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Bolivia Passed a Law Allowing Ten-Year-Olds to Work

For the 850,000 kids there who already work, the law is a huge victory: Children, just like adults, will now be entitled to a minimum wage, and they'll have full protection under the law. Of course, the dangers are obvious, too. Did Bolivia just create...

Young laborers who work inside the Cerro Rico mine in Bolivia. Photo by Jackson Fager

Last year, VICE reported on attempts in Bolivia to legalize child labor. A group of young workers—ages ten to 18—had formed a political group called Unatsbo, the Union of Child and Adolescent Laborers, and these kids wanted the Bolivian government to lower the legal working age to ten years old. On our trip, we met a 17-year-old street clown, a 12-year-old miner, and a 15-year-old gravestone cleaner, all of whom, for reasons of economic necessity, had to work in order to survive. From what we saw, their families were loving and often intact, but they were so poor that without the child's income, the family would've starved. In other words, these kids didn't choose to work—they had to. Cristina, for example—the girl who polished gravestones—made a few dollars each day and gave half to her family, and used the other half to buy school supplies. When I asked her if being around corpses all day was frightening, she told me, No, it wasn't. "I'm more afraid of life," she said, "than death."

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The logic behind Unatsbo's efforts is similar to the logic behind legalizing, say, prostitution: In a perfect world, no one would be compelled by economic necessity to be a prostitute or child worker. But we don't live in a perfect world, so why don't we offer those people involved in illicit industries protection under the law? For young Bolivian laborers—of whom there are an estimated 850,000—this would mean the ability to get benefits, disability pay, and to have a legally-enforced minimum wage. It was a counterintuitive argument, but the young people we met on our trip told us stories about bosses stealing their paychecks, about being beaten and abused, and with Unatsbo, at least, they had banded together in common cause. They'd even drafted legislation to lower the working age, which they presented to the Bolivian government in December of last year. Unfortunately, the kids—who marched carrying signs reading "If I don't work, how will my family eat?"—were met by police. The spectacle of 12-year-olds being roughed up by cops, simply because the kids wanted to work, underscored how huge and persistent the chasm between life in the First World and the Third World remains.

Last week, Bolivia's Vice President acknowledged this chasm by passing a law that would horrify most Americans or Europeans—he signed a version of Unatsbo's legislation to lower the working age. In so doing, Bolivia became the first country in the world to allow ten-year-olds to work, flagrantly violating the UN's Convention that prohibits children under 14 from holding a job. According to the new law, children from ten to 12 years old can be "self-employed"—selling chewing gum on the street, shining shoes—and children from 12 to 14 can work as "independent contractors," which means a boss can hire them to help in stores, workshops, farms. Kids can only work six hours a day, with their parents' permission, and only as long as the job doesn't interfere with their schooling.

Opponents of the new law include the UN and the International Labor Organization, and the dangers presented by it are obvious: Freed from legal prohibition, critics fear that kidsmay be compelled to choose work over school, and child labor may become codified and encouraged rather than discouraged and combated. Supporters of the law, like Bolivian Senator Adolfo Mendoza, reply by pointing out the potential benefits: Now, just like adults, employers will have to pay children the legal minimum wage. Exploited children will have the backing of lawyers and the department of labor if they are mistreated. These kids are going to work anyway, the logic goes—why not regulate and protect them?

No one can predict if, ultimately, this law will help or hurt Bolivia's young workers. But, at the very least, it seems to acknowledge a reality that kids like Cristina, the gravestone cleaner, have long understood: banning child labor won't, on its own, make it go away; it just means that kids will work in the shadows. Bolivia's child laborers, for better or worse, are now in the limelight.

To meet Cristina and Bolivia's other Unatsbo members, watch our documentary, Child Workers of the World, Unite!