migration must first seriously question the process of who defines “skilled” migration. Overseas performing 103

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artists are classified as professional workers. Statistically, therefore, they fall under the rubric of “skilled” migration. The ARB system, since its inception, has been described as “a system of training, testing, certification and deployment of performing artists that is designed to upgrade and professionalize the overseas entertainment industry, through the development of skills and careful selection of workers” (italics added; POEA 1998: 3). A professionalization of entertainers is ensured through a governmentsponsored and regulated system of training, testing, and certification and is manifest in the issuance of a “Certificate of Competency.” Once this has been issued, performers are eligible to participate in auditions. These are booking confirmations whereupon potential artists perform a series of routines in the presence of club managers and promoters. The “skilling” of overseas performing artists carries two meanings. On the one hand, workers may indeed acquire “skills” in the sense of learning new dance routines. On the other hand, the category “performing artist” itself becomes skilled. The classification of these workers as “skilled,” on a par with computer programmers, engineers, doctors, and nurses could thus be construed as an attempt by the POEA and the DOLE to legitimize the continued deployment of an occupation that remains political contested yet financially lucrative. The Philippine state migratory apparatus is working on the assumption that the category “skilled professional” signifies certain attributes, namely competence, status, and legitimacy. Overseas performing artists therefore conform, on paper at least, to the category of “skilled” migrants, like those in possession of a recognized diploma, degree, or professional qualification. Consequently, the image of Filipina entertainers as victimized sex workers is recast into one of highly trained and reputable professionals. By extension, the government is reconstituted as a provider of legitimate employment as opposed to being a facilitator of prostitution. Current policy is thus constructed around a ideal that the exploitation of deployed entertainers will be minimized, if not eliminated, through the assurance that only reputable, skilled performing artists are permitted. Concurrently, in a relational sense, these regulations imply that only illegal, or untrained, women are vulnerable. If exploitation does occur, then the responsibility is transferred to the workers. The current process of making performing artists is consonant with the broader corporeal discourse of bodily empowerment (as discussed in Chapter 2). The labeling of occupations effectively transforms political debates, as well as the public image of a controversial economic policy, into a purported positive image. 104

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Discursively, it is apparent that the exploitation and abuse of female performing artists has, at the government level, been framed as an issue of legitimacy, morality, and proper behavior of the women themselves. These discourses have formed the basis of subsequent non-discursive practices. Current policies are founded on an corporeal image of exploitation resulting from deficiencies in the women’s character, rather than the government policy of overseas employment or of the specific employment conditions abroad. Policy is constructed around the notion that the exploitation of migrant entertainers will be minimized (and perhaps eliminated) if the state can ensure that the departure only of reputable, skilled performers is allowed. Regulations therefore focus on the training, testing, and moral evaluation of women. Concurrently, these regulations also, in a relational sense, imply that only illegal or untrained performing artists are vulnerable. This, again, counters other knowledge, such as Ballescas’s (1992) finding that there is no difference in the experiences of performing artists who were or were not legally deployed: legality, in other words, does not provide a good predictor of abuse. It is not uncommon, indeed, to find that legitimate and legally deployed entertainers never actually sing or dance once deployed (see Nograles-Lumbera 1988). Discourses, as illustrated in both Chapters 2 and 3, however, are far from static. Most recently, the issuance of DO-10 by the Philippine state migratory apparatus has revised the existing system as outlined in DO-3 and DO-3A. These revisions emerged in accordance with the current administration’s efforts to streamline the bureaucracy and, ostensibly, in response to graft and corruption existent within the industry. Among the many revisions, most significant for our present purpose is Section I.3 which stipulates that the certificate of training by accredited training centers is not a precondition to performance assessment and certification. Based on a “universal principle of recognition of prior learning,” any aspiring performing artist may opt to proceed immediately, without formal skills training, to the performance assessment. In case of an initial failure, the artist may try a second time. Only after two failures would the aspiring performing artist be required to obtain formal skills training. Likewise, according to Section I.6, any outstanding, seasoned, professional and/or popular performing artist is exempted from training and testing, provided that they are recognized by another association or guild. Combined, these sections provide a legal means to bypass training and skills development, thus countering the initial intent of DO-3 and DO-3A, which was to prevent the deployment of unqualified and unprepared entertainers. 105

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A new discourse, one of “professionalization” of overseas performing artists, is thus in the making. Presently, though, it is too early to make any assessments of the non-discursive practices, as DO-10 remains politically contested. There is concern in the private sector, for example, that talent managers and training centers will no longer be required. Accordingly, a coalition of training centers and talent managers have formed the “Save the Talent Managers/Training Centers’ Sector Crusade.” Moreover, a temporary restraining order was issued by a Quezon City Regional Trial Court barring the DOLE and the POEA from implementing DO No. 10. It was not until February 2002 that the processing of applicants for overseas performing artists resumed. Constable (1997: 153) asserts that “laws and policies are meaningless apart from the ways in which they are interpreted, applied, and carried out.” In the Philippines, there is a tendency to equate “entertainers” with “prostitution” and “migration” with “trafficking.” This is a complex political contestation – one that suffers from sweeping generalizations and semantic conflations. In this chapter I have sketched the contours of the discursive politics of migrant entertainers and have illustrated how these discourses become incorporated into policy. Consequently, these policies carry very real material outcomes. These discourses, likewise, are imbricated with assertions of “truth” and “knowledge.” All participants, whether journalists, government officials, academics, or activists all claim to “know” the entertainer. In this chapter I make no claims to “know” the entertainer. Rather, I seek a more modest goal. In agreement with feminists and other social theorists who position the body as a text, and hence inquire into the discourses that are inscribed onto particular bodies, I am concerned with the taken-for-granted assumptions that surround a particular type of migrant, namely the female entertainer. I agree with Law (2000: 124–5), who concludes that: [the] social construction of categories helps to constitute social identities, whether these identities are “woman,” “dancer,” “sex worker,” “risk group” or “victim.” It is important to understand how these categories intersect everyday lives, and how people resist, subvert or transgress them. Three final points are forwarded in this chapter. First, the policy covering the deployment of entertainers – male and female – deserves an exhaustive reexamination, and this must be cognizant of how discourse informs policy formulation. I have taken a first step by providing an 106

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analysis of the discursive formations that currently inform the deployment of Filipina performing artists. This analysis, moreover, transcends other studies that focus predominantly on economic exploitation and oppression, to the exclusion of other forms, such as gender, “race,” and nationality. Second, the underlying messages transcend the migration of Filipina entertainers. Specifically, an understanding of the imbrication of discursive formations on policy is required for all types of “migrants,” including, for example, the migration of domestic workers. To this end, Tadiar (1997) documents the discursive construction of Filipina domestic helpers as bodies without subjectivity, as racially and sexually exploited bodies lacking agency. Tadiar (1997: 172) explains that: Filipina domestic helpers are not merely objects of other people’s practices, objects of better or worse “treatment,” conservation and regulation; they are active producers and creative mediators of the world in which they move, the world which they in fact participate in making through the work of co-operation. Accordingly, the construction of overseas employment policies specific to domestic helpers, and other occupations (e.g., sea-based workers, construction workers) must likewise be examined. Last, in this chapter I do not claim to speak for the Filipina migrant entertainers, nor suggest that these women are unaware of whatever forms of oppression might exist. Rather, I am concerned with the ways in which discourses have become manifest in the discussions surrounding the migration of entertainers. In this chapter I have identified a series of discourses, and examined how these reveal and potentially augment multiple sites of oppression. Insights obtained from “migrant entertainers,” however, will better inform policy formulations, including overseas employment policies, recruitment practices, media guidelines, and enforcement mechanisms. Accordingly, in Chapter 5 I elaborate on the making of migrants through the narrative of one particular body. Drawing on Foucault’s twin concepts of “disciplinary techniques” and “techniques of the self,” I consider how one individual negotiates the governmental production of migrants.

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Lisa Law, in her work on Southeast Asian sex workers, writes pointedly about her difficulties in mediating the competing discourses on prostitution. She explains that “my well-rehearsed arguments about the political economy of prostitution became an increasingly abstract construction of academic and activist discourses and . . . played a rather ambivalent role in my understanding of the complex subjectivities of the women that I knew” (Law 2000: 62). Later, she details that her “resistance to the simplicity of modes of theorizing on prostitution can also be understood as a response to [her] own failed attempts at constructing a coherent prostitute ‘subject’” (Law 2000: 62). The difficulties Law encountered in her work encapsulates many of the primary issues confronting feminist work specifically, and social theoretical work in general, namely questions of embodied subjectivity. More pointedly, her concerns speak to the intersections of power/knowledge, agency, and the body. Theorizing the body has assumed prominence in contemporary feminist scholarship (Bartky 1990; Butler 1993, 1999; Bordo 1993; Grosz 1994, 1995; McLaren 2002). In part, feminists, especially those influenced by poststructuralism, have critiqued the notions of Enlightenment rationality and, specifically, the mind/body dualism. Descartes’s declaration that “I think, therefore I am,” for example, contributed to the separation of subject and object, body and mind. Indeed, some feminists argue that the belief in a disembodied, rational knowledge silenced the role of the body in social life (Law 2000: 13). McNay (1992: 17) explains that the body is central to the feminist analysis of the oppression of women because it is upon the biological difference between male and female bodies that the edifice of gender inequality is built and legitimized. Laws (1997: 49) echoes these sentiments when she writes that “our bodies make a difference to our experience of places” and that “bodily differences open and close spaces of opportunity.” Consequently, 109

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feminists have advocated a repositioning of the body to the forefront of analysis. Grosz (1995: 103), for example, explains that she has been interested in trying to refine and transform traditional notions of corporeality so that the oppositions by which the body has usually been understood (mind and body, inside and outside, experience and social context, subject and object, self and other – and underlying them, the opposition between male and female) can be problematized. Thus the body was identified as the target for disciplinary power as well as the subject of knowledge construction. The dualistic assumptions that underlie most philosophical discussions about agency, McLaren (2002: 82) further explains, likewise inform our thinking about bodies. She continues that the typical dualist view holds that the body is inert, passive, and unthinking as opposed to the active, thinking mind. However, this “naturalistic” view of the body has been countered with an “inscriptive” conception of the body. According to this latter view, bodies, both in their materiality and in our conceptions of them, are shaped by historical and cultural forces (McLaren 2002: 82). Grosz (1995: 33) elaborates, noting that the inscriptive conceptualization is derived from Nietzsche, Kafka, Foucault, and Deleuze, and conceives the body as a surface on which social law, morality, and values are inscribed. The writings of Foucault especially have figured prominently in feminist re-theorizations of the body. In 1982, just two years before his death, Foucault explained that his purpose had “been to sketch out a history of the different ways in our culture that humans develop knowledge about themselves (1997: 224). He continued that the main point was not to accept this knowledge at face value, but instead to consider it as a “truth game” related to specific techniques that human beings use to understand themselves (1997: 224). Specifically, he identified four major technologies: (1) technologies of production, which permit us to produce, transform, or manipulate things; (2) technologies of sign systems, which permit us to use signs, meanings, symbols, or signification; and (3) technologies of power (or domination), which determine the conduct of individuals and submit them to certain ends or domination – an objectivizing of the subject (Foucault 1997: 25). Thus far, in Chapters 2 through 4, I have examined the multiple discursive formations and non-discursive practices that contribute to the making (objectifying) of migration and migrants as well as the disciplining and 110

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control of migrants. In Chapter 3, especially, I positioned the “body” as a site of capital accumulation and detailed how this step is critical in the making of “migrants.” In this chapter I consider more closely the fourth technology identified by Foucault, namely those “technologies of the self,” which “permit individuals to effect by their own means, or with the help of others, a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being” (Foucault 1997: 225). To do so, however, requires a greater elaboration of two concepts – the body and subjectivity – than was provided in the earlier chapters.

