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Los Angeles Times
October 9, 2005

POOR MIGRANTS WORK IN IRAQI NETHERWORLD

U.S.-hired contractors rely on laborers from 
impoverished countries, but no one looks out for 
the rights -- or lives -- of the foreigners.

By T. Christian Miller
Times Staff Writer


Ramesh Khadka began the journey to his slaughter 
in this valley of rivers, where green rice 
terraces march up the mountains like stairs 
toward the heavens.

After passing among a series of shadowy, 
indifferent middlemen, he finished it a month 
later in a dusty ditch in western Iraq.

There, bound and helpless, the teenager was shot 
three times in the back of the head by 
insurgents, his execution and that of 11 of his 
countrymen captured on videotape.

The 19-year-old and his colleagues were on their 
way to jobs at a U.S. military base in Al Anbar 
province when they were kidnapped. The killings 
last year remain the worst case of violence 
against private contractors in the Iraq war.

The incident and its aftermath raise troubling 
questions about America's reliance on the world's 
poorest people to do the dirtiest jobs in one of 
the most dangerous places on Earth.

Contractors working for the United States, 
including KBR, a Houston-based subsidiary of 
Halliburton Corp., have brought tens of thousands 
of workers into Iraq from impoverished countries 
such as Nepal, the Philippines and Bangladesh to 
do menial jobs, from cooking and serving food to 
cleaning toilets.

In relying on a workforce of third-country 
nationals, however, the U.S. has embraced a 
system of labor migration rife with abuse, 
corruption and exploitation, according to dozens 
of contractors, migrant workers, labor officials 
and advocates interviewed in four countries.

The system revolves around so-called labor 
brokers, whose numbers have exploded during the 
last decade in the Middle East and Asia. Such 
agencies take advantage of porous borders and 
rising global demand for cheap labor to move poor 
workers from one country to low-paying jobs in 
another.

Although millions of Iraqis are desperate for 
jobs, the U.S. military requires that contractors 
such as KBR hire foreigners to work at bases to 
avoid the possibility of insurgent infiltration.

Willing to work anywhere, the laborers often take 
out usurious loans to pay the agencies a finder's 
fee for the overseas jobs. Once abroad, the 
workers find themselves with few protections and 
uncertain legal status.

In Iraq, the vulnerability of such workers is 
heightened. Neither the U.S. nor Iraq has an 
adequate system for protecting their rights, 
labor advocates say.

Violence is the greatest risk. At least a third 
of the 255 contractors reported killed in Iraq 
since the U.S.-led invasion in 2003 came from 
Second or Third World countries, according to a 
Times analysis of data maintained by a website 
that tracks contractor deaths.

The enforcement of labor rights appears virtually 
nonexistent. In the case involving Khadka, for 
example, it appears that the Nepalese were headed 
to work for a Jordanian-based subcontractor to 
KBR, family members and labor agency officials 
say.

If true, all 12 men should have been covered by 
generous death benefits required by federal law 
for anyone working for a U.S. contractor, even 
indirectly, say insurance and legal experts. But 
their families have received no such payments.

After questions from The Times, KBR said it would 
investigate whether benefits were owed. KBR is 
the largest employer in Iraq of third-country 
nationals, with about 25,000 workers, typically 
through Middle Eastern subcontractors.

Because of the danger of exploitation, some 
labor-exporting countries, such as the 
Philippines and Nepal, have forbidden their 
nationals to work in Iraq. But labor brokers 
bring in such workers using loopholes in a system 
with almost no regulation. An estimated 5,000 
Nepalese work in Iraq.

Labor advocates say the practice amounts to 
modern-day indentured servitude, funded by U.S. 
taxpayers.

"This is 2005. This is a sort of slave trade," 
said Majed Habashneh, undersecretary for Jordan's 
Labor Ministry, which has struggled to contain a 
wave of people passing into Iraq. "No one is 
taking care of the human rights of these people. 
Who will take responsibility?"

Lack of Opportunity

Khadka, a dark-haired young man with 
almond-shaped eyes, grew up in a mud and brick 
home on the outskirts of Lele, one of seven 
children in a poor farming family.

