Starvation wages in a Helsinki kitchen

print this

By Anu Nousiainen
     
      It is 2001. The July heatwave wraps Helsinki in a slightly sticky warmth. June has been exceptionally chilly, but now summer has arrived in Finland at last.
      Tourists hang out around the souvenir stalls in the Market Square. Ice cream cones melt on the fingers, the waterbus does good business plying to and fro between the mainland and the beach island of Pihlajasaari, and the shouts of the drinkers on the beer terraces ring out into the early hours.
      On these warm evenings, preparations are going ahead apace for the opening of a new restaurant in the Ullanlinna district of town - an ethnic à la carte dinery. The location is pretty much ideal: this is a district that mixes money and urban bohemian values.
     
The locals will almost certainly relish the Middle Eastern and Mediterranean flavours on offer: suitably exotic mezes, humus, tabbouleh, babaganush, and so on. And washed down with raki and with wines from a well-known Turkish supplier.
      The premises, a former florist's shop, are impressive, too. Large display windows give on to Korkeavuorenkatu. All that is currently missing is the permit from Helsinki's Building Regulation Department.
      Oh, and the chefs.
     
The restaurant is owned by a Finnish woman, but it is run by her Turkish-born husband The man has previously owned a string of various kebab and pizza places in Helsinki. This is his first stab at an ambitious dining restaurant.
      Hence expectations are high when the man drives out to Helsinki-Vantaa International on July 23rd, 2001 to pick up two Turkish chefs.
      The pair are 23-year-old Alim Arslan and his 20-year-old cousin Alim Acar.
     
At the airport arrivals hall, Alim Arslan and Alim Acar meet their new employer for the first time. Arslan has spoken with the man on the phone once before this, asking about flight tickets.
      Previously the two cousins have worked as chefs in a five-star hotel in Bodrum, Turkey. There they heard about a London-based restaurant chain that was hiring Turkish chefs.
      Both are excited at the thought. Working in London! They take part in a training course for the chain's restaurants, first in Ankara, and later in Istanbul.
     
At some point the dream of working in a kitchen in London changes to one in Helsinki, where the chain is opening its newest franchised restaurant outlet. Two cooks from Turkey will be required.
      Details of suitable candidates are sent to the Helsinki owner. He picks Arslan and Acar.
      They are promised "European salaries", working-days of seven and a half hours, and two days off each week. The Finnish Embassy in Ankara provides the necessary work permits for a 12-month period.
      Neither of the men knows anything about Helsinki, but, hey, who cares? Life in Europe awaits!
     
Arslan and Acar are abroad for the first time in their lives. They are completely wet behind the ears, and speak only Turkish and a few clumsy words of English. Fortunately the restaurateur hails from Turkey. He is initially the only person with whom Arslan and Acar can converse.
      The employer has rented them a student apartment in Hakuninmaa, on the border between Helsinki and Vantaa. Arslan and Acar share a room in the student dorm block.
      Work starts immediately the next day. The restaurant's air-conditioning system has not satisfied the inspectors, and it has to be improved. The chefs take part in the renovation work.
      The days are long, initially from seven in the morning through to one or two at night, and even later on they are working 12-hour shifts. For the first six weeks Arslan and Acar work every day, and thereafter they are on six days a week.
     
At the beginning of September 2001, the 50-seat restaurant opens its doors. It is open from 16:00 until around midnight, Mondays through Saturdays. On Sundays the place is closed, but even then the restaurateur may call the chefs in to work to make food for his guests.
      There are four other members of staff on the payroll: three waiters and a maître d'. The restaurateur himself is there every day. The chefs have to refer to him as Bey (Sir) and to his wife as Bayan (Madam). The other employees can use first names.
     
The new ethnic eatery is noted in the restaurant columns of the Helsinki newspapers. The food is adjudged to be carefully prepared, and the crisp clean décor of the place comes in for praise.
      "In particular the salads were fresh and nicely spiced", writes the reviewer for Helsingin Sanomat's weekly supplement Nyt.
      This establishment has none of the ethnic-dining kitsch of Middle Eastern bazaar interiors, but offers white linen tablecloths, attractive chinaware, and skillfully presented dishes.
     
Each of these dishes bears the stamp of Arslan and Acar's work, since they are the only two chefs in the restaurant. In Istanbul, the restaurant owned by the same chain had no fewer than eight cooks beavering away in the kitchen.
      The work never stops in the kitchen on Korkeavuorenkatu. In the mornings the cousins bake bread in the basement and prepare cold entrées and sugar-bomb desserts with strict attention to the instructions from London.
      Nothing is bought in ready-made from the catering wholesalers. Everything is prepared by hand. The falafel balls are shaped using two dining spoons, and each batch can include a thousand or more.
      The most nightmarish work is putting together traditional Turkish stuffed meatballs or içli köfte, which require bringing together two different doughs, and are usually made back in Turkey by specialist cooks.
     
