Jalalabad, October 22: I have to visit all the classrooms at Fatima Zahra, and by the time we reach the lower grades the classes have ended and they’re only waiting for me out of courtesy. They’re remarkably well-behaved, but I’m also reminded that they need to eat. Anyone over the age of 12 is fasting because we are still in Ramadan. But these little ones need their lunch.
As the older classes leave, two new ones take their place. The school is chronically short of space, like so many Afghan schools, and the girls were forced to wait patiently outside for the entire morning until a room came free. They kept themselves busy by reading and doing homework.
The shortage of space is a source of frustration to the headmaster, but not nearly as frustrating as the lack of money. He would like to hire a specialist teacher for the older girls, to teach them subjects like economics or law, but that would cost him at least $140 a month – over three times the average salary paid to his current staff.
One reason is that foreign NGOs and UN agencies have snapped up all school graduates, particularly those with language skills. An Afghan woman who speaks good English can command a salary of up to $1,000 a month. It makes one wonder whether these agencies are really helping to rebuild Afghanistan.
*
I imagine there are many reasons for the success of the Fatima Zahra school, not least the fact that the headmaster is much respected in the community. But when all is said and done, it’s the women teachers – and their long association with Fatima Zahra – who make the difference.
This becomes clear when we return past the nearby government school that we visited earlier in the day. Unlike Fatima Zahra, this school only offers girls’ education up to the fourth grade (aged 12) because it has no women teachers. And it has no women teachers because it has no building that provides women with privacy and security.
Fatima Zahra offers a better education than this government school, and it has been functioning for far longer. Yet Fatima Zahra cannot get registered by the government. This could jeopardize its achievements, and even force it to close down once Omid’s grant runs out.
Sadiqa has visited the Provincial Ministry of Education in Jalalabad many times and been told that the government cannot register two schools within four kilometers of each other. But the government school serves an area of 4,000 families, and we are told that it has over 2,000 students. This is lower than the 5,000 we heard earlier in the day but – with 35 teachers – still impossibly crowded. Fatima Zahra has just 193 students, and even it is bursting at the seams.
Both schools are needed and both should be registered by the government. Afghanistan cannot afford to lose a successful school because of a rule that makes no sense.
*
We make this argument when we visit the office of the Mr Hanif Gurdiwal, Provincial Minister of Education. Mr. Gurdiwal is newly arrived from Kabul and appears to be almost as harassed as his teachers. His office is a huge room, with a high vaulted ceiling. The Minister sits at a large desk, with his staff ranged around the walls. He is the only one wearing a business suit. His staff are dressed in traditional Afghan robes.
The Minister has 330 schools in his jurisdiction. 204 are primary schools, and of these just 38 are serving girls, so he knows what’s at stake. He has visited Fatima Zahra twice and was impressed by what he saw. He has forwarded the school’s details to Kabul, with a recommendation that it be registered, but heard nothing. There are three other schools that he would like to register as a matter of urgency.
Mr Gurdiwal is certainly more of an ally than his predecessor, who basically shut the door in Sadiqa’s face, but it’s still not clear whether he carries enough clout to take on his own government here in Jalalabad or in Kabul.
In Kabul, the entire schools registration process in Kabul has been blocked for months. Here in his own ministry, his staff treat him with solemn respect, but they have seen many ministers come and go.
And only one of the ministry’s 60 employees is a woman. This probably has to change if girls’ education is to get a fair hearing.
Filed under: Afghanistan | Tagged: Afghanistan, education, girls’ school, human rights | Leave a comment »
Jalalabad, October 16: I have to visit all the classrooms at Fatima Zahra, and by the time we reach the lower grades the classes have ended and they’re only waiting for me out of courtesy. They’re remarkably well-behaved, but I’m also reminded that they need to eat. Anyone over the age of 12 is fasting because we are still in Ramadan. But these little ones need their lunch.
As the older classes leave, two new ones take their place. The school is chronically short of space, like so many Afghan schools, and the girls were forced to wait patiently outside for the entire morning until a room came free. They kept themselves busy by reading and doing homework.
The shortage of space is a source of frustration to the headmaster, but not nearly as frustrating as the lack of money. He would like to hire a specialist teacher for the older girls, to teach them subjects like economics or law, but that would cost him at least $140 a month – over three times the average salary paid to his current staff.
One among few: This government school has 35 teachers for over 2,000 students.
One reason is that foreign NGOs and UN agencies have snapped up all school graduates, particularly those with language skills. An Afghan woman who speaks good English can command a salary of up to $1,000 a month. It makes one wonder whether these agencies are really helping to rebuild Afghanistan.
*
I imagine there are many reasons for the success of the Fatima Zahra school, not least the fact that the headmaster is much respected in the community. But when all is said and done, it’s the women teachers – and their long association with Fatima Zahra – who make the difference.
This becomes clear when we return past the nearby government school that we visited earlier in the day. Unlike Fatima Zahra, this school only offers girls’ education up to the fourth grade (aged 12) because it has no women teachers. And it has no women teachers because it has no building that provides women with privacy and security.
Fatima Zahra offers a better education than this government school, and it has been functioning for far longer. Yet Fatima Zahra cannot get registered by the government. This could jeopardize its achievements, and even force it to close down once Omid’s grant runs out.
Sadiqa has visited the Provincial Ministry of Education in Jalalabad many times and been told that the government cannot register two schools within four kilometers of each other. But the government school serves an area of 4,000 families, and we are told that it has over 2,000 students. This is lower than the 5,000 we heard earlier in the day but – with 35 teachers – still impossibly crowded. Fatima Zahra has just 193 students, and even it is bursting at the seams.
Both schools are needed and both should be registered by the government. Afghanistan cannot afford to lose a successful school because of a rule that makes no sense.
Dedicated to the job: Nazreen, right, has continued to teach at Fatima Zahra as a volunteer after her salary was cut.
*
We make this argument when we visit the office of the Mr Hanif Gurdiwal, Provincial Minister of Education. Mr. Gurdiwal is newly arrived from Kabul and appears to be almost as harassed as his teachers. His office is a huge room, with a high vaulted ceiling. The Minister sits at a large desk, with his staff ranged around the walls. He is the only one wearing a business suit. His staff are dressed in traditional Afghan robes.
The Minister has 330 schools in his jurisdiction. 204 are primary schools, and of these just 38 are serving girls, so he knows what’s at stake. He has visited Fatima Zahra twice and was impressed by what he saw. He has forwarded the school’s details to Kabul, with a recommendation that it be registered, but heard nothing. There are three other schools that he would like to register as a matter of urgency.
Mr Gurdiwal is certainly more of an ally than his predecessor, who basically shut the door in Sadiqa’s face, but it’s still not clear whether he carries enough clout to take on his own government here in Jalalabad or in Kabul.
In Kabul, the entire schools registration process in Kabul has been blocked for months. Here in his own ministry, his staff treat him with solemn respect, but they have seen many ministers come and go.
And only one of the ministry’s 60 employees is a woman. This probably has to change if girls’ education is to get a fair hearing.
Jalalabad, October 16: The school of Fatima Zahra is named after one of the Prophet Mohamed’s three daughters. Appropriately enough, the school compound – a former agricultural center – feels like a sanctum for women and girls. This is mainly because almost all of its teachers are women. They move through the classrooms, chatting with their pupils, and sit down to talk with me. It is all very relaxed, and something of a relief. I’ve become used to Afghan women ducking out of sight or drawing a veil over their face when I approach.
Educated bride: The fiance of Basree (center) had to agree that she could remain in school, in order to win her hand.
The question is whether it will last. Earlier this year, in June, one of the school’s donors, the Afghan Institute of Learning (AIL), was forced to pull out from Fatima Zahra because of a funding shortfall. This left all of the women teachers without a salary. Omid picked up the salary of the two most experienced teachers, Ziagul and Zurgona, and of the headmaster. But the remaining four women teachers found themselves unemployed.
All four decided to stay on and teach in a voluntary capacity, at some personal sacrifice. Mallalai, who has taught here for 4 years, has to sell chickens and eggs to cover the cost of even getting to school. 25 year-old Gulpaki, is studying at the university at a cost of 2,000 Afghanis ($30) a month. Gulgutay, who has been teaching Class One for eight years, probably needs the money most because her husband is a laborer and she has four children to feed.
This is real dedication. When I ask why they volunteer, they tell me that they want the girls to have the same chance that they had.
These women are all deeply committed to education, and some are still making up for the five years of schooling they lost when the Taliban suspended girls’ education (1997-2001). 38 year-old Ziagul, and Zurgona, 36, are in their final year at university where they get teased for their age by younger class-mates like Gulgutay. They can take the ribbing, but find it harder to juggle the demands of home and a full-time teaching job at Fatima Zahra. Zugul explains (a bit defensively) that this is why she and Zurgona are not top of their class. They are all fiercely committed to education in Fatima Zahra.
But there is more to all this than education. These six teachers like the work and each other. They are prepared to go without pay until things get sorted out, but say it cannot last for long. If they don’t receive a salary by the end of the year, they may have to leave.
*
Why is it so important to have women teachers? This can be best answered by looking at the drop-out rate at Fatima Zahra. The school started in 1997 with 13 girls in first grade. Nine years later, 12 of the same girls are now in class 9. Only one girl, Basara, has left before graduating.
To lose only one student during nine years must be a record for Afghanistan because it becomes harder for girls to remain in school as they get older. The pressure becomes enormous. Mother needs help looking after younger siblings. Father does not want his daughter to go out in public. Both parents are worried about safety. Other villagers feel that young women should keep themselves to themselves. Finally, by the time they reach the age of 18 (grade 9) many girls are engaged or even married.
To judge from its low drop-out rate, Fatima Zahra has managed to offset these pressures, and one reason is its women teachers. They were surprised and upset when Basara – an excellent student – dropped out. One of them went to visit the family and found that Basara’s elder brother was the head of household. Because he had not gone to school himself, he was jealous of his sister and ordered her to remain at home. Poor Basara is now sitting at home passing the time. Her friends shake their heads in sympathy.
But Basara is an exception. Generally speaking, the families are solidly behind the school. For example, four girls in the class are engaged to be married, but their parents and future in-laws support their decision to stay at school. The father of one of the girls, Basree, 18, told her fiancé that he would only authorize the engagement if Basree was allowed to complete school before the wedding.
When school becomes part of the marriage agreement, then it really is time to talk of a “culture” of education. Credit this to the women teachers of Fatima Zahra.
Kabul, October 15: Janadgur Basiri arrives at 4:00 A.M. in the cold and dark, with his oldest son Akmal. They ask me to wear local clothes, which comprise an absurdly large pair of trousers, a long-sleeved vest, and a thick cloak. This is partly for warmth, partly for security (since we’ll be traveling in local taxis without an escort) and partly so that we don’t get overcharged by the taxi driver who will drive us to Jalalabad. We take a local taxi down to the main road, and hire another taxi for the next three days. I make myself scarce while they negotiate the fare.
Sayed Husein Pasha, defender of girls education.
The road to Jalalabad is a rutted path that winds up and over a mountain. Somewhere down below in the valley the European Union is building a new highway that will connect Kabul to Jalalabad, but up here we might just as well be the moon. Scores of massive oil tankers line up at either end to make the trip, and many of them succumb along the way. Their drivers sit beside the road on their haunches, covered in dust and waiting for who knows what. This will be one of the country’s main arterial roads until the highway is finished.
Jalalabad is warmer, smaller and more tropical than Kabul. Sadiqa opened up an office for the Afghan Women’s Network here in 2003, and it was during this time that she began to hear of villages that wanted to open schools. When the funding for Omid came through, she began to visit villages. She identified two, but dropped them after they started feuding with each other. She was then introduced to the Fatima Zahra school and was deeply impressed by the headmaster, Sayed Husain Pasha. We’re going to visit his school first.
*
On the roads, we stop briefly at a large government school that lies about five kilometers from Fatima Zahra.
Although the two schools have no formal contact, they are intimately connected to each other. Fatima Zahra has been trying to get government registration since 2002, but been turned down on the grounds that the Ministry of Education cannot register two schools that are within three kilometers of each other and serve the same area. Sadiqa asked the parents whether they would be willing to send their children to the government school, but they refused. They said Fatima Zahra offered a much better education, and that they had great respect for the headmaster.
They’re just preparing for classes at the government school. It has two large UNICEF tents. But they can only accommodate a small fraction of the pupils, and large mats are being laid out under the trees where classes will be held. Children begin to drift in from all sides. We approach one teacher, who looks wary at first but then relaxes.
He says the school has 35 teachers for 5,000 students. This cannot possibly be true, but we have no chance to follow up because the children quickly see through my disguise and pandemonium ensures. As we retreat, the teacher is frantically laying about him with a cane at the horde of excited youngsters. We made a big mistake by just dropping in for a visit, but this school is clear struggling.
*
Waiting for class at Fatima Zahra.
The fact that Fatima Zahra exists, let alone is offering a good education to its children, is due to the perseverance and vision of its headmaster, Sayed Husein Pasha. His own story is quite remarkable. He graduated from university at the age of 23 and joined the Afghan resistance (mujahadene) when the Russians invaded. He rose to a senior position but was crippled by a Russian rocket, which put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
After the Russians left, Sayed Husein Pasha was appointed Minister for the Disabled. He organized the Afghan team for the 1996 Olympic Disability Games in Atlanta and was in the United States when the Taliban entered Kabul. He returned to Jalalabad to find that the Taliban had taken over his house.
In an unusual move, Sayed Husein Pasha then turned to teaching girls at precisely the time that the Taliban declared war on girl’s education. Schools were closed and teachers sent home, but Sayed Husein Pasha had such widespread support from locals that the local Taliban allowed him to open a girls’ school – on condition that it followed a strict Islamic curriculum. He taught religion in the afternoon, and (unknown to the Taliban), math and languages in the afternoon.
He took in 13 girls the first year, 1997, and has added a class every year since. It will be interesting to see how many girls have made it all the way through.
Perhaps only in Afghanistan could a battle-scarred veteran become a champion of girls’ education. Yet Sayed Husein Pasha is no ordinary man, and he has completely stamped his personality on his school. Without his drive and determination it would never have survived this long.
He prepares to introduce me to his teachers and students with a twinkle in his eye and no small amount of pride.
Kabul October 13, 2005. I have been assigned to deliver some important letters on this visit to Afghanistan. These are the product of an idea that arose earlier in the year when we talked to Sadiqa about connecting some of her Afghan students with an American school.
Stacy Kosko, the outreach coordinator for our project, contacted a former teacher, Fred Goldberg, who now teaches at the Squannacook Elementary School, in Townsend, Massachusetts. Fred asked whether his pupils would like to penpal with some Afghan penpals and they responded with gusto.
Over the last few weeks they have been diligently working away on letters, photos, and poems about Afghanistan, Omid and peace. Quite a lot of them are about food. For Julia, peace “tastes like my grandma’s gingerbread men that are fresh out of the oven with raisin eyes and spicy, sweet candy buttons.” Her classmate Blake feels that peace “tastes like a sweet candy that everyone wants to eat.”
Looking to connect: Fred Goldberg, in Massachusetts, and his students are reaching out to the Omid schools in Afghanistan.
But many are keenly aware of current world problems. 9 year-old Sloane writes that peace “is a giant wave covering the world. Not a Tsunami, just love. Peace is a roaring fire, with lots of fat poured in. Growing, Growing Spreading throughout the world. But it is a nice fire, giving hope, love and friendship.”
9 year old Tyler manages to convey the elusive nature of peace, which he describes as “a hot camel with sunburn that’s stumbling across the desert.”
*
As well as poems, the students at Squannacook have all written illustrated letters to their Afghan penpals. We had to think quite hard about which school to work with. In the end after talking to Sadiqa we decided to approach the Noor Khel headmaster. He seems the most progressive of the four headmasters. We also bought 25 disposable cameras for the Noor Khel students.
My assignment is to get the letters translated into Pashtu, hand-deliver them and the cameras to the headmaster at Noor Khel, identify 25 pupils, give them a quick tutorial in how to use the cameras, and then pick up their letters and cameras before I leave.
This seemed like a great idea back in Washington. Here in Afghanistan it seems totally impractical given the roads, the arsonists, the security, the language, and everything else that makes this country such a challenge. Then there is the fact that boys and girls are educated separately in Afghanistan and we’re only working with girls in the Omid program. But we have letters from girls and boys in Fred’s class – and they all want a penpal.
Then again, the Omid girls are living in villages are not even allowed to go outside without wearing a veil. Will they be allowed to walk around, snapping photos which will be viewed thousands of miles away by people they will never meet? And of course, if I can’t stay overnight up in Wardak it will be doubly difficult.
*
As I think about all of this back in my hostel, my resolve ebbs away. I then re-read some of the letters and poems from the Squannacook students, and feel a whole lot better. I particularly like this one, from Sloane:
“One day in Afghanistan
A man traveled the land
He traveled it very far
All the way to China
Everybody knew this man
They even identified his cooking pan!
So one day he stopped
A crowd came upon him
He knew they all wanted to see him
All day long before it grew dim
“Oh I know I am so great,
But I must go
“Later you can see me,” he said
“Or you can do nothing instead”
But all they were trying to get to
Was his cooking pan!”
With Sloane and her classmates perched on my shoulder I’d better not drop the ball – or the cooking pan. But that’s for later in the week. Tomorrow we leave for Jalalabad.
Filed under: Afghanistan | Tagged: Afghanistan, education, girls’ school, human rights, penpals | Leave a comment »
Kabul, October 13, 2005. My first visit is to the suburb of Kart-i-char, where Omid shares an office with another organization, the Noor Educational Center. Jamila Afghani, who heads the Noor Center, is on Omid’s board and a strong supporter. She also runs a very good organization.
When I heard that Sadiqa planned to study in the US, I was frankly worried. Sadiqa gently pointed out that Omid will not be sustainable if it becomes too dependent on her, and quickly recruited two qualified women to take over form her. Still, Omid is a very young organization and much in need of her dynamism and leadership.
I need not have worried, because Sadiqa’s new recruits are both very capable. Both are former refugees and steeped in the importance of education. Farzana taught refugees for seven years in Peshawar. Shabnan lived and studied in Iran as a refugee. The third member of their team is Janadgur, Sadiqa’s father, who probably knows more about Wardak than anyone else in this business.
I need some help…
*
With 1,200 girls now receiving an education in the four Omid schools, there is a lot to be proud of. Still there are some rather daunting challenges ahead. Our job is to develop a plan for Omid, and report back to Sadiqa and donors.
The four of us start start planning a field visit. As Omid’s field officer, Farzana should be coming with us, but her father has forbidden it. It would be completely inappropriate for her to travel with a foreign male.
As we discuss the issues. I realize that I’m not really sure how we measure success. The exam results in all four schools appear to be as good, or better, than the national average. But this is not necessarily a guarantee of a good education, and Farzana is quite scathing about the quality of teaching at the Godah school, which she recently visited. She also found the four Godah teachers (all men) to be lacking in motivation.
But perhaps we need to broaden our criteria for success. Godah is the first girls’ school ever in this valley of Wardak, which is so isolated that the Russians only visited it once during their decade-long occupation. In this context, the Omid school is truly revolutionary. Creating a culture of education here may be more important than producing honors students ? although of course the two are not mutually exclusive.
Perhaps what really matters is that the students come to school regularly, and complete their education. Most of the schools offer classes up to grade 12 (aged 18). There is tremendous pressure on girls to leave school early – to get married, help in the house, or simply because their parents don’t like them to go out in public. How many students started in the school and have made it all the way through to the top grade? Absenteeism and retention rates are important indicators of success.
But this underscores the importance of getting the community on board, and the recent fires at Noor Khel and Godah have made us all nervous. The Godah school was burnt down in June, and the culprits have still not identified. Now the Noor Khel school has been burned. Donors will be hesitant to invest in these schools until they are sure the community really wants them.
And money is a worry. Thanks to a generous private donor, Omid has money through to the middle of next year, and now needs to start planning for the future. Otherwise Omid may have to pull out abruptly, leaving a lot of disappointed people.
This happened in June when another NGO suddenly withdrew its support from the Fatima Zahra school in Jalabad because it too had a funding crisis. This left six women teachers without a salary. Omid picked up two, but the school’s program was seriously disrupted. Farzana and Shabnan tell me that the Godah school is so new and isolated that no other NGO or funder will take it over.
*
Right now there appear to be three options, and none of them will be easy. The first is to raise more private money for the Omid program beyond the middle of next year. Even if this is possible, Omid cannot rely indefinitely on the goodwill of foreign donors.
The second, preferred option, is for the government to take over the schools. Two of the four schools are registered with the government and Sadiqa has tried repeatedly to get the other two registered with the government, only to be told that the registration of all new schools has been frozen. Moreover, government registration will not solve everything. Government registration did not save the Noor Khel from arsonists.
As a result, we are thinking that the most realistic option is for some combination of continued private support and some form of government oversight. We’ll try and work out what form this could take over the next few days.
We also hope to weigh up the importance of women teachers. The two Jalalabad schools are the only ones with women teachers, and we hope to find out from them whether it makes a real difference. When I visited Godah last year, I was quite taken aback to find men with long beards teaching girls.
I’m also unclear about what makes the Omid “model” so special. When our group started working with Omid in early 2004, we assumed that it was Sadiqa’s work with the communities. But again, the two fires have given me pause. And I’m a bit concerned about the reports of unmotivated teachers at Godah.
This is a long shopping list of issues to get through in just ten days. It is not made easier by the recent murder of Sadiqa’s cousin in Kandahar. Janadgur is now reluctant to allow me to stay overnight in Wardak. But this could create a real logistical headache, because the Wardak classes begin at 7:30 a.m. and end at 11:30. Wardak is a good four hours drive from Kabul. It’s hard to see how we could visit both schools on day trips.
This is shaping up to be a tough mission!
Over the next weeks I will be posting blogs about my recent visit to Afghanistan to work with Sadiqa Basiri and her father, who manage a project for girls’ education. AP has supported the project with funding from the Hinchman Foundation for two years and deployed three US student Peace Fellows – Sarah Schores, Ginny Barahona and Shirin Sahani – to help Sadiqa.
Kabul, October 12, 2005. I spend my first day in Afghanistan in the company of Igrar Gul, the husband of Sadiqa Basiri, and Janadgur Basiri, her father. As visitors to this site will know, Sadiqa founded the Omid Learning Center, which supports four girls’ schools in Afghanistan. AP has been working closely with Omid for two years, and I am here to see how the schools are faring.
Sadiqa herself is taking time off to study in the United States, but she has entrusted me to her family for safekeeping. Igrar works at the Ministry of Health, where he directs an important training program on infectious diseases. Janadgur, her father, is an engineer who is now working with Omid as its field coordinator. He roars up on his motorcycle, dodging beggars and depositing dust in all directions, and gives me a bear-hug. I remember him well from last summer, when we traveled together up to the mountains of Wardak.
Janadgur is the bearer of grim news. One of Omid’s four schools, at Noor Khel in Wardak province, was recently burned to the ground. Noor Khel is the second Omid school to be burned down in the past three months – the other was Godah – and the news is all the more shocking because Noor Khel has been given an A grade by Sadiqa and her father. The Noor Khel headmaster is committed, his teachers are qualified, and the community is behind the school.
At least that is what we thought. Janadgur visited Noor Khel after the fire and interviewed the guard, who reported that a gang of masked and armed men descended on the school and set fire to five of the tents in the middle of the night. There is a report that the school was being used as a polling station in the recent parliamentary elections, which might have made it a target for rebels. I hope that’s the case. Anything else would suggest that the community is not one hundred percent behind the school.
Later in the day, Janadgur receives a second piece of news on his mobile phone that is even more shocking. His 32 year-old cousin, Abdul Bary, a pharmacist, was killed earlier today, along with four colleagues from the NGO that he worked for.
The team was visiting villages in Kandahar province when they were attacked, presumably by the Taliban. Abdul’s wife and children are living in their family home up in Godah village. He will be buried in the Basiri family plot this weekend. Janadgur loses his bounce and starts making plans to attend the funeral.
I suddenly realize how much reconstruction in Afghanistan depends on the drive of individual families like the Basiris. The Omid program of girl’s education began in 2003 when Sadiqa paid to organize classes for 30 girls in Godah from her own NGO salary. Her father, who is well known in the village, helped persuade the religious leaders in Godah that the school would not be a threat to village culture. Her uncle, who is the only trained pharmacist in Godah, offered his home for the first classes. Her brother Akmal takes time off from his work with an Internet company to act as an unofficial translator for Omid.
None of this is easy. Sadiqa herself has taken a well-deserved break to to study in the United States. Igrar, her husband, tells me that Sadiqa herself is homesick, and that he gets criticism for having let her leave the home and study in degenerate America.
Now their cousin has been murdered for trying to provide medical services to the poor.
This family deserves a medal.
Filed under: Afghanistan | Tagged: Afghanistan, girls’ school, human rights, Omid Learing Center | Leave a comment »
Colombo, September 26: I’m reminded of the newspaper article I read on arrival about the weakness of civil society in this country and the resignation of Sri Lankans to their fate. I have found the exact opposite on this trip. In village after village, people have come together to organize, challenge, protest and demand their rights.
In fact, this disaster has created civil society and thrown up leaders. Not from the government side – with the exception of the grama seveka in Periyaneelavani, there have been few signs of responsible leadership from local officials. But there have been many from the side of those affected.
A succession of leaders have emerged, with confidence, to represent their people: Sivalangam the washerman, who is fighting the caste system and pressing the security forces to return his land; Arula Nandam, the retired government official who is challenging the power of the rural council in the Manalchenai on behalf of the disempowered former estate works; Nagalingam, the fishing crewman who is challenging the power of the fishing magnates, or mudulalis; Paranthaman, who took a delegation of young men from a suspect village to demand aid from senior government officials.
These are not the actions of people resigned to their karma.
I’ve also seen the power of leadership in our partner, the Home for Human Rights. Francis Xavier, the director and founder of HHR, has a wonderful sense of humor and the gentle demeanor of an elderly priest. He is also totally indifferent to his own comfort and appearance. Still, he radiates authority over his younger colleagues. I’ve been watching this quite carefully.
Xavier has a routine with Sanathani, his assistant, and his field officers in Batticaloa, Parasuraman, Jacob and Sasi. He will bark out their names and they will sing out “Sir!” in response. They are happy with the chain of command and they look with concern on anything which disturbs it. For example, they accept my familiarity with Francis as coming from a long-time friend and foreigner with no tact. But their eyebrows go up when I suggest that HHR is too dependent on Xavier. This is a society that respects experience.
Xavier’s charisma comes from his achievements during a long career on behalf of human rights, and a deep humanity. He started the Home for Human Rights in 1977 with two other lawyers. He first appeared on the international scene in 1983, when he went to Geneva to lobby the UN human rights bodies on behalf of Tamils. The Home for Human Rights has been known for its work on behalf of Sri Lanka’s Tamils ever since.
At the same time, this has not protected it from extremism. In 1987 one of Xavier’s co-founders was murdered by Tamil radicals, and he left for Geneva to work with the World Council of Churches and the World Organization against Torture. From Geneva he went to Canada, where he took the Canadian Bar Exam at the age of 61. He still works from Toronto for several months in the year, and has won over 90% of his cases.
