Economy and Exploitation: The AI Industry’s Unjust Labor Practices

I remember when ChatGPT first started gaining popularity. I was a junior in high school, and everyone around me couldn’t stop marveling over its seemingly endless capabilities. The large language model could write essays, answer physics questions, and generate emails out of thin air. It felt to us, sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, like we had discovered magic – a crystal ball that did whatever you told it.

I’m writing this, three years later, to break the news that it is, unfortunately, not magic. Artificial Intelligence (AI) relies on human input at nearly every stage of its preparation and verification. From content moderation to data collection, outwardly automated AI systems require constant human intervention to ensure the algorithm runs smoothly and sensically. This intervention calls for human labor to sift through and manage a given model’s data and performance. But where does this labor come from? And what are the implications of these workers’ invisibility to the public?

Labor Source

On the surface, it appears that Big Tech companies such as OpenAI, Sama, Meta, and Google are bearing the brunt of the labor it takes to develop and operate their AI systems. A closer look reveals that the human labor these AI systems require is distributed across the globe. These massive companies employ subcontractors to hire and manage workers who will perform the countless small, repetitive tasks required. These subcontractors, looking for maximum profit, often hire workers from less developed countries where labor rights are less strictly enforced and wages are not stringently regulated. What does this mean? Cheap, exploitative labor. Those living in poverty, refugee camps, and even prisons have been performing data tasks for subcontractors like Amazon Mechanical Turk and Clickworker. The outsourcing of workers in countries such as India and Kenya by affluent businesses in mostly Western countries seems to perpetuate patterns of exploitation and colonialism and play into global wealth disparities. 

Woman in a chair looking at computer screens
Crowdsourced Woman Monitors Data. Source: Adobe Stock

Wages

On top of the larger systemic implications of wealthier countries’ outsourcing their labor to less affluent countries, the individual workers themselves often suffer human rights abuses regarding wages.

According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), wage theft is a pressing issue when it comes to crowdworkers; this is due to employers denying wages to anyone who is deemed to have completed their tasks incorrectly. Issues with software and the flagging system can result in employers withholding wages due to completed tasks being labelled as incorrectly done. In the ILO’s survey, only 12 percent of crowdworkers conceded that all of their task fulfillment rejections were justifiable, with the majority claiming that only some of them were warranted. In other instances, pay can take the form of vouchers or gift cards, some of which are deemed invalid upon use. Unexpected money transfer fees and hidden fines can also result in wages being lower than initially expected or promised. 

Woman looking at her phone and credit card in shock.
Woman Looks at Her Wages, Which Are Lower than Expected. Source: Adobe Stock

Even if outsourced workers did always get paid correctly, it usually doesn’t amount to much. According to an ILO survey, the median earnings of microworkers were 2 US dollars an hour. In one specific case in Madagascar, wages were as low as 41 cents an hour. These workers are being paid far less than a livable wage under the excuse that their work is menial and performed task-by-task. The denial of wages and the outsourcing companies’ low pay rates violate ‘equal pay for equal work’ under Article 23 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR).

For some in periphery countries like India and Venezuela, data microwork is people’s only source of income. Its convenience and accessibility are attractive to those who don’t have the resources to apply for typical jobs, but its wages do not pay for the decent standard of living that is outlined in the UDHR in Article 25. As one microworker from Venezuela said in an interview with the BBC, “You will not live very well, but you will eat well.” 

 

Working Conditions

In addition to low wages, crowdworkers often face human rights violations regarding working conditions, and most of them are largely unable to access methods to advocate for better treatment from their employers. For those who classify and filter data, a day at work may include flagging images of graphic content, including murder, child sexual abuse, torture, and incest. This was the case for Kenyans employed by Sama and subsequently OpenAI; workers have testified to having recurring visions of the horrors they’ve seen, describing their tasks as torturous and mentally scarring. Many requests for mental health support are denied or not fulfilled. These experiences make workers vulnerable to developing post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and emotional numbness.

 

Woman covering her face as she looks at a laptop.
Woman Looks At Disturbing Images as She Monitors Data. Source: Adobe Stock

In one instance, the subcontractor Sama shared the personal data of one crowdworker with Meta, including parts of a non-disclosure agreement and payslips. Other workers on Amazon Mechanical Turk experienced privacy violations like “sensitive information collection, manipulative data aggregation and profiling,” and methods of scamming and phishing. This arbitrary collection and abuse of workers’ private data directly violates Article 12 of the UDHR, which enshrines the protection of privacy as a human right.

