Patrick Cleburne recently did an article called Illegal Immigration Causes Artificial Stone Cutting/Silicosis Disaster about Hispanic laborers who have contracted silicoses through cutting artificial stone countertops. This is something that can be done safely, either with the use of wet saws, where running water literally “cuts the dust” or through the consistent use of good masks — not the kind that most people wore for COVID, but masks that really won’t allow dust in, or preferably both.
The problem: the Hispanic laborers aren’t wearing the masks, or using the wet saws, so they’re getting very sick.
Inside the row of workshops in an industrial stretch of Pacoima, men labored over hefty slabs of speckled stone, saws whining over the sounds of Spanish-language rock.
Pale dust rose around them as they worked. Many went without masks. Some had water spurting from their machines, but others had nothing to tamp down the powder rising in the air.
“Nobody uses water,” one man in a Dodgers cap said in Spanish when Maria Cabrera approached, holding flyers about silicosis, an incurable and suffocating disease that has devastated dozens of workers across the state and killed men who have barely reached middle age.
Cabrera, a community outreach worker with the nonprofit Pacoima Beautiful, urged him and others at the Branford Street site to try to protect themselves. Silicosis can ravage the lungs of workers after they inhale tiny particles of crystalline silica while they cut and grind stone that contains the mineral.
The problem is that people from rural villages with little education (many have a fourth-grade education provided in their native lands) don’t know enough about the dangers of microscopic dust to protect themselves. It’s like my post above about illegal food and farm workers not practising best sanitary practices because they literally don’t know the germ theory of disease — and may not believe it when you tell them.
Patrick Cleburne’s piece about silicosis reminded me of this scene from the 1970 novelGold Mine by the late Wilbur Smith.
Set in a South African gold mine, where the work is so dangerous that they don’t have the sign you see in American factories saying “X days since last accident” but “WITH YOUR COOPERATION THIS MINE HAS WORKED l6 FATALITY FREE DAYS” — and the book starts with a day where they’ll have to reset the sign.
White-ruled South Africa did have a Chamber of Mines, government inspectors and mine safety officers who tried very hard to keep the combination of skilled white miners and unskilled black mine laborers alive and healthy.
Here’s (white) Underground Manager Rod Ironsides (played by Roger Moore in the movie) talking to a Zulu laborer whose job involves sweeping up silicosis causing dust:
Rod set off towards the bins at the shaft end of the tunnel,
“Joseph,” he greeted the old sweeper with a smile.
“Nkosi.” Joseph ducked and bobbed with shy pleasure.
“All is well?” Rod asked. Joseph was one of Rod’s favourites, he was always so cheerful, so uncomplaining, so patently honest and without guile. Rod always made a point of stopping to chat to him.
“It is well with me, Nkosi. Is it well with you?
Rod’s smile died suddenly, he had noticed the fine white powdering of dust on Joseph’s upper lip.
“You old rogue!” he scolded him, “How often must I tell you to hose down before you sweep? Water! You must use water!”
This was part of the ceaseless battle of the miner to keep down the dust.
“The dust will eat your lungs!”
Phthisis, the dread incurable occupational disease of the miner, caused by silica particles being drawn into the lungs and there solidifying,
Joseph grinned shamefaced, shifting from one foot to the other. He was always embarrassed by Rod’s childish obsession with dust. In Joseph’s opinion this was one of the few flaws in Rod Ironsides’ character. Apart from this weird delusion that dust could hurt a man, he was a good boss.
“It is much harder to sweep wet dirt than dry dirt,” Joseph explained patiently. Rod never seemed to understand this self-evident fact, Joseph had to point it out to him every time they had this particular discussion.
“Listen to me, old man, without water the dust will enter your body.” Rod was exasperated. “The dust will kill you!”
Joseph bobbed again, grinning at Rod to placate him,
“Very well, I will use plenty water.”
To prove it he picked up the hose and began spraying the floor with enthusiasm.
“That is good!” Rod encouraged him. “Use plenty of water.” And Rod went on down to the storage bins.
When Rod was out of sight, Joseph turned off the hose and leaned on his broom.
“The dust will kill you!” he mimicked Rod, and chuckled merrily, shaking his head in wonder at the childishness of it.
“The dust will kill you!” he repeated, and burst into delighted laughter, slapping his thigh.
He did a few shuffling dance steps, it was so funny.
The dance steps were awkward, for under his trousers, strapped to the calves of both legs, were heavy polythene bags filled with gold fines from under the bins.
That last bit shows Joseph isn’t that “patently honest” — in the book, everyone who can is stealing gold from the mines. But it also makes the point that not only do many people in the Third World not know about microscopic dangers, but they won’t believe you if you tell them.