Over forty years he has helped, or worked with, a string of promising younger people who have risen to positions of power in Sri Lanka. They include the current Prime Minister and leading candidate for the Sri Lankan Presidency Mahinda Rajapakse. Another influential contact is the Catholic Bishop of Batticaloa.
Xavier is a wonderful asset to HHR. In spite of this, I have no doubt that the organization is too dependent on him, and that its sustainability will require him to groom young colleagues to step forward. He knows that at 72, he cannot keep up this grueling pace and divide his time between Toronto and Sri Lanka.
Most of AP’s partner organizations have strong leaders, and some of these find to hard to delegate. This is not something that preoccupies their donors, but it is one of the biggest challenges faced by community-based groups as they evolve as organizations. Somehow they have to develop rules which allow them to take advantage of inspired leadership, without become dependent on the personalities. That is a hard balance to strike.
It would be presumptuous and foolish for the Advocacy Project to tread into these delicate areas. But there may be a way that we can help. Collecting material for reports, publishing a newsletter and updating a website forces a group to become better organized.
If we can help HHR get its message out, we may just help to take some of the pressure of Xavier – without upsetting the order of things in this inspired little organization.
Viji Village, September 25: It is now nine months since V. Thangumani, also know as Viji to her friends, lost her three daughters in the Tsunami. They were there then one moment, and washed away the next. She was only able to salvage three grainy photos of the girls, and lots of memories. It seems like yesterday.
Viji is one of 42 people in the village of Periyaneelavanai who lost family members to the Tsunami and are still totally traumatised. Their names have been handed to the Home for Human Rights by the village grama seveka (government agent). 83 villagers were lost in the Tsunami out of a population of around 1,000 – by far the largest death toll in any village we have visited.
Viji Thangumani lost three daughters to the Tsunami.
If HHR does decide to help them it quite unlike anything the organization has undertaken to this point. The nearest equivalent is probably its program to rehabilitate torture, many of whom are also deeply disturbed.
It is somewhat strange that these 42 people have fallen through the cracks of the aid effort, because if there is one service offered in abundance by the agencies it is psychosocial support. According to Dr. Ganashan, the chief psychiatrist at Batticaloa hospital, no fewer than 65 agencies are offering psychosocial support in Batticaloa. Nine are working in a huge resettlement camp in Thiraimadu, where 1,000 new houses are being put up. Some of them are even squabbling over the same children.
Psychosocial support is a standard fare in emergencies and it usually manages to stir up controversy. There is no doubt that sudden disasters take a severe mental toll, but humans are also marvelously resilient and drugs are not always the answer. Dr. Ganashan says that outsiders make the mistake of confusing grief with depression. Unlike depression, grief is a natural state, not a medical condition. It can be managed but not treated.
The best way to manage grief, says Dr. Ganashan, is to help the survivor function within a society – and to help the society provide the right sort of support for the survivor. We’re about to find out how difficult this can be in a society has been injured by years of upheaval, culminating in the Tsunami.
Y. Kousalya’s five children drowned in the wave.
*
Viji is on the verge of tears when she comes to meet us in the house of the grama seveka with a friend, Y. Kousalya. It turns out that her friend (who is wearing a hideously inappropriate tee-shirt of the Titanic, donated by an NGO) lost five children. Unlike Viji, who is on edge, she seems stunned.
The tension must have built up as the two women prepared for this encounter, with people from the capital in the house of the village leader. Viji loses all composure at the first question, and sobs as she passes around the tattered photos. Her friend also carries photos of her dead children.
Their distress is so immediate that we’re all taken aback and quickly close our notebooks. Suddenly, we’re the ones who find it hard to communicate, and we sit for several seconds in an embarrassed silence. But the grama seveka, a gentle woman who clearly has the respect of the women, coaxes them and they gradually relax. Viji returns repeatedly to the fact that not one of her daughters has survived. Everything went with them – her support around the house, her old-age pension, her future extended family, her best friends, her in-laws, even her social standing.
She tells us that she would have committed suicide had it not been for her two surviving sons, and that she finds herself stopping women with daughters and asking if she can borrow them. Her husband has taken to drinking arrack, the local liquor.
The best way to manage grief is to help the survivor function within a society – and to help the society provide the right sort of support for the survivor. We find out how difficult this can be in a society has been injured by years of upheaval, culminating in the Tsunami.
The Tamil community has its own traditions to help people like Viji, who have suffered a grievous loss. The extended family rallies round, and the mourning goes on for a fixed time and involves the entire community. Mourners are expected to cry, but for their own departed relatives, not the bereaved family.
But this option is not available to Viji, who appears to live in an unfriendly environment. So many people in this community suffered loss that they are disinclined to favor one woman, who is not even a widow. The more distraught she gets, the more they mock her and call her crazy to her face.
It became so bad that the authorities moved her temporary shelter to a different plot of land, to be away from her neighbors. Not that they were even neighbors. No effort has been made to recreate neighborhoods in the temporary camps. For thousands, like Viji, the camp is merely the latest in a long series of upheavals and displacement.
*
The grama seveka brings up another example of the unfriendliness of the place. Many of the families here, she says, were barely affected by the disaster but have loudly claimed compensation. Others, who really suffered, have been largely ignored. The Sri Lankan government is giving 5,000 rupees every month to a family with more than two members and 250,000 rupees to every family that lost a home. But no effort has been made to provide extra compensation to people like Viki or her friend Y. Kousalya, who have lost several children.
The grama seveka (who was herself detained some years ago for six months for talking to an LTTE patrol) has turned down several unreasonable requests for aid, and incurred the anger of her superiors. She handles it all with dignity and warmth, as if well aware that these women are far worse off than she is.
As the conversation gathers pace, it becomes clear that the two women most need someone to talk to, and some kindness. Once they start talking, they find it hard to stop and the bottled-up emotion comes pouring out. To my acute embarrassment, they kneel to kiss our feet. It should be the other way around.
Xavier and his team decide to select a group of volunteers who will receive some training from Dr. Ganashan and work in small sections of the village focusing on the 42 damaged survivors. Xavier will also draw on his international contacts to try and engage a group of Sri Lankan psychiatrists working in London.
We drive the two women back to the corrugated shacks where they are living, on the outskirts of the village. On the other side of the road are several mounds of sand. These are the graves of their children. They carry no headstone or any other sign of recognition.
Thuraineelavenai Village, September 25: Every village has an elected rural development society, and many agencies deliver their aid through these societies giving them tremendous power. Our visit to the village of Manalchenai showed that this power is not always respected. We come to the same conclusion after visiting Thuraineelavenai, a village that suffered unusual damage from the Tsunami.
Thuraineelavenai is far enough from the sea to have escaped a direct hit. But the fierce winds and high water dumped masses of barbed wire and garbage into the lagoon, making it unusable for fishing. Eighty-five percent of the families here used to depend upon lake fishing.
No agencies have managed to deal with this. Cordaid, the Dutch organization, has provided netting for 30 fishermen, but it remains unused because the villagers are afraid it will be ripped to shreds. They are even unwilling to eat fish, for fear that it might be polluted.
Net Impact: the lake fishermen of Thuraineelavenai are afraid their nets will be shredded by Tsunami detritus.
The best way to help this village is to clean up the lake, and the villagers would contribute their labor. But this would be a massive task, way beyond the means of the Home for Human Rights. As a result, HHR decides to follow the same formula it developed at Cheddipalayam, do a full assessment of the impact of the disaster on the village, and lobby UN agencies and the Government to clear the lake.
*
Once again we come face to face with the issue of widows. There are 66 of them in this village, and while none of them lost husbands in the Tsunami, they have all been indirectly affected by the loss of income that has resulted from the lake closure. Several sit in the front row, clutching affidavits.
We expect a repeat of Nasivanteevu, but it doesn’t happen. This village seems to agree that widows need special help, and T. Ahileswaram, the secretary of the Ward 6 rural development society, says that the council has actually launched a project to provide a group of 25 widows with loans of 5,000 rupees ($50). The society is looking for capital.
Strong personality: One of the Thuraineelavenai widows.
This seems promising. The council was elected two years ago, and several people in the audience acknowledge that Ahileswaram and his committee are doing a good job.
Then something happens, and the mood changes. We are told that there are no fewer than four councils in this village, and they are all competing with each other. S. Poopalaratnam, from the audience, tells us loudly that they cannot be trusted. Someone mumbles that Poopalaratnam is “liqqored” but his fierce little speech draws some applause.
If the mood has changed, so has the plan. It would not be possible to work with just one council, even one as efficient as Ward 6. Besides, the Ward 6 council has already been selected for a lucrative pilot project by one donor, causing jealousy among the others.
Suddenly HHR is back where it started, unable to work with the village representatives and reluctant to work directly with individuals. Xavier settles for the Nasivanteevu formula. He decides to propose a women’s association which will be asked to start with small projects for about 25 widows. Each will be given money to buy a goat or some poultry.
As we develop yet another ambitious scheme, it is becoming clear that the impact on HHR will be considerable. For starters, so many of these projects concern women that HHR will almost certainly have to hire someone to work specifically with women.
Nasivanteevu Village, September 25: In the village of Nasivanteevu we finally come face to face with war.
This is not to say that the war has been entirely absent. Patrols from the government’s Special Task Force are everywhere, and the LTTE operates checkpoints a few miles further inland. Still, we have found that the war has less immediate impact on the distribution of aid than local traditions, attitudes, and structures of power.
Not so in Nasivanteevu. The village lies well to the north of Batticaloa and is encircled by a large lagoon on side, and government forces on the other. LTTE patrols pass through regularly, which further invite the attention of the army. Twenty years of this has taken a terrible tool. Out of the village’s 1,300 inhabitants, 144 have been arrested and tortured, 46 killed as a result of the war, 31 women widowed, and 5 children orphaned.
Strong leader: Paranthaman led a delegation to demand aid for his village.
When the Tsunami smashed into the village, many villagers saw it as one more episode in a never-ending calamity. By the time the water receded, another 5 women had lost husbands, 20 more villagers had died, 63 houses had been destroyed and three more children had lost both parents. We stand for a moment’s silence to remember both sets of victims, under a huge, hundred-year old Banyan tree. Nasivanteevu is the only community to do this. It feels like a political statement.
*
Because of its isolation and suspected ties to the LTTE, Nasivanteevu was initially ignored by the aid agencies. The situation was rectified by yet another act of civic impatience. Under the leadership of their president Paranthaman, several members of the Nasivanteevu Youth Club formed a delegation and went to lobby their Regional Secretary.
“For 90 days we made agitation,” says Paranthaman, a confident young man. Their protest eventually provoked a response. The government and aid agencies have given 15 lake canoes, 32 nets, 19 sea-fishing canoes, a ferry boat, and promised 250 houses.
Marimuthu, 66, one of five Tsunami widows in Nasivanteevu.
But one major need is as yet unmet – jobs. The youth club is asking for vocational training for 52 unemployed members. Half want to learn how to repair tractors, and the other half want to repair outboard motors. This could be their way to break Nasivanteevu’s isolation.
HHR is keen to make some kind of a commitment because it would have an effective partner to work with in the Youth Club. HHR will only have money to cover the cost of 10 trainings, but Parasuraman, HHR’s field officer, has already found a German NGO to undertake the cost of the outboard motor training. Xavier decides to approach the Bishop of Batticaloa and sound him out about supporting the remaining 16 young men.
*
We are about to leave when, quite unexpectedly, another group comes forward. They will prove much harder to assist.
Until now I have barely noticed that more than half of those at the meeting are women, even though some of the weathered faces at the front are quite memorable. Then someone mentions a word, and there is a sudden fluttering in the crowd. Frail figures begin to rise like wraiths and come to the front, where they settle on the ground with barely a murmur and look at us solemnly. These are the widows of Nasivanteevu.
From the point of view of aid donors, widows are in a special category with special needs. They are known in the jargon as “EVIS” (extremely vulnerable individuals).
Few would dispute the label. One of the five women who was widowed by the Tsunami, 66 year-old S. Marimuthu, tells us how the body of her late husband was found with an umbrella in one hand and a knife in the other. Her daughter also lost a child in the Tsunami. Marimuthu is staying in an abandoned house and is completely dependent on one son who lives in another village.
HHR would like to encourage these widows to work together and perhaps form a cooperative, but there is little enthusiasm for the idea. Some of the women on the ground are not widows and argue that they also need help.
As for the widows themselves, they do not necessarily identify with other widows. Xavier’s assistant Sanathani points out that the label of “widow,” which makes so much sense to us, might be seen as a stigma and make it harder for them to deal with the loss on their own terms. There are major differences of age, income and ability between the widows that might make it hard to form an association.
We try a different tack. How would they feel about forming a women’s association that would give special attention to those women who have special needs, like widows? We offer to contribute nine rupees for every rupee contributed by a member and contribute some capital for projects. This seems acceptable. Parasuraman and Sanathani will return and start putting the idea in practice.
This visit has raised serious questions about another basic assumption of donors – that stricken communities will take care of their own and accept responsibility for their most vulnerable members.
The start of the meeting made me feel that Nasivanteevu was especially motivated. Now I am not so sure.
Cheddipalayan Village, September 24: We drive out to Cheddipalayam to visit a group of families who are known colloquially as “dobies,” or washermen. The word doby denotes a caste and also a profession. Caste is turning out to be a big problem in this aid operation.
The washing itself is a marvel of environmental friendliness. Each washerman services a group of families. Every morning he cycles to their houses, collects the dirty clothes and takes them down to be washed in wells near the sea. He brings the wet clothes back to his home, where they are dried and pressed, using a heavy wrought-iron iron that is heated by coconut charcoals. Each garment is marked by a seed (saen kotta) to make sure it returns to its owner.
Challenging their fate: Sivalingam (right) washes clothes. His son, Ramesh, is an electrician.
However friendly to the environment, this system is also brutally demanding. The washerman rises at 4 a.m. and finishes around 6 in the evening. He has a long way to cycle because washing traditionally takes place at some distance from the town. (Dirty clothes are looked on with some distaste).
The war made their work harder still. This group of families lived for generations along the main road, until the anti-terrorist Special Task Force seized their land and forced them to move. The only available space was near the sea on the broad open flats.
*
It was here that the Tsunami caught them unaware on December 26 last year. Sivalingam was washing clothes with his grand-daughter when she saw the wave approaching from the sea. He abandoned a huge pile of shirts, picked up the child and ran to the school, which was on relatively high ground. His house was completely destroyed.
Sivalingam uses coconut charcoal to heat his iron.
Others were even less fortunate. The washing families lost 14 members, including the wife and daughter of Yogarajah (see Sarosh Syed’s blogs). It was a savage blow to a closely-knit group. These washing families have carved out the market between them and do not compete with each other. They even formed an association in 1999, with Sivilingam as their president.
This solidarity stood them in good stead when they ran into raw prejudice in the relief center. Here they were given cooked food by the military guards, but denied dry rations. They noticed that others were getting dry rations and demanded an explanation from their government organizer. “You washing people don’t need dry food.” It was like hearing a racial slur. Other refugees sneered at them.
Angered, the washing people decided to leave the center and move together back to the land, where agencies were starting to build temporary shelters. Sivalingam submitted a letter to the local government youth officer Sundaram, who passed it to HHR.
When we find them, they have regained some equilibrium. Using its donations from the United States, HHR has equipped each family with a new iron, ironing table, bicycle, and bucket, at the modest cost of $140.
The families are now back and working, if not at the pre-Tsunami level. Sivalingam now services 250 families, as opposed to 650, because people have less money after the Tsunami. He has increased his prices, from 10 rupees a shirt to 20, but is still making 1,400 rupees a month – compared to the 5,000 he made before the Tsunami.
*
The one thing they can’t erase is the memory of the prejudice they met in the center. Xavier explains that caste in Sri Lanka is not so rigid as India, nor as linked to religion, but that it still plays a powerful role in the life of village communities. In this part of Sri Lanka the highest caste are the vellalai, or agricultural workers. Dobies come low down the list. The lowest of them all are the sanitation laborers.
Xavier makes the point that all castes perform an indispensable role in society, and are valued as such. By tradition, a marriage feast cannot begin until a washerman gives permission. No-one else can do the work of the koviar, who carry the dead. Caste gives a structure and stability to society. Every society has its social pecking order.
But no pecking order is so rigid as caste, or inhibiting to personal development. Sivilingam’s 35 year-old son, Ramesh, is particularly bitter because he has turned his back on the family profession, put himself through high school (to grade 9) and trained as an electrician. Still, there can be no escaping his caste in this community, where everyone knows Ramesh as a doby. This is his karma. He watches me with a look of distaste as I film his father at his ironing table, as if the act of filming reinforces the stereotype.
If they can’t escape their caste, can they turn it into a badge, to be worn with pride? The Dalit of India and Nepal have mobilized impressively in recent years and no longer disdain the term Dalit.
For all their cohesion, the washermen of Cheddipalayan would find it hard to challenge social mores in a community of 3,000, although they are showing some welcome signs of militancy. Sivilingam tells us that some of his clients used to throw their dirty clothes at him with a grimace. He will no longer tolerate that sort of behavior.
The question is whether someone who makes the equivalent of 4 dollars a day will be able to withhold his labor – at a time when demand for washing is falling. At present the washermen have no intention of using their association as a mini-cartel or trade union, which would be truly revolutionary.
For all their cohesion, the washermen of Cheddipalayan would find it hard to challenge social mores in a community of 3,000, although they are showing some welcome signs of militancy. Sivilingam tells us that some of his clients used to throw their dirty clothes at him with a grimace. He will no longer tolerate that sort of behavior.
*
Reviewing Sivalingam’s story, I am not sure whether the Tsunami has unsettled the social order in Cheddipalayam or reinforced it. Disasters are great social levelers and this Tsunami forced people from all castes into the highly unnatural environment of refugee shelters. At the same time, it revealed the prejudice that lies just below the surface. Perhaps in the end, karma has won out.
As a human rights organization, HHR might have a role in educating the villagers about the dangers of prejudice – although they will have to tread carefully.
We talk freely about this in the car, until it gradually dawns that we are using a term (doby) that we would never use to their face. Every time someone uses the term, it perpetuates the prejudice and we resolve to use the more cumbersome, but neutral, salavai tholilali (washing men).
Meanwhile, the washermen have set their sights on a more pressing issue – the fact that the security forces are sitting on their land. They are determined to get it back, but this will require discretion. They are talking to the police, and have received encouraging signals. It is not yet time to call in HHR’s lawyers.
If they can pull this off it would represent a small triumph for mobilization.
Cheddipalayan Village, September 24: Cheddipalayam is one of many fishing communities that lay in the path of the Tsunami, and 71 of the village’s families have petitioned the Home for Human Rights for support. We go out to visit, and find that the families have gathered in a courtyard and are overflowing into the streets. The mood is tense. There is more to this than meets the eye.
Perhaps they are turning their back on the sea. We have heard that some fishermen were so terrified by the memory of the Tsunami that they are looking for other work. But this is not the goal of the Cheddipalayam group. They say they have recovered from their fright and want to return to fishing.
Fishermen light incense and pray to the Goddess before setting out to sea.
Perhaps they want to rebuild the fleet. Six of the village’s 32 boats were completely destroyed, and another 19 were too badly damaged to put to sea. This has left many villagers out of work (because each boat employed two crewmen). It also robbed another 15 families, which used to dry fish, of their only source of income. The Tsunami even wiped out the “tea boutique” of S. Kobalapillai, who fortified the fishermen with hot tea before they went out to sea.
It would make sense if the villagers want all this restored. But again, this is not quite what they want. What emerges – slowly and in bits – is a new variation on the familiar theme of discrimination and inappropriate aid.
*
After the Tsunami, Cheddipalayam received many visits from aid agencies, seeking to help the fishermen. The most generous donation came from ACTED, a Catholic agency which gave six sturdy new boats and engines.
This has caused enormous divisions in the community.
Fair catch: Fishing canoes in the Batticaloa lagoon.
The reason is that the boats of Cheddipayalam are owned by mudalalis, which roughly translates as “magnates.” Under the system, the day’s catch is sold at the end of each trip. Half the proceeds go to the mudalali, and the remaining half is divided equally between expenses (fuel) and the two crewmen.
In the Sri Lankan society, the mudalali has power and wealth. P. Sinnathamby is one of only two mudalalis in Cheddipalayam who owned two boats before the Tsunami. He earned 25,000 rupees ($2,500) a month, which is more than ten times the average wage of his crewmen.
Most of the crew members have been out of work since the Tsunami, and they were disgusted when ACTED handed over new boats to the six mudalalis who lost boats in the Tsunami, instead of spreading the aid among the entire community. ACTED even replaced the second boat of P. Sinnathamby, reinforcing what many saw as an unjust system. The price of fish has risen since the Tsunami, putting more money in the mudalalis’ pocket.
This is the issue which prompted the letter from the 75 families. In what is becoming a familiar pattern, their letter is as much of a protest as a request. It is another sign of how the Tsunami has mobilized communities along this coast.
*
Interestingly, P. Sinnathamby is the only mudalali to attend our meeting. This takes some guts, although some of the others grumble about his presence.
S. Nagalingam begins by making a powerful appeal. He is secretary of the Cheddipalayam fishing society, and has to support several children. He has a good education and had a chance to take another job, but he says he is committed to the sea. How many others feel the same? Most of the hands go up.
The question is how HHR can help. There are basically two options. The first is to help the mudalalis, which would provide work for their crewmen but perpetuate the unjust system that existed before the Tsunami. The other option is to help the crewmen directly – and undermine the monopoly of the mudalalis. This would be bold and subversive.
Still, this meeting is resoundingly in favor of the second option. Several brothers and friends would like the chance to work together and own their own boats.
There is one major practical problem. HHR has only budgeted $3,000 for this entire village, and a single new boat costs $3,500. How can HHR’s small contribution be used judiciously and without creating further divisions?
*
One thing becomes clear. If we discuss this much further in public, we will start to make some promises. We are told that a small army of agencies has passed through Cheddipalayam and conducted “assessments” but failed to deliver. They include Oxfam (which took photos of the destroyed boats that have not been returned), the Swedish Cooperative Society, Seva Lanka, Save the Children, and the Tamil Rehabilitation Organization (the relief arm of the LTTE). Several asked the families to fill out questionnaires.
This community is tired of being assessed. While one can sympathize with the agencies, which have to identify their beneficiaries carefully, one can also understand the irritation of these villagers. This is another unfortunate feature of aid – it gives out mixed signals, and makes promises that it cannot keep.
It is important that HHR does not make the same mistake. It is clearly beyond HHR’s resources to transform the fishing industry, even if this were wise, but HHR can act as an advocate for the fishermen. Xavier decides to fund a detailed survey of the villages fishing needs, and take the issue up with larger NGOs and UN agencies – the UN Development Program and the International Labor Organization. HHR’s lawyers will also help the 71 families form a legal association, and register with the government departments of Fisheries and Cooperatives.
HHR’s also decides to build on what it has learned elsewhere and support sewing classes. 40 applicants, including several men, have applied and word is getting around that this is something HHR does well.
HHR can make one more intervention that will help the entire community. HHR will restore the tea boutique of S. Kobalapaillai. At least those who will fish will have a hot cup of tea before they set out and on return.
*
After we return to Batticaloa, Sanathani and I visit some of the fishing boats of Batticaloa just before they leave for the night’s fishing. Before they head out to the unreliable sea, their crews light incense and say a prayer to the Hindu goddess Kadalatchiamman who watches over fishermen.
They tell us that their confidence was badly shaken when a small temple to the Goddess was washed away in the Tsunami. But life must go on.
Manalchenai Village, September 23: I have always assumed that any mischief in this aid operation would come from the Sinhalese authorities withholding aid from Tamils. This turns out to be grossly over-simplified. The sort of discrimination happening here is much more subtle, as becomes startlingly clear when we visit Manalchenai, some 50 kilometers south of Batticaloa.
HHR has received a list of 65 families in Manalchenai who are angry at having been denied aid – so angry, in fact, that they have formed an association to lobby. When they heard that HHR might be a source of support they submitted a lengthy list of needs, including toilets, wells, and houses.
Challenging the status quo: Xavier (left) and Arula Nandam listen as the Manalchenai villagers make their case.
I had never imagined that the Home for Human Rights would be building toilets and I’m not sure that such infrastructural support is a good idea. But Xavier has been energized by the drive and determination of the 65 families, who are clearly not prepared to accept their karma lying down. We head out to investigate.
*
Black water tanks festooned with NGO logos stand like sentries beside the road leading into Manalchenai. These are for the use of the inhabitants from a nearby village who are living in temporary shelters. The shelters are spacious, and the water is plentiful.
It is a different matter as we turn off the main road and enter the sprawling village of Manalchenai. An invisible line seems to split the village. On one side there are wells, trees, land under cultivation, and a school building. On the other side, in the direction of the sea, the land is poor, the trees are stunted, the wells are stinking open pits.
This is where the discontented 65 families live. Like the Poonichimunai families, their parents and grandparents originally lived and worked on the tea estates, before being driven out in September 1977. They moved to one village, found no work, and moved again to Manalchenai where they settled on public land that happened to lie in the direct path of the Tsunami. They managed to reach higher ground where they spent a month eating bark and plants, and climbing trees to escape marauding elephants, before returning back to their homes.
With all the official channels closed to them, the 65 families have found it almost impossible to get assistance from international agencies.
These families have received some tents from a private German donor, but they have not seen a single rupee of the 5,000 rupees promised to every Tsunami-affected family by the Sri Lankan government. The reason emerges as we sit under a large tree.
In order to qualify for aid, families have to register with their grama seveka, a government-appointed official who acts as a mayor. Unaccountably (and illegally) Manalchenai has no grama seveka. One woman cycled several kilometers to plead with the grama seveka in the next village, only to be told that all 65 families would have to appear in person. They had no better luck with their District Secretary a more senior government representative. He sent them on to another District Secretary, where they were predictably turned away.
They met the same reaction from fellow villagers. Every village has a rural development society, and many aid agencies have used the societies to distribute aid, giving them enormous power. The 65 families say that they have appealed repeatedly to the president of their society. Eventually they went in a group to demand that their representative be elected to the council. They were threatened with physical violence.
With all the official channels closed to them, the 65 families have found it almost impossible to get assistance from international agencies. We are told that the International Organization of Migration offered to help but was discouraged by the District Secretary, who described the 65 families as outsiders and “encroachers” – a demeaning term.
The NGO ADRA brought in some black water tanks outside houses, but omitted to provide pedestals and water. Most of the houses here draw water from kottus, which are deep holes lined with concrete and are almost dry. Another man shows us the remains of a toilet that collapsed as soon as it was erected.
*
The hostility being shown to the Manalchenai families seems different from the raw prejudice that we have found in other villages. The 65 families are convinced that the local government is trying to force them out and turn the land back to Muslim landowners. The land was once owned by a Muslim landowner, until it was broken up under land reform.
High and dry: M. Selliah’s water tank has yet to hold water.