Bodies and subjectivities Although Foucault was not the first theorist to position the body as a contested site (see Bordo 1993), he is widely recognized for his contributions to the theorizing of bodies. Foucault’s work on regimes of disciplinary control, for example, highlights how the sociopolitical structures which organize the practices of everyday life produce knowledge about particular bodies and influence the ways bodies experience time and space (Law 2000: 14). In Discipline and Punish, in particular, Foucault illustrates the body as an object of knowledge and as a target for the exercise of power. These themes have been utilized by a number of feminists, including Bartky and Bordo. Bartky, for example, examines the disciplinary practices specific to women that contribute to produce and control the feminine body. She concludes that: [the] disciplinary techniques through which the “docile bodies” of women are constructed aim at a regulation which is perpetual and exhaustive–a regulation of the body’s size and contours, its appetite, posture, gestures, and general comportment in space and the appearance of each of its visible parts. (Bartky 1990: 80) Foucault is not without his critics. McNay (1992: 40–1), for example, asserts that a “consequence of Foucault’s definition of power exclusively in terms of its disciplinary effects on passive bodies is that other aspects of individual’s existence are effaced.” She concludes that “Foucault’s understanding of individuals as docile bodies has the effect of pushing women back into [a] position of passivity and silence” (McNay 1992: 47). Feminist critics of Foucault in particular, and of poststructuralism in general, contend that arguments of discursive constructions have obliterated subjectivity or that people become subjected, docile bodies. 111

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Passivity and nihilism must therefore follow. Critics also find fault with Foucault’s conception of power as netlike and not emanating from a specific institution or individual. Strategically, this seems to remove specific targets from critique, leaving no room for resistance. It is easy to see why critics contend that Foucault forwards a nonsubject-oriented framework: one that implies passivity and a lack of agency. Foucault’s earlier work, and particularly his examinations of disciplinary techniques, downplayed the subject (see Chapter 3). However, Foucault’s “death of the subject” is strategic. Unlike many philosophers, Foucault, particularly in his early work, did not begin with an autonomous and sovereign subject; instead, he was more concerned in considering how particular kinds of subjects were produced as effects of discursive relations (McHoul and Grace 1997: 91). In contradistinction to Enlightenment philosophers such as Descartes, Foucault does reject a metaphysical dualism. As such, he cannot posit a mind, soul, psyche, or subjectivity that is somehow prior to or apart from the body (McLaren 2002: 84). McHoul and Grace (1997: 91) reaffirm that Foucault never argued on behalf of the radical structuralist idea that there are no subjects, and that the subject can be “deleted” from philosophical thinking. Foucault (1994: 326), in his essay “The Subject and Power” is clear on his overall project: “My objective . . . has been to create a history of the different modes by which, in our culture, human beings are made subjects.” In Discipline and Punish, Foucault (1979: 29) writes that it “would be wrong to say that the soul is an illusion, or an ideological effect.” Foucault (1979: 29) further explains that: This real, non-corporal soul is not a substance; it is the element in which are articulated the effects of a certain type of power and the reference of a certain type of knowledge, the machinery by which the power relations give rise to a possible corpus of knowledge, and knowledge extends and reinforces the effects of this power. McLaren (2002: 84) summarizes that power through its effect on the body produces an interiority (the soul), and, in turn, it is in part through this interiority that power is exercised on the body. Indeed, Foucault concludes that “the soul is the effect and instrument of a political anatomy; the soul is the prison of the body” (Foucault 1979: 30). For Foucault subjectivity and the body are thus inseparable; accordingly, he offers an account of embodied subjectivity (McLaren 2002: 84). 112

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Poststructuralism, in its Foucauldian form, suggests that embodied subjectivity is an effect of discourses that produce multiple and often contradictory modes of subjectivity (Weedon 1999: 116). Moreover, poststructuralists argue that not only meaning, but also individual subjectivity is produced within discourse (Weedon 1999: 104). Butler (1990: 13) writes that “the ‘body’ is itself a construction, as are the myriad ‘bodies’ that constitute the domain of gendered subjects. Bodies cannot be said to have a signifiable existence prior to the mark of their gender.” In other words, bodies are texts upon which discourses are inscribed and non-discursive practices are directed. In the process, the meanings associated with inscribed bodies, such as gendered or racialized bodies, are conditioned by the particular discursive formations in operation. Belsey (2002: 52) captures these ideas: As a free subject, I plan my life (within certain obvious constraints), affirm my values, choose my friends . . . and give an account of myself: “I am . . . this or that.” But I do so on condition that I invoke (subject myself to) the terms, meanings, categories that I and others recognize, the signifiers we have learned in the process of learning our native language. To restate my argument thus far: an acknowledgment of the discursive construction of subjectivity is not to suggest that we are mere passive effects of discourse, bereft of agency (Weedon 1999: 104). As McLaren (2002: 56) explains, for Foucault bodies are both active and passive; it is bodies that resist and increase their forces through discipline, as well as being shaped by disciplinary practices. She continues that although Foucault’s account of subjectivity may appear to yield a determined, passive subject, they actually sketch out a new way to think about subjectivity that breaks from the traditional philosophical dilemma of viewing self and sociality as mutually exclusive (McLaren 2002: 59). Subjectivity is thus embodied, and discursive practices shape our bodies, as well as our minds and motions, in socially gendered ways (Weedon 1999: 104). Or, as McLaren (2002: 84) writes, “Notions of subjectivity that begin with the body must take cultural differences and historical specificity into account; subjects cannot be divorced from the contexts in which they develop and operate.” This has important ramifications for questions of migrant bodies. How, for example, do subjects respond to the making of migrants? How do these subjects negotiate the multiple inscriptions they encounter in destination societies? Feminists have recognized that both women and men are subject to 113

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disciplinary power and regimes of corporeal production, albeit to different degrees and in different ways (McDowell 1999: 51): it is through Foucault’s concept of the “techniques of the self,” which refers to the means by which individuals can affect their own bodies, souls, thoughts, and conduct so as to form and transform themselves (Smart 2002: 108). As discussed below, individuals can and do resist the inscription of discursive attributes. Concurrently, these same individuals may comply, for a multitude of reasons, to these inscriptions. What needs to be stressed is that the imbrication of discursive formations and subjectivities is not predetermined. Instead, our consciousness is formed through, with, and in spite of our encounters with discourses and nondiscursive practices.

The embodiment of a migrant entertainer In the remainder of this chapter I provide a narrative of Lisa, a Filipina who worked as a performing artist in Okinawa. Following Barber (2000) and Asis (2001), I believe that life-stories provide an invaluable means of giving voice to participants in viewing and describing their migratory experiences. As Watkins (1999: 299) writes, “For too long . . . researchers have examined migration from the outside, gathering numeric data through surveys or census tabulations and drawing inferences about individual action.” Conversely, narratives provide inside views, and offer insight into the personal goals and life choices of migrants (Watkins 1999). Thus, as Chase (1995: 22) contends, “We serve our theoretical interests in general social processes when we take seriously the idea that people make sense of life experiences by narrating them.” Accordingly, this chapter emerges from a series of in-depth dialogues that I had with Lisa regarding her experiences training for, and working in, a nightclub in Okinawa. I met Lisa, a 30-year-old, via a mutual friend. Lisa currently lives in a medium-sized city in the northeastern United States with her husband and three children. Over the course of our conversations I came to understand Lisa’s travels, from the Philippines to Okinawa and finally to her current place of residence. Lisa grew up in a small village near a major US military installation in the northern Philippines. Her father, Reynaldo, was a carpenter; her mother, Evelyn, sold vegetables at the local market. Lisa is the third child of six. Her eldest brother, Gerardo, died when Lisa was very young. Other siblings include Lisa’s older sister (Maria), two younger brothers (Eduardo and Ben), and a younger sister (Tess). 114

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Life was hard for Lisa and her family. Lisa describes her family as being relatively poor; she recalls that there were many occasions when they worried whether they would have enough food for the next day. According to Lisa, her parents supported Maria most, to the neglect of the other children. Previous research (e.g., Lauby and Stark 1988) indicates that parents often rely on daughters to supplement their income because, traditionally, daughters maintain close ties with the family of origin, even after marriage. Indeed, as noted in Chapter 4, this practice contributes to a discourse of familial responsibility that is, subsequently, transformed into a discourse of the willing victim. Lisa explains, however, that her parents looked to Maria for support not because of gendered expectations, but rather because of generational expectations. In other words, if Gerardo had not died, he would have been expected to provide for the family. Lisa’s parents used any surplus income that they may have acquired to provide for a decent education for Maria. In this way, despite their poverty, Maria was able to attend a private school. This was certainly not indicative of a unified household strategy, as Maria later ran off with a boyfriend. Lisa notes that, in retrospect, her parents regretted “investing” all their money into one daughter. To help her family, Lisa dropped out of middle school to begin work in a candy factory. She explains that she felt sorry for her parents. It was during this time that Tess, then 13 years old (but looking, according to Lisa, much older), was approached by a distant cousin. This cousin talked excitedly about opportunities to work and earn substantial sums of money in Japan. Tess, whom Lisa describes as very impetuous, was eager to look into this possibility. That evening Lisa, Tess, and their father arranged to have dinner in the city with the cousin. Also present were two Japanese men. Over the course of the meal, the Japanese men worked to impress the family. Enough food was ordered, for example, for Lisa and her family to be able to take food home for other household members. Conversation focused on the “unlimited” possibilities of employment in Japan. Reynaldo, however, grew increasingly suspicious over the course of dinner. The two men, Reynaldo ascertained, did not operate through a recruitment agency. They also gave no indication of a manager or other authority figure. Mostly, though, Reynaldo was concerned that his daughter was too young. The Japanese recruiters, however, attempted to assure Reynaldo that they could take care of all the arrangements, including visas, passports, and work contracts. After the meeting, though, the incident dropped from conversation. Lisa explains that it 115

