“The least I can offer is to listen.”

Interview

Authors: Nandita Shivakumar and Jason Nemerovski

Date: June 2, 2026

Over the past three years, Nani Baral, an investigator with human rights NGO Equidem, has conducted more than 500 interviews with migrant workers from South Asia: men from Bangladesh, India, Nepal, and Pakistan working across sectors ranging from gig work to electronics and renewable energy supply chains, spanning migration corridors from Malaysia to the Gulf. Many of these workers live in highly precarious conditions marked by debt, isolation, and few avenues to raise grievances.

Reaching them is never easy, and rarely quick. Much of Nani’s work involves identifying workers independently through social media, often without institutional mediation, and building trust over time. These relationships extend beyond the interview, creating space not only for documentation but also for care, connection, and reciprocity within the research process.

Originally from rural Nepal and trained in rural development, Nani is currently pursuing an MPhil at Tribhuvan University, Kathmandu. In this conversation with Nandita Shivakumar and Jason Nemerovski, she reflects on what it means to practise research as a relational and ethical process under conditions of deep inequality – and why genuine listening may be the most important thing a researcher can offer.

Illustration : Prateek Draik

Question: Over the last 3 years, you’ve conducted over 500 research interviews with migrant workers from South Asia working in various global supply chains. How did you begin this work, and what drew you into it?

Nani: I didn’t begin my career as a field research investigator. I come from a very rural part of Nepal, where girls like me often have limited access to education. My father was quite progressive, and he supported me and my sisters in continuing our studies. I went on to study rural development, as I was always drawn to understanding and supporting our rural communities. Later, I worked briefly with a magazine and also learned to be a motivational speaker. Those experiences taught me how to connect with people and, importantly, how to listen.

When I joined Equidem, I started in an administrative role. But I kept hearing the cases investigators were bringing in – stories of Nepali workers in the Gulf and Malaysia facing very difficult conditions. I remember wondering: is this really happening at this scale? I wanted to understand it for myself, so I requested to move into a research investigator role.

What struck me immediately was not just the working conditions, but the loneliness and isolation these workers faced. Many of these workers, mostly men, spend long hours at work and then return to crowded rooms, with 20-25 people, yet have no real space to speak or be heard. Even in shared environments, they are often alone with their frustrations.

That made me rethink what my role could be. If my research was bringing me to them with questions, then the least I could offer in return was to listen – genuinely and without judgment. I began to see this work not as extracting information, but as creating a space for workers to be heard, and to feel that their experiences matter. That became the foundation of how I approach my work.

Q: How did you learn to conduct these research interviews, especially in ways that centre trust and openness?

Nani: In the beginning, it was not easy. The questionnaires we used were quite technical, and I wasn’t always confident about how to ask the questions or guide the conversation. But over time, I realised that practice is the most important teacher. The more I spoke with workers, the more I understood how to approach these conversations. I also began to move away from relying strictly on the questionnaire. Instead, I focused on understanding the key themes and keeping them clearly in mind, so the conversation could flow naturally while still covering what was important.

I usually begin with a simple greeting and informal conversation, asking about their life or family before explaining consent clearly. I often say that I will only take 15 minutes of their time, but if trust builds, conversations can extend to one or even two hours.

Respect is very important in these interactions. I often address workers formally – using terms like “sir” or “Mr.” – because many low-wage workers are not used to being spoken to with that level of respect. It helps restore a sense of dignity and sets the tone for the conversation. When you give respect, you are also more likely to receive it.

I also don’t expect workers to open up immediately. In the first interaction, they may not share much – especially as there is genuine fear of retaliation from employers for speaking up. So I stay in touch: checking in, asking how they are, wishing them during festivals, or asking about their family.

Over time, this is what builds real comfort and trust.

Q: What are some of the key challenges you face in conducting this research, especially as a woman investigator engaging primarily with male workers?