The village is a place of astonishing beauty an 
hour south of Katmandu, on a potholed road 
surrounded by low mountains and rice fields so 
green they seem to be lighted from within. Water 
buffalo wander the streets. Fat golden 
dragonflies buzz through the air. Moss-covered 
shrines to Hindu deities dot the roadside.

There is not much work in a village like this in 
Nepal, one of the world's most impoverished 
countries. Unemployment is compounded by a Maoist 
insurgency that has killed more than 12,500 
people since 1996. Rebels frequently kidnap young 
men as recruits, providing impetus to flee to 
cities and abroad for work.

Khadka was working at a hotel in Katmandu for $38 
a month when he learned of job opportunities 
overseas from Bala Gam Piri, the owner of the 
employment agency Moonlight Manpower, said family 
members and officials with the Nepal Assn. of 
Foreign Employment Agencies, a trade group. Piri 
is believed to have fled Nepal after the 
killings, which set off riots in the capital. He 
could not be located for comment.

The agencies are a booming business in Nepal. 
There were fewer than a dozen a decade ago; more 
than 530 now exist, according to statistics 
maintained by the association. Although most are 
described as legitimate businesses, scores have 
been closed for labor law violations.

Nepalese workers are prized by overseas employers 
for two reasons. First, Nepalese trained as 
soldiers by the British military, who are known 
as Gurkas, have the experience sought by private 
security contractors. In Iraq, Nepalese protect 
the Baghdad airport and parts of the city's 
fortified Green Zone, which houses the U.S. 
Embassy and the Iraqi government. Second, 
Nepalese have a reputation as hard workers who 
are less likely to complain than laborers from 
other poor countries.

"Nepalese don't make too many demands. There's no 
'I want this, I want that, I want water.' None of 
this," said Bigyan Pradhan, an agency owner and 
the spokesman for the association.

Piri promised Khadka $200 a month as a cook with 
the U.S. Army, although it was unclear where the 
job would be, the family said. In return, Khadka 
had to pay $3,000, plus hand over his passport to 
Piri to make sure he couldn't run away.

The family went to wealthy neighbors to borrow 
the money, paying annual interest of 24%. His 
father told him not to go. But Khadka was an 
independent teenager who dreamed of making enough 
to build a concrete house next to his family's 
crumbling mud-daubed home.

One recent cloudy day, Jit Bahadur Khadka, the 
young man's father, sat cross-legged in front of 
his home and explained his son's insistence on 
leaving Nepal. Despite his tattered gray vest and 
pants stained with dirt from the fields, he had 
an air of solemn dignity.

For Nepalese, working abroad has become part of 
the fabric of life. The money they send home 
accounts for more than one-fifth of the country's 
tiny economy. Even folk songs have adopted the 
language of loss, with one popular tune a lament 
about a lover who cannot be contacted at his job 
in faraway Japan.

Khadka joined the diaspora on June 29, 2004, 
boarding a plane for the first time in his life.

"His last words were: 'I'm flying now. Don't 
worry about me. I'll be back in a few years,' " 
his father said, dabbing at his eyes with a 
handkerchief. "I told him, 'Wait. I'll send you 
anywhere.' But he didn't want to wait. He wanted 
to make something of himself."

Stopover in Jordan

As Piri was gathering the workers in Nepal, 
Hayder Aliam was in Jordan helping arrange their 
transport to Amman.

Aliam is the office manager for Morning Star, a 
Jordanian employment agency that imports laborers 
by working with recruiting agencies in poor 
countries.

Inside Aliam's office in a busy commercial 
district, women from Indonesia and the 
Philippines stand in corners while wealthy 
Jordanians sit in overstuffed leather chairs, 
sorting stacks of files with job candidate 
applications.

In class-conscious Amman, the nationality of your 
domestic help carries a certain status. Filipinas 
are the most desirable, and thus most expensive, 
followed by Indonesians and Sri Lankans.

The Nepalese have one advantage, however: Unlike 
other nationalities, Nepalese do not need a visa 
before their arrival in Jordan. Thus, when a KBR 
subcontractor approached Morning Star with an 
urgent need for workers, the company immediately 
thought of Nepal, Aliam said.

Morning Star and Moonlight worked together to 
fill the order. Although Morning Star normally 
only imports domestic servants for Jordan, the 
lure of a $200 fee for each Nepalese for Iraq 
proved too much to resist.