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simply was no longer a topic of discussion. However, the seed was planted. For both Lisa and Tess, the prospect of working in Japan remained an intriguing possibility. The possibility of working in Japan, for Lisa, was ever present. Through family members, friends, and even strangers, it seemed as if everyone was aware of work in Japan. Even television advertisements revealed beautiful women, laden with suitcases, shopping at duty-free stores in airports. This conforms with Asis’s (2001: 43–4) finding that “family and personal networks are the primary and most accessible sources of information to prospective migrants.” A few months later, Lisa, Tess, and another cousin were sitting at a neighborhood store. Ironically, this cousin was herself waiting to meet a recruiter to talk about the chance of working in Japan. On this occasion, Lisa remembers, the labor recruiter – a Filipino – appeared to visually inspect her and her sister. He said that he wanted to recruit both Lisa and Tess. After the earlier incident, however, Lisa was more skeptical. That evening she spoke about the matter with her parents. This recruiter, Lisa explained, appeared to have legitimate credentials. Unlike in the first instance, Lisa made the decision to pursue a contract in Japan. In some respects, Lisa may be considered an “incidental” (Asis 2001: 45) migrant, in that her initiation into overseas employment was not planned. Rather the opportunity emerged and Lisa chose to act upon the offer. How, though, are we to interpret Lisa’s decision to seek employment in Japan as a performing artist? Certainly her story illustrates a life of poverty and a lack of opportunities. Accordingly, it would be easy to presume that structural conditions impelled her to become a migrant. There is more to the story, however, and we may draw parallels with similar studies. Law (2000: 52), for example, cautions that By emphasizing the structural determinants of why women enter the sex industry . . . Filipina dancers are cast as “victims” who have no choice. While it could be argued that this representation victimizes women, denies agency and distorts the complexity of experience . . . it is important to note that the naturalness of the choice issue can be appropriated by women themselves, where having “no choice” simultaneously becomes a source of agency, a resistance to moral judgements and justification for their employment. Studies on Philippine migration likewise acknowledge the vital role 116

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performed by families in the migratory process (Medina and Natividad 1985; Lauby and Stark 1988; Trager 1988; Root and DeJong 1991; Tyner 1995; Parreñas 2001). These studies, moreover, take as points of departure the concepts of obligation and reciprocity. Assistance patterns within families in the Philippines are characteristically reciprocal and thus carry a sense of obligation, or utang na loob (translated as “a debt of prime obligation”). In addition, the social organization of personal obligations is amplified because kinship ties are composed of extended family members, including godparents who become “part of the family” through their participation in rituals such as baptisms or weddings. Within Philippine society, brothers and sisters often have separate godparents or sponsors (ninongs or ninangs) to look to as their benefactors (Pye 1985: 125) and thus an individual’s source of assistance, as well as debt, may not be found within the immediate nuclear family, but rather within a wider kinship network. In this manner, Filipinos may make decisions through their association with uncles, aunts, or cousins. Filipinos, concomitantly, are expected to repay these social debts. Failure to do so may result in being regarded as walang hiya (i.e., without shame), and may be accompanied by ridicule or alienation. Combined, therefore, the concepts of utang na loob and walang hiya are perceived to carry immense pressures and obligations within the household and greatly to inform the migration decision-making process. Apart from familial contexts, Philippine society also reveals distinct gender roles. This process occurs in two different, yet simultaneously and mutually reinforcing guises: direct socialization and indirect socialization. Direct socialization results when the child is explicitly and directly taught standards, values, and proper behavior for boys and girls (Medina 1991: 48). This may occur in familial interactions or through schooling. In the school, for example, girls are often channeled into home economics courses while boys learn woodworking, knot-tying, or agricultural techniques. Textbooks also reflect gender biases, in that women are routinely portrayed as passive, obedient, and submissive, whereas men are depicted as successful and the household figurehead. Indirect socialization refers to the process whereby the child learns cultural values and norms from his or her observations and experiences (Medina 1991: 48). Media, in particular, have been influential in reenforcing images of women and men. In general, television shows reinforce images of motherhood, beauty, docility, and subservience in the portrayal of women; women are also depicted most often as dutiful housekeepers and loyal wives and mothers (see Tyner 1994). Although the cultural attributes and gendered roles of the Philippine 117

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social structure conform readily with household strategy approaches (cf. Chant and Radcliffe 1992), caution must be taken not to essentialize either individual Filipinos or the Philippine family. As Pessar (1999: 582) writes, “inspired by feminist scholarship, critics have objected to the notion that migrant households are organized solely on principles of reciprocity, consensus and altruism.” To this end, researchers have challenged the presumption that migrant households, and especially those residing in less-developed regions, are undivided by age, gender, or family status (Hondagneu-Sotelo 1994; Yung 1995). Hondagneu-Sotelo (1994: 55) explains, “once we actually listen to the voices of . . . immigrants, however, the notion that migration is driven by collective calculations or household-wide strategies becomes increasingly difficult to sustain.” The decision to obtain work in Japan, Lisa contends, was hers alone, thus also negating the oppressive-family hypothesis. Concurrently, Lisa had opportunities to find employment in the Philippines. Her decision was thus prompted more by a condition of underemployment rather than unemployment. At the time, Lisa felt that Japan offered more opportunities than working at fast-food outlets or factories. Moreover, Lisa explains, she saw in Japan an opportunity to assert her independence, to be on her own. She was tired of asking for new shoes and being told that there was no money. But in Japan, Lisa dreamed, she would have the ability to buy whatever she desired. Yes, she explains, she wanted to help her family. But she looked for her own independence, both financially and personally. Lisa was not swayed by visions of helping her country, of being a modern-day heroine. This reflects, in part, previous studies. Cruz and Paganoni (1989: 100–1), for example, find in their study of 466 migrant and non-migrant women that: The respondents hardly understand themselves in relation to the nation as a whole. Their decision is certainly not dictated by the government program to reconstruct the national economy. Neither is it understood as contributing to the economic wellbeing of the host country. The national and international dimensions are simply overlooked by respondents who are caught up in the process of fleeing from oppressive economic situations, or acting out their own desire for something different and more liberating. While I may disagree with their essentialist statements of “fleeing oppressive economic situations,” I do agree – at least in Lisa’s case – that 118

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larger structural considerations did not figure prominently in her decision to obtain overseas employment. At this point, Lisa did not view herself as a migrant, nor even a potential migrant; rather, she was the “middle daughter” who wanted to buy new shoes. In other words, “migrant” as an identity was not internalized by Lisa. Lisa’s decision to obtain overseas employment also challenges another embedded presumption of migration studies. Apart from the danger in reifying family strategies, household approaches (especially) characteristically fail to articulate the substantial activities of government and private institutions in “making” migration. The opportunity to migrate is often taken as given; individuals are presumed a priori to be able to pick and choose among a myriad of destinations. And yet, as I argue throughout this book, overseas employment is highly regulated and socially produced. Bureaucratic procedures of recruitment and deployment set in place tangible parameters within which individuals must negotiate. As such, the mobility of individuals is neither a simple nor an inevitable process. Lisa became aware of a particular opportunity, that of working in Japan as a dancer. She did not hear of, nor did she seek out, other potential overseas opportunities. Was Lisa concerned about the stigma of working in Japan – of being labeled a “japayuki”? Were her parents troubled? Law (2000: 121) finds, in her study on Southeast Asian sex work, that the women she interviewed perceived a negotiated tension between their free will to enter prostitution and the constraints that make this particular type of employment an opportunity for them. With hindsight, Lisa concedes that yes, at first, some relatives and friends disapproved. However, when she returned from Japan for the first time, laden with material goods, everyone became her friend. With a laugh, Lisa thinks of these people as “plastic.” As to her own perceptions of overseas employment as a dancer, Lisa is more circumspect. Training to migrate The Philippine state migratory apparatus, as detailed in Chapters 3 and 4, produces specific bodies for overseas employment. Entertainers especially are produced as professional workers. This is accomplished through the organization and regulation of time, space, and daily activities through which bodies are trained, shaped, and impressed with particular normative ideas of femininity. In the context of producing docile, subjected bodies, Foucault discusses the emergence of “observatories,” or locations where the techniques of 119

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disciplinary power are applied. Such observatories include military camps, prisons, schools, factories, hospitals. The exercise of discipline thus presupposes a mechanism that coerces by means of observation. The training centers and testing centers (discussed in Chapter 4) serve as observatories. The entire system is designed to monitor, to track, and to chart the development of the entertainer. A visual reading of the “making” of entertainers is thus possible. It is not, though, simply the physical infrastructure (e.g., buildings, dance stages) that becomes visible, but the entire process. The POEA and the DOLE has designed a system that is apparently open for all to see: journalists, academics, activists, critics of overseas employment. The entire process is open for viewing. This is concurrently a system that caters to the production of “legitimate” and “reputable” migrant performing artists. These women, hence, are not the “stuff” that prostitutes are made of; instead, these bodies conform to the economic imperatives of overseas employment. Accordingly, “surveillance thus becomes a decisive economic operator both as an internal part of the production machinery and as a specific mechanism in the disciplinary power” (Foucault 1979: 175). Once in Manila Lisa and Tess moved into a large dormitory-like building – the talent studio. The building itself was divided into living quarters, dance floors, meeting rooms, and various other offices. The owner/manager of the studio was a Filipina; her husband was JapaneseFilipino. Lisa does not know the history of the owner, or whether she herself was a former performing artist in Japan. What she does know is that the manager owned two homes, one in the Philippines and the other in Japan. Approximately 30 to 40 other women and men lived in the studio. Some of the women were trainees (called “newbies”); others were returning workers (called “timers”) who elected to stay at the studio during their stays in the Philippines. The studio managers tried, though largely unsuccessfully, to keep the “newbies” separate from the “timers.” Life in the studio was regimented. The mornings were occupied with aerobics and other exercises, while the afternoons were reserved for dance training. Combined, the activities of the trainees were to produce a specific bodily form. Bartky (1990: 66) writes about the “proper” shape of the feminine body. The training center encouraged aerobics and certain exercises. The particularly body that was desired – from the trainer’s point of view, as well as that of the potential club manager – was slender and feminine. Overly muscular bodies were to be avoided, as these were perceived as too masculine. Lisa explains that cosmetic surgery was not encouraged in her training center, although she did hear stories that clubs catering for Japanese men preferred women with large 120

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bosoms; accordingly, she believes that Filipinas employed in those clubs may have been more likely to have breast enlargements. She also perceives that Japanese men preferred more “Westernized” women. Consequently, some Filipinas had eye and nose surgery to conform to a particular type of body that was thought to be in demand. Over the course of her training, Lisa was taught three dance routines. In retrospect she feels that this training was pointless, in that she was never once asked to perform these routines in Japan. She says, “I asked that to myself – why did we learn those dances? Yeah, it was stupid if you think about it.” Rather, in Japan Lisa and the other dancers were expected to perform “sexy” dances, those typical of strip clubs. For this type of training, which is not specified in official guidelines, the studio manager would take the trainees to nightclubs in Manila so that they could watch other dancers perform. Ironically, as discussed earlier, recruiters with whom I spoke indicated that they preferred to recruit women from the provinces and not the clubs. It was felt that the women who presently worked in the bars and clubs of Manila were too “professional,” meaning that they were already experienced in entertainment work. As such, they were deemed “too hard to control,” and once deployed to Japan would be too demanding. Consequently, throughout the training period, the new recruits were escorted in Manila so that they might learn dancing techniques yet presumably remain naïve about actual employment conditions. Dancing and exercise were also two components of a wider regime of corporeal discipline. The dance trainees were instructed on particular bodily gestures and movements. Lisa explains that they were taught how to be “lady-like,” to be feminine. The women were instructed on the proper (feminine) way to cross their legs, hold drinks glasses, and walk. Facial expressions were also coached. Bartky (1990: 68) explains that “feminine faces, as well as bodies, are trained to the expression of deference.” The female gaze is trained to look away coyly, to smile demurely when looked upon. These facial expressions, in which Lisa was instructed, conform to the Westernized stereotypes of Filipinas (and Asian women in general) as delicate, docile, and subservient. The training they undergo serves to produce a particular feminine body – one that visibly signifies their submissiveness, passivity, and willingness to serve the man’s needs and desires. Aside from physical changes to the body, other practices that produce a properly ornamented body are also utilized. Bartky (1990), for example, writes of the mastery of certain techniques, and the acquisition of a specialized knowledge, in the construction of the feminine 121