If so, this would seem to fit a pattern. A subtle struggle is underway between Muslim and Hindu/Christian Tamils in several villages, and the Muslims appear to be gaining the upper hand. The Tsunami has strengthened their hand, because Islamic donors have been particularly generous.
Whatever the cause of their ostracism, the 65 families have challenged the social order. These 65 families are led by a retired government official, Arula Nandam who is from the area and is – in local terms – relatively affluent. He has taken charge, channeled their anger, organized them into a group, approached HHR, and formed an association – of which he is the president.
Is he legitimate, or is this a grab for power? Arula Nandam has the confidence of the families who are quite happy to follow his lead. They all voted to elect a committee for their new association. Each family pays 25 rupees a month, and they now have 14,000 rupees ($140) in a bank account. The treasurer produces carbon receipts. It is unfortunate that the 11-member committee only includes two women, but that is democracy.
And democracy, as we all know, can be deeply subversive. Not only does this initiative threaten the power of the Manalchenai Rural Development Society. By approaching a human rights organization like HHR, the 65 families have increased the chance that their grievances will be put to the government. There can be no returning back to the status quo ante for Manalchenai. To judge from our visit, this may be no bad thing.
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Xavier does not see it this way. He responds with the instincts of the human rights advocate, and sees the issue in terms of fairness and accountability. The rights of the 65 families must be protected and the authorities called to account. As a lawyer, he knows how to defend clients.
All of this translates into a varied program of activities. HHR will fund the construction of two public wells in the disadvantaged part of the village and ten toilets. The villagers will contribute labor (which we estimate at 85,000 rupees – a sizable amount).
There can be no returning back to the status quo ante for Manalchenai. To judge from our visit, this may be no bad thing.
HHR will also start a sewing project for 22 women who have requested it, modeled on the Poonichimunai success. The villagers have already identified a building, so there will be no rent. HHR will also help them to register their association.
Finally, and most ambitiously, HHR lawyers will see whether they can help the families secure titles to their land. None of the Manalchenai families have land titles on either side of the invisible divide. This might conceivably bring them together, although to judge from this visit it will also take a lot to heal the wounds.
Batticaloa, September 23: After the Tsunami struck, the survivors were collected from villages surrounding Batticaloa and brought to a large Technical College. From there they were divided according to their local districts. Some went to the Batticaloa Music College, where they stayed for three months.
It was in this shelter that Xavier first heard the charge of discrimination. One young woman approached Xavier and boldly told him that a group of families from the nearby village of Poonichimunai were being made to feel unwanted. Tired of the hostility, they had decided to return home, even though many of their houses were still damaged or waterlogged.
Lingeswari (left) and her sewing teacher Murugamoorthy.
When Xavier’s colleagues investigated, they found that the Poonichimunai families had been on the move most of their lives. They had originally worked in the tea plantations, but were forced to leave in the late 1970s by the first ethnic troubles. They then arrived in the town of Kattankudy, near Batticaloa, which is mostly populated by Muslim Tamils. Here they found work in the hospital, but were forced to leave again in 1992 when tensions flared between Muslim Tamils and Hindu/Christian Tamils.
Finally, they ended up on low-lying public land in Poonichimunai that no-one else wanted – and decided that this would be their final stop, come hell or high water.
HHR decided to launch a sewing program for young women from these families, using its donations from the United States. HHR purchased five sewing machines and rented a terrace from a private home. 40 girls applied, and 28 were selected.
Eleven have persevered and made it through to the end of the six-month training course, which is now days from finishing. We’re here to meet them because Xavier and his team would like to extend this program and help the women to sell the clothes they have made. This seems the best way to encourage them to continue sewing and turn HHR’s emergency support into a sustainable investment. But HHR will have to convince its Dutch donor that it would fit their requirements.
Of course there is also the other possibility – that the women would not want to continue working together.
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They clearly like each other. They hold hands and giggle under the stern eye of Murugamoorthy, their sewing teacher. Murugamoorthy has her own extraordinary story to tell. She was a police officer before she was arrested, along with her husband and sister. While she was in jail, a brother committed suicide and her mother died. HHR supported her under its program for rehabilitating torture victims, and she was an obvious candidate when they were looking for a sewing teacher.
We move around with our cameras and finally settle on Lingeswari, whose husband disappeared in 1990 after he was arrested. She displays a pile of shirts, dresses and pillow cases that she has made over the past few months.
It is true that these women were not sewers before the Tsunami, but it is also clear that they cannot return to the life they led before the disaster. Several girls made baskets from a special wood that is no longer available because the forests were washed away by the Tsunami. Several more can no longer work in the fields because the soil is salinated. Two of the nine do not have legal titles to their land, which means they could be displaced yet again. Only three of the nine families have received money for damage to their houses, as promised by the authorities.
It is true that these women were not sewers before the Tsunami, but it is also clear that they cannot return to the life they led before the disaster.
By my count, nine of the eleven women are clearly worse off than before the Tsunami. Two might be better off because there is plenty of work for their husbands, a mason and a carpenter. But there is no question of excluding them from any follow-up project after they have worked together for six months.
Whatever the merits of these individuals, there is a strong argument for building reconstruction around such women’s initiatives. One recent sample survey by the Suriya Women’s Development Center in Batticaloa found that 80% of those who had died in the Tsunami were women and girls, and that those women who survived found themselves with families that were swollen by orphans and relatives.
As so often happens in disasters, many women have also reported that their husbands – depressed and unemployed – have turned to drink and become abusive.
Donors could do worse than invest in women.
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The Poonichimunai group has worked hard over the past six months, and seem ripe to work in a cooperative. We try to prime the pump by asking who among them they would entrust with money, and who would be the best salesperson. I purchase a charming pillow case from Lingeswari to set them thinking of markets. I also make an elaborate show of asking for a sales receipt.
We then start bargaining (there is really no other name for it). How would they feel about receiving some capital to buy cloth and threads, the use of the sewing machines for a year, and some training from the government cooperative department? They can keep the sewing machines if they can turn in a profit after a year.
This seems like a sweet deal, but they are less enthusiastic than I would have expected. They mutter among themselves. Yes, they would like to work together. But they were promised their own sewing machines by HHR. They’re afraid that if they go home without a machine, and nothing to show for the six months of training, their husbands will insist that they work in the house.
At the Poonichimunai sewing class.
This strikes me as ungrateful. But Sananthanai and Parasuraman, Xavier’s assistants, see it differently. They haven’t come here to twist arms, and they feel privileged to help these women. They also understand that HHR has made a promise, whether or not it was intended.
Xavier understands that the worst possible thing that HHR can do is try and force the issue. They need time to discuss it among themselves and at home. But an idea takes shape. HHR will buy sewing machines for all of the girls and make a special investment in Lingeswari, who is the only woman to have lost a husband to the conflict. She will be given cloth and a deluxe machine. Her brother (who works for HHR) will take her clothes and try and sell them in the markets, along with any other clothes made by the others.
Once they start earning money, Lingeswari’s friends will hopefully see the advantages of forming something more structured like a cooperative – at which point HHR will seek to call in someone from the government’s cooperative department to provide advice. HHR’s lawyer will also inquire about securing permits for their land.
Our job at the Advocacy Project will be to help HHR produce regular reports on the project, and make sure that they reach the Refugee Foundation in the Netherlands. We will also promote the work of the sewers in the US. This will call for some imagination. Perhaps there might even be a link with New Orleans.
I hope this will satisfy our Dutch friends. If not, someone else will hopefully take a gamble on the sewers of Poonichimunai.
Filed under: Sri Lanka | Tagged: Home for Human Rights, human rights, Sri Lanka, Tsunami | Leave a comment »
Posted on September 21, 2005 by iainguest
We arrive at the Batticaloa office of the Home for Human Rights at 11.30 and come face to face with the tear-stained face of Rajamani Sarathaden and her five year-old son Dinesh.
The two have just come from visiting Poopalapillai, Rajamani’s husband, who was arrested by a security patrol on September 4, after some shots were fired in the area. Poopalipillai had been fishing all night and there was nothing to connect him with the incident. His wife says that he has broken teeth and has been badly bruised around his face.
Rajamani Sarathaden, with her son, after visiting her jailed husband.
Under Sri Lankan law, Poopalapillai should be charged within 48 hours, or released. But he is being held under a special state of emergency that was declared after the assassination of the Foreign Minister, which makes it possible to remand suspects indefinitely. The fact that he has visible wounds makes it unlikely that he will be released soon, because he would be able to prove torture. In fact, the authorities are hurrying to charge him before the emergency expires. Things do not look good for this fisherman and his family.
Extrajudicial killings have increased since the present government took office in September 2004, and arrests have spiked with the current emergency. Indeed, Siva, the HHR lawyer, has received 13 cases like this in the last few days and he expects the number to rise as word gets around that HHR is taking testimony. It is a depressing reminder that HHR cannot afford to let its work with the Tsunami get in the way of its traditional support for torture victims and detainees.
It helps Rajamani to have a sympathetic audience, but she is also on the verge of panic. Dabbing at tears, she tells the lawyer that her first husband was shot dead in 1987, leaving her with three children. She married again and now has another three children.
HHR cannot afford to let its work with the Tsunami get in the way of its traditional support for torture victims and detainees.
With her husband in jail, she is the sole breadwinner for six young dependants. She feeds them by going out into the forests every day and cutting wood. This brings her 40 rupees (40 cents) which is enough to pay for one meal a day. At this rate, malnutrition is probably not far off.
Rajamani’s distress is particularly uncomfortable for those of us who have just arrived from Colombo. How can we relax after the long journey while we’re sitting near to a woman who is feeding six children on 40 cents a day? I choose the easy way and slip her 400 rupees ($4). I tell her that I am paying to take her photo, lest others get it into their heads that HHR is giving out charity.
This draws a look of admiration from Sanathani, Xavier’s assistant, who tells me that many foreigners take photos of the Tsunami victims but do not reward their subjects. But this also leaves me feeling uncomfortable. 400 rupees is a paltry sum – have I given enough? Will I now need to pay everyone whose photo I take? Have I started down a slippery slope by giving to an individual? Everything I’ve read and heard warns against giving out money to individuals.
I seem to have stepped into some deep water. But there are times when you have to put calculation to one side and act as one human being to another, and this one of them.
At least there is no chance of this family becoming lazy – one of the arguments often made against charity.
Batticaloa, September 19: A tidal wave of money flowed into Sri Lanka following the Tsunami, and every day seems to bring a report of aid falling into the wrong hands. I, however, am about to find out how difficult it has been to spend the money.
Immediately after the disaster, the staff of the Home for Human Rights contributed part of their salary towards the emergency and began visiting relief centers and villages, many of which were still under water. Francis Xavier, the HHR Director, quickly arrived from Colombo and decided to launch a relief project.
Xavier saw the Tsunami as an opportunity to broaden his organization’s mandate. The Home for Human Rights has been known for protecting the legal rights of Tamils since it was founded in 1977 by Xavier and two other lawyers. HHR has helped over 3,000 torture victims and taken several landmark cases before the United Nations.
But cases of torture fell after the 2002 ceasefire, and HHR’s exclusive focus on civil and political rights began to seem restrictive. An external evaluation last year strongly recommended that HHR expand its mandate, and move into social and economic rights.
Capable hands: Sanathani (left) and Parasuraman from the HHR staff
This provoked some soul-searching in HHR. Xavier was in favor of the shift, but his long-time colleague and co-Director, V.S. Ganesalingam, pointed out that HHR’s expertise lay in legal protection. It would be hard to hold the government accountable for failing to provide jobs, schools and health services – particularly in the middle of a war or natural disaster.
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Such issues are keenly debated in human rights classes, but there was nothing academic about the mess that awaited the HHR team in Batticaloa. As they ventured into the refugee shelters and waded through the foul water, they received repeated reports of aid being withheld or dispensed arbitrarily. It was hard to know whether this was corruption or discrimination, but something was clearly not right.
Photo credit: Cristina Rumbaitis-del Rio
The Tsunami caused wells to become contaminated with salt water. A lack of coordination among well-intentioned aid groups led to overpumping and increased salinity of well water.
A new mandate began to emerge for HHR among the ruins. Xavier and his team decided that any money they raised would go to people who had been displaced by war, uprooted by the Tsunami, and discriminated against during the aid operation.
These three criteria would allow HHR to do what it did best and also broaden its mandate. Fighting discrimination was consistent with HHR’s traditional human rights mandate. At the same time, relief aid would allow HHR to address the survivors’ rights to shelter, health and food.
For once, money seemed to be no problem. Within weeks of the Tsunami, HHR has received around $15,000 from the United States, including $1,500 that was raised from students at Georgetown University by Michael Keller, a student who had interned with HHR the previous summer. HHR was also promised a generous grant by the Dutch Refugee Foundation (Stichting Vluchteling), one of several agencies charged with spending Dutch Tsunami donations.
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All of this gave HHR considerable leeway to develop an imaginative program. But at the same time, Xavier’s strategy is not without risks. We started to go over some of them in the journey to Batticaloa.
No matter how much HHR focuses on victims of discrimination, any emergency relief operation will call for technical skills which HHR does not possess. There is also the question of sustainability. Nothing is worse than starting a project and not being able to keep it going. But emergency aid is, by definition, intended to be short-term.
Any intervention, no matter how carefully planned and sensitively handled, will upset the normal balance of society, and challenge Karma. That is the nature of aid.
The best way to ensure sustainability is to invest in people not commodities – to help survivors manage their own aid and work together in ways that will last after agencies pull out. But even this raises some difficult questions.
For example, should HHR work with through communities or with individuals? Helping individuals might create resentment among others who are not chosen. But working through local community groups could make to harder to ensure that aid went to those who needed it. And what if the groups are not representative? Channeling aid through them will simply reinforce an unjust system.
One thing HHR already knows: any intervention, no matter how carefully planned and sensitively handled, will upset the normal balance of society, and challenge Karma. That is the nature of aid.
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It is also in the nature of aid to come with conditions. HHR’s new partner, the Dutch Refugee Foundation (Stichting Vluchteling), has a long tradition of supporting displaced persons and refugees, and is an ideal partner for HHR. At the same time SV also has its own donors to satisfy. They need to know that their money is reaching those who need it, and understandably so. SV tells us that the Dutch press is watching like hawks for any signs that aid is being misspent.
SV wants its money to make up income lost during the Tsunami – in other words, return to the status quo ante. A team from SV visited Sri Lanka in the spring and met with a group of young woman from the village of Poonichimunai, who were being trained in sewing by HHR. The SV team found that the girls had not been sewing before the Tsunami and decided that it could not support any further sewing activities with SV money.
This sent HHR back to the drawing board. Between June and August, the organization’s field officers ranged up and down the ravaged coast. Sarosh Syed, AP’s intern, also made several trips out to Batticaloa to help.
There was no shortage of needy communities, but HHR struggled to find a seat at the table among the army of relief agencies. The field team made several visits to a group of six Tamil Muslim villages known as Ollikulam and was received with interest. But when the team next visited, the villagers said that they had been told not to accept aid from anyone other than a German agency named SEEDS, which was providing 5,000 rupees a month ($50) to each family.
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HHR has now come up with a series of imaginative projects in six villages, which draw from the lessons is has learned over the past nine months and meet its three criteria. My task over the next week is to visit these communities, hear directly from the survivors, and help HHR develop its reporting on the project.
In spite of all the hard work that’s been done, it may not be plain sailing. Xavier wants to continue helping the sewers of Poonichimunai, even though this has been ruled out by our friends in Holland. Someone we must find a way of reconciling SV’s criteria with those of HHR.
I am also reflecting on SV’s request that its aid should go to pre-Tsunami activities. Must reconstruction mean restoring the status quo? Given what these communities went through before the disaster, there might be a strong argument for using the Tsunami aid to help them make a fresh start.
One thing is certain: nothing is ever simple following an emergency.
Batticaloa, September 17: We leave early for Batticaloa, the coastal town where the Home for Human Rights is working with Tsunami survivors.
We pass wild elephants, monkeys, and peacocks but none of them are as wild as the vehicles, which hurtle down the narrow road in a blur of horns and motion. One recent study found that fatalities on Sri Lankan buses have increased alarmingly over the past year, and watching them accelerate around corners I can understand it. So much is slow-moving in this country that it makes little sense until I notice that all the trucks – no matter how dilapidated – carry the words “fully insured” at the back. That must explain why they have no fear of crashing.
Morning on the Batticaloa lake.
At Habarana junction, the road takes a turn to east and begins to dip towards the coast and a more arid climate. Traffic thins out with the vegetation, and military patrols start to appear. A strip of forest has been cleared on either side of the road, and every few kilometers we pass an encampment of the Special Task Force, a military police force that was set up after 1983 to deal with the Tamil insurgency and trained by the Israelis.
The province of Batticaloa, on the east of the island, epitomizes Sri Lanka’s complex and long-running crisis. Three separate entities are vying for control of the largely Tamil population – the Government, which controls the coastal strip, the Liberation Tamil Tigers of Eelam (LTTE), and a breakaway LTTE group, known as karuna. All three “administrations” impose taxes. Border villages are particularly vulnerable.
Batticaloa’s enchanting topography made it terribly vulnerable to the Tsunami. Mangrove trees were cut down long ago to deny Tamil guerrillas a place to hide, and the sand dunes have been reduced by mining. There was nothing to slow the wave as it swept in across the narrow spit of land.
Even cemeteries were not spared.
Although the ceasefire still holds, Batticaloa is clearly not at peace. Every day sees an act of violence – a grenade here, a shooting there – and the government imposed a state of emergency after the recent assassination of the foreign minister Lakshman Kadirgamar. To my untrained eye, these policemen are finger-on-the-trigger nervous, particularly after dusk. Aid vehicles are equally distinctive, as they cruise above the clutter of street life, with their banners proudly proclaiming their affiliation.
WIn normal times, Batticaloa must be a delightful place. The town is dominated by a large Dutch fort and lies between the ocean and a large lagoon which is said to be home to the world’s only singing fish. In some places, the two bodies of water are separated by a picture-postcard fringe of sand and palm trees.
But Batticaloa’s enchanting topography made it terribly vulnerable to the Tsunami. Mangrove trees were cut down long ago to deny Tamil guerrillas a place to hide, and the sand dunes have been reduced by mining. There was nothing to slow the wave as it swept in across the narrow spit of land. Many other towns along the coast suffered the same fate. Even cemeteries were torn up
Looking out over the placid water of Batticaloa, it is impossible to imagine the destructive power of that wave.
Colombo, September 14: I arrive in Sri Lanka thinking of New Orleans under water, bloated corpses floating in foul water, a paralyzed government, and angry survivors. Sri Lanka quickly reminds me that it lived through much worse after the Tsunami struck on December 26 last year.
As we head out of Colombo airport, 26 year-old Ranga, my taxi driver, tells me how he was taking two Italian tourists to the southern beaches when he drove into the Tsunami. He remembers driving past a train and pointing it out to his passengers. Next moment he was heading straight at a wall of water. He veered off the road and drove inland as fast as he could. He managed to outrace the wave for a kilometer, but came to a lagoon. The three jumped out of the car, and were swept away.
Ranga clung to a coconut tree, but lost his balance and fell. The water was moving with such force that it stripped away his clothes. Dodging bodies and trees, he managed to land on a roof where a family of three had found refuge. After 30 minutes or perching perilously on the roof, he swam to a temple.
“Only my life escaped,” says Ranga as he brings out a photo of his crushed taxi. He dislocated a hand, and was so traumatized that he couldn’t leave home for a month. Still, he was luckier than many. Over 30,000 Sri Lankans lost their lives, including almost all of those who were traveling in the train that Ranga passed. Its broken carriages still lie beside the track near the resort of Hikkaduwa, a symbol of the disaster.
Photo credit: Asian Disaster Reduction Center. A mangled train in Hikkaduwa after theSri Lankan Tsunam
Ranga was glued to his television when Hurricane Katrina struck the US, and Sri Lankans generally have been comparing the two calamities. Many have concluded that Americans managed better. Ranga was impressed by the accuracy of the weather forecasts in the US, which at least gave the people of Louisiana some advance warning. The worst thing about the Tsunami, he says, was the surprise.
One journalist writing in the Sunday Island is struck by the different reaction from Sri Lankans and Americans. “We in Sri Lanka take misfortune in our stride,” he writes. “Karma, we say. That is life. But in the US they are incapable of coming to terms with loss and deprivation. They tend to blame the government more than we do.”
“(In the US) there are more people in civil society to take up the cry. Our protests came mostly from those affected, who form no lobby and can muster a couple of hundred votes.”
Were Sri Lankans really so resigned to their fate that they accepted the loss of 30,000 lives? This is hard to believe. But the writer’s other conclusion seems more plausible. He contrasts the fury of Americans towards their government with the lethargic response of Sri Lankans. It all came down to civil society: “(In the US) there are more people in civil society to take up the cry. Our protests came mostly from those affected, who form no lobby and can muster a couple of hundred votes.”
These two disasters shared one important characteristic. Even with the advance warning, many of the poor in New Orleans lacked the means to escape from the floods. The same has been true of Sri Lanka. Many of those who died in the Tsunami had been forced to move to low-lying lands by years of war. The poor are always the first to suffer.
Natural disasters are rarely natural.
Colombo, September 10: Over the next three weeks I will be visiting our partner in Sri Lanka, the Home for Human Rights, which has been supporting Tamil communities in the East that were hammered by the Tsunami late last year.
First, some background.
Sri Lanka is inhabited by two peoples, Sinhalese and Tamils, who both claim to be indigenous to the island. The Tamils, who comprise about 4 million of the 18 million inhabitants, live mainly in the north and east.
The island’s imperial rulers (Portuguese, Dutch, and British respectively) helped to polarize the relationship between Tamils and Sinhalese. Britain imported large numbers of laborers from Southern India to work on tea estates, and further disturbed the ethnic balance by offering advancement to those willing to learn English. The Tamils were more open to the foreign presence and flourished. By the time of independence in 1947, over 60% of the white collar jobs were held by Tamils.
With independence, politicians from the Sinhalese majority started to roll back what they saw as Tamil privileges with a series of deeply divisive laws. One made Sinhalese the national language. Another law deprived the estate Tamils of citizenship. Yet another moved large numbers of Sinhalese to the east of the country, upsetting the demographics.
Under the guise of “standardized education,” a fourth controversial law required that students from the Tamil minority secure higher marks to enter university. This provoked nation-wide riots in 1977 and sent hundreds of disgruntled young Tamils into the ranks of extremist Tamil groups.
The late 1970s also saw the emergence of the Liberation Tamil Tigers of Eeelam (LTTE) under the leadership of Veluppillai Prabakaran. Prabakaran, who has been sentenced to 200 years in prison and has been reported killed many times, is feared by Sinhalese and adored by most Tamils, who choose to ignore his ferocity.
The crisis erupted in fearful bloodletting in 1983, which claimed thousands of Tamil lives and sent waves of refugees to Europe. In 1987 India sent in a peace-keeping force which withdrew in 1990 after being severely bloodied by the LTTE and left the northeast to LTTE control. Jaffna was recaptured by the Sri Lankan Government forces in 1995, but the government presence is tenuous and the LTTE remains in effective control of large areas of the northeast.
In September 2002, Norway helped to negotiate a ceasefire which has more or less held, in spite of the recent assassination of the Foreign Minister (himself a Tamil).
Following the Tsunami, there was some hope that the common suffering of Tamils and Sinhalese would boost the peace process and encourage cooperation between the Government and LTTE. Aid donors did some arm-twisting, and insisted that the two sides develop joint structures to distribute aid in the Tamil areas. This would have represented a significant surrender of sovereignty to the LTTE and it was challenged by the JVP, an extreme right-wing party. The Supreme Court declared some provisions of the law unconstitutional.
While this suggests that inter-ethnic cooperation cannot be imposed from the outside, many ordinary Tamils and Sinhalese put aside their differences in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy. In Batticaloa, members of the anti-terrorist Special Task Force (some of whose compounds were flattened by the wave) worked with LTTE insurgents. In Washington, the Sri Lankan Society of Washington, which represents the diaspora in the US, raised $1,300 for HHR’s relief effort.
Last week, I followed WOCON on their latest rural sensitization campaign against trafficking in persons in Ogun State. Just two hours away from Lagos, Ogun is apparently another important center for the illegal sale of human beings, especially children for the purpose of domestic work in urban households.
We first arrived in the capital city of Abeokuta, and I must admit that it was quite exciting to be out of Lagos for a change. However, it is clear that Abeokuta is not as industrialized or as crazy as the Lagos I’m used to. For one, there is much more vegetation and much less cars and pollution!
I was also fortunate enough to have time to do some sight seeing and visit the city’s founding point; a gigantic stone structure called “Olumo Rock”. Indeed, the meaning of “Abeokuta” is “Under the Rock”. The rock in question is so huge that apparently back in the day the first town settlers were able to hide in its cracks and protect themselves from their enemies during the period of the tribal wars.
It is in this town rich with an extraordinary history that we began our sensitization campaign with a press conference to publicly announce the aims and objectives of the program. Members of all major media houses were invited to attend and the entire affair was recorded for national television. During the event, one of the reporters raised the very valid question of why is it that the incidence of human trafficking seems to have remained the same in Nigeria despite the fact that more and more organizations are sprouting up every day, claiming to be fighting against the problem.
To this, Bisi answered that the situation has actually improved but indeed still remains difficult to address because traffickers are constantly changing their methods, which further impedes their detection. Moreover, the level of public awareness on this issue is still not sufficient so women, children and parents are still falling into the hands of these exploiters. Finally, the problem of human trafficking will never be fully eradicated unless it is also combined with far reaching economic development and poverty alleviation in Nigeria.
We left Abeokuta the next day and drove to a tiny village nearby called Ibara Orile to complete second part of the campaign. I think that I can say without exaggeration that you can drive back and forth of the entire village in less than 30 minutes. That’s how small Ibara Orile is. It is however in small rural settings like these that traffickers typically recruit the most women and children for prostitution and forced labor in the big cities. WOCON therefore planned to organize a market outreach and a consultative forum that will bring together all major stakeholders in the community to talk about human trafficking, especially the trafficking of children. We chose start the program at the market place because it is often the main gathering point in most villages.
I thought it was quite ironic that we were there to talk about these issues and evidence of the practice could be seen right before our eyes. Indeed, we arrived in the middle of the week at around 11.00 am in morning and there were dozens of children at the market place carrying heavy loads and baskets on their heads instead of attending school.
Nevertheless, the villagers were very receptive to our call. We proceeded to walk around the market place with talking drums, posters, songs and a megaphone to get everyone’s attention, tell them about WOCON’s work and invite them to the discussion forum taking place right after. When the music started, some of the market women even joined our procession, dancing and singing.
At the end of the day, WOCON’s open air market outreach and consultative forum both enabled the villagers of Ibara Orile to discuss their views on trafficking and start thinking about ways on how they can protect themselves and their children. I think it was indeed effective in getting people to think about the problem. However, I feel that WOCON can do more in terms of follow up work to assess how far they’ve come in bringing this important message to the grassroots level. I think that more baseline surveys and data collection projects in these rural communities will further increase the effectiveness of WOCON’s awareness campaigns.