The nature of crowdwork is such that individuals work remotely and digitally, granting more power to the contractors over their workers and significantly diminishing microworkers’ capacity to take collective action and compromise with employers for better conditions. This independent contractor relationship between employers and employees has weakened the ability for microworkers to unionize and bargain with their contractors. Employers are able to rate crowdworkers poorly, which often results in the rejection of workers when they attempt to find new tasks to fulfill. There are few ways for workers to review their employers’ performance in a similar way, creating an unjust power imbalance between employer and employee, and various violations of labor rights. The possible convenience of self-employment and remote work comes with surrendering basic workers’ rights, such as “safeguards against termination, minimum wage assurances, paid annual leave, and sickness benefits”. Each of these aspects of microwork denies employees the labor rights outlined in Article 23 of the UDHR, another direct violation of human rights by these outsourcing companies. 

What’s Next?

The first step to addressing the human rights violations that are facing outsourced Artificial Intelligence data microworkers is ensuring their visibility. Dismantling the narrative of Artificial Intelligence models as fully automated systems and raising awareness about the essential roles microworkers play in the preparation and validating of data can help garner public attention. Since many of these crowdworkers are employed abroad, it is also important for advocates to highlight the exploitation that these tech companies and contractors are profiting from. In addition, because these workers have little bargaining power, making their struggles visible and starting dialogue with companies on their behalf can be a crucial step towards ensuring that microworkers have access to their human and privacy rights. While research and policy continues to expand regarding AI’s impact on the labor force, it is essential that academics and lawmakers alike consider the effects on the whole production chain, including low-wage workers abroad, rather than just the middle-class domestic workforce. Finally, it is imperative that big tech businesses and the crowdsourcing companies they contract with are held publicly accountable for their practices and policies when it comes to wages, payment methods, mental health resources, working conditions, and unionization. These initiatives can begin only once the public becomes aware of the exploitation of these invisible workers. So, the next time someone throws a prompt at ChatGPT, start a conversation about how reliant AI is on human labor. Only then can we start to grant visibility to microworkers and work towards change.

Moving Beyond ‘Victim’

The normative value of universal human rights is constantly scrutinized both within the academy and in the field alike, as has been previously featured on the Institute for Human Rights Blog. Universal human rights, codified in international documents such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Convention of the Rights of the Child, are writ large by a group of representatives operating at the international level and are ideally enjoyed by everyday citizens on the societal level. Human rights are both universally created and culturally applied. Problems arise when specific, codified human rights directly contradict cultural norms of a particular society. Examples of this contradiction include female genital cutting, the right to return of refugees, and international tourism.  The underlying tension is this: how can the local / global communities reconcile cultural beliefs with universal norms? Can human rights activists and scholars find a third way- marrying the universal with the particular? To evolve the conversation surrounding these issues, this blog uses the incidence of human trafficking in Benin to illustrate the discursive dimension of human rights advocacy and to counter the notion that universal human rights are incompatible with culturally particularistic beliefs.

Picture of a harbor in Cotonou, Benin
Shubert Ciencia, Creative Commons

Benin & the US: Bound by Cotton

Benin, formerly known as the Kingdom of Dahomey, is located in western Africa between Burkina Faso, Niger, Nigeria, and Togo. Benin’s capital is Porto-Novo, official language is French, and has a population of almost 10 million individuals. And finally, according to the United States’ annually published Trafficking in Persons Report (US TIP Report), Benin is grappling with a human trafficking crisis. According to the 2017 TIP-Report, vast numbers of Beninese girls and boys are:

“… subjected to domestic servitude or sex trafficking in Cotonou and across Benin’s southern corridor. Some families send children to wealthier families for educational or vocational opportunities, a practice called vidomegon; some of these children are subjected to domestic servitude.”

(Emphasis in original document)

However, before we may contextualize human trafficking trafficking in Benin, the political motivations of the TIP-Report must be unpacked.