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body-subject. She explains that women must learn about regimes of haircare, skincare, manicure, and pedicure; women must also learn the proper manipulation of devices such as blow dryers, styling brushes, curling irons, eyeliners, lipliners, mascara brushes, and so forth. For Lisa, her training included just such lessons. Lisa also explains that pimples were certainly to be avoided. In retrospect, she does not even remember any women with severe cases of acne. The interpretations of this are many and open. Were women with acne deliberately not recruited? Were these women simply not offered overseas contracts? Lisa is unable to answer these questions, but she does explain that heavy applications of make-up were often used to cover temporary or permanent facial “blemishes.” Lastly, Lisa mentions that the women received dental care. Clean teeth, as well as the avoidance of bad breath, were a must. The women were also instructed on proper etiquette for both “Japanese” clubs and “American” clubs. Once deployed to Japan, the women would be employed either in a club that serviced primarily Japanese clientele or, particularly if deployed to Okinawa, in a club that catered to US military personnel. Lisa explains that, based on her training, work in Japanese clubs was stricter; the Japanese men had very different, and more rigid, expectations than the US servicemen. For example, she was taught that it was very disrespectful for a woman to light the cigarette of a Japanese man. Lisa and the trainees would also watch videos on how to work as “hostesses.” This type of training included lessons on how to talk to customers, complete with introductory Japanese language lessons. I asked Lisa if she ever wondered about this component of her training – on the techniques of entertaining customers – when she was to be employed as a dancer. Lisa, though, knew what her “real” occupation was: that of a hostess. Indeed, Lisa explains that the most valuable lessons learned came from speaking with the “timers.” Even prior to her arrival at the studio, Lisa had heard stories about work in Japan, and so she had some understanding. Speaking with the veterans of work in Japan, however, helped Lisa tremendously in her preparation. Lisa’s training period lasted for approximately one year. During this time Lisa was able to remain in contact with her family by phone; additionally, her parents were able to make periodic visits. In some respects, Lisa likens her experience to that of going away to college. And although Lisa never attended college, she compares her training to the stories and television shows she sees about moving away from home and living on campus. 122

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The day of Lisa’s booking stands out in her memory. Having completed her training, Lisa was asked to perform at a “booking” at the studio. She, along with dozens of other women and men, were required to perform their three dance routines behind a mirrored room divider. On the other side of the screen were various club managers, mostly from Japan. The booking procedure resonates with Foucault’s discussion of the examination as a technique of discipline. This procedure is highly ritualized and combines the techniques of observation with those of normalization. The examination, consequently, is the technique by which power manifests its potency, essentially by arranging objects; the examination is the ceremony of objectification (Foucault 1979: 187). Chapter 4 detailed the process by which potential entertainers undergo a series of examinations and, ultimately, perform their routines at auditions. In the “making” of migrant performing artists, it is the successful completion of the Academic and Skills Test, and the subsequent awarding of the Artist Record Book, that migrant performing artists become objects. It is through the training and, subsequently, the examination of bodies that judgment is written onto the trainees. As Foucault writes, “all behavior falls in the field between good and bad marks, good and bad points” (Foucault 1979: 180). Given the discourse of professionalism of overseas employment, those bodies who successfully pass the training and testing must, by definition, be moral and reputable; accordingly it is not the system that is at fault in cases of abuse, but rather women who somehow bypassed the system (e.g., illegal migrants). Lisa did not experience the current system of training and certification. As she was deployed in the early 1990s, she preceded the ARB system articulated in DO-3 and DO-3A. Lisa did, however, undergo a similar experience with her booking. Performing migration Following her “audition,” Lisa was offered – and accepted – a six-month contract to work in a nightclub in Okinawa. The everyday presence of the United States military in Okinawa is pervasive (Sturdevant 1992: 248). As of 2000, Okinawa hosted 50,000 US military personnel and their dependants, all on an island with just 1.3 million inhabitants and just 1 percent of the land area of Japan (Keyso 2000: 138). Sexual services have historically been available for US military personnel in Okinawa. Sturdevant (1992: 251) explains that during the American occupation following World War II, Okinawan women provided sexual labor; 123

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women involved were mainly widows and daughters of families left with few resources. She further explains that, by the 1970s, the total amount of foreign exchange generated by sexual labor was the largest of any industry in Okinawa (Sturdevant 1992: 251). It is unclear as to when Filipinas were first recruited to work in the entertainment sector of Okinawa. By the mid-1980s, however, some 100,000 Filipinas worked on the Japanese mainland, while another 4,000 worked in Okinawa (Sturdevant 1992: 252). Lisa landed in Okinawa during a severe tropical storm. She remembers, vividly, the lightning illuminating the night sky and the thunder. She was met at the airport and driven directly to the club. Arriving at the club around 8 pm, Lisa assumed that she would not start working until the next day. Instead, she was told to change and to begin work. She says: “I thought they were going to give me a break, like I’m going to start tomorrow, [but] no, right away. They said, ‘Give me all your suitcases’ and ‘Put on your make-up.’ I said, ‘What’?” Her first night was filled with a mixture of emotions: fear, nervousness, anticipation, anxiety, exhaustion. She was not required to dance that first night, but rather was told to walk around, talk to customers, to get a feel for the club. At first, she was shy about speaking to strangers, even in English. The club, she learned, catered mostly to a foreign (nonJapanese) clientele. Customers were mostly United States marines from a nearby base. Disciplinary power is exercised through the spatial distribution of individuals. Through enclosure and confinement – whether walled cities, prisons or nightclubs – the physical confinement of bodies in space serves to restrict social and spatial mobility. Disciplined spaces also provide greater efficiency. These geographies of discipline resonate with the experiences of Lisa. Her worksite/home was a two-story building. Upstairs was the nightclub; living quarters were on the lower level. The living arrangement were dorm-like. Approximately six women lived in each room, with bunk-beds provided. Although some clubs have both male and female performers, including transvestites, this club was staffed only by female performers. Disciplinary power is also exercised through the control of activities. Within the clubs, we find evidence of numerous temporal techniques of control. The working hours were set by the club owners and were correlated with the activities of the military personnel. Normally, the club opened for business around 6:30 or 7:00 pm; on paydays – meaning the days when the marines were paid – the club would open earlier, usually around 5 pm. The club would stay open until 2 am but, again, on paydays 124

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the club would stay open all night, not closing until 8 am. Even if no customers were in the club, Lisa and the other dancers were not allowed to sleep or rest during their shifts. Daily life was routinized. In the morning the women were required to do their chores: cooking, cleaning, laundry. They had free time between one and four in the afternoon. During this time the women could come and go as they pleased. Other researchers have identified that club owners often require dancers to call up customers during the day. De Dios (1992), Ballescas (1993), and Asis (2001: 49), for example, document instances wherein club owners would pressure the women to go out with clients, a practice known as dohan, and for which club owners would exact a fee. Lisa explains that she was not explicitly told to engage in these activities. At the same time, however, she also quickly learned that if you knew a “good-spender,” you would call him or visit him during the day, to encourage him to show up that evening. The club maintained a dress code. While performing, women were required to wear short skirts, high heels, and heavy make-up. Beyond that the club managers were less strict. Weight, according to Lisa, was generally not an issue, although the women were encouraged to maintain a “feminine” look at all times. Again, this meant that the women were not to be too muscular (hence masculine) nor too “heavy.” Bartky (1990: 74) writes that, often, the disciplinary power that inscribes femininity in the female body is everywhere and it is nowhere; the disciplinarian is everyone and yet no one in particular. Lisa explains that within the club the women learn from each other how to adorn their faces with make-up, select the right costumes, and wear their hair in the current fashions. For Lisa, it was important for the women to be “hip” and “up-to-date” in their looks. All the women attempted to be popular. The performers were visually inspected before they began work, though not, apparently, for reasons related to beauty. This was done, Lisa says, to check if the women were pregnant. It was explained to Lisa that a pregnant woman would bring bad luck to the club. Regardless of the reason, the women knew that pregnancy meant deportation. Work in the club revolved around a drinks-quota system. It was this system, for Lisa, that structured her experiences and became the principal disciplinary technique that permeated them. Performers at the club were required to fill a monthly quota of 800 tickets. Lisa explained that each drink was worth a specified number of tickets. A $10 drink, for example, equated to one ticket. Clearly, this system encouraged the women to entice the male patrons to purchase numerous drinks, and ideally the most expensive ones. The dancers were not required to drink alcoholic 125

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beverages, and so usually just drank 7-Up or Coca-Cola. It was extremely difficult to fulfill a quota of 800 tickets; normally the women’s monthly tally would be around 500. An incentive was put in place that if the 800ticket quota was reached, the performer would receive a $200 bonus. On the other hand, women risked repatriation if they continually failed to bring in an adequate number of tickets. The activities of the women were under constant supervision. The “mama-sans” would patrol the club floor with flashlights. They maintained a five-minute limit, wherein customers were expected to buy drinks every five minutes. Accordingly, the control of activities further permeated the working experiences of Lisa and the other dancers. This limit, Lisa explains, was one of the biggest complaints the women had. Dancing, of course, was required at the club. The women were expected to perform a series of dance numbers on stage – usually two or three songs. Nudity was not permitted, but the women did wear revealing clothes. For the club, however, dancing was merely the draw, for profits hinged on the purchase of drinks. Whoever sold the fewest drinks would be expected to dance more frequently. In Lisa’s view, however, this was not entirely viewed as punishment. In general, she did not object to the dancing, but did complain of having to change costumes frequently. Lisa and the other women attempted to resist within the boundaries established by the club. However, the quota system was extremely regulated; cans of ticket stubs were kept behind the bar and a written record was maintained. One tactic the women employed, though, was to encourage their customers to pay them cash directly, and not to purchase drinks. This was most feasible toward the end of the month, after they had already reached, or were approaching, their quota. They would hide money in their shoes or some other item of clothing. This practice was discouraged by the club owners since they did not profit from these transactions. The quota system also engendered competition among the performers. Lisa recalls that downstairs, in the living quarters, the women could be the best of friends. Upstairs, however, on the club floor, they viewed each other as competitors. When first starting employment, for example, the “newbies” were not assisted by the “timers.” They were viewed as competition. Customers, Lisa explains, often preferred, or at least exhibited more interest in, new dancers to the club. Lisa explained other techniques the women would use to increase their own productivity. When a woman would leave temporarily, to go to the restroom for example, the other women would approach the customer and whisper in his ear something like “Why are you buying her drinks? Don’t you know she’s married 126