My last day at Dzeno and my last blog. Altogether, it’s been a fantastic summer, despite the frustrations and challenges of living in another culture. I feel so privileged to have had the opportunity to work on the Roma issue, and with such talented and committed people. Working at Dzeno has been an incredible experience for me: it’s allowed me to learn so much about the Roma, the European human rights system, and about human rights advocacy in general.
At the beginning of the summer, I questioned how much I could achieve in 10 weeks. At the end of my time here, I’m rather proud of what I have accomplished: a report for the UN that’s ready to go to the printer, 64 original articles posted on the website, and three finished grant proposals. I feel like my presence here really did have an impact and that I was able to contribute my own ideas to help make Dzeno the best it can be.
Sadly, I know also that my work is unsustainable. When I leave, Dzeno will have a hard time maintaining the same standard of English that I use, and they will be short one very needed staff person. More than that, though, it will take more than one organization to accomplish the goals that Dzeno has set out: to protect and promote Roma rights in the Czech Republic and abroad. If equal rights for Roma are to be achieved, it will have to be because the entire society agrees. This is more than the work of one generation.
I was reminded of this yesterday, when the office went down to visit a children’s camp for disadvantaged Roma youth put together by our partner organization, Romodrom. The camp takes 32 disadvantaged children, ages three to 15, to the country for four weeks, both to keep them off the streets during their summer vacation, and to provide them with positive adult Roma role models. The camp also gives the children the chance to get out of the city, commune with nature, learn to swim, and just to be kids for a while. The day we were there, the kids were involved in face painting, and performed a small play for us: the story of Achilles and Hector. These kids badly need such a positive experience, over half are orphans, and others come from terribly impoverished homes, and have few opportunities to play and relax like normal kids.
Programs like Romodrom’s are such a needed investment if the fight for Roma rights is to be successful. These children are the faces of the future for the Roma rights movement. They will be the leaders of the next generation. That’s why it’s so tragic to hear stories of Roma children being excluded from normal schools, or sent to ‘special’ schools for the mentally disabled: depriving these children of education, of stable childhoods, and of equal opportunities is just another way for the majority populations to keep the Roma impoverished forever.
No matter what we do from the outside, eventually it’s the Roma who must help themselves. Dzeno is one of the first generation of Roma organizations ever to operate on the world stage; advocating for their own rights. If the Roma are going to be equal in Europe, we have to make sure that this fight continues, and that the next generation is equipped with the tools to carry the banner, and eventually, to win.
Hello All! Today, instead of describing events, I wanted to try to convey a sense of what the children of Butterflies are like as people. Because they are truly remarkable people: bright, silly, open, resourceful, responsible, and at the same time, very troubled.
All the children are really excited to meet newcomers and run up to say hello with big grins. They are also very sweet and thoughtful. They are always looking out for one another and bringing the needs of their peers to the attention of the adults. They also love to help out the staff, be it by bringing chairs for the us to sit on, running to bring supplies as needed, or carrying materials in for a workshop or event. They also love to learn, sing, dance, and watch Hindi movies. However, many of these same children have run away from their homes because of poverty and abuse, are now addicted to drugs, and/ or engaged in prostitution.
I’ll share a few specific stories by way of illustration.
Ganesh is a 12 year old boy who is currently living in the crisis center after breaking his leg in what is known here as an RTA (road traffic accident). He is addicted to inhaling solutions. From the day I met him about 2 weeks ago, his smile has lit up the room. He immediately ran to bring me a chair to sit in while I worked with Dr. Brijesh (the crisis center doctor) recording histories and prescribing treatments to the sick children. When I was bandaging the wounds of other children, he sat beside me as a faithful helper, cutting gauze and tearing wads of cotton into appropriately-sized pieces. When I would come to check on Jumman, he would always hop over to say hello. He practices English with me and I practice Hindi with him.
Anand, the boy who I have already told you about who lost his legs, also has a smile to light up a room. He is very bright and really listens and imitates whenever he hears me speaking English. Lately every time I see him, he has taken to waving at me and saying, “Hi, how are you?” as loudly as he can, although I usually greet the children in Hindi. Every morning the children pray and meditate in their activities room and a few of the older boys usually conductthe session and maintain discipline. Today, Anand was at the front of the room facing the group, loudly instructing his peers to keep their eyes closed and sit properly for meditation. This display was both highly amusing and heartening because just a week ago, Anand had to be forced to participate in any group activity, let alone lead one.
Dinesh Kumar is another boy of about 12. I met him last Friday for the first time. After meeting me, he ran to show me some very beautiful flowers he had drawn and quickly folder some paper into this rather amazing origami frog that actually hopped.
Meena and Farheen are sisters and are both incredibly sweet. Farheen is younger and loves to ask for medical check-ups like listening to her lungs and having her temperature taken even when she is perfectly well.
At the same time, tragedy is everywhere. Last week Dr. Brijesh and I examined a 14 year old boy I’ll call RJ. He had a macular rash on his palms and soles for which he referred him to dermatology at Safdarjung Hospital. Yesterday, he was seen there and tested positive for syphilis, and was promptly treated with IV penicillin G. After his return to the crisis center, the doctor and I spoke with him, and he admitted to having sex with boys in exchange for money.
My first day at the crisis center, an adolescent girl I’ll call Anna was transferred to us by the police after having been raped by her uncle. Although there were instructions which I helped to decipher regarding emergency contraception, I was told on Monday that her pregnancy test is positive. What exactly happened isn’t clear to me. After the doctor and I had discussed the details of what needed to be done for her the day she arrived, he said that she told the staff that she got her period that morning, so they thought the EC wasn’t needed. However, Monday the doctor told me that Anna said she hasn’t menstruated in about 2 years. I am not sure where the communication breakdown occurred in all this. Sometimes even when we are all speaking English, I find there are barriers. Now they are sending Anna for an ultrasound and will take things from there. Anna was very quiet around me at first, but now finds me and greets me each morning. I just wish I could do more to help her.
I hope this narrative helps you get a sense of these brave, resilient children. They have made this summer an incredible one for me.
Since last Wednesday, I have conducted a series of interviews designed to explore, 10 years after an interethnic war, what are the attitudes of individuals towards other individuals of different ethnic groups? How are peoples’ lives affected by ethnic divisions? How well do institutions act as integrators? How do residents view their own process of reconciliation and their political futures? I interviewed both Serbs and Muslims, residents of the area and people who were displaced. My friend Terry Mceneny, an American lecturer at Tuzla University, accompanied me and translated.
So, how well do Serbs and Muslims get along in Srebrenica?
In general, not too badly, according to almost everyone I spoke to. “It depends on the individual,” explained Bootsa, a secretary at Drina’s Srebrenica office and a Serb. “Some get along very well, some greet each other in the street and that’s it. Its not as bad as people think. They go to the same cafes, kids play together, go to the same discos.”
It wasn’t always like that however. “5, 6 years ago, people did separate. Muslim owned restaurants only saw Muslims visiting,” said several participants. Discos were frequented only by Serbs, and Muslims “made their own fun,” as a Muslim woman explained with an unexpected chuckle.
I asked specifically about segregation and whether, when people need to get work done on their house or repair their car, they take into account the ethnicity of the business owner. “If your car is broken, you take it to the nearest place. If you are shopping, you go to the cheapest place. It’s natural.”
There are separate neighborhoods in some areas, “but you had that before the war, just so you know. And the majority of people live in mixed neighborhoods now.” In these mixed neighborhoods, “everyone comes out to help if, you know, trees need to be cut down for example. It’s a small place, everyone has to help each other out.”
Their kids go to the same schools and universities. I thought perhaps that as far as university goes, young people might go to Belgrade to study if they were Serb, or Sarajevo if they were Muslim. “You go wherever you get in, and wherever’s cheapest. It’s something already to get in, people are happy to get in anywhere. Plus its very expensive to study outside Bosnia, anyway.”
I wondered if things were different when it came to food products, since Muslims have certain religious dietary restrictions like not eating pork. “They go to the same butcher. There’s only one in Srebrenica, anyway. And sometimes they even go to the Serb butcher in [nearby] Bratunac because of the high quality,” explained Valentina, a co-founder of the youth-oriented NGO ‘Sara.’
I got the sense that some of the participants found the interview slightly irritating. Though happy to indulge me, they seemed not quite defensive, but there was a tiredness and a tension about them. “You aren’t the first” to ask these questions, and “you won’t be the last.” Valentina complained of journalists who swept through town only to add color to a dismal picture of inter-ethnic relations that they had written or at least conceived long before they actually spoke with any residents, and who ignored what was actually going on.
“My children, for example, go to joint camps, play with other kids; among people who live here, you’re not going to find that problem [of segregation],” Valentina said. And going to the doctor? “If you’re sick, you go to the doctor,” explained another participant matter of factly, “The doctors are all Serb, in Srebrenica. It doesn’t make a difference.”
Teufik, a Muslim who lost his father and many other relatives in 1995, explained that even in Dzvinice, a refugee settlement of Srebrenicans – mostly orphans and widows – there are not intense feelings of hatred for Serbs. When asked why not, Teufik offered the mosque as one reason. “Muslims are different. I don’t go to the mosque very often, but when I do, I’ve heard the imams always saying ‘no revenge, revenge is not our way.’ So there is not that sort of feeling there.” Elvis, also a Muslim, from a village near Srebrenica, shrugged off any suggestion that the Muslims and Serbs in his village didn’t get along.
What about people who live in other people’s houses? Do they fear the day when the erstwhile inhabitants return to claim their home? “Nobody likes to live in someone else’s house, if you think about it. They are there because they have nowhere else to go. But people are reasonable, if someone comes back, they make an accommodation, they come to an agreement.” Dina, a Muslim, has a house not 25 feet from the house formerly occupied by her cousins who now live in St. Louis. Now, the house is occupied by Serbs. “Do you ever talk to them?” I asked. “Yeah we say hi.. sometimes.” Not a warm relationship, but not an icy one either. Resigned.
Yet, everything isn’t entirely perfect. One Muslim man asked me what I had found so far in my discussions with people. After I told him, he said “Are you going to believe what you hear or what you see?” When I was walking past one café with two friends from Drina, one young man commented in a voice just loud enough for us to hear “gee, I wish I were Muslim, then I could have two beautiful girls.”
Even some of the positive comments I had received belied a certain tension. Bootsa, for example, in explaining how people didn’t care what ethnicity their doctor was, mentioned that all the Doctors in Srebrenica were Serb. This was, she said, because Muslims could find better paying jobs elsewhere in Federation Bosnia. It may be that it is simply a case of one ethnic group dominating a particular profession in an area, but if Bootsa is correct it implies that something keeps Serb doctors from moving elsewhere. It may also be that the Serb doctors weren’t ethnically cleansed, or simply survived to return to the region whereas so many Muslims did not.
“And people who lost someone behave a bit differently” was a comment I heard more than once. Indeed, they do. When I suggested to one young woman, Paula we’ll call her, that she contact an NGO director for help regarding a particular issue, she pursed her lips and said “Yeah I know her.” After pausing to ash her cigarette, she looked at me and said simply but emphatically “I don’t like Serbs.” I mentioned that the woman I had spoken to seemed very tolerant and generally nice and they might be able to work well together. “Yeah, all the Serbs were nice in 1992 [before the war] and they either left or came back to kill us. My cousin was six years old. They killed him. My grandfather, he was 70. and they killed him. And 35 of my cousins. Why?” When I pointed out that she was often in the company of one man here in Tuzla who was Serb she said “Yeah, he was in Tuzla for the war, he stayed. He didn’t pick up a gun and kill anyone.” Paula knows who owns which businesses in Srebrenica, and she avoids Serb businesses. Likewise for her grandmother, the only member of her family who remains in the Srebrenica region. In Tuzla, however, Paula makes no distinctions. “The Serbs here didn’t kill anyone, and there are so many mixed couples that it’s not important who’s who.”
In Srebrenica there are, also, “provocations” by “outsiders, mostly.” On the 11th of July, for example, there was a group of teenagers sporting Naser Oric tshirts. Naser Oric was a Bosnian fighter who is now in the Hague for suspected war crimes against Serbs. On the 12th of July there were rallies for fallen Serbs (the date had been purposefully changed to that day in protest of the memorial on the 11th) that saw some young people wearing tshirts and shouting praise of Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic, two particularly notorious Serb war criminals who are still at large and one small band of out-of-towner Serbs marched through the center of town “making trouble.”
But these incitements did not rock the small town as they might have once before. “These are just provocations by extremists, people don’t make a big deal out of them.” “Then again,” as Valentina said somewhat sadly, “I didn’t think people would make a big deal of things before the war, I thought normal people would prevail… and you see what happened.” Several people I spoke to characterized the exhaustion of the population as the best buffer against extremism; “We know now what war is, we lived it. We don’t need to live it again.”
In my questioning, I also tried to locate political issues that had the potential to divide people and flare up into larger problems. In studying the war and discussing with individuals, it became clear that the cause of this war was, to mince no words, a bloodthirsty irredentist nationalism sponsored by Slobodon Milosevic that spread to Serb populated areas of Bosnia and Croatia. The messages calling Bosnia the Serbian homeland came from outside, from nationalist television stations and opportunistic politicians. It was not the response of some oppressed minority trying to throw off the shackles of second class citizenship or exploitation. It was rather the absorption of ordinary people into an entrancing ideology at a time when major military forces were available to turn nationalist fantasy into reality.
The one potential issue I found was that of voting. In Srebrenica – and everywhere in Bosnia, apparently – you can retain the right to vote in your home town even if you move from there. As a result, the thousands of Bosnian Muslims displaced from Srebrenica in the first half of the 90’s can and still do vote in its mayoral elections. It is for that reason that the mayor is a Muslim despite the fact that the population of Srebrenica is now majority Serb. It is, currently, an irritant to Srebrenican residents, Serb and Muslim alike as it was told to me. “Why should people who don’t even live here any more have a say on how we conduct ourselves here?” one asked. For now, however, it seems that people are resigned to the fact. The law is an old one, and when I asked if people ever talked about organizing to change the law, I was told “I don’t even think people here know how to change the law or even that they can.”
Moreover, for now, the municipal government is mixed. The mayor is Muslim, the chief of the city council is Serb. They seem to work well together, and for each of the major holidays both Muslim and Orthodox Christian, the major organizes multi-ethnic dinners or celebrations designed to bring people together. “For now, it works out because we have a nice guy as mayor. I don’t know what would happen if we didn’t, but the next election is several years down the road and it would be silly to try and predict.”
In many ways, Srebrenica, as a mixed community, is no different from mixed communities elsewhere. People deal with their neighbors. In many ways, mixed communities deal better with tensions than separate and isolated homogenous communities. Even in mixed Israeli cities like Haifa, different ethnic groups will mingle in neighborhoods and generally cooperate better than in other areas that are cordoned off from one another. Of key importance is that there is little ideological component to settlement in Srebrenica. Most Muslims and Serbs do not see themselves or their settlement as physical manifestations or placeholders in a battle between larger homelands. During the war, when toxic nationalist rhetoric spewed forth from Belgrade and some other capitals, it was possible for people to abstract their personal lives into a larger context of supra-individual identities that did not follow the humane conventions of inter-mingled day-to-day lives. This contrasts to the ethnic divisions that arise naturally from communities where different groups occupy different economic or political positions and one dominates or represses the other. This was an irredentist nationalism spread mostly from the top.
It is likely for this reason that media in Bosnia and Herzegovina is so tightly monitored by the E.U. for hate-speech and tendentiousness; it is not an entirely free media. International donors also try to fund new media outlets to add balance to the national discourse.
In my opinion, the clues to Srebrenica’s future are tied up with politics at higher levels. The municipal government, for now, is functional and nimbly navigates the region’s ethnic map. People are concerned about economic growth more than anything else. The sparks will not come from below. They will come from the political progress at the level of the entire Republika Srpska and Federation Bosnia, which for now comprise a lumbering ravel of bureaucratic layers and delicate maneuvering between nationalist political parties, EU officials, and the E.U. High Representative Paddy Ashdown who supervises Bosnian politics and intervenes when he feels it appropriate. Nor is the groundwork of individuals, at least in Srebrenica, by any measure a dessicated bed of tinder just waiting to explode. It is a community mostly of pragmatic human beings trying to put the horrors they all shared behind them.
Scenario:
As foreign nationals, refugees relinquish certain rights when they leave their native land. They are not permitting to vote or participate in the political system, for example. However, these should be the exception rather than the rule; refugees are entitled to the same rights as the nationals in the hosting nation according to the UN Convention and Protocol as well as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Otherwise, the disadvantaged would become entirely disenfranchised and have an inability to access even the most basic mechanisms of justice. Refugees in Uganda can only receive assistance in the settlement camps, which place significant limitations on their rights. The government provides two options to asylum seekers: 1) go to the settlement once refugee status is granted or 2) return to your country. An asylum seeker who flees over the border but refuses to register for refugee status (because of an unwillingness to move to the camp) can be considered an illegal alien, which exposes him/her to arrest and deportation.
Hypothetical:
You are a Congolese national fleeing conflict. You speak the same local language as the people just over the border of Uganda. You are from the same tribe with the same culture and traditions. You even have a few relatives who happened to reside on the Uganda side when the borders were demarcated (superficially imposed) on your people. But because of the “security risk” that foreigners impose, you must now make an impossible choice between living in fear in the Congo and living in extremely difficult and cramped conditions in a remote settlement without freedom of movement. You must choose between being economically self-sufficient at home listening to gunshots or being dependent on international donors for your next meal. What of your family’s future, of your land to be inherited by future generations? What about the exposure to sexual violence at the settlements? What about the security risks that result from the structure of the camp as an entry point for (coercive) rebel recruitment? Why should someone who shares the same language and culture of a tribe in Uganda be considered a threat? If you have family or friends to support you just over the border, why should you be forced to relocate to the settlement camps (where there is no such support network)? These are a few of the underlying issues that galvanize the need to challenge the current stringent settlement policy both through impact litigation and advocacy efforts.
I have recently returned from two weeks of field research conducted in Western Uganda. We serendipitously stumbled upon the most beautiful spot in Uganda, on the top of a hill overlooking a town set in the mountains. Sitting on the steps of this church, listening to the echoes of children in choir practice, and watching others gleefully linking hands in a circle, I gazed out at the stunning panoramic view extremely conscious that I reached a summit of my summer both literally and figuratively. I am leaving Uganda very soon (this is my twelfth and final week here), but my heart now carries a piece of its struggles, ethos, eccentricities and hopes.
Afghan Women in Politics Afghanistan is a war torn country that has suffered damage to all aspects of society. For over two decades, continuous political upheavals have resulted in economic, physical, and psychological suffering for all Afghans. The particular struggles which women face in Afghanistan today are indicative of this systematic denial of women’s rights to the detriment of their active participation in society. The violation of their rights over the last two decades reveals a lack of awareness and insensitivity to gender amongst both Afghan men and women.
While the discrimination encountered by Afghan women in rural and urban areas differs, its root causes are often similar and affected by both cultural and political goals. Some of this discrimination is generated by a lack of information and the misinterpretation of gender as defined by tradition and religion. Other gender discriminations originate directly out of the power struggles that have plagued Afghanistan. Both are assumed to be fundamental aspects of Afghan culture. The result is a mindset in Afghan society to accept and expect women’s roles as passive and even irrelevant agents in the development and social progression of Afghanistan.
With parliamentary elections approaching in September, it is crucial that candidates get the support that they need. Yesterday, AWN helped in the establishment of a women’s advocacy group dedicated to bringing independent women candidates to the forefront of the election and providing them with the support of female constituents in civil society and the private sector.
The new Afghan constitution states that at least 68 – two from each province – of the 249-member lower house must be women and 17 percent of the upper house of Parliament is reserved for women. However, the male-dominated Afghan society where the gun still rules makes women’s participation in the political process very hard. Political violence against women is evident. Recently there was a demonstration in the central province of Bamyan against a recent government decision to appoint a female governor to the province. Local commanders and warlords had forced people to attend the demonstration because they did not want women in positions of authority in the country.
While women are guaranteed seats in the parliament, their mere presence will not automatically give them their share of influence on the decision-making processes. The experiences with the Emergency and the Constitutional Loya Jirga have raised concerns that many of the female delegates will serve mainly symbolic purposes in order to comply with the expectations of the international community. Many of them will be sent and instructed by men with no women’s rights on the agenda.
Female networking and the building of a broad platform of women are essential in the struggle for women’s emancipation in Afghanistan. Historically, there has never been an organized bottom-up women’s movement. Most women’s rights in Afghan history were granted from the top. That is why many activists today stress that women need to fight for their rights rather than rights being granted to them due to international pressure.
There are more than 80 registered political parties in the country but female membership remains low. The experience of the past means many educated women fear joining a political party. The incentives for joining a party before the elections are very low, for men and for women. Parties have a bad name in Afghanistan. They are made responsible for the civil war. Party politics is equaled to criminal activities, fighting and acting for personal benefits. That is why most women strongly emphasize their independence as candidates.
The parliamentary elections in September are going to be a milestone for all Afghans. The work that AWN did yesterday was important for women now and especially in the future. I am so grateful that I was able to be a part of it. One hundred years from now, children (both boys and girls) will be reading about this time in history books, women and men will be equal in society, and everyone will have the chance at a good education. AWN will have had an integral part in making that happen for Afghanistan.
My time in Sri Lanka is at an end. As I slipped into the reflective mood typical of times of departure, I looked over my blog to recap all I have experienced here. I realized that my blog entries focused exclusively on the poverty, misery, and devastation on Sri LankaТs east coast. I never mentioned anything about the most heartening part of my experience Ц the people of HHR. In my ten weeks here, I have become convinced that HHR and other similar Sri Lankan NGOs are the key to Sri LankaТs prosperity.
Sri Lanka is a country of enormous potential, but its half-century-old civil conflict has stunted its development. Like in so many other countries, violence in Sri Lanka has begotten more violence. Hostility from the government has incited greater hostility from the LTTE. When one side shoots, the other side bombs. When one side kills a leader, the other side razes a village. This painful cycle of violence has continued for almost 50 years, and has created entrenched hostilities that seem impossible to overcome.
Here at HHR office, I had the opportunity to work with the people who are fighting back. These are the people who still have the decency and the tenacity to demand a return to civility in their country. From the jovial director, Mr. Xavier, who maintains a fantastic sense of humor despite decades of witnessing the most gruesome violence imaginable, to the tireless field officer Parasuraman, who continues to work with groups that have targeted him, these are the people who hold the key to Sri LankaТs future.
They come to their work not because of political pressures in a faraway land or a desire to witness the exotic. They are not motivated by pity, condescension, or guilt. They do their work because they have witnessed and experienced the inhumanity inherent in war, and they have refused to tolerate it.
My time with them draws to a close, but they will forever have my support and my eternal gratitude for welcoming me to their world. For the sake of the thousands of war-weary and tsunami-stricken Sri Lankans, I wish them the best of luck and I hope they succeed.
I traveled again to Srebrenica yesterday and conducted interviews with the UNDP’s Srebrenica Regional Recovery Program Economic Development Coordinator, as well as with several Drina personnel and one of the founders of SARA, a women’s and youth NGO in Srebrenica.
The SRRP economic development coordinator was very helpful in his advice on developing agricultural cooperatives. He outlined the challenges facing farmers in the area: access to finance, lack of technical skills and certain equipment, and some poorly designed recovery efforts pursued in the past. I drafted a memo for Drina on this meeting and provided some recommendations on the next steps to be taken in this agricultural cooperative project. We will need to meet with several regional microfinance institutions to see what kind of new loan products can be developed that are better tailored to the small farmer, and I will be contacting the U.S. Embassy to discuss the possibility of USDA specialists conducting some appraisals of various agricultural sub-sectors in the Srebrenica region.
The Forum of NGO’s coordinator I spoke with seemed to think the Women Building Peace Conference was a fine idea, so we will pursue that immediately.
The interviews I conducted with local NGO leaders were aimed at getting a sense of what day-to-day community interactions were like in Srebrenica. I drafted a survey designed to get at these questions. Specifically, 10 years after an interethnic war, what are the attitudes of individuals towards other individuals of different ethnic groups? How well do institutions act as integrators? How do residents view their own process of reconciliation and their own political futures?
I will present my results in this blog next week after conducting a few more phone interviews.
co-written by: Ahmad Jaradat
On Thursday Israel’s Housing Ministry proposed the building of 72 more housing units in the settlement of Betar Ilit in the West Bank. In the past year many proposals have been approved for further expansion of Israeli settlements in East Jerusalem and the West Bank despite requests by the international community to uphold its promise to freeze settlement expansion. These steps are part of an effort to solidify Israel’s hold of the greater Jerusalem area.
Construction of the second section of the wall began in the West Bank city of Qalqilya on Wednesday morning. This part of the wall will be four kilometers long and 100 meters wide. 2000 dunams of Palestinian land will be confiscated for the construction of the wall. This land includes portions of olive tree field currently used by Palestinian farmers. Parts of it will be destroyed for the wall’s construction, while other areas will be on the Israeli side of the wall and the farmers will not be able to access it. In some areas the wall will extend 25 kilometers into the West Bank area, engulfing the greater Ma’ale Adumim settlement.
All entrances of Qalqilya remain closed and many checkpoints were set up across the city on Wednesday morning. In one checkpoint near Azoon, Palestinians waiting in line were said to have been checked physically and asked to remove their clothing. Their signatures and fingerprints were taken as well.Israeli forces reentered Tulkarm Wednesday morning and closed all the entrances. They set up checkpoints inside the city itself, in effect sequestering each neighborhood in the area. The southern part of the city was the main focus of the Israeli forces. The forces used loudspeakers to evacuate all the Palestinians from their homes in order to search the houses. Doors were forcefully broken and many household items were left damaged or in disarray. Some Palestinians were arrested in the process, including Palestinian National Council member Adnan Domeiri.
All entrances around the Jenin area are closed in preparation for the withdrawal of four Israeli settlements in the area. In Hebron, the Israeli army beat a 17-year-old Palestinian boy after stopping him on his way home. He was taken to the hospital and is considered in serious condition. In another incident, a 23-year-old boy walking through his family’s land was beaten by settlers who had claimed the land to be theirs. He is said to be recovering in a local hospital.
In my last blog I had mentioned a boy named Anand who lost his legs in an railway accident. I wanted to let you all know that just yesterday Butterflies was able to find a placement for him at a home run by Holy Family in Loni, which is 25-30 km from Delhi. He is also scheduled to be fit with artificial legs within the week. This is a big relief for everyone who has been participating in his care.
Now my attention is on an adolescent named Jumman who is suffering from a combination of high fever and abdominal pain that may be typhoid fever. We started him on antibiotics and antipyretics yesterday and he seemed to be responding well during the day, but this morning his temperature was again dangerously elevated. Since the doctor is only present for a few hours each morning, I have taken on the responsibility of monitoring his condition regularly and making the decision to transfer him to the hospital if necessary. The crisis center is doing a lot of great work but in my opinion could benefit from a day and night nurse being added to the staff of social workers. I’ll make the suggestion and see what people think. A big strength of Butterflies is that each individual’s ideas are heard and considered. It is a very dynamic organization in that respect.