Nani: Research timelines can be tight, so reaching the required number of workers within that time is one of the most difficult parts of this work. If I reach out to 100 workers, maybe 10 will respond – and even among those, not all conversations continue. To get those responses, I spend a significant amount of time on social media trying to identify and connect with workers.

As a woman, there are additional challenges. Some male workers may not take the interaction seriously, or may behave in ways that are inappropriate. Over time, I’ve had to block many worker contacts, and that list has grown quite large. In reality, this means that the number of workers I can meaningfully engage with becomes even smaller, sometimes just four or five out of an initial 100.

This makes me think differently about how we talk about research. When companies or researchers expect large sample sizes – 500 workers, for example – or question the validity of findings based only on numbers, they often don’t see the labour behind each interaction. One interview can take five to six hours when you include outreach, building trust, and the conversation itself. It is not just about collecting responses; it is about building relationships and that is what is needed if we want in-depth insights.

We also have to understand workers’ realities. When I was speaking with migrant workers in Malaysia’s electronics sector, many were working from 7AM to 7PM, followed by two to three hours of commuting. So when do they have time to speak? Often, conversations happen late at night. As researchers, we have to adjust to their schedules, not expect them to fit into ours.

Q: What does it mean, emotionally, to do this kind of work over time, listening to real stories of distress, exploitation, and isolation?

Nani: There are many days when, after a conversation with a migrant worker, I cannot sleep.

So many people criticise migration, but when you speak to workers, you understand that it is poverty and desperation that push many young people in South Asia to migrate to places like Malaysia or the Gulf.

Recently, I spoke to a Pakistani worker who had lost his father and had a blind mother and sister to support. He migrated to the Gulf after taking a loan of around PKR 9 lakhs (USD3,230) – loans that are often only accessible for migration among low-income communities. Just three months into his job, the contractor he was working under lost their contract with a larger company, and he was sent back home with no possibility of appeal. He was in tears.

Moments like this are very difficult. You see the cruelty of these migration systems, and you feel a deep sense of helplessness. As a researcher, you are trying to document and support, but you also realise that there is nothing immediate you can do to change their situation.

So the only support I can offer at that moment is to listen – to really hear them. Sometimes that means taking a call even if it is not directly related to the research, and simply offering space for them to speak. Many migrant workers do not have that space in their daily lives.

Over time, these interviews do affect you. You carry these stories with you. At the same time, I remind myself that listening and documenting these experiences is also a way of contributing to change, so that their stories are heard, and not ignored.

Q: What advice would you offer to researchers who want to work in similar contexts with migrant workers?

Nani: The most important thing is to find your own way of conducting worker interviews: be original. Everyone approaches this work differently, and you have to figure out what feels natural to you. At the same time, there are some basic principles you should not lose sight of.

You have to centre the worker, not yourself. That means respecting their time, their situation, and their comfort. Many workers are already navigating very difficult conditions, so your presence should not add to that burden.

It is also important to be honest about what you can and cannot do for them. If you cannot change something immediately, think about what you can offer in that moment – sometimes, that is simply listening. What you should never do, however, is overpromise. Being clear and transparent builds trust in a deeper way.

I remember one delivery worker in Bahrain telling me that in 15 years, no one had listened to him for even an hour. He told me: “Sister, I’ve shared with you all the pain I’ve kept inside – pain I’ve never shared with anyone else. If I told my wife, she would ask me to leave this work and come home. But what can I do? There’s no other option. How will I support my family? But today, just being able to talk to you has lightened the burden on my mind… I’m glad I could speak with you.”

That stayed with me. It made me realise how rare it is for many low-wage migrant workers, especially men, to have a space where they can speak openly about their vulnerabilities without judgment. I felt grateful that I could offer that, even in a small way.

If you approach this work with genuine care, real relationships begin to form over time. And when that happens, the line between “researcher” and “researched” starts to fade.

There have been moments where I have been able to connect workers with one another, and they have gone on to support each other long after. In those moments, it no longer feels like “research” – it feels like something more human, where a sense of community begins to take shape.