Every year, the US compiles all available data on the incidence, prevalence, and efforts to combat human trafficking worldwide. This information is provided from policy analysts, field researchers, first-hand testimony, and a vast array of informants working with or for the US State Department (among other national agencies). Once this information is analyzed, the US labels each country a 1, 2, 2-Watchlist, or 3 Tier ranking. The lower a country’s rank, the more successful efforts a country is undertaking to prevent trafficking in general, protect trafficked persons, and prosecute traffickers. Once a country reaches the Tier 2-Watchlist (in some cases) or Tier 3 designation, the US has precedent to curtail or eliminate monetary aid and other diplomatic exchanges with the state. Danger occurs when political instrumentalism and lack of awareness of cultural beliefs thrust themselves into this ideally ‘objective’ designation process.

As an example of political gaming,  China receives low rankings, despite a sprawling human trafficking plight, to maintain polite integrity of US-China relations. In the case of Benin, ignorance of cultural mores and beliefs fundamentally redefine what trafficking is and looks like on the ground; this fact is not internalized by the US State Department. Hence, Benin’s designation of Tier 2-Watchlist.

This designation means the US believes Benin is making active strides to combat trafficking, but these efforts do not meet the minimum standards for the elimination of trafficking within the country as a whole. Massive structural issues complicate Benin’s anti-trafficking process, including: sweeping inequality, crumbling infrastructure, political corruption, and a national economy unable to withstand price gauging from foreign actors. The last issue is particularly germane to the incidence of trafficking in Benin, as Howard (2012) explains:

“In Benin, cotton is the major cash crop. It accounts for around 5 per cent of the GDP and almost 40 per cent of the country’s export receipts… [I]t is a household industry and provides income for thousands of families… When prices are high, people benefit… [C]otton prices have been at record lows for over a decade, in large part due to illegal US subsidies.”

(Emphasis added; Howard, 2012)

According to Oxfam, the US raised cotton subsidies, which decimated many economies in Western African dependent on cotton production from local farmers. Benin’s economy in particular is crippled; many rural and agrarian workers are unable to sell their cotton products at a fair cost. Therefore, they must turn to alternate means of income – in some cases, trafficking. This oft-unexplored antecedent of trafficking cases is the pressing economic demands of both the trafficked person and others (such as the trafficker, buyer of services, etc.) involved in the process (Bales, 2012). Here is the paradox: the US classifies Benin a Tier 2-Watchlist country on the TIP-Report (a supposed human rights-promoting mechanism) when US economic policy vampirically saps Beninese resources, thereby increasing the occurrence of trafficking in the Beninese state. The US indirectly causes trafficking in Benin and simultaneously uses diplomatic pressure to punish Benin for its trafficking “problem”. So what does this disingenuous relationship look like to human rights activists in Benin and the populations they wish to serve?

Politics in Trafficking Discourse

In his ethnographic portrayal of the lives of working Beninese adolescents, Howard (2012) explores the motivations and incentives of young Beninese persons attempting to make a livelihood for both themselves and their families. He interviews young men who often work in gravel pits in western Nigeria and young women who opt to work for families in major coastal cities within Benin itself. According to Howard’s interviews with anti-trafficking NGO workers, two concerning issues surround the designation of these young men and women as ‘trafficked persons’:

  1. The young men and women seeking employment are underage. International law decrees childhood ends and legal consent begins (for most individuals) at age 18. In Benin, societal tradition prepares adolescents for work before age 18, and many adolescents (highly aware of their dire economic need) opt to work to support themselves their families. Due to these definitional inconsistencies, one persons trafficking survivor is another’s entrepreneur.
  2. Many of these young men and women do not consider themselves as trafficked persons, despite using 3rd-party cooperation to cross borders to find work. Here is a conversation that exemplifies this issue:

 

(Howard): Have some of you ever been away to do holiday work?

(Young Man): Yes, every single one of us! This is what allows us to continue at school! You can go to Nigeria or Savé and earn 30,000 or 40,000 FCFA in a summer!

(Howard): Do NGOs, white people or the government come here and say that’s bad?

(Young Man): Yes, loads.

(Howard): Why?

(Young Man): Because they can see that it can be hard, but they offer us no alternative.

(Emphasis added; Howard, 2012)

The young man in this exchange, in addition to others interviews by Howard (2012), expresses frustration the Beninese government cannot aid employable citizens to find livable wages and jobs in their home communities. These individuals now must make long and arduous journeys to find work to sustain themselves and their families. This complicates the ‘victim-mentality’ all too common of anti-trafficking efforts; in many cases, anti-trafficking NGO’s see trafficked persons in need of ‘rescue’. However, via testimony from these so-called ‘trafficked persons’, these Beninese adolescents are exercising agency and ingenuity to pursue economic stability. They are not ‘victims’ of trafficking; they are victims of structural violence, in part propagated by the US government. In one fell swoop, the US government not only crippled the Beninese economy but also victimizes many Beninese workers through human rights discourse. What does the discursive process mean for human rights research and advocacy?

