The night is warm when we visit Jamal (not his real name) at his kongsi, a local term for the makeshift housing given to construction workers. We are in the repurposed shipping container he shares with up to 10 other workers, seated on the bare floor, chatting about how he came to be a construction worker in Malaysia. A table fan buzzes at full speed in a corner. We can only imagine how hot it would be during the day.

Jamal is one of the many Bangladeshi students R.AGE spoke to as part of our investigations into the student trafficking trade, where young Bangladeshis are scammed into spending their life savings on a Malaysian college education. Many times, they arrive only to realise they’ve been enrolled in bogus colleges that exist mainly as a front for trafficking.

We sneak past the hired security guards that restrict access to these kongsi by dressing as migrant workers and stowing our cameras in nondescript bags. Our Bangladeshi contact tells us to keep a low profile: the kongsi is under the “protection” of local Indian thugs.

We have just spent less than an hour with Jamal, and he has already told us how he was cheated by an agent to come to Malaysia to work under a student visa. How his family had to borrow heavily to pay the agent Tk325,000 (around RM17,000). And how a college lecturer arrived to receive him at the airport in Malaysia, then left him to his own devices. How he called a number he was given by his agent, which led him to another agent. And how this agent sent him to a halfway house somewhere in Puchong, where he was extorted for more money. How he had to borrow again. And how his new life here in Malaysia is one of hard manual labour at construction sites, unbearable living conditions and constant fear of arrest.

It’s a long story of lies, exploitation, disappointment. But for now, Jamal wants to show off.

“This is my workplace,” he says as he shows us a photo of an under-construction toilet, taken on his mobile phone. “And this is during our meeting time.” It’s a photo of construction workers gathered before what looks like a Malaysian superviser. “And this is the work I do.” He scrolls through photos of pipe fittings, toilet bowls, sinks.

There are photos of a bathroom nearing completion. “All very beautiful,” he says in halting English. “My work, my project”.

What about the toilets here in the kongsi? we ask. Jamal scoffs at the comparison: “No that one is bad,” he says, shaking his head almost violently. “I don’t like it.”

Experts estimate that for every legal migrant worker in Malaysia, there are up to two undocumented workers – meaning workers who do not have valid work permits. Since the vast majority of workers are in no position to lobby their employers for better accommodation, there is little incentive for employers to improve conditions.

And then there is the matter of the bottom line.

“For most contractors, their priority is to make as much money as possible,” says Construction Industry Development Board Malaysia (CIDB) chief executive Datuk Ahmad Asri Abdul Hamid.

“If (contractors) were to provide proper housing, the cost would be higher, so the natural choice would be to provide kongsi.”

Compounding this problem is the lack of legislation governing housing for construction workers. The Workers’ Minimum Standards of Housing and Amenities Act 1990 covers the mining and plantation sectors, but not construction.

Although there are guidelines, quality standards, and recommendations put forward by government agencies and the International Labour Organisation, none are legally binding. Employers who do not provide adequate amenities for construction workers cannot be punished, unless the amenities run afoul of basic health and sanitation laws, and pose an immediate health risk. That is an extremely low standard of living.

We ask Ahmad Asri how he feels when he visits construction worker hostels. “Sad,” he says simply. “I don’t know what other word to use, when you see people living in those kind of conditions. I don’t think any Malaysian can accept (living like that).”

But there have been efforts to improve matters. As part of its Construction Industry Transformation Plan, CIDB has drawn up guidelines for construction worker housing, which it is encouraging contractors to adopt.

But similar to other guidelines and recommendations, it does not carry the force of law.

The Ministry of Human Resource is working to table a new act in January 2018 that will specifically legislate construction worker housing and amenities. It was supposed to be tabled this year, but has been delayed. All these efforts are geared towards making the construction industry more “sustainable”.

Click here to see CIDB’s progress report on improving the construction industry’s workplace safety and workers’ amenities.

“To me, developers and contractors, aside from looking at making money and short-term profits, they need to look at long-term sustainability from all aspects,” adds Ahmad Asri. “At the moment, only migrant workers are willing to accept these living conditions. In the long-term, that is not sustainable.”

Malaysia simply cannot depend on cheap migrant labour forever, he concludes.

But to Ashik, the inhumane living conditions are just the tip of the iceberg. “These kongsi are literally outside the law,” he says. “Workers are routinely extorted, cheated of their salary, overworked, have their passports taken away. All of this happens in the kongsi, all the time.”

Again, as most of the workers are undocumented, they do not report these abuses. Ashik also adds that keeping workers cooped up in kongsi, surrounded by high fences and guarded by hired security, allows employers to control their movements and keep prying eyes away.

There are legal instruments to protect migrant workers from exploitation, most notably the Anti-Trafficking in Persons and Anti-Smuggling of Migrants Act 2007 (ATIPSOM).

The act broadly defines the offence of “trafficking in persons” and other related crimes, levies stiff penalties, and offers state protection to victims. Victims of trafficking are allowed refuge in government shelters and freedom of movement to seek employment while their cases are being investigated and heard in court.

Migrant rights groups are by and large happy with the law, which was amended in 2015 to include protections for victims, but contend that its implementation leaves much to be desired.

“The definition of ‘trafficking in persons’ is being interpreted differently by different government agencies,” says Fernandez, who explains that the interpretations are often narrow and legalistic, requiring some clear form of exploitation to have taken place.

“I’ve had police officers ask ‘Ada keluar darah tak (is there bleeding)?’ That seems to be that officer’s definition of exploitation.”

These narrow interpretations make it difficult to charge cases of student trafficking. The crime of trafficking is defined as “acquiring or maintaining the labour or services of a person through coercion”.

However, students are not here to work, they are here as paying customers of a higher education institution, although it can be argued that student traffickers are maintaining the “services” of the students as an income source. In our interactions with the government agencies involved, this interpretation is often disputed.

Often, cases are advised to be charged as cases of fraud, not trafficking. This means the victims are not allowed the protections under ATIPSOM.

Investigations and court cases often drag on for months, even years. During this period, the student will not be able to work to support themselves, since Malaysia’s immigrations laws prohibit students from working outside of long study breaks. And if they wish to continue their studies at a genuine college, they will need to apply to their current college — the college they are accusing — to release them.

There simply is no incentive for victims to voice out.