The menu is a lengthy one, and the food is by no means cheap. The mezes or hors d'oeuvres alone run to 36 different varieties. Mezes cost more than EUR 6.00 a head, and main dishes are priced at between EUR 10.00 and EUR 20.00.
      The chefs order the ingredients, clean up the kitchen, and do the washing-up. There is altogether too much work for two men, and they ask for help. The boss promises.
      No assistant shows up, however.
     
The Helsinki autumn turns towards winter. Arslan and Acar do not see much of the changes in the city, as they are always at work.
      At night, they just about manage to catch the last 43 bus out of town. It leaves the Railway Station for Hakuninmaa at 01:30. They usually doze off in the bus so that the driver has to shout them awake when they reach the end-stop.
      Sometimes they miss the last bus out of town. Then there is no alternative but to take an expensive taxi home.
     
Both men have opened accounts at the Nordea bank on Iso Roobertinkatu. The restaurant pays in their first salary at the end of August: three thousand markka.
      Arslan withdraws the money immediately, in three lots of FIM 1,000.
      Thereafter they are each paid around FIM 6,000 monthly, or roughly EUR 1,000 in the new currency. Arslan sends some of the money back to his girlfriend in Turkey. The remainder goes in rent on the apartment and on phone-calls home.
      The two men do not complain about their salary, as they earned less in Turkey. The days are nevertheless appreciably longer than what was originally promised, and there is only one day off each week.
     
What they do not know at this stage is that the waiters in the restaurant are paid extra for evening shifts, night work, and working weekends, and that they get overtime benefits.
      Equally, Arslan and Acar are blissfully unaware that according to the collective bargaining agreement hammered out in the branch, even their basic salary should be a good deal higher than it is.
      And of course they've never even heard of any "collective bargaining agreements".
     
Little by little, the pace begins to tell on Arslan and Acar. Both are overtired, and they lose more than 10 kilos in weight. The tall, 86-kg Arslan shrinks down to 71 kilos. Sometimes, when they eat at the workplace, the restaurateur makes pointed remarks about how expensive food is in Finland.
      Arguments in the kitchen become ever more commonplace. The restaurateur says that if the working conditions are not to their liking, then by all means they can go back to Turkey. The weary cousins bitch and argue with each other.
      Acar goes to the doctor to show off his painful wrist, which has swollen up from repeated lifting of heavy pans.
      The doctor orders him to take 15 days of sick-leave, but Acar has to go straight back to work to help out his cousin, since there is no alternative back-up. He pays the doctor out of his own pocket.
     
When Arslan and Acar have been working in Finland for three months, the restaurant hires a new head waiter/maître d'hôtel. He is Turkish by birth, but has graduated with a hotel & catering qualification here in Finland.
      The new maître d' insists that the chefs should be given proper written contracts. They are open-ended. The new man is also very strict about working hours.
      He puts up a shift list on the wall, on which everyone marks their hours, including the chefs. He briefs Arslan and Acar about Finnish employment conditions and rights.
      When the restaurateur sees that the chefs' wages have had overtime and other bonuses added, he points this out to the maître d'. From this point on, the chefs' working-hours are left unrecorded.
     
The New Year comes in. By the spring of 2002, two Turkish-born employees leave the restaurant after disagreements. The restaurateur's Finnish wife, the actual owner of the place, comes in in their stead.
      Arslan and Acar now start their working day at 12:30 and finish up for the night at 01:30. From time to time, one comes in earlier and knocks off earlier in the evening. Both have constantly pointed out their long hours to the management. Their gross salary (before tax and deductions) is currently EUR 1,366 a month, since Finland has by this time joined the common currency.
      The figure is roughly the minimum wage for a chef in Helsinki - and this means the minimum BASIC wage, for day-work.
      In June, the employer announces that he wants to change the chefs' contract such that they are employed for a fixed term. They are frightened that they will find themselves without a work permit if they do not sign on the dotted line.
     
In the new contract, the working hours are set in accordance with the labour agreements in the branch, with 111 hours worked over a three-week period, or seven hours fifteen minutes per day, five days a week. Now they have an hourly rate: EUR 10.93, which includes bonuses.
      However, the contract is merely a piece of paper. In practice, the chefs are still doing 13-hour days, six days a week.
      In July 2002 the two men have a month's vacation. They receive from their employer plane tickets to Turkey, as agreed. They spend ten days in Turkey, and Arslan and his girlfriend get married.
      Then it is time to return to Finland to renew the work permits.
      Back in Finland, they travel for the first time outside of Helsinki. A friend of a friend takes them to Porvoo in his car.
     