"Iraq was an exception," Aliam said. "It became a 
matter of money. It was a time to profit."

The identity of the subcontractor remains 
unclear. Aliam said the men were working for a 
company called Daoud & Partners, which holds a 
catering and laundry subcontract with KBR. In 
early news accounts, however, another Morning 
Star employee identified the subcontractor as 
Besharat & Partners, a construction firm. In an 
interview, a Daoud official who did not want his 
name used because of the sensitivity of the issue 
denied any connection to the workers. Besharat & 
Partners could not be located.

The subcontractor collected the workers at the 
Amman airport for transport directly into Iraq, 
Aliam said. From there, he said, the Nepalese 
were taken to a convoy of vans bound for the 
long, dangerous road from Jordan into western 
Iraq.

What happened next is unknown. The men simply vanished.

Then, on Aug. 20, 2004, Radhika Khadka was at 
home when a neighbor told her about a grainy 
Internet video being broadcast repeatedly on 
Nepalese television.

There, Radhika, 55, could see her son crammed 
into a room with the 11 other men holding their 
passports in front of them. One of the men, with 
an American flag draped across his chest, read 
from a statement in halting English.

He said the group had been kidnapped by Iraqi 
insurgents who called themselves the Ansar al 
Sunna Army.

"They said that the situation is not dangerous in 
Iraq, but we saw the opposite when we entered," 
the man said. "We ask anyone coming to Iraq not 
to be cheated by the high salary because they are 
false and America is lying."

When the camera panned over her son, she saw the 
look on his face, and her heart broke.

"I felt like I had been hit by a rock," she recalled.

The family contacted Piri, the labor broker, who 
said he would do everything he could to get their 
son back. Then he disappeared.

The Nepalese government did little. The country 
is so poor that it has only one embassy in the 
region, in Qatar, with four employees.

In desperation, the ambassador turned to Prakash 
Gurung, a Nepalese businessman who lives in Qatar 
and runs his own labor agency there. Gurung heads 
a committee established by the embassy to 
troubleshoot international labor issues.

Lacking contacts in Iraq, Gurung sent an e-mail 
to a Sunni Muslim group whose address he got from 
Al Jazeera, the Arab satellite television 
channel. The group promised to try to help 
negotiate, but Gurung is not sure whether it did 
anything at all.

"Not anybody else cared about this," Gurung said. "No other country cared."

Eleven days after the first Internet video, a second surfaced.

This time, none of the Nepalese workers spoke, except to scream.

The first worker was laid on the ground, his 
throat to the sky. A hand can be seen in the 
video grasping a knife, slowly sawing through the 
man's neck as he sputters and chokes, blood 
gushing from his body.

Over the next few minutes of the video, the 
Nepalese are brought out in pairs, laid on the 
ground and shot at close range. Some men double 
up as they are shot, their faces contorted in 
pain.

Khadka's family did not watch the execution video. But a childhood friend did.

He said that he immediately recognized Khadka 
when he was laid in the ditch alongside a second 
man.

The insurgents shot three bullets into the back of Khadka's head.

He did not appear to suffer, his friend said.

Killings Spark Riots

In Katmandu, the execution of the workers touched off a government crisis.

Protesters set upon Katmandu's only mosque, 
burning it and ripping the Koran to pieces, 
according to local reports. They also attacked 
hundreds of the widely reviled employment 
agencies. In two days of rioting, one protester 
was shot to death and the government clamped down 
with a 24-hour curfew.

The unrest contributed to the instability that 
King Gyanendra later cited in dissolving the 
Cabinet and declaring a state of emergency that 
gave him absolute power in February 2005.

"All Nepalese were shocked," said Bijaya Bishta, 
the editor of Shram Weekly, a newspaper focused 
on labor issues. "We found out that our 
government is very weak."

In the days that followed, the government revoked 
Moonlight's license. Seeking to quell the 
outrage, the government announced it would 
compensate the survivors. Each family was given 
nearly $14,000, a large sum in a country where 
the annual income is $279.

The Khadkas have used their money to pay off 
Ramesh's debt and for Radhika's medical expenses. 
She had fainting spells after the news of her 
son's death and refused to leave the family's 
home for seven months.