For the past couple of weeks I have been working on the follow up of TAMPEP project in Nigeria, Albania and Marocco that I described in one of my early posting – ALNIMA. TAMPEP is getting ready to launch ALNIMA2 but this time we would solely concentrate on the Nigerian dimension of the project – our beneficiaries would be the women of Edo State, at risk of trafficking and these that have been deported from Italy. The goal is to empower the women economically so that they are less prone to being trafficked – give them opportunities in their home countries so that there’s an incentive to stay. This is achieved through series of training sessions in basic skills like hairdressing or tailoring, self-capacity building seminars and enrolment in a micro-credit scheme. In addition, ALNIMA2 aims at raising HIV/AIDS awareness about the women participating in the seminars – so that they themselves are aware of the problem and can advocate the issue with their colleagues and future customers. Moreover, ALNIMA2 contributes to the increase of literacy in Edo State – as many women are unable to read or write, TAMPEP, before enrolling them into the project, encourages them to participate in the basic alphabetization course, where they learn how to read and write.
However, there is a deeper dimension of this project than the economic empowerment. Although this is an important step, the end goal is to start a social change and make the Nigerian women more independent. As we often discuss during our weekly meetings of Unita di Strada with our Nigerian cultural mediators, Nigerian women occupy a much lower position in the Nigerian society. In the polygamic Nigerian family with many children, girls are already at a disadvantage – boys are given priority in education; women are basically dependent on their family until they marry – and then are dependent on their husbands. For the Nigerian women who work in Italy this dependency on their family translates in the obligation to send money back home to support the family. This hits hard the girls who have decided to denounce their traffickers and take advantage of Article 18 – as it is hard to find a job in the depressed Italian economy, they are under pressure to go back to the street as their only recourse to make some money that they can send back home.
ALNIMA2 attempts thus to create a long-term social change- women, by becoming more economically independent are themselves an engine of this change. It create opportunities for women to become independent- but this change is not forced on them but rather comes from within them. This, in the end, is the ultimate weapon against traffickers.
co-written by: Ahmad Jaradat
Any observer following the events unfolding in the occupied Palestinian territories will notice countless human rights violations. These include the violation of basic rights such as right of movement, right of education, right of health treatment, rights of women, rights of children, rights of working, and most importantly the fundamental rights to live and have shelter.
The right of housing is a basic right of humans. Since the first days of the occupation, the Israeli Authority has systematically destroying Palestinian homes. Military orders were issued to justify such violations. For supposed ‘security reasons’ thousands of houses were demolished throughout the occupied territories. The family home of any Palestinian arrested in suspicion of involvement in militant activity is regularly demolished. It is seen as a kind of collective punishment against all families as well as Israel’s method of suppression, despite the fact that this is a violation of the Geneva Conventions and all humanitarian laws.
Another justification used by Israel for its home demolition policy is based around the notion that those houses have been built illegally without permission. Thousands of houses have been demolished under the rationale of that argument. These days, Israel’s use of licensing violations as the justification for home demolitions is increasing in the West Bank. A few months ago tens of houses were demolished in an area south of Hebron and more houses were put on a list for future demolition. More than ten houses were demolished or given demolition orders in Walaja village west of Bethlehem. Last week, three houses were demolished in Khader village, and more orders were given to Palestinian families in the northern West Bank villages of Masha and Wadi Maleh. The same zoning and administrative excuses were given for the demolition orders issued in the East Jerusalem Palestinian village of Silwan.
Large demonstrations took place yesterday in Borgeen village in the north of West Bank in objection to Israel’s home demolition policy. Internationalists from the Solidarity Movement and Israelis from peace groups participated in the demonstration. Many houses in the area have already been demolished and the Military Authority issued orders to demolish 18 more. The ways in which this affects the life of thousands of Palestinians who have fallen victim to Israel’s home demolition policy are immeasurable. The families whose houses were demolished are living in tents and caves, or in the crowded homes of their relatives. While home demolitions hamper the entire family’s ability to carry out their daily activities, Palestinian children suffer the greatest emotional trauma from witnessing their homes demolished.
This policy has intensified in the areas of the occupied territories where settlement projects are under way. There is a direct link between the settlement expansion projects and the house demolition operations for license reasons. In every case the Israeli government has demolished, or has approved plans to demolish, Palestinian homes in areas strategically needed for future settlement expansion plans or the route of the separation wall. This is particularly apparent in Alkhader, in an area south of Hebron, where three houses were demolished last week and ten more are listed to be demolished. An Israeli settler road is in the process of being built in that exact area. The Israeli government continues its efforts to expand settlements and demolish Palestinian neighborhoods in the West Bank at a time when it is supposedly involved in negotiations with the Palestinian Authority. These policies contradict Israel’s stated interest in negotiating a peace agreement with the Palestinians. Israel’s peace negotiations with the Palestinian Authority and withdrawal from Gaza can therefore only be seen as an effort to distract the international community at a time when human rights violations are taking place in the occupied territories.
I recently got back from visiting the girl’s school in Godah. It was a back-breaking, rock-riddled, dusty and treacherous three-hour ride. There is no paved road to Godah so we went off-roading on a narrow, dusty lane up and down mountains in a beat-up car with a wizened driver, both of whom had seen better days.
The destination, however, made the trek completely worthwhile. Godah is a lush village nestled between mountains and surrounded by a lovely river. Upon our arrival to the village, we were greeted with freshly baked bread and then made our way to the school.
The school is located on a flat plain overlooking a common area and local orchards and you can hear the water running in a nearby stream. The staff and students were expecting us and had put up the tents we had sent to replace those destroyed by the fire. Since it was quite late in the day and starting to get hot, we visited each class briefly and decided to meet the students the next day. We met with the teachers and principal to complete the school assessment and discuss their needs. After lunch at the principal’s house, Sadiqa and I spent the rest of the day drawing rows on the plastic floor covering and assembling chairs into rows to encourage students to sit in an orderly fashion. The day had gone well and I was excited about tomorrow.
I should have known better and heeded my own oft-repeated advice on managing expectations. Sadiqa and I discovered the next morning that all our hard work trying to assemble the chairs into rows was for nought. The students had reassembled the chairs to their liking and convenience. We succeeded in getting the older classes to adjust to the concept of sitting within their row on the floor and tried to instill in them the concept of ownership for their particular row but it was still a challenge.
The girls are shy and prefer to sit huddled next to each other and speak all at once. It’s disconcerting and impossible to get a straight answer when you have twenty or thirty students fidgeting and the same number of voices yelling at the same time. You could tell the students were anxious to please and show their best behavior but they have no idea what is expected of them. Our attempts at creating discipline were completely foreign to them.
We fought the same battle with the school staff when we expressed our displeasure at the lack of discipline and attendance standards within the school. The attendance records are impossible to track as the teachers tend to mark everyone present. Their reasoning is that the absence is usually not the student’s fault stemming from additional household chores due to parental illness or guests who come and tend to stay for a month. As a result, the teachers feel guilty penalizing the girls and will tend to mark them present.
Sadiqa and I explained that the attendance record is not a measure of reprimanding the student but discovering means to assist the students in continuing their education. Accurate attendance is critical as it is one of the few educational indicators we have to monitor the students.
The teachers listened but I could sense their resentment. Their idea of discipline and educational standards are completely different than what we are accustomed to and they argued that it was not fair of us to expect them to perform to international standards. However, Sadiqa and I felt that as teachers they need to be more proactive in instilling discipline in their classrooms and for tracking their students.
The teacher’s agreed to do a better job of keeping attendance and of getting students to sit in rows. However, this doesn’t really address the problem of their lack of initiative. Perhaps I’m too ambitious to expect more of them as the Godah school for girls is the first in over 80 years.
As I drove back, I couldn’t help but compare the drive to my experience working on girl’s education. The end destination makes the trip worthwhile but getting there is no easy task and is riddled with challenges. Community approval, the lack of qualified teachers and equipment, funding, security, registration bureaucracy, these are just some of the struggles Sadiqa and I have had to overcome.
It is easy to get discouraged but then you go back to the big picture. Can we afford to give up on girl’s education in Godah? The answer is clearly no. If this project fails then so will any hope for female education in a province where girls are being educated for the first time. Failure is not an option here and so we go back to working on building the capacity of the teachers and getting more qualified teachers for Godah.
Our hope is that by getting the school registered and by constructing a building we can avail ourselves of a pool of better and more qualified teachers. The promise of accommodation and government salaries are always draws for teachers and hopefully we can attract some female teachers who would be better equipped to understand and motivate the girls. It’s a lengthy process but you have only to look at the hopeful and beautiful faces of the girls and see the strides that Sadiqa has made to realize that the long and arduous journey is worth it.
Last week gave a new meaning to the phrase working “in the field” when my co-worker and I had to crawl through a fence in order to literally sit in a field of grass where a group of children were receiving their lessons from a Butterflies street educator. The area we were working in is adjacent to the temple for the Hindu monkey-god Hanuman so the field was also inhabited by dozens of monkeys as well as a few stray dogs. My co-worker Monica and I were out with the mobile health van to care for the sick children as always, but we were also recruiting children for a newly-created support group for children with drug addictions.
Drug use and addiction is widespread among the children. Inhaling correction fluid is one of the most common modes of drug use, sometimes with dire consequences. Just today I met a 8 or 9 year-old boy named Anand who lost both of his legs after falling asleep on the train tracks at the New Delhi Railway Station after using an inhalant (he was run over by a train). Since his discharge from the hospital, he has been living at the Butterflies Crisis Center, where I have started assisting the doctor in the mornings. Anand is awaiting prosthetic limbs, and currently gets around by swinging himself along the ground with his hands. He is really clingy with the staff and always wants to sit in the office instead of participating in group activities, yet all he wants to do is leave the crisis center. In his current state, he would not be able to survive back on the streets. Tomorrow I’m going to talk more to the doctor about what the long-term plan for him will be, because there is no foster care system in India.
Monica and I have spent the last few days intensively planning an all-day workshop for the addictions support group which will take place on Friday of this week. I was really happy to be able to use some of my knowledge of addictions counseling from my MS in psychology to plan the events.
We decided to borrow from a few empirically successful drug treatment approaches and adapt them to the specific needs of our population. We are planning to pair the children in a manner similar to the sponsor system of Alcoholics Anonymous so that each child has someone at his contact point in Delhi who he is accountable to and can turn to for support. The key difference here is that both members of the pair will be children with an addiction they wish to end, and will have an equivalent role to play to one another in assisting each other to stay off of drugs. The other general approach we are using borrows from Dr. William Miller’s Motivational Interviewing theory. One element of this approach is for the counselor to attempt to get the addicted patient to arrive at their own internal motivation for changing their maladaptive behavior by gently eliciting the pros and cons of using as well as those of quitting and allowing them to reach their own decision about use. This approach fits in really well with Butterflies philosophy of empowering children to make good choices for themselves. Once again, one of the key differences between the way this approach is traditionally applied and what we will do is that here each member of the pair will play the counselor role for his partner. Of course, plenty of adults are going to be present to supervise and pull the group together at appropriate points to share and summarize what the pairs have been discussing. And since this workshop is for children, there will also be plenty of food as well as games and prizes. I am really curious to see how successful this approach will be. We are planning to follow the pairs for 6 weeks after the workshop to monitor their intake patterns. Besides the obvious goal of helping the children eliminate or reduce their drug use, we are hoping that at the end of a few months, a few of the children at each contact point will have progressed to the point where they can serve as drug counsellors to their peers who are using. These children will receive further training as time progresses. I’ll keep you posted as to how the workshop goes.
I left the AWN office in a hurry Thursday afternoon, excited for a weekend away. I had been a little stressed with all of the activity being thrown my way and I was ready for a little vacation. Fellow Advocacy Project intern, Shirin, and I had planned a weekend to escape the dusty traffic jams of Kabul. A long weekend in the province of Bamyan, famous for the 5,000-year-old Buddha sculptures.
We hired a driver and hit the road early Friday morning. The first hour was smooth sailing, and I was ready with my camera in my lap for anything picture worthy to appear outside of the window. It wasn’t long before we made the turn to the direction of Bamyan and it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing anymore. It was going to be seven hours of bouncing and jostling in the back of the Toyota Surf. For a road trip so long, we passed surprisingly few cars along the way, but plenty of shepherds with their flock.
All the bouncing was worth it as we followed a river through a valley passing village after village along the way. It gave me a sense of what Afghanistan is really about. Kabul is not representative of the country. Donkeys carrying loads so large they almost aren’t recognizable, spent tanks rusting of the side of the road, butchers in the bazaar with their meat hung out on display… This is what Afghanistan has to offer outside Kabul.
Bamyan was a town full of amazement and tragedy at the same time. Amazement at the ancient ruins and caves where the Buddhists had chosen to make their sculptures and places of worship. Tragedy of what little remains of the Buddha sculptures after they were blown up by the Taliban. It is inconceivable to me why anyone would want to destroy something so rich in history and culture.
The other destination on our weekend getaway was an additional three hours of bumping along a dirt road through the mountains to Band-e-Amir, a series of seven amazingly pristine lakes. I had no idea that Afghanistan had this to offer. These lakes were the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen. So clean and a vibrant blue. They made you just want to dive in, but Shirin and I were not so stunned as to be that culturally insensitive.
However, even a sight so beautiful wasn’t without reminders of the tragic past that this country has had to endure. Just as the lakes were coming into view, we passed the carcass of a van that had hit a landmine only a year previous. The van had been full of Afghans on their way to enjoy the lakes. Another car was heading toward it in the opposite direction and with the road being as narrow as it was, the van pulled off the road slightly to let the car pass. That is where it encountered the mine.
Afghanistan is a land that has been blessed and cursed at the same time. Just as you lose yourself in the rich culture of the villages or the unspoiled landscape, you are brought back to reality by the rocks painted red at the roadside to inform you that the area is still mined or the rusted out army tanks that have been left to deteriorate.
co-written by: Ahmad Jaradat
The Israeli army has surrounded and isolated many Palestinian villages in the north part of the West Bank. The destabilizing closures were enforced two days ago in the area spanning between Nablus and Jenin. Four Israeli settlements in this particular area are slated for withdrawal in two weeks. People suspect the closures will remain in effect at least until the deadline for the Israeli withdrawal, particularly on the main roads.
The Zatara checkpoint, a checkpoint on the major roadway system allowing for transportation between the northern and southern areas of the West Bank, remains closed. For two weeks Palestinians have been unable to reach Ramallah directly, and have resorted to using longer and more difficult alternative routes. These closures have a destabilizing effect on Palestinian livelihood and economy.
Israeli forces Israeli forces invaded Palestinian towns south of Hebron, taking into custody 25 Palestinians. They were held and interrogated for three hours. The troops raided four houses during this time. The Israeli army claimed the raids were ordered for the purpose of finding a wanted member of a Palestinian faction group in the area, but the houses belonged to families. The contents of the houses were damaged as a result.
240 Palestinians in the Ktsiot prison were placed in the isolated area “3” of the prison last week and are living under dire conditions. The section has not been used since 1994. The prisoners have no electricity or necessary materials. They are not supplied blankets despite the cool temperatures at night in the desert.
There was a huge riot yesterday in the streets of Lagos. Apparently an “okada” driver (commercial motorcyclist) was shot and killed by a Naval Police officer because he had inadvertently scratched the officer’s car.
Hundreds of other okada drivers protested this atrocious killing by burning the perpetrator’s car and beating him into a coma. They also destroyed a number of shops and nearby properties in a fit of rage over the terrible incident. More gunshots were fired as members of the Nigerian Police Force attempted to rescue the Naval officer from the hands of the mob. He narrowly escaped death and is currently in the custody of the police.
While I was in the office later that afternoon, I could see through the window an entire fleet of okada drivers still in the streets chanting for justice and waving palm leaves in a show of discontent.
I know that Lagos can sometimes be dangerous but for me it has never felt as bad as how CNN or other international media usually make it seem. There are days when life in Lagos does not seem any different from the usual hustle and bustle you would find in places like New York or Detroit.
However, contrary to the situation in the US, so many ordinary Nigerian citizens have been lacking so many basic necessities for so long. As a result, it seems like a certain number of them have come to the conclusion that violence may be the only way to get justice, employment, running water, electricity, education…It’s like violence is the only way to get society’s attention and remind everyone that there is still something fundamentally wrong with the current status quo.
What happened that day on the streets of Lagos, the terror attacks in London, the suicide bombings in Egypt, the continued deterioration of the situation in Iraq…these are all manifestations of a much deeper problem. It is clear that we cannot keep on reacting to the symptoms and neglect to address the root causes of violence.
In the case of Nigeria, I just pray that the general societal discontent does not deteriorate into full-blown war. That is the last thing this country and Africa as a whole needs.
Yesterday, the other Dzeno intern and I went looking for an exhibit displaying photos of Roma women. Our office thought it was unimportant, but still interesting enough to send us, just for our own education. We wandered around and around, down tiny alleyways and winding streets. We finally found the address, and an exhibit of photographs, but it wasn’t about Roma women at all. There was only one picture of women, and the rest of the small exhibit covered Chernobyl victims.
We were almost certainly at the wrong place. But this fruitless quest for images of Roma women seems to represent my week here at Dzeno. I am, unquestionably, a feminist. I believe that women deserve both equal chances and equal choices. I don�t mean to be the arrogant outsider criticizing another culture here, but it seems to me that Roma women have neither the same chances or the same choices as Roma men. And what’s even more sad, they seem unaware that they might deserve better.
This whole discussion started this week when we received a call for grant proposals from the UN Fund to end Violence Against Women. Although (being a very discouraged grant writer at this point) I thought that it was a long shot for Dzeno to apply, I suggested that to the office we come up with a project as a good way both to get money, to broaden Dzeno’s profile and possibly to have an impact on the female Roma population of the Czech Republic.
I was unprepared for the resistance I encountered to the idea. “It’s outside of our scope,” I was told, or “Roma women aren’t ready for that sort of thing” and “it’s not their priority.” As Dzeno is a pretty capable, liberal environment, I was completely taken aback that while they were quite willing to humor the whims of an American intern and discuss the issue with me at great length, they clearly feel completely unprepared to take on such a sensitive issue in public.
Even before coming, I had heard several things about the situation of Roma women that were disturbing. Stories of forced childhood marriages and stories of second class citizenship. Roma women like to be beaten, apparently: it’s the way Roma men express their love. Of course, all of this depends on the place and the individual. But in general, Roma women seem to be the lowest of the low. Intellectually, I knew this before coming. But I didn’t really think about it. It just seems impossible to me that, anywhere in Europe, the issue of violence against women can still be shrouded in such silence, and such shame.
Before writing this blog, I quickly googled out Roma women’s organizations. There just aren’t that many of them, and those that exist haven’t really even scraped the surface on the issue of violence against women. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that Roma women aren’t active in promoting their rights. It’s the fact that no one has taken on the challenge of violence against Roma women that bothers me. It’s like this problem is truly invisible.
Call me culturally insensitive, but I truly believe that women don’t deserve to be beaten, and that violence is not an acceptable way of showing affection. Someone needs to stand out on this issue and let Roma women know that they too have rights, and that the rights of Roma women are human rights too.
Last week I was away so there was no blog update. This week we are looking into several possibilities for future projects. One is a Conference for next July, ‘Women Building Peace’ and it would involve bringing women from war-torn countries together to discuss experiences, strategies, problems, and solutions. Drina would work with Bosfam and the network of NGOS in Srebrenica on this, with support of AP. We will know more about the prospects of this conference soon.
Another project I am working on is to help set up a network of Agricultural Cooperatives in the Srebrenica region. The Srebrenica region was gutted economically by the war, and the main centers of industry have yet to be reconstructed. There was, for example, a silver electrode plant, a battery plant, and a zinc processing plant. They are all in ruins now. The municipality has offered free land and other financial incentives to encourage reinvestment, but noone has accepted these offers, most often citing political uncertainty. There are also State-owned enterprises which have yet to be privatized, and this process is apparently moving at a snails place, encumbered by political infighting.
As a result, Drina feels the best chances for economic growth are in self-employment. Because around 4/5 of the population of the Srebrenica region now lives in rural areas, self-employment in agribusiness is especially important.
We are looking into the possibility of setting up a network of agricultural cooperatives, clustered around a community based cooperative bank, that provides small scale financing and training in marketing, operations, and financial management.
There are, however, UNDP sponsored projects in the region that deal with agriculture growth here, and I am in discussions with them to find out where our plans overlap. August/July isnt the most auspicious month for this sortof coordination, because many people leave for vacation, but we are trying our best.
I will also hopefully be travelling to Srebrenica soon to discuss with the members of the NGO network the conference and coordination in general, how to come up with common goals and develop working relationships with the municipality to accomplish them.
These are the main things for this week; things are moving in fits and starts for the moment, but forward nonetheless.
Three Palestinian houses were demolished Wednesday morning in the Al-Rukdah neighborhood of Al-Hader, a village near Betlehem. Tens of soldiers entered the area with a bulldozer and demolished three, one-story houses belonging to a local family. The area was closed for the demolition, and journalists were not allowed to enter the ‘military area.’ The demolition is not considered part of an operation against militant groups, but rather as a step in clearing land for the purpose of creating a separation wall. The proposed path of the separation wall will engulf the greater Jerusalem area and its municipalities into Israeli territory. The path of the wall extends significantly into the East Jerusalem and West Bank area that has been occupied by Israel following the 1967 war.
Four months ago, the Israeli army issued orders to demolish 15 houses in the area. The purpose for these house demolitions, as given under the proposal, was to demolish houses build illegally. Yet it is in the direct path of the proposed separation wall currently under construction, and fits in with a larger effort to include Israeli West Bank settlements within the Israeli side of the wall and cutting off the Palestinian villages. Some of these efforts force Palestinians to relocate entirely for land legally theirs. If this path of the wall is completed in the Al-Hader area, the residential area will be outside of the wall, while their arable land will be on the Israeli side. This land is currently used by Palestinian farmers and is known for its lush grapevines and orchards. Once the wall is built, these farmers will not be able to access their land, and will have no alternative area to cultivate.
Like life itself, the story of Sara took an unprecedented turn in the past week since I wrote her story in my last blog posting– and this time there’s even a happy ending. Sara, confronted by our social worker, decided to finally tell her true story – and it is a story of pain and suffering but also of incredible strength and resilience – and also hope.
Sara was first trafficked to Italy in the late 1990s – as she described in her earlier story, she was ‘enrolled’ by a school friend who offered her opportunity to study and work Italy. But already before arriving to Italy, she underwent a dramatic trip for many months through different African countries with other Nigerian girls. While seeking the most convenient and safe way for trafficking, her tormentors raped her and other girls daily before finally flying them to Russia. In the meantime, Sara had to endure the violence of her traffickers, constant fear of being caught, uncertainty and an involuntary abortion. Seven months later, she was first trafficked into Eastern Europe and finally arrived to Italy with a debt of circa 30,000 euros. Forced into prostitution, she started drinking heavily – this was the only way she could endure her everyday fate.
However, couple year later, she finally repaid her debt – her happiness did not last long. Just as she became ‘free’, she was arrested by the police and sent back home to Nigeria. Determined to make a better life for herself in Italy, she asked her former madame for help to be trafficked back to Italy. This time she was given false paper and flew almost immediately to Italy, where again a debt awaited her. She went back to working in the street and later, after repaying her debt, tried to work illegally in various places. Finally, after years of abuse and fear, she met TAMPEP crew and now, after recounting her real story, actually stands a chance of legalizing her situation.
Thus, after many complications, Sara stands a chance for a better life for herself. We are all amazed here in the office with her determination and endurance. And yes, in spite of her initial attempt to falsify her story, we all recognize her enormous strength and the difficulties she had to face. This was also recognized by the public prosecutor who absolved Sara from her earlier expulsion order.
But what awaits Sara now? As other girls, who participate in ANTARES and EQUAL LIFE programs of TAMPEP, she probably will be able to start her life anew, look for a job, and get her residence permit. It is her own personal victory- victory over her traffickers and the years of pain they inflicted upon her; it is also TAMPEP’s victory – to bring her to tell the truth and, in this way, assist her with her life. There could be also another victory, if her traffickers will be brought to justice – and in turn, other lives can be saved.
The head of the Italian Red Cross in Batticaloa hosted a pizza party last week. An invitation found its way to me through the NGO grapevine. It was a welcome opportunity to escape the omnipresent horrors of conflict and the tsunami. However, as I sipped drinks with the exclusively western attendees, I couldnТt help questioning the value of the plethora of international NGOs in Batticaloa.
There is no question that INGOs have provided invaluable support to the people of Batticaloa. While government relief funds were locked up in months of political wrangling, UNICEF, ACF, World Vision, CARE, Zoa, GTZ, and others provided tsunami-affected families with drinking water, housing, and sanitation. NGOs picked up the slack while the government ignored the plight of the eastern provinces, concentrating its relief efforts in the southern districts of powerful legislators. There is no question that INGOs deserve most, if not all, of the credit for the fact that Batticaloa escaped the post-tsunami outbreaks of starvation and disease that many had predicted.
Yet, there is something about the hordes of NGO workers in Batticaloa (myself included) that makes me somewhat uncomfortable. The pizza party I attended was the most palpable example of the odd racial and class disparities between NGO workers and Sri Lankans. There were only two Sri Lankans among the roughly 60 western guests. The pizza, beer, and wine flowing inside the house were in stark contrast to the abject poverty and flattened homes outside.
After years of NGO presence, many eastern Sri Lankans continue to live in poverty. NGO workers manage a well-deserved break every now and then, but their beneficiaries continue to work countless hours for $3 a day. Meanwhile, government officials shrug off any responsibility for disaster relief or development projects, secure in the knowledge that if they do nothing, an NGO will eventually do their job for them.
The party I attended was only one of many NGO parties in Batticaloa. Many attract locals as well as INGO staff. But the stark divide at the Red Cross pizza party made me wonder: are we helping to deliver the people of Batticaloa from years of conflict, calamity, and poverty, or are we just creating a culture of dependency? Or are we doing both? Is it possible to do one without the other?
Only time can answer those questions. In the meantime, I have seen some of the poverty and misery rampant in the area, and I know itТs impossible to stand by and do nothing.
The Palestinian Authority (PA) and Hamas have set a new date for local and parliamentary elections, which were postponed by the PA in light of the Gaza withdrawal. The new dates for local elections are set for September 29th and December 8th. Parliamentary elections are scheduled to take place in late December and early January. The decision follows weeks of tensions and violence between the PA and Hamas. The elections were originally slated for July 17th and the postponement had angered Hamas, which was expected to fair well in the elections. Many in the organization believe the PA postponed the elections out of fear that Fatah, which currently dominates the PA but is seen by many as being corrupt and ineffective, will lose in the elections. This agreement is the first step towards a rapprochement between Hamas and the PA. In recent days, Hamas has reduced the number of Kassam rockets attacks on Israeli settlements. In contrast, Israel continues its effort to arrest and kill members of Palestinian groups in the West Bank and Gaza. On Tuesday morning the Israeli army arrested five Palestinians in the Jenin area and one near Hebron. The charges against them remain unknown. There are no reports of their affiliation with any resistance group. During this time, Israeli forces invaded the West Bank city of Bethlehem, entered a house, and arrested two men. Closures in the West Bank city of Tul Karm remained in place, with many checkpoints stationed around the city. On Monday evening, Israel shelled the city of Rafah in Gaza, damaging electricity lines but causing no casualties.