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back in the Philippines and has four kids?” This would discursively reposition the other woman as unavailable, shatter the myth of sexual innocence or, at the very least, availability. Also, in an attempt to reach their quotas, the performers would often attempt to steal customers, especially if the men were perceived to be “good-spenders.” A performer, for example, might accuse another woman of being pregnant; hence, their competition for customers was facilitated through the disciplinary rules imposed by the club managers. Given that contracts for performing artists are six months in duration, Lisa made repeated sojourns to Okinawa. On one occasion, while working in Okinawa, Lisa began dating Steve, a US marine. Looking back, Lisa explains that she never intended to find a husband in Japan. Moreover, Lisa is adamant that she did not date Steve simply as a stepping-stone to the United States. Nevertheless, Lisa’s relationship with Steve resulted in her becoming pregnant and, as a result, she was forced to stop working at the club. Back in her hometown, Lisa gave birth to a girl. Steve had promised that he would follow her to the Philippines to marry her. Lisa remembers thinking that she would probably never see him again but, to her relief, Steve did come. Lisa’s pregnancy, wedding, and subsequent move to the United States, however, brought significant changes to her life. The embodied subjectivity of Lisa Lisa’s subjectivity, as well as her conceptualization of family, was transformed through her experiences in Okinawa and, later, in the United States. Within the literature on Philippine migration, women are often presumed to take the lead. Daughters, wives, and mothers are perceived to fulfill familial obligations (Lauby and Stark 1988; Trager 1988; Root and DeJong 1991). De Dios (1992: 47) writes that “Filipinas are primed by orientated and socialization to take on the role of a ‘sacrificial lamb.’” Medina (1991: 128) contends that women “continue to shoulder the greatest responsibility of family care: it is the wife, mother, sister, or daughter who is the primary care-giver.” In Lisa’s narrative, we see that her eldest sister Maria was primed to become, in essence, the “sacrificial lamb” for the family. As events unfolded, however, this did not materialize and, in fact, Lisa assumed much of the responsibility. Although spatially separated, Lisa was able to remit money to her family and help support her young siblings’ education. Lisa also utilized this opportunity to assert her own independence. Certainly, economically, Lisa – through her experiences in Okinawa – 127

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may be considered a panalo, or “winner.” As Ballescas (1992: 88) identifies, panalos are the entertainers who are most conspicuous upon their return home. They arrive laden with money and material possessions such as stereos and television sets. However, Lisa speaks of acquiring more than simply material gains. Lisa’s own sense of identity was fundamentally transformed. She saw herself, in Okinawa, as an independent women; she was not an appendage of her family, but an autonomous woman who could help provide for her family in times of need. In the United States, Lisa’s sense of self was transformed yet again. She explains that, following the birth of her daughter, her concept of family shifted from her earlier childhood family, with her parents, brothers and sisters, to her incipient family. Rather than a focus on herself, and her parents and siblings, Lisa transferred her attention toward the health and well-being of her children. Ironically, as Lisa’s focus shifted, so too did her perception of her ability to provide for her natal family. Lisa perceives her move to the United States as one of downward mobility. Indeed, Lisa reminisces that her life was best not in the Philippines, nor in the United States, but rather in Japan. In Japan, Lisa was able to move about; in the United States, without the ability to drive, Lisa feels constrained spatially. Economically, in the United States, she now feels more impoverished than when she lived in the Philippines. More important, however, is that she also feels personally impotent. Lacking in skills and education, she believes that she has few prospects. Her spatial and financial dependence on her husband does not sit well. After her independence in Japan, and having assumed a familial position as primary wage-earner, Lisa now feels frustrated that she is repositioned in a subservient role. Lisa intimates that this has placed a strain on her marriage. Lisa’s experiences, and subjectivities, must also be contextualized within the realm of her occupation, namely that of being a performing artist. For some, being an entertainer carries a stigma. As Ryan and Hall (2001: 92) write, sex workers are often marginalized, as they are seen to be a threat to the fabric of society. And yet working as an entertainer, for Lisa, constituted an act of partial liberation. Work in the entertainment sector in Okinawa, for Lisa, was assuredly a performance. Admittedly, also, her experiences in Okinawa were largely positive. She was not physically beaten, raped, or abused as has happened to other entertainers. Nevertheless, Lisa describes a sense of newly acquired confidence. Certainly, sexual work is experienced as an integral part of many women’s and men’s lives around the world, but it is not necessarily the sole defining activity around which their sense of self is shaped 128

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(Kempadoo 1998: 3). Lisa has carried this over into her family life, as she is able to maintain a separation between her (previous) employment and her (current) role as daughter, sister, mother, and wife. In the case of sex workers, as Law (2000: 125) writes, sexual and cultural taboos help discursively to produce subjectivities in ways that mark women’s bodies with sexuality, class, race and gender. What empowered Lisa to resist the negative discourses surrounding employment as a performing artist? Consistent with other work conducted by and about sex workers, Lisa readily acknowledges her previous employment, but she views erotic dancing simply as a job. It was not, and is not, her defining feature. Dancing, and more broadly sex work, to Lisa constituted an income-generating activity or form of labor, and not an identity. Lisa thus views her former occupation as do many other sex workers: sex work becomes work, like any other, and this attitude removes stigmas associated with victimization (Ryan and Hall 2001: 96). In her study on sex workers in Southeast Asia, Law (2000: 63) finds that the women she interviewed do not author themselves as homogenous victims of colonialism, sex tourism or political economy. Prostitution is only one facet of their lives; it is a job they are employed in – often for short periods of time – and cannot be equated with the essence of their personhood. In this way the experiences of Lisa resonate with the writings of Law. For Lisa her experiences as an entertainer constitute one chapter of her life – one that only minimally carries over into her current life. She freely acknowledges her former occupation, and exhibits neither shame nor pride. What can we derive from this narrative? Certainly in Lisa’s life and experiences we find consonance with other studies. But I also concur with Josselson (1995: 32–3), who writes that: When we aggregate people, treating diversity as error variance, in search of what is common to all, we often learn about what is true of no one in particular. Narrative approaches allow us to witness the individual in her or his complexity and recognize that although some phenomena will be common to all, some will remain unique. Lisa’s experiences are not purported to be generalizable; nor are her experiences to be considered so unique as to preclude deepening our 129

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understanding of the intersection of discipline, resistance, and identity. Lisa understands her experiences as a pragmatic response to a particular context; she grew up in an impoverished household and saw employment in Japan as a means to improve not only her life but also that of her family. Not acting out of blind altruism, nor oppressed by patriarchal expectations, Lisa acted upon the most viable opportunity available at the time. Having availed herself of this opportunity, Lisa’s life was further transformed. Her unplanned pregnancy and subsequent hasty marriage also set in place different opportunities and limitations. This narrative of Lisa, ultimately, though, is meant to illustrate the myriad aspects of disciplinary control and the techniques of self. Through a bureaucratic system of training, testing, and surveillance, the Philippine state migratory apparatus makes overseas performing artists. Specifically through regulatory practices, key institutions attempt to produce professional workers who conform to a set of government-defined normative standards. Disciplinary techniques of normalization, according to Foucault (1979: 184), impose homogeneity. Concurrently, however, these techniques individualize by making it possible to measure gaps, to determine levels, to fix specialties, and to render the differences useful by fitting them one to another. It is the individual who has to be trained or corrected, classified, normalized, or excluded (Foucault 1979: 191). The individual becomes the object and effect of these techniques, and becomes the measure of the homogenized norm against which disciplinary tactics can be brought to bear (Barker 1998: 58). The training and testing procedures that are currently in place serve to produce a “legitimate” and “reputable” performing artist who ostensibly conforms to a set of standards. However, the homogenizing process establishes a space from which any deviation from the norm may be identified and corrected. Thus, from a government standpoint, it becomes easier to isolate “deviant” workers, who do not conform to the standards established through the training sessions. Cases of exploitation and abuse are more readily seen as aberrations – singular cases of individuals who for one reason or another “slipped” between the cracks of a disciplined system of making workers. This individualization provides legitimacy to the Philippine state migratory apparatus. As far as instances of abuse and exploitation are concerned, such as the case of Maricris Sioson, they are to be considered on a case-by-case basis and not as a blanket assessment of overseas employment. But there is a double process in the individualization. Significantly, Lisa and the other entertainers likewise attempted to individuate themselves within a context of homogeneity. Individualization within 130

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homogenization is reappropriated in an attempt to personally gain by the system in place. At the worksite, on the dance floor, the women perceived each other as potential competitors, all vying for the clients’ attention. Thus there existed a perceived necessity to distinguish themselves from each other. Perhaps through a particular hairstyle, but more likely by a style of dress or a particular “pick-up line,” Lisa and her co-workers resisted the homogenization process for personal gain. But, more fundamentally, Lisa expressed (and expresses) a need to maintain her sense of self, not to succumb to the homogenization of the production process. Entertainer, dancer, hostess, sex worker: these terms have been inscribed upon her body, but Lisa refuses to be imprisoned by these labels. Asis (2001), in her study of Filipina migrants, relates the story of “Linda” who was employed as a domestic worker in Hong Kong. According to Asis (2001: 46), Linda battled against the low status accorded domestic workers by reminding herself that what the employer was paying for was only her labor, not her humanity. Lisa, like Linda, understands that she was remade into a particular type of worker. At times she complied with this process; certainly she was able to benefit materially from it. At other times, however, Lisa refused to acquiesce to the discourses inscribed upon herself. In the end, Lisa’s narrative characterizes the everydayness of migrants’ struggles to create new material possibilities and meanings in their lives, as well as their remembering and retelling of how and why things have worked out the way they have for them (Barber 2000: 408).