Notes on top of the written text of Michel Foucault
James Shelley, Creative Commons

Discourse, in a Foucault-ian sense, describes the process of transferring one’s worldview to another via communication (Howard, 2012). When we engage in dialogue, we construct a momentary reality for the person with whom we are engaged. They do the same. These conversations are laden with our worldview, power (a)symmetries, and culture; each of us brings these elements to the table. Therefore, the way in which we speak about a subject not only tells us about the subject itself, but it also of speaker(s). To speak of someone as a victim in need of rescue is to deny them agency and autonomy. This tactic may additionally heighten the moral authority of the speaker. This power asymmetry is epitomized by the dyad of the Beninese worker & US government.

Returning to the young man’s quotations above, we may infer he is an individual seeking agency and economic independence within a state that is unable to provide these opportunities. The state, Benin, is laden with political and financial woes; in part from price gauging by the United States. The US, also according to Howard’s ethnographic research, finances and sends NGO humanitarian aid workers to Benin to aid in anti-trafficking efforts. These aid workers, when pressed about why their Beninese ‘trafficking survivors’ were unable to find work within their homeland, often had no idea about the cotton subsidies or other reasons why the Beninese economy is suffering (Howard, 2012). Without a nuanced understanding of the structural barriers compelling Beninese adolescents to seek work in foreign lands, US aid workers revictimized Beninese citizens through discursive patronage and an inability to shoulder the burden of the US’s involvement in crippling the Beninese economy.

A Beninese woman balances a gourd above her head
AdamRogers2030, Creative Commons

A Challenge for Human Rights

Human rights are universal. The notion that all persons, irrespective of religious creed, nationality, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, age, or any other identifying characteristic, deserve their dignity and personhood honored and protected is a key mainstay of modernity. The protection of human rights should be implemented by transnational actors such as the United Nations. Human rights should also be protected by states, such as the United States of America and Benin. Finally, human rights have to be guarded be ordinary people living in societies all over the world.

Conversations about human rights inform us about the speaker and how they conceive of rights. In the case of US aid workers in Benin, they considered Beninese adolescents in need of saving and as involuntary trafficking survivors falling prey to a malicious trafficker. And indeed, this is the case for many Beninese. From the other perspective, through the eyes of impoverished Beninese young women and men, earning a livable wage to support their family is paramount. They do not see themselves as victims; they see the aid-workers as misinformed. This begs the question: how do human rights activists and the communities they wish to serve negotiate power-sharing in discourse and social / economic / cultural equality within the doctrine of human rights?

A fundamental challenge within the realm of human rights is the negotiation between two groups of people who have (sometimes radically) different interpretations of what human rights mean. Eastern vs. Western, secular vs. religious, North vs. South, these are illusory differences propagated by individuals who directly benefit from antagonistic discourse between these (and many other) groups of people. Sometimes, is it not the conversation itself that is the important part; it is what each speaker is bringing to the conversation.

We see a conflict of interest between aid-workers in Benin and Beninese adolescents looking for jobs. Neither is wrong in their pursuit; both are merely taking radically different approaches to protecting the rights and fortunes of themselves and of those they care about. These differences of opinion on the interpretation of rights do not, as my colleague has written, weaken the foundational argument for the existence of universal human rights. These differences throw down the gauntlet for human rights activists and researchers to expand the table large enough for all vested parties to have an equal opportunity to negotiate a culturally-practical implementation of universal norms. It is a challenge to dismantle structural barriers to human rights (such as the US’s involvement in Benin’s cotton industry). It is a challenge to marry non-Western and Western conceptions of justice and peace. Human rights as a normative prescription of beliefs and behaviors is still in its infancy. These ideals still need an anthropologically-informed ethic, a moral system steeped in cultural pluralism through a globalized mechanism of implementation, in order to realize the full potential of universal human rights and a shared global identity of what it means to be human.

 

References

Bales, K. (2012). Disposable People: New Slavery in the Global Economy. Press Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

Howard, N. (2012). Accountable to whom? Accountable for what? Understanding anti-trafficking discourse and policy in southern Benin. The Anti-Trafficking Review, 1, 43-59.