It is Monday night in Delhi and the heat is showing no signs of abating. Today marks the start of my second week with Butterflies, which I am discovering is a truly unique and remarkable organization. Butterflies’ governing philosophy is that of empowerment rather than charity. What this means is that children living and working in poverty are not handed free services, but rather are being encouraged to invest (monitarily and emotionally) in bettering their own futures and becoming active members and decision-makers within the organization. Any money that the children pay towards services that they use through Butterflies goes into a bank account for them at the Children’s Development Bank, a very interesting project that I will describe in detail soon.
I have primarily been spending my days riding with the mobile health van which visits 11 contact points during the course of each week where street children are living, working, and participating in educational programs. Two field educators are at each site everyday all day. Once at the site, we find the field educator who leads us to the children, and we examine each sick child in turn and dispense medication as needed. Most children I have seen have had wounds that may be getting infected, coughs, or fevers. Occasionally I have seen more serious conditions, such as a pre-gangrenous wound in bad need of debridement. If any injury or illness is beyond our treatment capabilities, we take the child to a nearby government hospital (free to all but very crowded). At each contact point, one of the children serves as a child health promoter. Usually this an adolescent who has received some training on basic medications and health promotion facts. They have shoulder bags that they restock with bandaids, antiseptic, gauze, acetominophen, and other basic supplies each time the van visits their site. That way, the children can have their medical problems attended to at all times. And once again, children are being empowered through their role as caretakers of one another.
I was also involved with a very interesting workshop on nutrition last Thursday which was attended by over 30 children who are members of the Health Cooperative, an organization run by the children where the children interested in membership pay a small amount of money which entitles them to unlimited health services through the mobile health van and 24 hr crisis center. In keeping with this philosophy, the children who attended the nutrition workshop all paid a small sum of money to participate (equivalent to about 10 cents), completed a registration, and were given official name badges, which I pinned onto their shirts. There were also several attendees from a UN conference for the Global Action Committee on Children. They delegates introduced themselves to the children in Hindi and were greeted by showers of applause in return. The conference members were all working with similar populations of children in their home countries (Colombia, Mexico, and Russia). One of the group leaders from Mexico commented to me that she was amazed at how open and friendly the children were, which was a contrast from the situation she had worked in in Mexico City. Similar health education lessons have been developed on the topics of drug abuse, child sex abuse, tuberculosis, and the digestive system. During my internship, I will be writing lesson plans for other topics such as diarrheal diseases and STDs. I am also going to be workin with Monica, one of the health coordinators, to develop a training module for a new suport group for children who are struggling with drug addiction. Sniffing solution seems to be the most popular substance of abuse among the children.
A final thought. Today was the first day I saw any female children, previously it has been all boys. When I asked the doctor about this, he answered that this is because the site we visited today is where entire street families live together, whereas previously we were seeing runaway children who are functionin without families. He went on to say that girls would not survive alone. Signing off for now, but more soon, I hope! Namaste. Karen.
I was in a meeting today when it hit me; I really believe in what I am doing here. It’s a good feeling. I am in the process of writing a proposal to get support for a project that will attempt to curb gender-based violence in Afghanistan. At first I was a little bit cynical. I thought the plan was a bit ambitious and what would a bunch of trainings really do? Then I realized that everything, every great movement, had to start somewhere. This start is as good as any. Why couldn’t this work?
I posted a blog a few weeks ago about the many woes of gender-based violence. It is a horrifying problem here. Over a year after the approval of Afghanistan’s constitution, conditions for women in Afghanistan remain challenging: an illiteracy rate of 85 percent, female-headed households living in dire poverty, and an inability to access training and economic opportunities. Rates of self-immolation and violence against women at home and on the street have increased in the so-called post-conflict period. Women are struggling to be heard and to find alternatives to lives of despair.
There is no quick and easy solution, but that has not deterred AWN from addressing the problem. The proposal that I am writing now is to extend a project that trains people in the provinces of Afghanistan about gender-based violence and women’s legal rights. Previously, trainers traveled to six provinces and conducted three trainings over a three month period in the provinces. The trainings were to generate awareness among influential citizens and authority figures in the community, such as various governmental heads, doctors, schoolteachers, mullahs, etc. In turn, these citizens have started campaigns in their communities to share their knowledge to create awareness among the general public, including uneducated people in remote villages
The campaigns are now coming to a close and have shown many positive results. Many people have been educated about the rights of females in society and the campaigns have brought a lot of media attention, further spreading awareness in communities. Participants who took part in the training were very receptive to the material and gave positive feedback.
Now it is AWN’s goal to extend this campaign to 18 more provinces in the next three years. By 2010, AWN hopes to have the entire country educated about gender-based violence and women’s legal rights. It is ambitious, but not overly so.
co-written by: Ahmad Jaradat
Israeli forces continued their operations the West Bank and have imposed a curfew in downtown Hebron. The operations intensified after clashes between the Israeli forces and Palestinians in the area on Friday. The Israeli army has raided and searched many houses in the West Bank. In downtown Hebron, 100 settlers marched against the withdrawal from Gaza. Some settlers threw stones and threatened Palestinians near the mosque. A Palestinian bystander was shot and killed from his injury by the Israeli military operating in Hebron. Palestinian gunmen opened fire on an Israeli military fort, injuring two soldiers.
The Israeli military continues to enforce closures throughout the West Bank, preventing Palestinian residents from traveling to work or delivering goods. The closures began last week, and many Palestinians are forced to travel through the mountains in order to reach their destination.
Palestinian gunmen opened fire on a car at Kissufim, a key entry point into Gaza’s Israeli settlements, and killed two Israeli passengers. Two of the gunmen were chased and killed by Israeli troops. Following the attack, Israeli military planes shelled electricity sources in the Palestinian area of Khan Yunus, causing no injuries, but leaving residents without electricity.
Today, Monday, July 25, 2005 Many organizations and individuals are gathering in order to raise their voices for reinstating democracy and a peaceful resolution to the current conflict.
What is interesting about this is that those organizing the event expect to be jailed. They realize that they will be protesting in what is still considered a restricted zone by the government. With the lifting of the State of Emergency these individuals and organizations feel they are expressing their freedom of speech, which is a basic human right.
I have attached the press statement below.
Citizen’s Movement for Democracy and Peace Public Demonstration for Democracy and Peace
July 25, 2005, Monday, Afternoon 4 p.m. at Ratna Park
King Gyanendra has dismantled the democratic system established through people’s movement in 1990. Constitutional Monarchy has converted itself into absolute one. Citizen’s right to organize and associate has been hijacked. Free press has been strangled. Unelected and unaccountable individuals are in the seat of power. All this has further entrenched ongoing conflicts in Nepal.
The alliance of seven political parties and professional and citizen’s organizations have been protesting king’s absolute rule for some time. In a recent meeting participated by various members of professional and citizen’s organization have decided to add impetus to the collective struggle by initiating Citizen’s Movement for Democracy and Peace. This movement aims to both protect the democratic system established in 1990 and contribute to its further advancement in the interest of an inclusive state and people-oriented governance. The goal of this movement is to help establish popular sovereignty irreversibly.
As its first public program, a peaceful protest demonstration is to be held on July 25, at 4 p.m. at Ratna Park. Leaders and members of various professional organizations and concerned citizens will take part in the protest. We invite all concerned to come and bless the protest.
On Behalf of,
Citizen’s Movement for Democracy and Peace Coordination Committee
Dr. Devendra Raj Panday Dr. Mathura P. Shrestha Shri Krishna Pahadi
Sadiqa and I spent the week shopping and preparing for our trip to the Godah and Noor Khel schools in Wardak. We had been trying to contact UNICEF for over three weeks for their assistance with tent donations but to no avail. Most of the girls’ schools are housed in tents due to OMID’s current lack of funding for building structures. The tents have to be periodically replaced due to wear and tear and this has not been an issue in the past.
In the past few months, however the price of tents has skyrocketed from $90 to $400 and Sadiqa and I were hoping to get some assistance from UNICEF to alleviate the burden on limited financial resources. It turns out that UNICEF has exhausted its supply of tents for the province of Wardak and the person in charge of the emergency allocation of tents is out of town for the next two weeks for a seminar. I find it hard to believe that all decisions have to come to standstill with one person’s absence but no one else seems to be able to make a decision on giving us 4 tents so that the girls don’t have to sit outside in the dust and blaring sun.
Sadiqa and I decided to go ahead and purchase the needed tents for now and follow-up with UNICEF once we return from Wardak. On Tuesday, we set out early to the central market in downtown Kabul to buy tents and blackboards. Everything is available for a price here, even supplies that are technically donations such as UNHCR and UNICEF tents and WFP food supplies.
When we asked the tent seller how these donations came to be for sale, his explanation centered on the nature of donations and corruption. Refugees who obtain these supplies will often trade or sell them for other needed necessities. However, more than 50% of the supplies come to the market as a result of corruption.
Officials will donate 25% of the supplies allocated and sell the rest in the black market. There is no way for me to verify these figures or the shopkeepers story but fortunately he had enough pity for the plight of the girls and agreed to sell the tents to us at the reduced price of $250 a piece. This left him very little markup but after the hue and cry we made about the cause, he had no choice but to save face by selling us the tents at that price.
The tents were quite large and we would not be able to take them with us in the car on Sunday, so we hired a driver to take them to Godah. I hope they are up before our visit so that we can get the reaction of the community and the girls. In the meantime, I can’t help but wonder if the tents we ended up purchasing are part of the Wardak stock that should have been available to us.
Things have been very busy here since the 11th passed. Although the press is gone and the international focus is gone, Potocari and Srebrenica still find their way into most conversations here. Many of the women are going back to their regular lives, but some are still having a difficult time. One woman here, Beba mala (Little Beba, as there are 2 women named Beba) buried her husband last week at the ceremonies. She was only 26 when they were separated and he disappeared. She also lost a brother and her father in the massacre. Some days tears run down her cheeks as we have coffee together, other days she laughs and smiles at my pitiful attempts to speak Bosnian. Yesterday she couldn’t get out of bed, and didn’t even make it to the office. I worry about her and her young son. The joy of raising her son watching him grow with her husband was stolen, and I can see that at times, she is just a shadow of who she should be.
Mixed with all the solemn times and sad moments, there is a lot of laughing here too. Last week, Zifa finished a carpet she had been working on since I got here. I watched the large 8×10 carpet come to life over the months I have been here. I was out of the office when she finished, but she asked the other women when I was expected back as she knew I wanted to see the carpet cut off the loom. When I arrived back, she got the scissors and led me to the loom, and then we began cutting it off together!! She graciously let me cut, and we took pictures as I giggled and watched this newly made carpet fall off the loom. After it had fallen to the floor, we all gathered around and began knotting the fring of the rug. It was noted by all that I was by far the slowest one to knot the fringe!
I have less than one full week left in Bosnia, and I have very mixed feelings about leaving this place. The women here have loved me and cared for me in my two months here, and I am sad to leave them behind. While they have tried to marry me off to their sons, joked with me about my extremely limited vocabulary, they have also loved me, unconditionally. I learned a saying here, paraphrased it says, love is not a tomato so don’t give away a case for free. Lucky for me, these women give me cases and cases of love, for free, everyday.
I have watched a 12 minute documentary, Jhalak (Glimpse). Jhalak is a documentary on human rights violations made in April 2004. On October 4, 2002, the king dissolved parliament and took executive power in his own hands. No elections, national, municipal or local have taken place since that date. The five main parliamentary parties (Nepali Congress, Communist Party of Nepal, Unified Maoist and Leninist, Jana Morcha Nepal (People’s Front Nepal), Nepal Sadavawana Party (Anandidevi), and Nepal Worker and Peasants Party were protesting against the take over. Video footage was taken during the April 2004 people’s movement for restoration of democracy. From this footage a 12-minute documentary, Jhalak (Glimpse), was produced showing the human rights violations committed against the protestors. The entire effort including equipment, material, videography, editing, script writing and dissemination were done on a voluntary unpaid basis.
That is the background of the film, what is shows is the police beating protestors, using trucks to carry protestors away as if they were cattle, storming the All Nepal National Free Students Union office, beating those inside with sticks and then throwing their equipment and supplies out the window onto the street! Is this the police and army force that is supposed to be protecting the people of Nepal and providing security? Bystanders were harassed and beaten; government vigilantes are shown beating protestors who were in the hospital to receive treatment. Army personnel used rubber bullets that had to be dislodged from one individual. Aren’t these bullets supposed to cause pain, not enter one’s body? Did anyone instruct the police and army personnel on the safety range in which to use these rubber bullets? And if the protestors were not attacking, why were they firing shots at them anyway?
TATA trucks and buses used to take away the protestors were private and the army personnel did not ask permission of the owners for use. One owner, when looking for his truck, was arrested and taken away by the army, in his own truck! For those not familiar with a TATA truck, the best way for me to describe it is as a short Mac truck that closes in the back like a pick up truck (bottom up). Those arrested were held at different, non-jail, facilities, had to pay for their meals and had horrible sanitary conditions.
So these are the law enforcement personnel that the international community is supporting. The Nepali army personnel are not that professional, from my personal observation. They have drill marches through the streets of Kathmandu, and at different points in their line you can find there is a good 50 foot gap between soldiers while in another spot they are within 2 feet of each other. What kind of training is this? Walking through the busy morning streets of Kathmandu? Even I could plan an easy divide and conquer tactic to take over the army personnel. They are also posted on street corners, where at times they are seen sitting on the street fence talking to a civilian while holding hands (men holding hands with friends, while they speak with one another, while they walk down the street, or while they just sit near each other, is common practice. It can be found among women also, but not as much). I can also attest to getting more “Hello sister” and other random comments from army personnel posted outside the palace, the government office compound, and those monitoring the street then I have from the typical Nepali male community. Yes, expect some random comments because I am a foreigner, but when the people I am suppose to trust are the ones acting like school boys, I am a little worried.
I am torn between the good the king can do and reinstating the democracy. Coming from democratic nation this may seem to be a strange stance. But Nepal’s government is corrupt and everyone knows it. It is full of drama, unkept promises, prolonged deadlines and little, if any, development. Part of me thinks if the King can pull off his reinstating of multiparty democracy in a more accountable government, than Nepal would be better.
The other side of this is that the King is not allowing demonstrations, unless they are showing support for his movements; the King is censoring the press even more; the King is busy traveling the world and yet his country is in disarray; the King seems to not realize the real battle is not in Kathmandu, but in the hillsides and remote districts of Nepal. So he does not seem to be acting very democratically. The government of Nepal is corrupt (King for multi-party democracy), people are without land rights, enough food, little education and have a hard time declaring citizenship unless their FATHER claims them as his child; the FATHER is the only parent that can pass on citizenship and citizenship cannot even be made until one is 17-18 years old. What kind of country denies one’s existence until they are 17-18 years old and then will only acknowledge them if their father says, ‘Yes, this is my son/daughter’.
Many things have to change and I hope that they are for the better. The people of Nepal are good people. Kind, welcoming and helpful, they deserve a better government!
One of my colleagues, Esohe, took me to visit one of WOCON’s children centers last Friday. These centers were designed as part of WOCON’s program for the removal and reintegration of child laborers and child domestic servants that I was telling you about a few weeks back. Participating children are offered basic literacy or vocational courses so as to increase their future economic and social prospects.
This particular center was located in a shopping complex not far from the office so Esohe and I jumped on one of the popular city motorcycle called “okada” and sped over there. A few minutes later, we were greeted at the door of a classroom by the smiling face of one of the teachers, Mr. Kazeem. The room itself is small with just the essentials: a blackboard, a couple of chairs and a table.
There were only about four kids present that day but their stories are very similar: most of them were either recruited from their villages by relatives or friends of relatives who promised them greener pastures in the city. Instead, they were dumped as cheap labor in the houses of strangers or worse, left to fend for themselves in the streets of Lagos.
For instance, Lare is 18 and he’s interested in learning about computers. He is from Ife in Osun State, which is just north of Lagos. Times were hard for his family in the village so they encouraged him to leave and to try his luck in one of the major cities. That’s how Lare came to Lagos where he found a job as a domestic worker or “house boy”. He also took on a second job pushing charcoal at a local construction site. When I asked him how many hours he worked in a day, he replied “too much!”. I don’t blame him. He apparently found out about WOCON’s program through friends and seems truly grateful to have a place to study, learn and fallow his interests…like any 18 year old kid should have a right to.
Esohe and I later move on to meet with the instructors of another center which is also close by. This one is exclusively dedicated to kids who are interested in vocational work, especially the arts. The building in question is a bit shabby and there is a big gaping hole in the roof. Nevertheless, the walls in one of the rooms are covered with the children’s drawings and they all look fantastic. These kids apparently have a lot of talent. If only they would have a sufficient chance to take advantage of it.
However, it seems that poverty and the instinct to survive is such that most of the kids targeted by WOCON’s program are actually more interested in making money now than in getting an education or acquiring skills designed for future use. They don’t see why they should spend time on something that does not immediately translated into a source of income. As a result, WOCON should definitely think of stepping up its awareness campaign and seek out more funds to reach out even more to these kids. Maybe WOCON should present real success stories from the community so as to emphasize the important role that an education can play in the future income and wellbeing of these children.
Whatever the strategy used, I think this is a wonderful opportunity for child workers and would truly make a difference if more resources were focused towards it.
How does one deal with victims of trafficking and migrant sex workers? How does one help someone whose only opportunity in life is to go abroad and try to find a better life there and work – and what if it happens to be prostitution then what? What can NGOs, like TAMPEP really do for these people- can they go beyond providing daily necessities of life and address the more underlying sources of their situation?
These are the questions that haunt me while I am driving around Turin and its environs with Unita di Strada or talking to the social workers here at TAMPEP. On the one hand, there is the dissemination of information – on health, AIDS/HIV prevention, STDs – and this is an important part of our work. The aim is to protect the sex workers from diseases they can contract while working; inform them about their rights, access to public health services and lawyers that work pro bono for TAMPEP. Having gone out the street several times now, I can see how important this part is – we are truly empowering these women to take control of their lives, even if only the small part of it, like their health. This has been an empowering lesson for me as well – from an observer, I had become an active advocate of these issues, right here in Turin, talking to Nigerian and Liberian girls about their situation, informing them about TAMPEP, our services ,etc.
But there are also cases of girls who decided to denounce their traffickers – and take advantage of the Article 18, an Italian law that aims at help and protection of victims of trafficking. Sometimes, however, the girls take literal advantage of this law – like in the case of Sara, a girl TAMPEP has been working with since early May. Sara is a young Nigerian, beautiful and bright girl in her late twenties. Like many other girls, she comes from a large Nigerian family with six sisters and three brothers. Sara found her way to TAMPEP through one of our volunteer cultural mediators and was ready to denounce her traffickers almost right on the spot. TAMPEP found a temporary shelter for her and commenced the procedure under the Article 18. One of the first steps was for Sara to write down her story – she recounted being trafficked from Nigeria in 2003 after being approached by a school friend who told her about people in Nigeria that could help her to study and work legally in Italy. While in Nigeria she was encouraged to learn Italian. Later, before departure, she was given fake documents with her real picture but false name. Having arrived into Italy, she was forced into prostitution (also by means of vodoo), later ran away, tried to contact the police, which gave her the notice of expulsion, and finally met TAMPEP staff.
What really is true about this story is hard to tell – it surely sounds like a classical case of a trafficked victim. TAMPEP staff verified it and found out that Sara was already deported from Italy before 2003 and later came back. Even if her first arrival into Italy in the late 1990s was a case of trafficking, next time she came back voluntarily, being aware of the conditions in Italy and her possible work.
Although there is no doubt that Sara needs help, there is now little that TAMPEP can do for her – she faces deportation and stands little chance of staying in Italy legally. Her case exemplifies however the desperation of these girls to legalize their situation and get a better life in Italy; also, the way in which girls can take advantage of the system in place. Can we judge them and condemn them for that, however? Only those who have seen the absolute poverty and life without opportunities that these girls have to face can have any notion of it. In the end, if your only opportunity for a better life is trafficking and prostitution is that a choice at all?
Over the course of the past few months, articles discussing Rwandan refugees in Uganda have become more and more common. Not quite making front page news (given all the developments and commentary surrounding the referendum to amend the Ugandan Constitution to permit Musevuni another term and instances of conflict within the West Nile region), the talks between the Rwandan and Ugandan government concerning the return of Hutus to “face justice” have not resonated as deeply as one would hope. One thing is clear: the Rwandan refugees (Hutu or otherwise) who continue to arrive at our offices recognize the import.
Last week Uganda and Rwanda signed an extradition treaty which provides the legal basis to turn over those Rwandans who are in this country as illegal aliens. In other words, those Rwandan refugees without refugee status may potentially be forced to return. While the Government of Uganda should be commended for cooperating with the Government of Rwanda in its effort to bring perpetrators to justice for acts of genocide committed over a decade ago, the situation should be closely monitored to prevent this policy from being used against political opponents. The situation remains quite delicate. If a Rwandan asylum seeker in Uganda is denied refugee status wholesale as a member of a group (without due regard to consideration of individual well-founded fears) and then extradited, Uganda is ostensibly violating the principle of non-refoulement. Although it is clear what drives the motivation of the Rwandan government to lobby for return of Rwandans as many Hutus have fled the country to escape prosecution through the gacaca process, such actions should be carried out without impinging upon the rights of refugees.
Well founded fears of persecution which are necessary to grant refugee status should continue to be determined on a case by case basis. The testimony of 80 Rwandans were deemed to incorporate such “well-founded fears.” However, 1100 were also just rejected for refugee status, with the government attributing the reason to be based on the insufficient generalized grievance of land quarrels by these applicants. Perhaps it might also be interesting to look at those statistics from a different angle: the acceptance and rejection rate of Tutsis versus those of the Hutus. As these developments play out, the treatment of Rwandan asylum seekers and refugees should be closely followed.
co-written by: Ahmad Jaradat
An Israeli SWAT team killed two Palestinians in a village near the West Bank city of Jenin on Tuesday. Israel claims the two were members of the Islamic Jihad, butWest Bank sources and local residents have said the men belonged tothe Al-Aksa Martyr Brigades. This killing was part of an ongoing Israeli operation to arrest and assassinate members of Islamic Jihad and Hamas, which has intensified this week. One of the conditions of the ceasefire agreement negotiated between Israeli and Palestinian officials in February was that Israel stops its offensive attacks against members of resistance groups. Islamic Jihad and Hamas have returned to violent resistance in recent weeks in what they say is a response to Israeli violations of that agreement. Israeli officials contend that inaction by the Palestinian Authority to rein in the groups leave them with no choice but to crackdown on the Palestinian militant groups themselves.
Despite great efforts by an Egyptian delegation to reconcile tensions between the Palestinian Authority and Hamas, the two returned to fighting Monday night in northern Gaza. The PA warned Hamas and Islamic Jihad that it will retaliate against any action that would hamper Israel’s plans to withdraw from Gaza, including suicide attacks and Kassam rockets. Monday night’s fighting began when Hamas gunmen returned from firing anti-tank missiles at Israeli forces stationed outside Gaza and Palestinian security forces came to arrest them. Tensions have always existed between Hamas and the PA, but hostilities between them turned into violence last Thursday. The fighting resulted in the deaths of two Palestinian bystanders and the wounding of dozens of both Hamas gunmen and PA security forces.
Beginning last Thursday, Israeli troops enacted closures at Gaza checkpoints, preventing many Palestinians from returning to their homes in Gaza or moving about their daily activities for hours. A 14-year-old Palestinian boy was killed by Israeli fire on Monday at the Gush Katif checkpoint in Gaza while he was trying to cross the checkpoint by foot. An Israeli army spokesperson insisted that Israeli soldiers fired ‘warning shots’ when cars and people began to move through the checkpoint.
The curfew in Tulkarm was lifted today, although Israeli officials have stated that the city will remain a closed military area. The return of the city to the hands of the Palestinian security forces remains unlikely.
Even in Prague and Bratislava (where I was visiting a friend this weekend), children were awake at the stroke of midnight on Saturday night awaiting the arrival of Harry Potter: book 6. I was a little amused to see the signs all over town proclaiming (in English) that “Harry Potter is here!” although I was happy not to have to wait to read the book until I got back to the States.
But the whole incident really led me to ponder the much discussed, often written about, issue of globalization. In the US, we tend to take globalization in our stride. Sure, there are more Thai restaurants that there used to be, but for most people, we’re so remarkably accustomed to the changes brought about by globalization that we don’t even think twice about it. However, as I was standing in the middle of Bratislava, on a gold seal stating the distance from that point to many other cities around the world, the extent of globalization really hit me. The world really is growing smaller by the day.
Living in Prague, you tend to forget that it was ever part of the communist system. It certainly looks like a Western European capital, with amazing architecture and a wealth of tourists filling designer shops. It’s common here to hear a plethora of foreign languages as you walk down the main streets, and you can speak English with almost anyone. In Bratislava, however, the evidence of communism is everywhere: from the Soviet-style ‘panelak’ apartment buildings that dominate the skyline, to the freeway that was carelessly built through the middle of the old city, dividing the castle from the ancient church where Hungarian monarchs were crowned for hundreds of years. There are few tourists, and not so many people speak English, or even German.
Beyond these superficial signs of global commercialism, however, are major changes. Slovak travel agencies post signs for vacations to Turkey and Croatia. The city is ringed by giant wind turbines providing clean energy instead of the dirty old communist system. Huge ships floating down the Danube in the middle of the city once again connect the country to Western Europe. International communication systems provide access to the rest of the world. And EU membership opens the doors of Slovakia to the wealth and resources of all of Europe.
Both the Czech Republic and Slovakia are now profoundly plugged in to the global marketplace. And despite all criticisms, I can’t help thinking that this is a good thing. National idiosyncrasies will probably never change: Czechs will always like beer, and Slovaks might always disappear to go hiking on the weekend; but the changes brought about by access to a global system seem on the whole to have broadened the opportunities and possibilities of both nations.
These profound changes must also affect Roma. Even though they started out vastly behind the rest of Europe’s populations, Roma, like many other minorities, now have the potential to use this new globalized world to draw attention to their cause. Dzeno is a perfect example of this. One of our major projects is gathering news about Roma from around the world using the Internet, and reposting it so that its easier to find and use. The internet allows us to spread knowledge about Roma around the world, and to access knowledge about how to better advocate for our cause. Roma organizations can work together more effectively with modern communications systems, and can work to truly develop a common message.
Globalization opens up possibilities: both for small countries, and for minorities. More jobs are available, more information, and more opportunities. International organizations like Dzeno can work to advocate for Roma children half the world away. International bus companies like Eurolines connect Roma families throughout the continent. Access to the Internet can empower anyone with a mouse to change the policies of governments. No offense to Harry Potter, but to me, that’s real magic.