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In his writings Foucault reveals a fascination with the doubling of the term discipline. On the one hand, the term refers to practices of societal control, as manifest in the “disciplining of bodies.” On the other hand, the term refers to identifiable bodies of knowledge, such as geography or sociology. Foucault views these two usages of “discipline” as inseparable. Dialectically, knowledge of bodies produces bodies of knowledge and vice versa. Made in the Philippines addresses the making of migrants, not only as objects of control but also as objects of knowledge. This book, consequently, places the study of gendered migration within a poststructural feminist framework and questions the ontological meaning of migrants and migration. Meaning, in poststructuralist theory, is not guaranteed by a world external to it (Weedon 1997: 171). This suggests that meanings are constructed. Throughout this book I forward the proposition that there is no ontological referent to migration or migrant. Instead, these terms are socially produced and politically contested. When scholars or policymakers, for example, use such terms as “migrant” or “migration” they do so discursively. However, the temporary fixing of meaning is never a neutral act; it involves both interests and questions of power (Weedon 1997: 171). I propose that poststructural feminism, through a focus on discourse, power, knowledge, and institutions, offers a revitalized framework from which to approach the theoretical and empirical study of gendered migration. During the early 1990s, when I first began my studies on Philippine migration, Chant and Radcliffe (1992), among others, challenged researchers to search for more theoretically based explanations of gender and migration. At that time migration scholars were becomingly increasingly aware of the “feminist” challenge in population-related fields such as geography, sociology, and anthropology. The influential 133

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writings of Phizacklea (1983), Morokvasic (1983), Thadini and Todaro (1984), for example, were becoming incorporated in studies of migration. Pessar (1999: 579) contends that once feminist scholarship gained a foothold in migration studies it progressed through a series of stages. At first, the previous (and continuing) biases in both data collection and methodology were redressed. This led to a series of informative, empirically based studies on patterns of female migration. In the process, however, the theory behind the empiricism received little concerted attention. Regarding migration studies in the early 1990s, Chant and Radcliffe (1992: 1–2) wrote that “While many studies of migrant populations have noted imbalances in numbers of men and women moving to different areas within or beyond national boundaries, as yet there has been no . . . detailed investigation of the reasons why migration is virtually always gender-selective to some degree in all developing regions, to what extent this is an intrinsic aspect of capitalist economic development, why this may vary in particular places and/or at particular points in time, and what the implications are in different parts of the developing world.” In Made in the Philippines I argue from a poststructural feminist standpoint that the observations of Chant and Radcliffe are related to the fact that migration is actively produced, both socially and politically. As part of the Philippine state migratory apparatus’ strategy of capital accumulation, gendered migrant bodies are made to be selectively deployed into foreign labor markets. Given the fluidity of labor markets, as well as changes in the Philippines’ political economy, the machinations of making migrants will differ both temporally and spatially. The implications are many and varied, but coalesce around the unequal distribution – occupationally, geographically, and historically – of migratory opportunities for men and women. Made in the Philippines, theoretically, does not exist in isolation. Foucault (1972: 23), for example, writes that: The frontiers of a book are never clear-cut: beyond the title, the first lines, and the last full stop, beyond its internal configurations and its autonomous form, it is caught up in a system of references to other books, other texts, other sentences: it is a node within a network. In addition to Foucault, I interweave the writings of Hondagneu-Sotelo (1994), Constable (1997), Weedon (1997, 1999) and Parreñas (2001). Eschewing more traditional approaches to the study of migration, such 134

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as structural, neoclassical, dependency, or world-systems perspectives, I began this project with a deconstruction of our very subject matter, these being the terms “migration” and “migrant.” We tend, for example, to write of “migrant women” as opposed to “women who migrate” or, alternatively, “women who move/work/reside in other countries.” This is not simply a matter of common language usage. Just as feminists have questioned the universality of the term “woman,” so too we should question the term “migrant.” As this book and others (e.g., Andreas 2000; Nevins 2002) document, “migrant” is a malleable term replete with multiple significations. Consequently, instead of presuming the existence of a female migrant, or even a migrant who “becomes” gendered, I premise my argument that “migrants” must first be made. My intent therefore is not to discredit existing migration theory, nor to dismiss the work of other researchers. Rather, I seek temporarily to hold in abeyance our a priori assumptions of migration and migrants to consider the active production of migrants and migration. Accordingly, this constitutes a strategic maneuver, designed to provide new avenues of inquiry with which to approach both the study of migration and the formulation of migration policies. In short, I seek to reposition migration studies more firmly within the realm of poststructural feminist thought. Weedon (1997: 132) concludes that : The principles of feminist poststructuralism can be applied to all discursive practices in order to analyse how they are structured, what power relations they produce and reproduce, where there are resistances and where we might look for weak points more open to challenge and transformation. I suggest that these principles should be applied to the study of migration. Chapter 1 provided a broad overview of gendered migration studies, poststructural feminism, and the key concepts of discourse, power/ knowledge, institutions, and subjectivities. I am not the first to incorporate poststructural thought into the study of migration. Previous scholars have incorporated elements of poststructuralism, including the writings of Foucault, into their studies (e.g., Constable 1997; Gamburd 2000; Parreñas 2001). While building on these works, I depart from them through a more explicit focus on the discursive making of migration and migrants, and the concomitant non-discursive practices that undergird migration policies. This is first evident in Chapter 2 in which I provided a genealogy of the discursive formations of Philippine international labor migration. Foucault (1990: 100) writes that “we must not imagine a 135

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world of discourse divided between accepted discourse and excluded discourse, or between the dominant discourse and the dominated one; but as a multiplicity of discursive elements that come into play in various strategies.” As detailed in Chapter 2, the production of “Philippine international labor migration” is of recent vintage, dating only to the 1970s. Through an examination of the discontinuities, the transformations, of specific discursive formations related to Philippine “migration” I chart the shifts from a governmental understanding of migration predicated on personal self-sacrifice and national development to one based on full disclosure and empowerment. Furthermore, I indicate that the Philippine state migratory apparatus negotiates and operates within contradictory spaces through particular discourses of scale. Spatial scales are politically and socially constructed to legitimize and support specific agendas. In its support of capital accumulation, the Philippine state tends to adopt discourses of globalization, strategically positioning the state in a subservient, passive role in the global political economy. Conversely, when confronted with charges of migrant exploitation, the Philippine state couples a discourse of globalization with a discourse of bodies, wherein abuses are scaled down, metaphorically, to the body of the migrant. This corporeal discourse thus deflects attention and criticism away from the state, thereby maintaining its political hegemony. Subsequent chapters provide detailed analyses of the making of migrants. Specifically, I draw on earlier work that also questioned the ontological basis of migrants. Nearly two decades ago, for example, Ng (1986: 269) asked, “Who is an ‘immigrant woman’?” She continued: In the everyday world, when we identify a woman as an “immigrant woman,” we do not only imply that person’s legal status, although of course the term presupposes this legal relation. Our common-sense understanding of the term usually conjures up an image of a woman who is visibly different (that is, from a different ethnic or cultural background); who cannot speak English properly; who does not behave appropriately in public situations; and who occupies a certain position in the occupational hierarchy (for example, a cleaning-lady or a sewingmachine operator in a sweat-shop). As Kofman et al. (2000: 8) write, “defining migrants is a contested process, involving processes of inclusion and exclusion.” Feminists have argued that gender is inscribed onto bodies. Race, ethnicity, and nationalism are likewise inscribed. This book shows that “migration” is 136

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also inscribed. There is no natural “migrant”; likewise, “migration” is socially produced, infused with multiple significations. Having discussed the making of migration, I next considered the making of migrants. Consequently, Chapter 3 began with a discussion of the body as a site of accumulation. My purpose in this section was to set the foundation for a more in-depth discussion of how bodies become commodified into migrants. Ng (1986: 269) argues that “immigrant women” are special “commodities,” a special kind of labor in the labor market. Forwarding a class-based analysis, she maintains that “we are not simply identifying a group of people; more to the point, we are identifying how some people are transformed in relation to the productive processes of society” (Ng 1986: 269). The comments of Ng resonate with the arguments forwarded in this book, namely that “migrants” are made through discursive formations and non-discursive practices. As such, subsequent sections of Chapter 3 explored the imbrications of these formations and practices. Chapter 3 also contributes to the institutional study of migration. Kofman et al. (2000: 31) agree that the notion of “migrant institution” represents a significant advance, in providing an account that can deal with the myriad of agencies and organizations now operating in the “business” of migration and that have played a crucial role in the “feminization” of labour migration at a global level since the mid-1970s. However, gender has not been widely incorporated in studies of migrant institutions. This book, like my earlier writings, attempts to fill this gap. It is through the institutionalization of migration, I argue, that the production of migrants as objects is initially manifest. Through institutional practices, data collection and dissemination, and the construction of policy, bodies become objects of knowledge. A closer examination of this process of discourse formation, non-discursive practices, and policy formation was provided in Chapter 4. Through an extended case study of the migration of overseas performing artists, I detail the prevalence of a number of discursive formations that contexualize female migrant entertainers and illustrate how selected discourses espoused by different participants are used to forward particular positions. Further, I indicate how the construction of policy is contingent upon the incorporation of selected discourses. Bodies are not simply passive receptors of discourses, nor are they simply subject to institutionalized disciplinary techniques. Chapter 5 137

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thus complements broader trends in migration studies that address the formation of migrant subjectivities. Silvey and Lawson (1999: 126), for example, note that a critical shift in the conceptualization of migrants has occurred, namely that recent studies have focused on migrants as interpretative subjects of their own mobility, rather than as economically driven laborers responding to broader forces. I extend this argument, however. Rather than conceiving of “migrants” as interpretative subjects, I suggest we consider bodies as becoming “migrants.” Silvey and Lawson (1999: 127) also write that recent work, rather than situating migrants within unproblematic notions of economy and culture, explores the ways in which migrants negotiate and inhabit multiple subject positions, which in turn shape their mobility decisions and experiences. They further explain that “feminist work has theorized and interpreted migrants as gendered subjects” (Silvey and Lawson 1999: 127). My argument, though, is that “migrant” is a subject position – one that is both negotiated and contested. To argue otherwise is to posit the existence of an essential, ontologically stable migrant-subject, an idea that is incongruent with recent feminist theory. Asis (2001: 27) asks: “How can a migration context that is supposed to be rife with vulnerabilities be empowering for women migrants and beneficial for their families?” She continues that the “experiences and perspectives of women migrants can help to clarify these discrepant views” as well as to facilitate the understanding of “the ramifications of the migration experience for the lives of women” (Asis 2001: 27–8). In Chapter 5, through an in-depth narrative about Lisa, a Filipina performing artist, I detailed how one particular individual was externally inscribed, and yet simultaneously negotiated and contested these discourses. In consonance with the findings of Constable (1997) and others, Lisa can be fixed neither as a victim nor a heroine. Her subjectivities are contextual, in part related to her place of residence, in part related also to social relationships as either daughter, sister, wife, mother, and/or employee.

The politicization of migration Scholars are now moving toward a more fully engendered understanding of the migration process (Pessar 1999: 594). Much, however, remains to be done. Pessar (1999: 580), for example, concludes that “we are only beginning to take the next step in reformulating migration theory in light of the anomalous and unexpected findings revealed in this body of work.” Kofman and colleagues (2000: 194) argue that “the feminization 138

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of migration, though increasingly acknowledged in academic circles, has so far had little impact on mainstream theory and remains largely invisible in policy discussion.” Hondagneu-Sotelo (1999: 568) writes that recent feminist scholarship has replaced the category of “woman” with a focus on gender relations, and gender itself has been destabilized by the recognition that a matrix of social relations structures social life. While in agreement, I extend Hondagneu-Sotelo’s argument. It is insufficient to deconstruct “gender” without a correlative deconstruction of other terms, including “migrant” and “migration.” We should resist the temptation to provide yet another classification of “migration” types. We perform a disservice also through the uncritical usage of terms such as “migrant Filipina,” in that this appellation signifies an essentialized subject. And yet being a “migrant Filipina” in Los Angeles, for example, is unlike being a “migrant Filipina” in northeast Ohio, Kuwait, or Singapore. This is, in part, because the signs “migrant” and “Filipina” connote very different images – images that are both geographically and historically contingent. All of these terms are socially constructed and thus will forever elude our ability to impose a permanent – and agreed upon – definition. Likewise, we need seriously to consider the implications of our academic inscription of “migrant” onto people, no matter what is our ultimate intent. These are politicized terms and through our uncritical acceptance we perpetuate a blind politics. Weedon (1997: 180) concludes that poststructuralist theories offer a set of theoretical tools which can help feminists understand power relations of class, gender, and race in ways that enable change. This is particularly germane when we as academics or activists direct our attention toward migration policy. To do so, however, requires that a poststructural feminism also consider more concretely the political processes of making migration. According to Edkins (1999: 2), the “political” is taken to be that sphere of social life commonly called “politics”: elections, political parties, the state apparatus. Edkins (1999: 126) further explains that the “political represents the moment of openness or undecidability, when a new social order is on the point of establishment, when its limits are being contested. Politics, in contrast is what takes place once the new order is institutionalized.” Gonzalez (1998: 150–1) concludes his masterful study of Philippine labor migration with the following observation: “the Filipino labour diaspora is one of the most popularly studied areas . . . [however] few [researchers] have attempted to apply their theories and models to explain the political, policy, and administrative dimensions of this 139