In the autumn, the restaurant opens already for lunches, at 12:00. Arslan and Acar receive their salaries on an irregular basis. Relations with the employer are strained. The boss promises to pay what is due when the restaurant starts to turn a profit.
      The promises, once again, come to nothing.
      At the beginning of December, Arslan and Acar go to the police station to pick up their passports and their new work permits. They discover to their surprise that the employer has renewed the permits only for the months of July and August. This means they have been working illegally throughout the autumn.
      The desk clerk calls some uniformed police officers down, and the two men are arrested right in front of everyone and are taken upstairs. Both are given fines.
      Fines!!
      So the long and the short of it is that they actually have to PAY for the fact that they have been working like dogs for the past few months.
     
And yet in a bizarre way the fines are the light at the end of the tunnel.
      The police explain to Arslan and Acar that if they continue to work in the restaurant without a valid work permit, they could face deportation from the country.
      Arslan and Acar have now been working in the Helsinki establishment for just shy of a year and a half. It is early December, and the last salary they received was for October. They decide to quit.
      The employer attempts to get them to stay on: it is the "Little Christmas" party season, people in Helsinki are going out to eat and drink, and the kitchen urgently needs hands to rustle up mezes for the tables. The boss offers them the chance to work black, off the books, at night.
      But by now Arslan and Acar have just about had it up to here. They both collect their things, return their keys, and go to pick up their references.
      The final conversations at the restaurant are not pretty. There is swearing and shouting on both sides.
     
In February 2003, Arslan and Acar get new work permits and start as chefs in a restaurant in Espoo. Acar hears from an acquaintance that he could try taking his former employer to court for the outstanding salary owed to him.
      He learns the name of lawyer Matti Penttinen, and he contacts him.
      Arslan is not so sure. For his own part, he would prefer to put the whole nightmare behind him. In the end, however, he also meets with Penttinen.
     
At the end of May 2004, Alim Acar and Alim Arslan file charges with the Helsinki District Court against their former employer.
      The police begin their preliminary investigations to see if a prosecution can be made. The parties are interviewed. Two former restaurant employees are called as witnesses: a Turkish-born waiter and the maître d'hôtel who was so strict about working-hours.
      The Finnish waiting staff cannot be found to give evidence: Arslan and Acar only remember their first names.
      It transpires that the employer has not provided the chefs with the required salary slips or an annual certificate of their earnings. They do not even know their precise gross salary. From the chefs' bank statements, it can be seen that the sums have been paid in here and there without any sense of regularity.
     
A full eighteen months later, at the end of December 2005, the Helsinki District Court reaches a guilty verdict and hands down suspended prison sentences to the entrepreneur couple running the restaurant, on charges of workplace discrimination, extortion, negligence in providing staff occupational health services, and breaches of working-hours regulations. The Turkish-born man who effectively ran the establishment receives a suspended four-month sentence, and his Finnish wife, the owner, get three months suspended.
      The couple are also ordered to pay Arslan and Acar, each and separately, more than EUR 31,000 in outstanding salaries, bonuses, overtime, holiday-pay entitlements, and wages payable during their notice period at the end of the contract, and on top of this the two men are each to receive EUR 5,000 in damages for their pains. The employer is further ordered to pay court costs amounting to more than EUR 12,000.
      The couple's restaurant, Sofra, has already been closed earlier.
     
In February 2006, just over a month has passed since the judgement. Alim Arslan drinks coffee and jabs a fork into a cake in a Helsinki café. He appears relieved it is all over.
      Life is starting to get on track. His economics graduate wife has come to Finland and is working as a buffet chef with the Finnish operations of Sodexho, an international restaurant and catering company. Arslan has a position in Sodexho's central kitchen in the Sörnäinen district of the capital. His shift starts at 04:30 and ends at 12:00 sharp.
      "If we need to do even 15 minutes overtime, they pay. Everything works really well", Arslan smiles.
      Every so often he glances at his watch: any minute now he will have to dash off to feed the parking meter.
      Arslan's English is already quite adequate, and he is learning Finnish.
     
Alim Acar is studying languages full-time, and also looking after his young daughter. He is now married to a Russian-born woman who has lived in Finland for many years, and who is currently studying hotel management.
      The District Court's ruling on back-pay and damages has been sent to the Ministry of Justice's bailiffs for enforcement, and the two chefs may perhaps get their outstanding wages one of these days.
      "It's not so much about the money. I can manage without, but I do want him to get his punishment", Acar says, and he points with his arm out into the street. There, close by, is his former employer's new and popular restaurant.
     
Even now, it is hard to grasp how two such intelligent-seeming young men could have wound up in a Helsinki kitchen working for near slave-wages. And that they stuck it out for close on a year and a half.
      "We wanted to stay in Finland. We didn't dare to make waves", says Arslan.
     
Helsingin Sanomat / First published in print 19.3.2006

More on this subject:
 Underpayment of foreign staff commonplace in restaurants

Previously in HS International Edition:
  Intensive inspections reveal widespread fraud in Finnish restaurants (20.3.2006)

ANU NOUSIAINEN / Helsingin Sanomat
anu.nousiainen@hs.fi