COCAP holds a general assembly twice a year in order to meet with all member organizations and discuss upcoming plans, trainings and campaigns. During the two day assembly held in Butwal, 14 new member organizations were welcomed into COCAP, making their membership a total of 42 members found in all 5 regions of Nepal.
The focus of these organizations ranges from child rights, legal rights to women rights and land rights. They offer unique experiences and skills to the member group. During this particular General Assembly some introduction was required for new members, sharing of COCAP resources was addressed and the role of volunteers in COCAP was discussed.
One of COCAP’s greatest attributes is the Peace Resource Center they have created at the secretariat office in Anamnagar, Kathmandu. It has not been easy to secure books and resources due to COCAP’s budget constraint, but they are acquiring books on Nepal’s conflict, women’s rights and other human rights topics. They have a library program system set up to help locate which books are available and they have been monitoring the media in order to track the different human rights violations in Nepal. These include those performed due to the insurgency, discrimination against lower castes or women, children’s rights, disappearances and freedom of press.
The two biggest obstacles with the resource center is how to share the information with the rest of the organizations outside of KTM and how to continue to build the resources for members, students, researchers and volunteers to utilize. Discussions continue on ways to be sure that materials are shared and growth will be possible. Of course, COCAP is always welcomed to those who are able to donate free human rights reading and training materials to help their organizations.
Appreciate the Volunteer
What is amazing to note about COCAP and member organizations is the number of volunteers that participate in their programs. COCAP alone has a network of over 200 volunteers that work in the office, during street campaigns and conferences and discussions. COCAP prides itself on the volunteer involvement and offers volunteers a chance to sit in on board meetings and give input and feedback into COCAP programs and future projects.
Volunteers have offered their time in creating COCAP documentaries and photographs to document human rights violations. Volunteers come from all backgrounds, from business persons and students to professors and activists. They provide their skills and services free of cost.
During the five political parties Movement for Democracy in April 2004 volunteers formed a human rights violation monitoring committee. In order to conduct their observation they put themselves between the demonstrators, which numbered over 10,000 people and the “security personnel” who were dispatched to keep order on the streets. These individuals found themselves acting as observers, protectors to those being beaten by “security personnel”, transporters for those who needed to be taken to the hospital, reporters on the daily events and investigators into those who had been arrested and taken away. Some monitors even found themselves receiving beatings, though they offered no attack or retaliation to the “security personnel”.
These volunteers continue their work through student groups, writing articles, displaying photographs etc, but their voices have been silenced greatly since the February 1st coup. Even after the lifting of the State of Emergency on April 30, 2005, many human rights organizations, activists and volunteers are just starting to begin their public campaigning for peace and democracy, knowing full well that they will be subject to unjustified arrests, beatings and other forms of suppression by those currently in power. It is not easy for one’s voice to be heard in Nepal.
I came home from work a little early Thursday afternoon eagerly anticipating the wedding that I had been invited to that night. I had never even met the bride or the groom, but I was excited at the chance to attend the ceremony.
Things immediately erupted into chaos when I arrived home. The driver pulled up to my gate and I saw an armed UN guard sitting there. I had to reach around him to ring the bell. This was confusing as I had never seen him there, there are no UN employees in the house, and the issue of a guard was never brought up while I was around. So I asked a housemate when I got inside. She had been unaware of the guard, but was vehemently opposed to the idea. The two Afghan men who work in the house weren’t very keen on it either. Other housemates wanted the guard and I was indifferent. Eventually it was worked out that the guard would not sit directly in front of our gate, but closer to the neighbors. Apparently the idea of sharing a guard had been discussed between the neighbors some months before, but most of us were in the dark.
My indifference to the subject spurred some jokes from the Afghans who did not want the guard. They thought the guard made us sitting ducks. I thought there were pros and cons to the situation, so in the end I really didn’t mind either way. They had seen my reaction to cockroaches before and found it ironic that I run and scream at them, but the man at the gate with the AK47 didn’t cause me to blink an eye.
Once the excitement from the guard ceased, the excitement for the wedding emerged. I was lucky enough to be invited to go to the beauty parlor before the bride went to the actual wedding party. The bride gets all made up; they make their skin so pale it is lighter than mine. I think they used three bottles (literally) of hairspray on the bride, and she was wearing a mint green, frilly dress. The beauty parlor has one half devoted to scenery for picture taking. There were lots of fake flowers and an arbor. The groom came there to get the bride and take pictures. One of the many interesting things about Afghan weddings is that the bride has to look sad all night. She is not allowed to smile. She is supposed to be sad that she is leaving her family. The man, on the other hand, can be as happy as he wants.
We went straight from the beauty parlor to the wedding party. There was a bit of sensory overload in the room. It was really hot and there were hordes of people impatient to get a look at the bride. When the couple entered the room, guests who had been waiting for hours swarmed them. I was jostled to the back where my main mission was to remain on my feet.
Luckily I didn’t have to wait too long for the food since we arrived with the bride. I had been warned before that weddings are a lot of waiting around for the bride to arrive and then the food. It was really fortunate that we were able to bypass that part. Once the food did start coming, it came fast. The waiters were literally sprinting like it was 100-meter dash with trays of rice and meat. This was probably the most amusing part of the entire night. They were sweating profusely and panting. I was sitting poised with my camera, but they were too fast to capture.
Aside from sprinting waiters, I was not prepared for the insane mass of children either. I had only heard wedding experiences from men who remain in a separate room from the women and children. I am pretty sure there were about 5 children under the age of 8 for every adult.
The bride and groom typically spend most of the time in a separate room with the family during the wedding. They change their clothes several times throughout the night, though I don’t know why. I was able to go into the room for a few minutes to check it out. They put me to work and I felt really important with the integral part I played in the wedding (sort of). I got to mix the henna. I didn’t stick around long enough to see what they actually do with it though.
I did peek through a window to see into the men’s side for a minute. It was a lot calmer without the masses of children. The men were all dancing together without any women. An odd sight for a wedding. I kept waiting for the chicken dance, but to no avail. I left at 11:00, but apparently the wedding went on until 1:00 am. It was all very chaotic. People were staring at me unabashedly and I had an entourage of children as I made my exit.
07/17/2005 Bringing closure Scared to be preceived by the survivers as an intruder, I was strongly debating wether to attend the commemoration in Sebrenica on the 11th of July, or not. While my doubts where outweighted by the thought that my presence will show the survivors that what happened in Sebrenica will never be forgotten, I could not get around feeling out of place and intruding upon their most private feelings.
The speeches of the various „worldleaders“ seemed like a boring formality addressed to international news listeners rather than the audience here- the victims. While „never again“ was repeated like a well-ment mantra by all of them, it probably provided little comfort to the peole who were burrying their loved-ones. „Never again“ looses its meaning if no collective action is taken to hold the perpetrators of the Sebrenica massacre accountable for their murderous past. In the end actions speak louder than words.
The stories of the women here at Bosfam show me that while the war has changed their lives forever and forced them to struggle with the unimaginable on a daily basis, they did not forget how to make eachother laugh. However, one should not be fooled by the image of life simply going on because pain and laughter do coexist. Claiming responsibility for finding and trying the perpetrators is the only way that survivors of the massacre, including the women here at BOSFAM, will ever be able to make peace with a world, in which „never again“ had almost lost it’s meaning.
The organizations involved in HHRТs post-tsunami reconstruction project decided last week to expand the project to cover at least four more villages. I started this week to explore a 30 km stretch of the eastern coast in search of villages that fit HHRТs criteria. The experience so far has been as emotionally draining as it has been educational. Between the tsunami and the conflict, there is no shortage of people in need of help, and it is heartbreaking to try to eliminate villages that fall out of HHRТs mandate.
With so many people in desperate need, how does one decide how to spend restricted funds? Does one help the tsunami-displaced children who have to walk 5 km in oppressive heat and blazing sun just to go to school? Or the 30-family village that has no source of water other than a leaking, 40 gallon tank that is refilled once a fortnight? Or the 27 families crowded into nine 12Т x 12Т tents? Or the village where people make four dollars a week but seem far better off because they have houses?
And those are just the villages affected by the tsunami.
There is no question that tsunami victims deserve every ounce of international support they have received. But how does one turn oneТs back on the crumbling, decade-old refugee camps that make the tsunami camps appear luxurious? The women who give birth on the side of the road because they couldnТt walk the 12 km to the nearest hospital? Or the 60-year-old man who rides a bicycle for four hours everyday to sell beverages and cigarettes for profits of 80 cents a day?
How does one decide who is needy enough to deserve help?
The day began dreary and overcast, with thunder and occasional lightening in Tuzla. We were on our way to Srebrenica by 7am, along with thousands of others. There was police men stationed about every 50 to 75 meters the entire 100 kilometers from Tuzla to Srebrenica with heavy military and police presence at the crossing into the Republica Srpska. The roads were packed with buses and convoys, all making their way to the Srebrenica on the small two lane road. Outside of Brautnac the traffic came to a complete standstill as periodic convoys from NATO, Croatia and other dignitaries were escorted through the masses of cars and buses.
We finally arrived in the parking lot, very close to Potocari. The cars were being packed in like sardines. There was no hope of leaving anytime soon, as car after car was parked, blocking each other in. The sky was still overcast, but it was not raining- one thing to be thankful for on the somber day.
There were multiple entrances into the memorial, but we were directed to go to the farthest corner. As we approach, I notice the police separating the men and women, directing the men to walk through the metal detector, but allowing the women in without inspection. The act of separation by gender, although brief, I found very disconcerting in this area. My thoughts immediately went to 10 years ago when the Serbian police were then also separating the men and women in this exact area, but for an entirely different reason.
Once inside, we walk pass hundreds of recently dug graves, many with family members already camped around the site. The masses of people grow and grow as we make our way up to the hill to separate ourselves from the grieving families. I am amazed at the sea of people in this small town. I think about the day, 10 years ago, when all the families were crammed into this small area, not knowing the atrocities their future held. I imagine it was a similar amount of people then, although the fear must have been so thick in the air that day. Today, it is grief and sorrow that loom over the crowd. There are many people with T Shirts made for the day, and some women holding pictures of their lost loves ones.
Once the opening and speech ceremony is finished and the religious portion begins. Thousands of men make their way forward, and the women are behind them. There is a throng of men surrounded by women, all their heads covered in scarves. With fifty thousand people there, you could hear a pin drop when the Imam was calling for prayer.
Up to this point, I hadn’t yet felt the massive push of emotion I expected. However, once they began reading the names and passing the coffins, I quickly became overwhelmed. They read each name and the year of birth, immediately you noticed that entire families were being buried. One woman there was burying 8 first degree relatives- husband, brothers and sons. As I walked closer to the rows of men passing the coffins, I just stood still and watched them pass the coffins overhead towards the grave sites, one after the other on the arms of thousands of men. I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks, and finally felt the gravity of the situation. Six hundred men were being buried today- Boys as young as 12, old men in their sixties and seventies. They were murdered, in cold blood. The most daunting realization for me was this is not even 10% of the number of men killed in those few days. I can’t even fathom the current body count -8,106.
Last Friday morning we began a three day long march through the Bosnian countryside and wilderness to commemorate the ten year anniversary of the Srebrenica Massacre, and specifically the flight of thousands of people, mostly men and boys, through the woods and mountains.
Ten years ago, Bosnian Serb militias and the Serbian military conducted a systematic campaign of extermination of Bosnian Muslims in the part of Bosnia populated mainly by Serbs. The worst was in Srebrenica, a Muslim enclave. Despite being a UN protected ‘Safe Zone’, Serb forces ringed the area with mines, entered, and slaughtered 8000 civilians, mostly men and boys (the women having fled earlier on buses). Many thousands fled through the woods. Many of them were hunted down and killed as they fled. Those that survived did so by moving only at night, hiding during the day, eating whatever they found, and by being lucky.
This is the journey we made, in reverse, with several hundred people who had survived the original trek, or the young men – boys at the time – who had lost fathers, brothers, uncles, and grandfathers. Zakir, who teaches accounting through a Drina project, lost 22 members of his family, and came with us on the march. Elvis lost his cousins, another man his father.
We began in a village near Zvornik, near the border between the Bosnian Federation and Republika Serpska (the Bosnian/Croatian part of Bosnia and the Serb area, which retains the name of Republika Serpska from when it tried to separate from Bosnia). Zulfo Salihovic, director of Drina, stayed in the rear of the column because he was one of the last to leave Srebrenica in 1995. It took him forty two days to reach the safety of Bosnian controlled territory. We planned on making the journey in three.
We walked through dirt roads and many small villages on the first day. Bewildered families came out to watch. There were occasionally men, but mostly women and young people. Some older women wept. When we settled in a field for a break, one lone Grandmother busily plied as many people as she could with coffee she had made, as well as water and sandwiches provided by the Red Cross. When Zulfo fled in 1995, he ate snails, mushrooms, and nettles.
Friday afternoon we arrived at the basecamp for that night. The Bosnian Federal army had provided us with sleeping bags, large army tents, water and a hot dinner (which was basically everything that I’d brought in my heavy backpack). Despite this, it hadn’t been too taxing of a journey so far.
That night I met Ahmed Hrustovic, 19, and his cousin Kadrija, 25. Both of them had lost their fathers, uncles, and grandfathers in 1995. Ahmed, only 9 at the time, left early with his mother and sisters. Kadrija had managed to escape on a bus and survived only because his mother broke down in tears and pleaded with a Serb gunman to let her take him with her. Ahmed told me “he is like a brother to me, I am all he has left.”
Saturday we marched much longer than the day before, hiking up and around Mount Udric on narrow footpaths. Some people ran into relatives in the villages before the mountain. Zulfo met the grandfather of Almir, a young man who volunteers at Drina. Almir and his Grandfather had made the journey in 1995 in a relatively swift four days. The Grandfather was too old to make the trip this time, and Almir was stuck in exams.
Periodically we passed small plaques marking the spot where Serb militia men had caught fleeing Muslims and killed them, or shelled groups of them from a distance. Different plaques marked different spots and different numbers; one hundred, one hundred and fifty, two hundred people. A man through a megaphone explained each time what had happened. “Not even the Nazis, when they were here in Bosnia, succeeded in killing so many innocent people”.
Of course, when Almir, Zulfo, and the others made the trip, the only ones on a megaphone were the Serbs who were persuading them to come out from the woods, to trucks that were waiting. “You will be safe!” they promised. In at least one incident the trucks were painted with “U.N.” to give some more credibility. Another time, Zulfo recalled, a Bosnian called out to them to give themselves up. The Serbs had caught him and sliced his face above his eyes, around his nose, and on his tongue to force him to call his hidden compatriots. In some cases people followed the calls. They were never seen again.
One man lost his mind – from biological gases they say – and put a grenade in his mouth, injuring four other people around him.
We, on the other hand, were treated quite well. The climb over the mountain was awful – beautiful, but exhausting – but there were tents and food waiting for us at the second base camp in Konjevic Polje, and there we collapsed en masse. I was able to rest well enough for my blisters to heal over, and the third and longest day began early at 7:30am the next day.
It was wretched. It was the longest section of the march, over mercilessly steep hills and valleys that never seemed to end. We also passed through a very long minefield, parts of which were close enough to the gravel road we were on for that section that the sides of the road were roped off. My bones and muscles wailed with a constant pain that became so intense by the last few hours that I considered asking for the Red Cross to take me the rest of the way by car. Somehow I made it.
Just before arriving at the memorial at Potocari, we passed by a mass grave excavation site. It was horrid. Skulls, torsos, and rib cages with shreds of fabric still hanging from them emerged from the soil in the hillside pit. I wanted to vomit afterwards.
Finally, we arrived at the memorial site. That night, there was a torrential rain and our tents leaked and flooded. Me, Ahmed, Kadrija and some others took our sleeping bags and backpacks to the nearby ruins of an old battery factory where thousands of Muslims had been held before being killed.
The next day, fifty thousand people arrived in Potocari to mark the tenth anniversary of Srebrenica and bury 610 coffins of identified remains. The Bosnian Muslim member of the Bosnia and Hercegovina presidency (a three member rotating presidency) delivered speeches, along with the UK Foreign Minister, the U.S. ‘Ambassador for War Crimes at Large’, a representative of Kofi Annan. The Bosnian president minced no words in stating bluntly and directly that the U.N. forces had utterly failed to protect the victims in 1995. The leader of the Bosnian Islamic Community Mustafa Ceric delivered a moving Sermon in Arabic, Bosnian, and English in which he urged that the truth of what happened be remembered, but that revenge ‘is not the Bosnian way’ and prayed for the strength to forgive.
Last week, 35kg of explosives had been found at the memorial site. There was a heavy police presence. In the Serb town of Kravice, there was a memorial for fallen Serbs – Serb civilians had also been killed in the war though not in the same systematic campaign as had Bosnians. Normally the date of that event is in October, but it was moved to July 12 in protest. Kravice is also the site of mass graves of Bosnians.
The Serb president declined to attend this counter-event, and attended the Srebrenica commemoration along with the Croatian president. Croatia suffered similar massacres in 1991, though on a smaller scale, and there are mass graves in Croatia in Vukovar.
After the speeches, 610 green coffins with the remains of the newly identified victims sailed on a sea of hands as people passed them one after the other to the waiting graves. Some were followed the whole way by loved ones clinging onto the tail end of the coffin, walking them along. Finally, family members lowered them into the ground and covered them with dirt and shovels.
Hung on a hillside fence at the back of the memorial site was a banner, several hundred feet long, with all the victims so far identified listed on it. Ahmed called over to me and said “I want to show you something.” He scanned for the name he was looking for. Hrustanovic, Rifet. “Here,” he pointed. “This is my father.”
This past week has been a bit rough for me. Just when I thought that I was cured from the dreaded malaria parasite, I tested again and it was still lurking in the shadows. That in itself would have been manageable but this new round of anti-malaria drugs are wreaking havoc on my body. This is all very frustrating. And a bit scary as well. I keep telling myself that I did not cross the Atlantic Ocean to come here and be confined to a dingy hospital room. However, “best laid plans” and all…
Anyways, I still have a few days to recover until WOCON is ready to launch its latest campaign in Eboyi, Ogun and Lagos States. The slogan is: “Trafficking is modern slavery… take a step to stamp it out!”. From what I gather, the strategy will be according to their tried and tested public outreach formula: First, the major stakeholders in the target community (local chiefs, teachers, students, women and men) will be brought together for a round table discussion on trafficking. Questions will be raised and concerns will be brought out in the open.
In past campaigns, WOCON has also asked community members to identify what they feel are the causes of child and women trafficking in their area. It seems that most of the time, the main reason is poverty or lack of access to educational opportunities, especially for women because of their low social status. As a result, WOCON has been actively involved in filling petitions on behalf of the community to local government authorities for more schools to be built and loans to be given for the creation of income generating projects. I would love to see for myself and report back what they are able to accomplish in those places. I have to get well soon!!!
The past two weeks were quite busy and hectic at Tampep’s office. Last week for example, two out of the three computers connected to the Internet declined to cooperate with us leaving half of the office with little work to do, or rather little possibility to do any work. Unfortunately, it took more than 3 days to get the computers fixed and so in the meantime, our work was seriously impeded. In the meantime, I participated in more than three Unita di Strada and have become quite acquainted with the street work- talking to the girls has become much easier now that I feel no longer ashamed to talk to them.
The shame comes from my position of privilege – I was not born the in the third world country, in a huge, oftentimes polygamic family, where women have much lower social status, are mostly dependent on men, and have little access to education. Even though my home country, Poland, experienced communism and the following economic and social chaos – and trafficking was (and still is) a real social issue, the extent of the problem does not seem to be as big as in Nigeria.
All of the twenty, thirty women I met over the past two weeks were Nigerian – beautiful, gorgeous women that did not have as many opportunities in their lives as I did. Some are my age, younger, older – and as a woman I can truly sympathize with them. However, I cannot truly imagine their lives, nor their past, present, or the future. I still hope for the best for them, knowing at the same time that the wonderful work that Tampep does on the street help individuals, on micro-level and does not solve the source of the problem of trafficking- poverty, lack of opportunities, and gender inequality.
This brings me to wonder about the larger projects that Tampep undertakes – as a leader, a partner, or in network with other organizations and their importance. As other small NGOs, Tampep lives from a project to a project. Besides their ANTARES program (the Unita di Strada in connection with the reception and assistance to the victims of trafficking that denounced their traffickers), which is undertaken in cooperation with local authorities and has quite a stable funding, other projects mostly come up when there is an appropriate funding to apply for. However, Tampep does not have a fundraising office, not even a staff member, who specifically takes care of fundraising. This leaves the projects to be mainly determined by the available European Union funds and Tampep has been quite successful in securing some of these grants, as in case of ALNIMA.
Two weeks ago, we also started to work on another EU Commission project, INTI, that aims at establishing transnational EU networks of NGOs exchanging best practices and experiences in the field of immigration of third country nationals. Tampep’s work experience does not really lie in this area, although Tampep has worked for years on integration of migrant sex workers and victims of trafficking into the Italian society and Italian labor market through their ANTARES program. The objective of the INTI project would be therefore to exchange practices on legal assistance to the migrants, expanding therefore Tampep’s expertise in this field.
It is quite interesting to be working on the issue of integration, especially in the country where the external immigration is such a new phenomenon that integration is not always considered necessary – after all, are these migrants here to stay? In case of France of Germany, this is what happened – the guest workers of the fifties and sixties settled down, brought their families, and oftentimes created their parallel society within their host country. For country such as Italy, which until early eighties has mostly experienced only internal migration from South to North, the external migration is still something that is thought about in terms of securing their borders, turning away the boats full of hopeful illegal migrants that are coming from the across the Adriatic or Mediterranean Sea and not integration.
This translates into no official integration policy on the macro-level. On the micro-level, there are offices like Tampep, where the staff is culturally and linguistically diverse. But there are few places like that in Turin; migrants are not integrated economically and tend to do the menial jobs in factories, even with university degrees from their home countries. On the other hand, cities as culturally vibrant as Turin, attempt to bring closer the enormous diversity that the migrants bring with themselves. In the past three weeks that I have lived here, I participated in many street festivals; oftentimes these take place in areas, where many migrants live trying to reinvigorate the area and make it more attractive for the Italians to visit. Some attempted to show the diversity and entrepreneurship of the migrant community by displaying the commodities they sell in their local shops and organizing food sampling, etc. These are first steps and, it seems to me that these are activities worth continuing for the sake of the common future of all Italians.
As per my modus operandi, I somewhat spontaneously decided to head up to Gulu for the weekend as I have felt slightly removed from the reports which filter through Kampala. Buses to the north only run during day light hours due to the potential for attack. However, the security threats on the road from Kampala to Gulu town have been significantly reduced over the past two years. The cease-fire has resulted in relatively few incidents, with the majority occurring in the regions of Lira, Kitgum and Pader. The man (a professor who visits Gulu to teach on occasion) sitting beside me on the four hour bus journey volunteered his opinions about the security situation on the roads and in the town itself (all echoing the reports and news).
Arriving in the early evening, I quickly dropped my things at the hotel to go for a walk in the town. Ironically enough, I felt safer then than I did moving around certain parts of Kampala by myself at night. But actually given the small town feel of Gulu (wall to wall NGOs), this was not surprising. As I was consistently warmly greeted by the locals who passed me in the street, I felt the hard layer which had built up around me while living in the urban center of Kampala melt away. Repeatedly I had to remind myself of where I was (in a conflict zone) because I found the relaxed atmosphere and friendly smiles to be disarming. I don’t think I have smiled so much thus far during my time in Uganda, how strange given the gravity of the circumstances. But the people of Gulu town seemingly do not question the feeling of security (in contrast to the areas outside). Whether justified or not, the bubble exists. Even the laughter emanating from the children I saw walking to the night commuter centers belied the enormity of the fundamental change in their lifestyle.
The next morning on the advice of an aid worker I met that first night I attempted to go out to an IDP camp. With some luck, I found myself hitching a ride with an armed convoy for food distribution through the World Food Program. With 120 soldiers and 80 or so volunteers, the daunting procession drove out for hours on muddy (very muddy) roads (stopping and slowing down periodically for the even the most minor difficulty by any one of the vehicles). The workers in the vehicle would periodically point out important landmarks as we drove past including the former home of the LRA leader Kony. Hours later we descended upon the site, and I greedily snapped pictures of the process of unloading, coupon allocation and food distribution as it unfolded. In general, I was quite impressed at the efficiency and organization. I hope the pictures I have captured do it justice. I had some incredible interactions with the children I encountered, many of whom were initially frightened by my unusual appearance. I will refrain from describing the conditions of the IDP camp itself as I believe the pictures speak volumes. By the time we returned to Gulu town late that evening, my attachment to this country had significantly increased, and my energy for the work of RLP was once again invigorated.
Driving around Kabul, I’m struck by the number of beauty parlors and internet cafes that are mushrooming around the city. In every corner you can find an “arayeshga” (beauty parlor) or internet cafй. These new fixtures of Afghan society are big business and a testament to the changing face of Afghanistan after the restrictive reign of the Taliban. They also reflect interesting trends in women’s development and entrepreunership.
The beauty business is huge in Afghanistan. Most women will go to a beauty parlor to get their hair and face done for weddings. This is long and arduous affair that takes the whole day and costs the equivalent of $200. It also involves an array of makeup and massive amounts of hairspray. A beautiful bride is one whose hair doesn’t move an inch and whose face is as white as chalk (Afghans would poetically say the moon). Most brides are also accompanied by sisters, cousins, aunts and friends. All of them will also get made up and the parlor will charge $6-10 for each one of them. Interestingly enough, the groom will pay for all of this. In Afghanistan, a groom’s family usually pays to get a bride.
From one wedding party, a parlor can easily make about $500. If the parlor is well-known it can easily get three to five wedding parties in a week. That’s $1500 to $2500 a week and $6000 to $10,000 a month. Even if you subtract overhead and supplies, one can still earn a pretty living. It’s not surprising then that most women are drawn to the business. It’s better than the alternative of sewing, the only other business opportunity that seems to be open to women.
Internet cafes are also good business. Many young Afghans, men and women, who lived as refugees in Pakistan and Iran had access to computer and internet technology which was easily accessible and cost-effective. They brought this interest with them to Afghanistan and have contributed to the rise of the internet business in Afghanistan. However, I have yet to see a cafй that is owned by a woman. Females will frequent the cafes and are interested in furthering their computer knowledge, but I rarely see one managing a net cafe. I think this is an opportunity that is being overlooked by the international community. Beyond the sewing, baking or poultry co-ops that have been started by many NGOs, I think it would be great to have some internet cafes that are owned by a women’s co-op.
Internet porn, which is as prevalent in Afghanistan as elsewhere, and the male-dominated spaces of the internet cafй often make it restrictive for women to frequent the cafes as often as they would like. By opening some cafes that restrict internet porn and create a more user-friendly space for women, a need could be met and additional business opportunities created for women beyond the avenues traditionally open to them.
Before coming to Afghanistan, I figured everyone must have an amazing story to tell. They have lived through so much repression and conflict, how do they do it?