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human phenomena.” Migration is not only socially produced; it is also politically constructed and contested. A radical departure for migration studies will be to discuss the political machinations, and not just the politics. Consequently, as a first step, Made in the Philippines documents both the politics (Chapter 2) and the political (Chapters 3 and 4) that surround the promotion of overseas employment as a development strategy and the discursive making and marketing of migrant workers. Too often researchers focus on the consequences – the outcomes – of these policies, rather than tracing the genealogies of policies. Edkins (1999: 127–8) maintains that the political is not a question of conflict between preexisting classes or other groupings whose interests can be presumed, but rather a question of the struggle to form new (and always precarious) coalitions of power. Consequently, studies of migration address the politics of migration, such as the struggles between state and private agencies, or between private agencies and non-governmental organizations, but not the political. Consequently, precarious but significant alliances between “traditionally” opposing participants may be neglected. Consider more specifically the politics of overseas employment. Labor migration is discursively framed as (1) advantageous to the development of the country, and (2), as an affirmation of the human right of free movement. The management of migration is thus positioned as a means of empowering workers to perform to their best ability. But management is also necessary to separate the “good” workers from the “bad,” and not to let a few “deviant” bodies adversely affect the others. This dichotomous classification of migrants into legitimate and illegitimate serves to absolve policymakers of any culpability. Furthermore, and somewhat paradoxically, deviant individuals (e.g., those who are “bad” and subsequently exploited) become valuable assets in the discursive contestation of overseas employment. It is because of abused bodies that government intervention is necessary. In a Hegelian move, the state apparatus thus performs a negation of the negative wherein instances of abuse and exploitation are turned into a positive strategy to support the continuation of overseas employment. Hence, rather than calling for a ban on particular occupations, more stringent regulations are deemed necessary. The overall message articulated by the state migratory apparatus is that it is not the overseas employment program that is faulty, but rather certain individualized bodies that deviate from prescribed normative standards. Consequently, the state denies accountability. The construction of migration policy is predicated on “knowing” the migrant. However, what is lost in the process is that migration and migrants are not natural referents, but rather socially and politically 140

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produced objects. Following Foucault, Edkins (1999: 12) explains that how something gets to count as true (e.g., causes and consequences of migration) is a political process. She continues that when the production of truth is claimed to be a search for objective “knowledge,” it is depoliticized (Edkins 1999: 12). Much of what we call “politics” in our studies of migration is, in many respects, “depoliticized.” Consequently, we can further the theoretical and empirical study of gendered migration through an engagement of the political making of migration and a simultaneous critique of depoliticized processes. This repoliticization of migration studies will therefore interrupt discourses and challenge those practices that are constituted as normal and natural. Foucault (1972: 224) states firmly that “Disciplines constitute a system of control in the production of discourse.” Made in the Philippines, beyond a study of Philippine overseas employment, is a book about theorizing migration. It is my belief that through an engagement with poststructural feminist theories, the study of gendered migration will be advanced.

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155

INDEX

Abella, M. 56, 73, 76 abuses against migrant workers 52, 96, 97, 130, 136, 140; responsibility for 98–9 Academic and Skills Test 103, 123 accountability 48, 53, 140 Action for Health 81 administrative procedures, gender application 73–4 advertising 76 Afghanistan, suspension of deployment of workers in 82 agriculture 23, 31 Alegado, D. T. 55 Andall, J. 69 Andreas, P. 58 anti-immigrant rhetoric 13 Apex Manpower 68 Aquino, Corazon, President of the Philippines 38, 78 Artist Record Book 103, 123 ASEAN Free Trade Agreement 81 Asia 25, 34–5, 37, 72 Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) 81 Asis, M. 36, 83, 116, 125, 131, 138 auditions, for entertainers 102, 104, 105, 123 Bagong Bayani Awards 78 Balabagan, S. 41, 42 balance of payments 28, 32 Ball, R. 2, 44, 56, 79 Ballescas, M. R. 88, 105, 125, 128 Barnes, S. 89, 90 Bartky, S. L. 92, 111, 120, 121–2, 125 Battistella, G. 66–7, 82 Bell Mission 27 Bell Trade Act 1946 28

Belsey, C. 18, 113 Bevir, M. 26 Bishop, R. 93 body 17–19, 137–8; beautiful 69; discourses of 46–9, 52, 56, 59–64, 70; feminine 120, 121–2, 125; fit 68–9; in marketing 67–70; as objects 56, 63–4, 64–7; power and 17, 56; production of for overseas employment 119–20; theorizing 109–11, 113 Boyle, P. 5, 8 Brettle, C. 7 Brochman, G. 56 brochures, representations of Filipino workers in 67–8 Brown, A. L. 14 Bureau of Employment Services 33 bureaucracy, streamlining 51, 105 Butler, J. 113 Cabanilla, Beatriz 82 Calavita, K. 56 Cambodia 72 Canada, hierarchy of domestic workers 75 capital accumulation 19, 44, 46, 57, 59, 64, 134, 136; and labor importation 61–2, 63; and worker protection 2 capital/labor exchange 61–2; circulation of variable capital 59–63 Carpenter, B. 92 Casco, R. R. 44 Certificates of Competency 103, 104 Chang, G. 12–13 Chant, S. 6, 7, 38, 75, 133, 134 Chase, S. E. 114 Chavez, L. R. 4 Chin, C. 69 Clark, G. L. 27

156

INDEX

classification of migrants 64–5, 68 Coe, N. M. 56 colonial governments, demand for cheap labor 25 Commission on Filipinos Overseas 27, 65 consciousness 114; false 78 Constable, N. 69, 76, 106 consumption, by workers 62, 63 Contemplacion, Flor 41–2, 43 contract workers 65; numbers of 1, 21, 40, 55; protection for 2, 38, 51, 81–2; trials of 41–2; see also overseas employment cosmetic surgery 120–1 Cruz, V. P. 118

of 68; Filipina 75, 76; race and gender identities 75–6; status of employers 69 drinks quota system 125–7 Duenas, M. 96

dancers 121, 126 David, R. S. 87 Dear, M. 27 deaths of overseas workers 82; see also Sioson, Maricris Denmark 72 Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE) 43, 44, 72, 82; Departmental Orders 3 and 4 100–3; Department Order 10 101, 105, 106; and professionalization of overseas performing artists 100–3, 105, 106; response to death of Sioson 99–100 deployment of migrant workers 37, 50–3, 66 deregulation 44, 73 Descartes, R. 109, 112 destinations of migrant workers 21–3, 37 development diplomacy 32–7, 63 deviant individuals 98–9, 101, 103, 105, 140 Dios, A. J. de 2, 125, 127 direct-mail campaigns 70, 71 disciplinary techniques 59, 133; of body 18, 111, 113, 119–20, 121; control of activities 124–7; institutions and 16–17, 119–20, 130; resistance to 18 disclosure, full 48, 51, 52, 62 discontinuity of discourse 13–14, 19 discourse 11–14, 64, 70, 87; Foucault and 13–14, 15, 87, 135–6; of migration 14 discourses of entertainers: as povertystricken women 87–8, 96; as prostitutes 89–93, 98; as skilled professionals 104–6; as willing victims 88–9, 98, 100 Doezma, J. 92 domestic workers 37, 107, 131; age restrictions 74; British 75; classification

earnings, sent to families 1, 32–3 economic policy: of Aquino 38–40; of Marcos 28–30; post-war 28; of Ramos 40–1 Edkins, J. 139, 140, 141 efficiency 50, 51, 73 employers of domestic workers 69 employment contracts 36, 102–3 empowerment 46–9, 59, 140 England, K. 75 entertainers see overseas performing artists entertainment sector 72, 74 Escobar, A. 45 Estrada, J. 83 ethnicity, and labor power 60, 61 Europe, Filipino workers in 72 evacuation plans 82 examinations, for entertainers 104, 105, 123 exploitation 1–2, 3, 80, 104–5, 130; effect of death of Sioson 96, 97–8; responsibility for 48, 52–3, 98–9, 100, 105, 136, 140 Export Incentives Act 1970 28 export of labor 29, 31–2 export-oriented industrialization 29, 30, 31 families: earnings sent from abroad 1, 32–3; obligations to 88, 98, 115, 17–18 female entertainers: moral character 101, 103, 105, 123; responsible for own exploitation 98– 9, 104; see also overseas performing artists female migrant workers 6–9, 21, 23, 37, 85, 138; exploitation of see exploitation; professional 85; representations of 8, 89, 90, 91; restrictions on 73–4 feminine body 120, 121–2, 125 feminist study 60, 109; on migration 6–9, 16, 133–4; and postructuralism 9–11, 133–4, 135, 139 “Filipino First” policy 28 fitness of migrant workers 68–9 foreign policy, and immigration 6 Foucault, M. 26, 59, 70, 112, 134, 141; and the body 17–18, 111–12, 113; and discipline 16–17, 119–20, 133; and

157

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discourse 13–14, 15, 87, 135–6; and knowledge 11–12, 56; and power 12, 15–16, 16–17, 63; and technologies of the self 18, 110, 111, 112; and truth 86 free choice 48, 49, 51, 52, 63 freedom of movement 47, 49, 51 Garcia, Carlos, President of the Philippines 28 gender 66, 139; and discursive marketing of migrants 68; and migration 6–9, 16; stereotyping in labor recruitment 74–6, 77; see also female migrant workers General Agreement in Trade and Services (GATS) 81 global economy, comparative advantage of Philippines in 46, 52, 59 globalization 44–9, 53, 65–6 Go, P. 32 Gonzalez, J. L. 25, 40, 43, 139 Goss, J. 15, 56 government: response to death of Sioson 97–9; see also economic policy Grace, W. 112 Grosz, E. 110 Gulf States: demand for female migrant workers 25; import of labor 35 Hall, C. M. 128 Harvey, D. 26, 59–60, 61, 62–3 Hawaii, Importation of Japanese workers 61–2 healthcare workers 72, 74 heroes/heroines, migrant workers as 47, 52, 78–9, 118 HIV/AIDS, information on 81 homogenization 130–1 Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. 118, 139 Hong Kong 71; domestic workers in 76 hostesses 122 Hugo, G. 15, 56 human capital 32 human rights 47, 49, 96, 97 Humphrey, M. 69 hunting girls 90 Hutchinson, J. 31 illegal immigrants 6, 58 images of Filipino workers 67–8, 69 immigration, foreign policy and 6 import-substitution industrialization (ISI) 28 independence of women 118, 127–8 India, restrictions on female migrants 74 individualization 130–1

