November 30, 2004

Women working in ferneries find life a field of nightmares

PATRICIO G. BALONA - STAFF WRITER

SEVILLE - She has been up since 4 a.m., caring for her children and husband. She worked bent in half all day, cutting ferns. Now it's 11:30 p.m. and she just wants to close her eyes. But when her fern worker husband feels amorous, 40-year-old Edisona, of Seville said, "Sometimes you just let him do what he wants. "It stops him from becoming physically abusive."

Edisona's story is not unusual. Three out of five female fern cutters who have approached the Alianza de Mujeres Activas (Alliance of Active Women) have described domestic violence and mistreatment in the fields, according to group leader Ana Bolanos.

Many of the women also say they are underpaid by their employers, who expect them to work in conditions that range from grueling to deadly.

Huddled on a narrow porch at a home on U.S. 17 on a weekday evening, Edisona and a half dozen other women laughed and poked fun at each other. But they also cried and hugged as they spoke of the abuse they endured.

The women are members of the Alianza de Mujeres Activas, better known in the community as AMA, a support group for women who have suffered abuse at home or in the fern fields.

The AMA was founded in July to educate women about many health issues, including breast cancer and sexually transmitted diseases.  But AMA leaders began focusing on violence in the home when a survey of 20 women, done with the help of the Rural Women's Health Project in Gainesville, identified domestic abuse as the women's chief concern. They also hope the group emerges as a voice for the women who say they are mistreated in the fields.

LIVING IN FEAR

Women at the meeting told the story of a woman called Erica, whose husband gave her the task of cutting 400 bunches of fern per day - more than twice the number women usually can cut.

Erica lived in terror of her husband. She was forbidden to join him at lunchtime on the tailgate of his truck, and could not speak to him or even glance toward him.

"It was very humiliating," said Camellia, a former fern cutter, of Pierson. "Her jealous husband made her dress in large, ugly clothes so no other men would look at her."

When Erica didn't show up for work, her coworkers said, they knew her husband had beaten her the night before.

Bolanos, who is founder and executive director of AMA, said official records don't reflect the actual number of women who endure abuse, because victims are afraid that notifying the police will reveal their status as undocumented residents.

Culture also plays a role, she said.

"Many of those women believe beatings are part of being a wife."

She said women "are quickly becoming the majority" of fern workers, as men move to better-paying jobs. Farmworker Association of Florida Inc. records show that women make up 3,900 of the Pierson-based organization's 6,000 registered members. The figures may even be greater, as some women working in ferneries are not registered with the Farmworker Association, said association employee Marcos Crisanto.

Deputies respond to domestic violence calls in the fern worker's community, but don't keep a separate record of how many times they are called to the homes of Mexican immigrant workers, said Sheriff's Office spokesman Gary Davidson.

Rosita, 27, of Pomona Park, said she was first hit by a man at age 16, when the "coyote" (immigrant trafficker) bringing her to the United States tried to knock her unconscious so he could rape her. Now she fears her husband's drunken rages.

UNDERPAID, IN DANGER

Mireya, 22, of Seville said she feels it is unfair that men get paid more for the same job she does. She works at a packing plant where she earns $5.25 an hour; the men who work alongside her are paid $7.

"I asked, why they get paid more?" Mireya said. "And the supervisor said it was because they are men." The women also fear dangers on the job.

Rosita of Pomona Park says in some instances the crew leader will collect the daily wages from the "patrones" (employers) to distribute to the workers.

However, Rosita says the wages don't get distributed according to the work done. Women who don't speak up about receiving their share might get paid next to nothing, she said - even if the crew chief is also a woman.

She said the women work under dangerous conditions. When she and eight coworkers killed a poisonous snake, they told their boss they were afraid to continue pulling weeds from the thick undergrowth. They asked to be paid for the work they had done and allowed to go home.

"He yelled at us and said he would not pay us because we did not finish the job," Rosita said. As for the snake, she said, the supervisor told them to "take it home and eat it."

Jim Register, president of Fern Trust Inc. and a director of the Central Florida Fern Co-op, said allegations of pay discrepancies enraged him and he was certain the 300-plus fern growers in the co-ops would feel the same.

"I am not saying it did not happen," Register said, "but if it did, I would think it's an extremely isolated case."

He said if women report underpayment to the business owners, anyone underpaying the women would be dealt with.

"We depend on our workers and we don't want to alienate them," Register said. "We treat them with as much respect as we treat our family members."

Fern Trust has a rubber band color system that helps them keep track of each fern worker's production so they can be given credit for the work they do, said Jana Register, Fern Trust's marketing and sales director and Jim's daughter-in-law. She said underpaying the women workers is uncommon.

"It is very disturbing to think that something like this would exist," she said.

EMPOWERING WOMEN

Monica Ramirez, an Equal Justice Fellowship lawyer who travels around the country monitoring working conditions of women, said the reported cases indicate that abuse does exist - especially for women who are undocumented.

Groups like AMA are voices for these women, she said - and a similar, California-based group, Lideres Campesinas, has proven they can improve the women's quality of life.

"It's very important when women who have lived similar experiences start fighting for the rights of women who continue to live it," Monica Ramirez said.

Bolanos said the AMA tries to encourage women to speak out against both problems at work and domestic abuse. The women at the local AMA meeting said they were reluctant to report abusing husbands because they feared being abandoned with children, losing the husbands' support of their immigration petition, and reprisals from his family. They fear reporting problems on the job, they said, because they might be fired or deported.

The womens' husbands often don't like the idea of the women meeting in groups, Bolanos said. Some have dubbed the gatherings as "the meeting of old gossiping women who have nothing to do."

Crisanto said many Mexican men fear empowered women will take control of their homes.

"It is part of the cultural upbringing of Mexican men," Crisanto said. "Sometimes we tend to be machistas (chauvinists)."

Laura Caballero, co-founder of Lideres Campesinas de California, said the women's support groups evoke that fear in some male fern workers.

"He is a human who has another under control and fears he will lose that control," she said.

REACHING OUT

Crisanto said support groups will be more successful if they reach out to the men in the community.

Pablo Bolanos, Ana's husband, said his wife's involvement with the group has changed his attitude toward women, who he said "tend to remain in the shadows."

"At first it was difficult for me, as a Mexican man, to accept what (the women) were doing," Pablo Bolanos said. "But I have seen positive changes."

AMA members contribute money to produce and distribute fliers at community functions. They dream of getting funding and becoming an organization of advocates for abused immigrant women laboring in ferneries and nurseries.

At their monthly gatherings, the women pledge to reach out to victims who may be reluctant to seek help. They say it's important to reach all women, even young girls like Elizabeth, 12, of Pomona Park who has joined the group and is now learning from the women's experiences to prevent abuse from creeping into her future.

Being part of the support group has taught some members to speak up at home - and for Marisol, 43, of Crescent City, that means, "At least the beatings stopped."