Equal Pay rally – Thursday 10th June 2010
On Thursday, I was one of the thousands who attended the national day of action on equal pay. I’m an ordinary woman struggling to pay the bills on the modest wage I receive as a community development worker, a job I’ve been doing for 25 years.
As I stood on the stage at Sydney’s Town Hall in front of thousands of equal pay supporters yesterday, I reflected on just how significant that moment was. At that moment I was part of history in the making, participating in the biggest national day of action on equal pay since the 1970s. I might be one of many, but together we can’t be silenced or ignored.
I work in a Neighbourhood Centre in the outer suburbs of Sydney. It’s a place where everyone is welcome. The people that live in my community, who come to our centre are often on the ‘outer’. They come to us for all kinds of reasons. On any given day, on top of my planned groups and activities, I deal with people who have been evicted; people who are in crisis; people who are afraid, hurt, and alone. I help them to make things a little bit better.
So yesterday’s day of action was about showing support for people like us and recognising the value in the work that we do.
People marched in the thousands all around the country, in the biggest cities and the smallest towns – men and women, young and old, from all walks of life. Many who fought for pay equity more than forty years ago were still marching. And will continue to do so, until the wage divide is addressed. It was heartening, too, to see so many younger generations taking part. We’ll always need community workers, and young people are now taking the baton to fight for equal pay.
2010 is our year. We’re taking strong action for equal pay – taking it all the way to Canberra. We’re lodging a court case, a test case with Fair Work Australia to prove that we’re underpaid. The figures are there in black and white: women are paid, on average, 18 per cent less than men. And the pay gap is getting wider. We’re asking for a wage increase to bring community sector wages in line with comparable skills, qualifications, experience and responsibilities in other workplaces.
It’s only fair.
So this year we’re going to make history – not just for the 200,000 undervalued and underpaid community workers in this country, but for all working women across Australia. And I invite you to join us.
You can call me Ambassador Maree
It’s been a busy few weeks. On top of the general goings on here at the Centre I have put my hand up to be an Equal Pay Ambassador, in an official capacity that is. I have been an Equal Pay Ambassador all my working life – now, I am assuming the official title.
When I was told that I would be officially called an Equal Pay Ambassador I freaked out a bit. The word Ambassador conjures images of statesmen like Alexander Downer and Kim Beazley. I think of them going to formal receptions, wearing ridiculous clothes, and all in all not doing very much that’s very important, most of the time.
Hey, and let’s face it, I am no statesman, or stateswoman for that matter. I am just one of 200,000 undervalued and underpaid community workers. I am one woman of about 180,000 women in the sector. I am one, we are many, and we, ordinary community workers are about to do an extraordinary thing.
We are lodging a court case. We are lodging a test case. We are going to prove that we are undervalued and we are going to prove that we are underpaid. We are going to make history not just for us but for all working women in this country.
One of my first duties in my role of Equal Pay Ambassador will be to go to Canberra to launch our case with the stateswoman of all stateswomen, Julia. That’s Gillard, Julia, Deputy Prime Minister!
It’s kind of exciting and inspiring when you think of it… maybe I am, after all, a stateswoman.
Community workers are no angels
Community workers are disability service workers, they are refuge workers, they are youth workers, they are crisis workers, they are social workers, they are counsellors, they are homelessness workers, they, like me, are community development workers.
They are many things but they are no angels.
Community development is my job. It’s my career. I didn’t wake up one morning and think – today I am going to make the world a better place and I will volunteer my whole life to do so. I don’t do it solely because I am passionate about it. It’s a job – it’s what I do to pay the bills. And you know, I do love it – but, as anti-angelic and amazing as it might seem, lots of people love their job but don’t sacrifice their pay because of it. Why should I?
It’s funny you know – when I meet people and answer the age-old ‘what do you do for a living?’ question, I have to bite the insides of my mouth and clench my jaw at the predictable responses.
You can put your last $5 (and I am often down to my last fiver – so maybe I should) on the replies – “Oh, you must be an angel!” and, “Wow, that must be so rewarding!”
Inside of me I feel a rant coming in reply – something honest and strong and fierce and bold, and possibly rude.
But when I open my mouth I always say something like “yes, yes, it’s lovely to be able to work with people who need a little extra help…it makes the world a better place for all.”
Angels we might not be but we can certainly be self-deprecating. Maybe that’s been part of the problem.
My job is rewarding. I help people make the very most of sometimes not very much at all – and I get paid not very much at all to do it. To be honest and strong and fierce and bold: I know how valuable I am. I know what I am worth and I know it’s certainly not a penny less than the going rate for angels.
Community workers, improving lives in a neighbourhood near you
Hi, I’m Maree, I’m a sister, mother, grandmother and wife and a community worker.
I have worked in the community sector for more than 25 years. I have three different tertiary qualifications and I’m working my way through a masters.
I am a community development worker. So what does that mean?
We know that we live in a society which sets up structures which can either include or exclude us. It’s my job to work in that space assisting excluded people to be included and working to make our structures more inclusive. But, that’s a bit complicated and abstract – the reality of the job is very hands-on.
I work in a Neighbourhood Centre. A Neighbourhood Centre is a place where all are welcome – it’s an inclusive space. My Neighbourhood Centre is in the outer suburbs of a big city. The people that live in my community – who come to our centre – are often ‘on the outer’. They come to us for all kinds of reasons and from all walks of life.
One of the programs that I run is for grandparents who have become the custodians of their grandchildren and are taking on the parenting role all over again. Many of the kids have had a rough time. Many of the grandparents have not had it easy either. We all work together to make things a little better for all. Our program does many things. It definitely keeps these kids out of government systems which, among other things, saves them money.
Most of the people we work with are on a shoe-string budget. We do our work on a shoe-string budget. The organisations that employ us pay us from their shoe-string budget and we, community workers, live on a shoe string budget.
But, the doors are always open at our Neighbourhood Centre – and that means you never know who might come through and what situations might arrive, and you’ve got to respond to everything. On any given day, on top of my planned groups and activities, I deal with people who have been evicted; people who are in crisis; people who are afraid, hurt, and alone… and I help them to make things a little bit better.
Often the people I work with say they never knew about us, until they needed us. I work to make people less invisible – their issues less ignored. Funny then, in many ways, and by many people, I am invisible and I am ignored. I am on the outer.
There are Neighbourhood and Community Centre all over Australia full of people just like me – Community Centres with open doors full of Community Workers with open arms.