Indonesia, restrictions on female migrants 73 industrialization strategy 27–8 information 66–7; on overseas employment 48, 52, 65, 116; prior to departure 80–1 institutions 14, 26–7, 119–20, 137; gender and 16; migration and 45, 55–6, 64, 70; role of in migration studies 15–16 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 27 Investment Incentives Act 1967 28 Iran, suspension of deployment of workers to 82 Israel, deaths of Filipina workers in 82 Japan 72; female performing artists in 2, 116, 118, 122, 123–7; negative representations of entertainers 91, 92, 96 Jessop, B. 27 job creation 50 Jones, H. 56 Josselson, R. 129 “Juan Kaunlaran” 49 Kahn, R. S. 6 Kelly, P. F. 27, 28, 29, 48–9, 56 Kempadoo, K. 93 knowledge 11; bodies of 13; classification schemes and 65; of migrants/migration 12–13, 66; power and 12–14, 56, 57; production of 64–5, 66 Kofman, E. 7, 136, 137, 138–9 labor agreements 51 labor/capital exchange 61–2 Labor Code 30, 31, 32, 33 labor importation, and capital accumulation 61–2, 63 labor market 31; assessment of 71 labor power 16, 59–63 labor relations 29–30, 31 Laclau, E. 58 Laguidao, W. 92 Laos 72 Lauby, J. 889 Law, L. 106, 109, 116, 119, 129 Laws, G. 109 Lawson, V. 138 Lee, E. 5, 8 legitimacy 2, 14, 41, 130 legitimate performing artists 99, 100, 105, 120, 130 Leitch, V. B. 15, 56 Lim, L. L. 74

158

INDEX

Lindquist, B. 15, 56 Llanto, D. E. 96 Locsin, T. M. 1, 97 McCormack, D. 69 McDowell, L. 16, 60–1 McHoul, A. 112 McIlwaine, C. 38, 75 McLaren, M. A. 18, 26, 110, 113 McNay, L. 109 Macapagal-Arroyo, Gloria, President of the Philippines 50, 81 Macpherson, C. B. 52 Malaysia 70; importation of South Asian workers into British colony 61 Marcos, Ferdinand, President of the Philippines 27, 28, 29, 31, 35–6 market society, possessive 49–53 marketing missions 70–1 marketing of migrant workers 30, 39–40, 45, 66, 70–2; discourses of 67–70 markets, expansion of 72 Marsden, R. 17 martial law 29–30 Marx, K. 70 May, R. 41 meaning: of migrants 10, 135, 139; of migration 58–9; in poststructuralism 133; semiotics and 9–10 media, attack on overseas employment 95–7 medical examinations 82 Medina, B. T. 127 Medium-Term Philippines Development Plans: 1987–92 38; 1995–2000 48–9; 2001–2004 50–1 Middle East 34, 37 Migrant Workers and Overseas Filipino Act 1995 43–4, 46–7, 78 Migrant Workers’ Day 78 migrants 4–6, 135; classification of 64–5, 68; defining 136; destinations of 21–3, 37; discursive construction of 3–6, 25–6, 56–9, 135, 139, 140–1; meaning of 10, 135, 139; representations of 3, 13, 59, 62, 67–8; see also contract workers; overseas employment migration 2–3; classifying 5; defining 4–6; institutions and 45, 55–6, 64, 70; meaning of 10, 58–9; as natural feature 45, 46, 52, 53; politicization of 139–41 migration studies 15; feminist 6–9, 133–4; masculine bias 7–8 Mills, S. 18, 78 mind/body dualism 109, 110, 112

Mitchell, C. 6 Mohanty, C. T. 11 Mouffe, C. 58 multinational corporations, as employers 30 Myanmar 72 Naoko, I. 87 nation, representation of 83 National Seaman Board 33, 34, 36 national well-being, sacrifice of personal freedom for 31, 35–6, 52, 118 neoclassical economics 8, 35, 52 neoliberalism 35, 48 Netherlands, the 72 Nevins, J. 58 “New Society” 29, 31 Ng, R. 136, 137 normalization 130 Norway 72 Nuqui, C. 88, 100 objectification of migrants 63–7, 137 oil 29, 34–5 Oishi, N. 74 Okinawa, nightclub work in 123–7 Ople, Blas 35 overseas employment 31–2, 36–7, 45, 52; Aquino and 38–40; development diplomacy and 30–7; discourses of 32–5, 36, 40; labor market conditions 65; promotion of 51, 52, 67, 77, 78, 83; Ramos and 40–1; reasons for obtaining 77–9, 118–19; seen as temporary 32, 35, 38, 40–1; see also contract workers; overseas performing artists Overseas Employment Development Board 33, 34, 36 Overseas Filipino Worker Family Circle Congress 81 Overseas Information Series 39 overseas performing artists 85, 130; crisis over death of Soison 94–100; discourses of 87–94; professionalization of 86, 99, 100–7, 119; skilling of 104; vulnerability of 98, 99–100 Overseas Workers’ Welfare Administration 27, 64, 81, 82 Paganoni, A. 118 Pakistan: restrictions on female migrants 74; suspension of deployment of workers to 82 panalos 128

159

INDEX

Papastergiadis, N. 4 Pardthaisong, T. 56 Peck, J. 31, 61, 77 “People’s Power” 38, 47 personal freedom 48, 49; sacrifice for national good 31, 35–6, 52, 118 Pessar, P. R. 6–7, 118, 134, 138 Peters, J. 90 Petersen, W. 5 Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA) 27, 36–7, 41, 49–50, 55, 70; attacks on 44; Declaration of Policies 46–7; management of migration 45, 46, 51–2; marketing 39–40, 45–6, 71–2; and Migrant Workers Day 78; predeparture orientation seminars 80–1; promotion of overseas employment 77, 78, 83; regulatory function 37, 48, 53; typology of migrants 65; “White Paper” on overseas employment 44, 45–6, 47–8; and worker protection 79–82 Philippines Overseas Labor Office 82 Phizacklea, A. 7 Pido, A. 25 Pinkstone, M. 90 Piper, N. 44, 91 politicization of migration 139–41 poststructural feminism 9–11, 133–4, 135, 139 poststructuralism 9, 113, 133 poverty 50; as reason for overseas employment 87–8, 96, 97, 116 power 63; discipline and 16–17; Foucault and 12, 15–16, 16–17, 63; knowledge and 12–14, 56, 57 Pratt, G. 4, 74, 75 pre-departure orientation seminars 80–1, 83 pregnancy 125 private recruitment agencies 34, 55, 76; marketing 68; pre-departure orientation seminars 81, 83; regulation of 36 private sector 34, 36, 50–1, 73 processing contracts 71, 73 productive tasks 21, 74 professional work 21, 23–4, 25, 85 professionalization of entertainment sector 86, 99, 100–17, 119 prostitutes: entertainers as 89–92, 98, 100, 106; representations of 92, 93 prostitution 109 protection for workers 2, 38, 51, 79–82

“Quality Management System” 73 race, and labor power 60, 61 racial stereotyping, in labor recruitment 74–6, 77 Radcliffe, S. 6, 7, 133, 134 Ramos, Fidel, President of the Philippines 40–1, 42 Ranis Mission 30 rarity of discourse 14 Rasul, Senator 94, 97 recruitment: of entertainers 101–2, 115, 116, 121; gender and racial stereotyping 74–6, 77; see also recruitment agencies recruitment agencies 15, 16, 55, 56, 76; see also private recruitment agencies refugees 6 registration of employers 73 regulation 26, 36, 70, 76, 105; POEA and 37, 48, 53; for recruitment of entertainers 101–2; for training entertainers 102, 105 reintegration programmes 81 reproductive tasks 74 Republic Act 8042 43–4, 46–7, 48 resistance 18, 114, 129, 130, 131 responsibility for exploitation 48, 52–3, 98–9, 100, 105, 136, 140 Robinson, L. S. 93 Ryan, C. 128 Said, E. 57 Santo Tomas, Patricia 65–6, 67, 80, 81 Santos, M. O. 95–6 Sassen, S. 5, 25, 61 Saudi Arabia 34 Saussure, F. de 9 Sedgwick, E. 3 Seldon, R. 10 self-sacrifice 79, 88, 89 semiotics 9–10 sense of self 128–9, 131 service industries 21 settlement migrants 65 sex tours 89, 91 sex work 3, 92–3, 123–4, 128–9 sexual division of labor 60, 68, 74 sexuality 20, 89–91, 92 Silvey, R. 138 Simon, R. 7 Sin, Jamie 41 Singapore 70; import of domestic workers 37 Sioson, Maricris, death of 41, 94–5; media response 95–7; Senate response

160

INDEX

97–9; state migratory apparatus response 99–100 skilled migrants 103–4 Smart, B. 18, 101 social validation of labor migration 78–9 socialization 77, 78; gender and 117 soul 112 specificity of discourse 14 “Speed Documentation at POEA” 73 Spurr, D. 101 Sri Lanka, restrictions on female migrants 74 standardization 36 Stark, O. 88 state 1–2, 33, 36; legitimacy of 2, 41, 130; monopoly of overseas employment 33–4; production of migrants 25–6; responsibility of 52–3; role of in overseas employment 32, 33–4, 35 state migratory apparatus 26–7, 34–5, 38–9, 136; globalization discourse 45, 136; and knowledge production 65; and political economy 27; reorganization of 43–4; and worker deployment 50–3, 66; see also Philippine Overseas Employment Administration statements 13 status symbol, hiring foreign workers as 67 stereotyping in recruitment 74–6, 77 Stiell, B. 75 strikes, ban on 30 Sturdevant, S. 123–4 sub-agents 76 subjectivities 17–18, 111–14, 138; of entertainers 128–9 subjects 18, 56, 57–8, 112–13 surplus labor 39, 40, 59 Suzuki, N. 88, 91 Tadiar, N. X. 83, 107 Taiwan 25; restrictions on female migrants 73–4

talent managers 102, 106, 120 technologies of the self 18, 110–11, 114, 130 testing entertainers 103, 105, 130; venues for 102 Todd, H. 96 Torres, R. 94, 95 tourism 89–90 training of entertainers 119–23, 130; centers for 102, 105, 120 trials of overseas workers 41–2 truth 86 Tydings-McDuffie Act 1934 27 unemployment 32, 33 United Arab Emirates 34, 82 United States 6, 27–8 variable capital, circulation of 59–63 victimization 116; willing victims 88–9, 98, 100 Vietnam 72 Villegas, E. M. 30, 33 wages 31, 74 Watkins, J. F. 114 Weatherford, D. 7 Weedon, C. 7, 10, 19, 135, 139 Weitzer, R. 93 welfare of migrant workers 79–81 Widdowson, P. 10 Wolfe, R. 89 women 1, 6, 8, 60, 138; commodification of 91–2; immigrant 6–9, 136, 137; in labor market 31, 74; marginalization of 74, 128; meaning of 10; and recruitment 76–7; representations of 8, 89, 90, 91; restrictions on 73–4; see also female entertainers; female migrant workers worker deployment 50–3, 66 World Bank 27

161