An earthy, blunt-spoken woman, Radhika has harsh 
words for the government, and for Piri. The 
government paid the money, she said, to stop the 
violence. But nobody ever apologized.

"If we had been big shots, they would have said 
that they were sorry," she said. "But we're poor 
people. We're nobody."

For Radhika, the violent confluence of world 
events that led to her son's death remains a 
mystery.

"He was not a rebel, nor in the army. He was 
simply a worker," she said. "He did what they 
told him to do. He would have swept if they'd 
told him to sweep, clean if they'd told him to 
clean a toilet. He would have done anything."

More than a year later, the labor markets operate as usual in Iraq.

U.S. officials said they were about to include 
new regulations in all Defense Department 
contracts to prevent labor trafficking. The 
payment of labor broker fees is not considered 
trafficking, although exceptionally high fees or 
interest rates are illegal under U.S. trafficking 
laws.

Commanders "need to be vigilant to the terms and 
conditions of employment for individuals employed 
by DoD contractors," Defense Secretary Donald H. 
Rumsfeld wrote in a memo in September 2004. 
"Trafficking includes involuntary servitude and 
debt bondage. These trafficking practices will 
not be tolerated."

In Jordan, the Labor and Interior ministries 
launched investigations after the killings. 
Morning Star was shut down for four months but 
allowed to reopen after promising to stop sending 
workers to Iraq.

Habashneh, the Jordanian labor official, said his 
office had struggled to prevent the transit of 
workers through the nation's borders. Local 
migrant workers in Jordan described such business 
as thriving.

"We feel we need to do so much more," Habashneh said.

For its part, KBR, the Halliburton division, says 
all its subcontractors are required to respect 
local labor laws and provide appropriate housing, 
medical treatment and security protection for 
workers.

All KBR subcontractors also must provide 
employees with so-called Defense Base Act 
insurance, a federal program that provides for 
medical care and death benefits worth as much as 
$54,000 a year to survivors.

"KBR believes that all personnel should be 
treated with dignity and respect, and we are 
committed to maintaining a work environment that 
fosters these principles," Melissa Norcross, a 
KBR spokeswoman, said in a written response to 
questions.

In Nepal, the government recently announced the 
closure of 32 additional agencies for sending 
workers to Iraq. It has also proposed a labor law 
that would set criminal sentences for labor 
brokers, instead of fines.

The measure is facing strong resistance from the brokers.

"The government is feeling constrained in our 
resources in this department," said Deependra 
Bickram Thupa, director-general of the Labor 
Ministry, whose windows are still shattered from 
last year's riot. "The job is huge."

Even if a new law is passed, skeptics doubt it 
will have much effect. First, several brokers 
interviewed in Katmandu said that existing laws 
could be bypassed easily, thanks to corruption in 
the government.

"There's a lot of money and bribes," the owner of one agency said.

Second, the international nature of the problem 
makes it difficult to crack down. For instance, 
Nepal forbids its workers to go directly to Iraq, 
so some Nepalese circumvent the law by traveling 
to India and from there to Iraq.

Finally, the Nepalese government is heavily 
dependent on the money its workers send home, and 
it gains little from objecting to abuse of its 
workers, which is widespread. If Nepal makes it 
harder to hire its workers - by demanding higher 
wages, for instance - the hiring countries will 
turn to another poor country, depriving Nepal of 
needed cash.

"If we demand too many [things], they'll say, 'Go 
to hell, we'll go to Vietnam or Bangladesh,' " 
said Pradhan, the head of the employment trade 
group in Nepal. "We have to be very carefulĀŠ. We 
are not in a strong position to bargain."

After his death, Khadka's family spent nearly 
$1,000 to have a sculpture made of the young man, 
whose body has never been found. The sculpture 
was dedicated Sept. 1, a year after he was 
executed.

Dozens of villagers turned out for the ceremony. 
The black bust was heaped with a profusion of 
bright red, orange and fuchsia flowers as 
offerings.

It is the only likeness the family has of Khadka, 
who never had his picture taken. The only other 
images of Ramesh Khadka are the blurry videotapes 
of his kidnapping and execution.




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