When I started working at AWN, all of the women I met at the office seemed normal. What was I expecting? I don’t know. I do know that these women don’t represent the majority of women in Afghanistan. Somehow these women were able to rise above everything, get an education, get a job outside the home, and smile and crack jokes regularly.
Still, as normal as they seemed, I knew they must have a story. How could they not? I couldn’t come out and ask. I knew that wouldn’t be polite. So today when one of my friends at work started talking a little about her life, I was fully engaged in the conversation and asked a lot of questions. She showed me scars on her arms and legs from shrapnel that had hit her and talked about all of the blood she had seen and felt. She talked about how there wasn’t any food during the fighting and it was very difficult for her family. She told me that her family left for Pakistan when the Taliban had come to her house, beaten her father and brother, and stole everything with any value. When they returned from Pakistan, there was nothing left of their house. The conversation dissolved into tears.
The topic of the burqa was brought up as well. I asked why women still wear them when they don’t have to. She told me that it is partly out of habit, and partly out of fear. Fear? I wondered. The fear of having acid thrown on their faces if they are uncovered. Even my colleague is afraid of going to the market because she doesn’t wear the entire burqa, though she still adheres to Muslim dress.
Another woman I work with is married with an adorable baby. At lunch she was curious about my age, so after I told her, I returned the question. She said she didn’t know. She said it with a smile so I thought maybe she didn’t want to say. That is typical in America at least. But then she told me that she really didn’t know. She was the fifth daughter in her family and her family was so upset she was a girl that they didn’t write down her birthday.
I know that the stories are everywhere, but I am still in disbelief that I am so close to them. My immediate reaction was: how can I help? What can I do? Then I realized I am here, in Kabul, doing what I can already. I am working at an organization devoted to creating change and a better life for women in Afghanistan. Is there more at this moment that I can do?
There is nothing like the eye-opening story of someone who has really suffered to put your life in perspective. Sure, I have been hungry, but I have never really felt hunger. In times of teen angst I felt unloved, but my parents were never even close to being disappointed that I was born. I have been afraid in certain areas alone at night, but I have never feared for my life in a crowded marketplace.
Afghan women are strong; there is no doubt about that. When it seems like they are submissive, you just have to remember everything they have done to be where they are today. They are amazing people.
This week, after a week spent searching for a translator and waiting for higher level decisions about the tsunami project, I began to visit a few more of HHRбпs current beneficiaries. Each of them has been through turmoil beyond my comprehension, but one story in particular was almost too heartbreaking to tolerate.
This HHR beneficiary was a slight man, probably in his mid-thirties. He lost his wife, his daughter, his home, and all his possessions in the tsunami. He now lives with his remaining daughter in a temporary house smaller than my storage space in Washington. He looked tired; not the way one looks after a hard dayбпs work, but the way one would look anticipating the hard days ahead. He managed to smile every now and then, but the obvious effort behind the smile made him look even more tired.
His exhaustion disappeared for a moment when he introduced me to his three-year-old daughter. She was clearly the focus of his life now. He placed all the cash compensation he received since the tsunami into a savings account for her education. He did not use any of it for his livelihood. To make ends meet, he washes clothes on the weekends and builds other peopleбпs houses during the week.
He had one, determined reply to all my questions about his future. б░Somehow we will manage,б▒ he repeated, wrapping his arms around his daughter. He did not know how or when he would be able to find a permanent house, replace his belongings, or overcome the trauma of his losses. All he knew was that he would continue building houses and washing clothes until he did.
Despite his belief in himself, one canбпt help but wonder what will become of this man. How much longer would he have to live in his tiny temporary house? How would his ordeal affect his relationship with his daughter? Would he survive if anything were to happen to her in the conflict areas and the minefields that litter Sri Lankaбпs east coast? Will they ever manage to find security and stability or will the Sri Lankan civil war resume and open a new chapter of turmoil in their lives?
I doubt I will ever be able to answer these questions. All I can do for now, I suppose, is wish him my best and hope and pray that his determination will prevail over his exhaustion.
July 11 will mark the 10 year anniversary of the Srebrenica massacre. As one part of the commemoration services, several thousand people will retrace in reverse the steps they took in 1995 when they fled murderous ‘Chetnik’ Serb militias. Others, like myself, will join them in their march. It is expected to take three days and end at Potocari, the memorial site where several hundred newly discovered bodies will be interred.
The original exodus was from Srebrenica, a Bosnian muslim enclave in predominantly Bosnian serb territory, to Zvornik, a border town on the frontier between the Serb held territory and Bosnian territory during the war. They travelled only at night, keeping away from the roads, traversing the heavily mined forests instead.
There is still a great amount of anxiety. Billboards in Belgrade commemorating the 10 year anniversary were vandalized with cyrillic graffiti that read ‘we’re gonna watch the rerun’ or ‘Radovan Karadžiè'(one of the original perpetrators). 35kg of explosives were found yesterday at the site of the morial, and two men were arrested.
It will be an interesting journey.
Things are looking up here in Kabul. I had a wonderful weekend and I am getting adjusted to life in this city. I really have been enjoying my time here a lot more than I thought I would.
I actually got a two-day weekend and it was fabulous. My Afghan housemate, Ramin, took me on a tour of the city and I finally felt like I was really living here. We saw the bird market, which is a tiny, crowded section of the outdoor market where vendors sell birds, birdcages, and many other things that I don’t necessarily understand. I was a little apprehensive to take pictures, but Ramin took the camera and started shooting away. It turned out that people loved having their pictures taken. As soon as you would direct the camera their way, they would pose and smile. They really enjoy the digital camera display so they can see the photo right after it is taken.
He also took me up on a hill where you can see a view of the entire city. Having lived in New York for the past year, the view was somewhat… unspectacular. But it was interesting nonetheless. On this hill there were remnants of past days left behind—rusting tanks and a swimming pool with no water. We didn’t stay on the hill long. It was a very windy day and the dust in the air was unbearable.
After stopping for a fresh mango smoothie (though I doubt they call them that) and homemade ice cream, the tour included a short drive out of the city where I was shocked at the condition of the roads. I asked several times if what were on was really a road, but he assured me it was. I don’t know how they keep up with the maintenance on the cars with roads like that. We finished the day at the cultural center in Kabul where there was traditional music and dancing. It was a fun and interesting day.
The rest of the weekend was really nice. I spent a lot of time unintentionally escaping my situation. I lounged around in bed and watched DVDs on my computer until it really didn’t feel like I had left America at all. I was brought back to reality when I couldn’t hear the movie due to the jets flying overhead. I was again reminded when I had to kill a cockroach in my room that night. Yes, I am in Kabul.
Before coming to Kabul, I had read that the majority of the women here still wear the blue, conservative burqa. For a few days I figured that was wrong because you just don’t see them all over the place. Then it hit me; you don’t see women all over the place. It is truly a man’s society. A walk through the park on a Friday afternoon (their weekend) and you may only see one or two women on the busy sidewalks. After some observation, I realized that of the women you do actually see, most of them are indeed wearing the burqa. I even got a picture of a burqa-clad woman on the back of a motorbike yesterday.
Things are slowly progressing with my work at AWN. I am still writing reports and proofreading, but somehow I feel more involved. I have been working on the Web Portal Proposal that I started while I was Peshawar and I hope to have revisions completed soon. I also have invested a lot of time in the gender-based violence report and the office manager seems impressed by what I have done so far. Hopefully soon that will be finished and they can move me on to bigger and better things.
Last week was a bit of a reality shock for me. I’ve been pretty optimistic about my work working on girl’s education and of development in Afghanistan in general so far. However, last week I learnt that perhaps I’ve been complacent because of working with Sadiqa and being surrounded by the women of Noor Educational Center who are not only strong in their convictions and beliefs but in adhering to a strict code of what’s right and wrong. Then reality struck and corruption reared its ugly head, bringing to the fore a question that I’ve been trying to come to terms with for a while. How do you deal with corruption in development work? How do you build a long-term sustainable model of development and reconstruction tied to transparency and rule of law in countries where average government and even private salaries seem to necessitate an additional stream of income, most commonly obtained through bribes.
The question is even more problematic in Afghanistan, undergoing large-scale reconstruction, and where the influx of foreign money has raised prices by 1000 times. Consider this: the average government salary is about $600/month but the average rent for an apartment in a not so great neighborhood of Afghanistan is about the same. How then do you feed your family, pay for additional necessities and live a life of dignity? This is if you’re lucky enough to find a place to live in Kabul. The city has become so crowded that even illegal construction in the surrounding mountains is not enough to house all the inhabitants.
So do you give in and pay the bribe, chalking it up under another category of development assistance. Sadiqa and Jamila jan are vehemently opposed to it. They’ve both lost grants because they refused to pay bribes to Afghan contractors hired by large private and foreign government agencies. According to them, the bribes have ranged from 5% up to 10% of total funds. However, the refusal to pay the bribe is not such a simple matter either and doesn’t end with a refusal to pay money. The contractor can malign the NGO to outside agencies unfamiliar with local NGOs and dependent on the contractor for local information. Compounded with the rumor mill that constitutes the informal business and development network in Afghanistan and serves as the basis for many decisions and deals, this can be the death knoll for a small, local NGO.
I appreciate Sadiqa and Jamila’s faith that things will work themselves out and the loss of one grant will be replaced by another, but I can’t help but wonder if karma/fate/call it what you will really works out that neatly on the larger scale.
Sometime in the 15th Century, King Zikmund of Bohemia expelled all the Roma from his kingdom. This wasn’t terribly unusual at the time: colorful, fun-loving and constantly on the move, Gypsies weren’t exactly welcome in the Christian communities of Europe. In this case, the exiled Bohemian Roma ended up in France where they were nicknamed “les bohemiens.” The term was recycled by author W.M Thackery in the early 19th Century to mean writers, artists and other disaffected persons who wished to pursue a non-traditional lifestyle; since then bohemian has been absorbed into our language, our history, and our wardrobes. Although the gypsy roots are still visible in the word, we tend to forget (if we ever knew) that behind the whole concept was an exodus, and a lifetime of suffering and isolation.
However, Roma people are still unwanted. Not because they aren’t Christian enough, but simply because they are Roma; darker and more restless than the majority peoples of Europe. I am now deep into researching this report on evictions for Dzeno, and am appalled by the sheer scope of the problem. Roma are facing evictions in EVERY country in Europe. Even Denmark. DENMARK!!! Isn’t Denmark one of the most human rights respecting countries on earth?!? Yet today I got a report from an NGO in Denmark (yes…it was in response to the questionnaire..yay!) which detailed at great length the prejudice and discrimination faced by Roma people in Denmark. The NGO recounted several cases that they have worked with: an old woman wrongly evicted because of a dispute with the heating company, a young mother and child refused housing because of their race, a family evicted because their four year old son peed on the lawn, the stories go on and on. The reports were heartbreaking, especially as it focused on the expertise of the Danish authorities in using legal means to discriminate. All for nothing. As the report states: Denmark is so rich – there is no need to discriminate against Roma – there is no economically justifiable need to discriminate at all, but if you investigate the labour market, you will find discrimination everywhere�
In Romania, 80 people were evicted from a slum in the center of Miercurea Ciuc. In this case the city actually did provide the victims with alternative housing: eight huts surrounded by a high wire fence in a contaminated area of the city long polluted by a waste treatment dump. The entire community is now living with one water tap, and no sewage system. Garbage is only hauled away once a month.
In the United Kingdom (another supposed human rights champion), over 500 Roma families (with 150 children) are awaiting eviction from land that they already own in a city called Dale Farm. The District Council is paying 3 million euros to a private security company specializing in Gypsy evictions to bulldoze the entire settlement. This is all legal because the Roma community doesn’t have a planning permit for the site. Why don’t they have a planning permit? Official statistics state that 90% of all planning permission applications are initially rejected. Is it any wonder that so many Roma in the UK are living without permits?
We’ve received reports this week of similar incidents in Spain, in Greece, in Belgium, in Albania, in Russia. And of course, several in the Czech Republic. No country is immune.
The whole thing is shocking to me. The problem seems so immense, and somehow, so out of place. This isn’t the 15th century anymore. We are more tolerant, more enlightened, right? Isn’t Europe supposed to respect human rights? Don’t they have laws against this? How can this be happening?
Of course I knew when I came here that the human rights of Roma weren’t being respected. But the sheer magnitude of the problem blows me away. How can this problem be so big, and yet so unknown? The whole thing makes me realize how important it is to get information out there about these situations. The more this is talked about, the more pressure there will be to solve it. Then maybe 500 years from now, we won’t be repeating the same mistakes.
Time has definitely gone faster than I expected, I can’t believe I have been here already a month. Things have been moving much slower with Beba in the US. I hope the trip proves fruitful for both Beba and AP. I have been investigating leads for possible selling venues and possible funding grants, but coming up with a lot of dead ends. Funding for the Balkan areas is being further and further reduced as other, more recent areas also need humanitarian aide.
The 10th anniversary of the fall of Srebrenica has provided some additional media coverage for the country. Yesterday, the BBC came by the BOSFAM office to film some of the women weaving and talk to one of the women whose son is still missing and has not yet been identified. With the recent release of the execution video and the approaching anniversary, many of the women are very anxious and the emotions are very raw.
Most of the women did not want to talk to the BBC at all. I am sure many of them feel like they are on an emotional merry-go-round. Media interest has ebbed and flowed here over the years, and the women have told and retold their stories to reporter after reporter. They tell of their missing sons, husbands, and brothers. They relive the moment they were separated from them in Potocari or when they said good by as they men headed to the woods to try to make it to Tuzla. They tell of their hope for their loved ones to arrive in Tuzla, and how that hope has waned over the years and for many the hope has hardened into acceptance of their loss.
They tell their stories, at first with anticipation of changing things, of reuniting their families. But, after 10 years, they wonder why they even talk about it to these reporters, these strangers, any more. Thousands of men are still missing, thousands more identified and buried. The country is still divided in many areas. Refugees still live in collection centers and refugee villages, unable to return home. What has this emotional baring of their lives and losses to the cameras gotten them? Nothing.
When the BBC contacted us I first thought what a great opportunity this would be. The women could tell their stories, share with the world, and help prevent this from happening again. After talking to the women and seeing their reluctance I am more inclined to agree with them. The media interest just reopens wounds that are slowly healing. Why should they tear themselves apart again and again for the benefit of the Western public to gawk? Genocide is still happening, look to the Sudan, to Rwanda. From their perspective, opening their lives to these strangers with cameras just makes it more difficult for them to sleep at night. Nothing is gained, and any progress in healing is lost.
I think any media interest must focus on the healing of these women and the country, not the rehashing of the painful past. They should focus on the 40% unemployment rate in this country, the lack of school books for kids, and the strength and determination of these women to overcome these circumstances and continue living their lives, caring for their families. I think their individual stories are important and should not be lost, but making them retell them on camera for the public I am now against.
My past two weekks in Bosnia have been consumed by two things: everyone frantically trying to complete Drina’s compilation of project proposals to the dutch organization Cordaid which will cover Drinas budget for the next two years, and the very lengthy process of sorting out the missing and the dead from the 1995 massacre whose commemoration will be coming up on the 11th of July.
Drina depends on funding from two sources. The primary source is Cordaid. The Dutch have been particularly active and supportive in Bosnia in terms of funding, this may be because of long-standing accusations that Dutch peacekeepers permitted the atrocities to happen and did not fulfill their duty to protect the disarmed inhabitants of Srebrenica from Serb attacks. In any case, the Dutch organization Cordaid is Drinas primary donor. Recently, CARE international has also begun funding smaller scale projects.
According to research done on the NGO sector in the past few years, this is a critical weakness of Bosnian NGOs: narrowness of funding sources, and implicitly a lack of funding from the community. This lack of funding is due in part to poverty. Srebrenica hasnt been able to cover more than half of its own budget in ten years (the remainder is handed down from the federal government). In addition, local governments are reticient in paying NGOs to perform services for them. This is tied to another weakness in the NGO sector, which Ill address further below, its reluctance to work closely with government to accomplish goals. I have brought this up on several occasions and to several people inside my organization and outside, and the response I receive is uniform: the government is either too corrupt or too ineffectual to be relied upon or to spend valuable energy meddling with.
Back to the specific projects for which Drina is applying to Cordaid for funding, the main projects included in the final proposal covered mine risk education (over 4% of Bosnias surface area is still mined), capacity building for NGOs in Srebrenica, youth services like computer lessons or drug prevention campaigns, and economic development campaigns that include entrepreneurial training, trade linkage promotion, and publishing of business guides that list all the businesses and project proposals (to serve as examples) in a municipality.
So we spent many hours putting these proposals together.
The second task, assigned specifically to me, was to compare two published lists of dead or missing persons from the general area of Srebrenica. One list contained 12,000 first names, last names, fathers names, dates of birth, ID numbers, and places of death and was published by an official government commission. The other list contained 8,000 names and similar information and was compiled by independent investigators. My task was to find which names on the list of 8,000 were not on the list of 12,000. Thus I had to meticulously go through over 20,000 names in total. I found about 900 names that were on the shorter list but not on the longer one. I also kept track of names that were repeated, and noted the most certain repeats in a separate list (about 130 names). This took several days.
This week we are all working together to put an economic guide together for the Municipality of Bratunac. This will include a list of all the businesses, governmental offices, and methods for writing project proposals to international donors and the municipality. This is a service that one would think the municipality should perform itself if not contribute funding to. But the problem of poverty quickly brings into focus the implausibility of that option, for now.
As I mentioned earlier, the government of Bosnia has a number of problems. One, which I will save for a later blog, is the nationalist character of the parties that came to power in the last election. There are two more fundamental problems however. Corruption and a painfully inefficient structure.
The police departments have been singled out as especially corrupt, and I have heard complaints of corruption in the university admissions system from virtually every single student (or hopeful student) I have spoken with, and I have spoken to many. “You need to know someone, or you need to have money to pay someone” explained my coworker Dina. This has been echoed countless times in other conversations with other students. It seemed to be born out as well when a family from Srebrenica arrived at the office of our director to beseach him to try to do whatever he could to help their daughter get into a university in Tuzla. Another friend of mine, Jasmin, put a specific number on the bribes one must pay to get certain high paying jobs: anywhere from 500 to 2000KM (350 to 1300$) a phenomenal sum where the median salary (for those in the formal sector, as opposed to the informal sector which employs up to 40% of young people according to USAID) is around 400$ a month.
A friend of mine who works as a European Union political monitor in this region, and who travels every day to various municipalities to find information on political developments, believes that corruption at the municipal level is vast and tightly aligned with corruption of police departments. Mayors and municipal officials depend on local police to support them and comprise a patronage web from which they benefit. This has led to a very slow process of anti-corruption reform.
Closely tied to the issue of police reform is the second major problem in Bosnian politics, the political structure itself. After the Dayton Accords put an end to the war, they left in place a compromise structure that was designed only to end the violence, and not to underpin the entire functioning of a government. As a result, there are two virtually autonomous regions in Bosnia, Republika Srpska and the Federation of Bosnia and Hercegovina. Each has different parliaments, different police forces, and until recently its own de facto army (even now some recruits refuse to pledge their allegiance to Bosnia as a whole and instead pledge allegiance only to Republika Srpska). the RS doesnt want to give up this autonomy and is blocking standardization of the police forces. As a result, the region is likely to face sanctions by the EU who has put as conditions for entry a standardized national (and less corrupt) police force.
At the national level, there are three different presidents who rotate every eight months, as well as a host of conflicting layers of bureaucracy and legislative bodies. It is a miracle that anything is acccomplished at all.
These issues go some way in explaining the difficulty the NGO sector in Bosnia has had in working with government.
Life is sweet in Italy- but not for everybody. Last week I participated for the first time in Unita di Strada- TAMPEP’s mobile units of social workers and volunteers who go out on the street to talk to sex workers that they meet about HIV and STD prevention. These units are usually mixed- they include the so-called cultural mediators- people who are usually natives of different countries trained in social work. This means that the unit can reach out to migrant sex workers from all over the world since the cultural mediator can communicate with the sex workers beyond the barriers of language and culture.
As I was reading the blogs of other interns, I found myself thinking about the life I am leading here in Italy – no possibility of getting shot down when taking an airplane, no encounters with tsunami victims or family members who lost their relative in the political unrest. But last week took me out of this comfort zone- it is here in the middle of Turin that I am meeting victims of a horrific practice – human trafficking. Whereas trafficked for prostitution or slave labor, these people, mostly women and children, suffer enormously while being smuggled through the borders and later forced into slave-like form of labor and living conditions. Hard to believe but this is happening all around the world, just under our eyes. Most of the times, however, we prefer not to be aware of this problem. In the heart of the civilized world- the center of Washington, D.C. or Turin, human trafficking and slavery continues in the 21st century.
Thus, last Wedensday, I was faced with real life in this naked, brutal form. I, living in the comfortable zone of security, don’t realize what it means to live on the street. However, faced with two young girls working on the streets, I had to face my own fears.
It was heartbreaking, to see little tiny Jessica (the name has been changed), only around 17 and already a prostitute forced by her Nigerian madame to go out and sell her body. In a way, she made her first step. Unita di Strada approached her on Tuesday night and talked to her about her health condition – she has an infection – and tried to convince her to come with them to the hospital. Federica, our social worker, was extremely happy to hear that Jessica actually made it to Porta Nuova (Torino’s train station) and met with Diana, our Nigerian cultural mediator, who took her to the hospital that specializes in sexually transmitted diseases.
TAMPEP must have an established relationship with Padiglione Denis Piano Terra, because we were admitted without an appointment – Jessica’s case was grave though. The ambulatorio itself, has a special program for migrants, working with the local university: they have their own cultural mediators and are willing to work with the migrant population. All of this for free- as Federica described it as a part of “public service”.
TAMPEP wants Jessica to get away from her traffickers. As a minor, she fully qualifies for the program under Article 18 (the Italian law assisting victims of trafficking who decide to denounce their traffickers) – she wouldn’t even have to denounce them. But who knows, she was really nervous in the hospital, clinging to Diana as her Nigerian sister. Maybe she will change her mind, come for another doctor’s visit and get away. I cannot fully comprehend what must be going on in her mind- she’s only seventeen….
On our way back from the village where Tina now lives, we saw another girl from Albania, who already met TAMPEP’s crew. She was young and really pretty. TAMPEP’s crew was trying to convince her to get a free health check-up; and handed out the usual pack of condoms and leaflets with important information.
I asked a lot of questions – it’s different to read and discuss the cases of trafficking and this phenomenon in theory; today I was facing two victims of trafficking, face to face. Jessica’s story is particularly interesting as it shows the sophisticated ways that traffickers use to make their business successful and profitable. Jessica is in Italy legally – or so it seems. She has some fake papers of another girl from Sierra Leone, who received her first residence permit as an asylum seeker.
This means that she will have to go and renew it in couple of months but she will only get it if a council in Rome that approves of asylum cases screens her story and approves it. As Jessica, a Nigerian, would not probably be able to convince them about the validity of her case she would be turned away and given a notice of expulsion. However, this could take up till two years; and in the meantime, the traffickers can successfully and legally keep Jessica in Italy. After this period, she will pay off her debt and can go away freely but as a clandestino (an illegal migrant). But why would her traffickers care about it anymore?
Stories of trafficked victims are oftentimes very similar- they follow very similar patterns of recruiting, smuggling, etc. But behind these cases are real people, who suffer everyday. Let’s not forget about them…
You have been pushed out of your village because of incidents of armed violence. You have already lost members of your family in the war. You take your children to a loosely set up camp for the internally displaced, uncertain as to when you will be able to return. Your children follow wordlessly as they have witnessed much violence but are still reluctant to leave behind their studies. The conditions at the camp are dire with drastically little (or no) access to health care, education, food and clean water.
People line up for hours to draw water from the well. You find yourself seeing the size of the camp double without any improvement in conditions. In addition to the cramped conditions, the population lacks any means to ensure their own livelihood lending to attitudes of despondency and idleness. The camps themselves lack security (there are ccasional incidences of attack), but with safety in numbers, you feel that staying in such horrid conditions is the only viable option. One evening, you are attacked by men dressed as soldiers (unclear as to their official status as rebels wear the same uniforms) while gathering firewood in a remote part of the camp with your not-quite teenage daughter. Although you beg for them to spare her, they catch her and rape her first in front of you. And then you are raped in turn by the men.
Even though you would have been able to get justice in your village for such abhorrent acts, you do not report the incident because you know such stories are not uncommon. No matter who the perpetrator is you know that reporting the act will only draw unwanted attention on yourself and your family, potentially resulting in reduced security in addition to shame. There is no mechanism for justice in this setting, a virtual no man’s land for protection. Without adequate retribution and thus deterrence, such instances often go unreported. Lawlessness is a frightening concept, but the freedom of sexual abusers in a highly vulnerable population is even more concrete. According to a recent UNICEF report on sexual and gender based violence in IDP camps, 6 of 10 women are victims of rape. Only a small fraction, however, ever come forward as evidenced by their statistics.
The importance of legal aid in these areas cannot be overemphasized as sexual abuse which is condoned may only serve to normalize such criminal behavior, creating a culture of abuse. The legal aid clinic of RLP works with a consortium of other organizations to work at providing more legal aid for all, especially those more vulnerable populations. Given the placement of many of these camps, victims also face the challenges of traveling long distances to gain access to legal remedy or advice. At the moment, the legal aid clinic is completely overwhelmed with their caseload which is sourced within Kampala. They currently lack the capacity and clearly funds to reach out to incidences which are reported at the IDP and refugee ettlements. Expansion of legal aid clearly needs to be prioritized.
Much like the flight here, my experience has been up and down. While I appreciate the work that my organization does, I am not getting to see very much of it. I really only know what happens because I am asked to write activity reports for the website in English. I do not mind doing this at all, but I hope it isn’t all I do for the next two months.
As of today, I have become a little more involved with the work AWN is doing against gender-based violence (GBV). In Afghanistan, women experienced physical, political, economic, social and cultural violence through decades of political intimidation, and the erosion of rights. Most Taliban regulations barring women and girls from participating in decision-making, working, education or to access basic health services have now been lifted, yet violence against women has not subsided, with attacks on women and girls trying to attend school, acid attacks on teachers, rape and harsh tribal punishments that allow relatives to imprison and even kill young women who lose their virginity, bring shame to their family by falling in love with unacceptable suitors or even seek a divorce.
Despite improvements (largely confined to Kabul), women’s human rights are still being violated across Afghanistan. Only a small fraction of women – and only those in Afghanistan’s cities – are accessing economic opportunities and are able to support themselves and their families. AWN has an awareness campaign to educate people in the provinces and more rural and remote villages around the country about GBV. They are in phase one of the two-phase process. The second phase will focus on legal rights.
I spent this morning researching GBV and the afternoon writing a report on it. I am crossing my fingers that once they become more familiar with me at the office, I will be given more responsibility. Also, they have an employee returning from the USA this week and I hope that that will free up some time for someone to work more closely with me. Either way, I hope to become more involved with the projects happening here.
I found a place to live for the summer. Actually, AP’s other intern, Shirin, found a place to live and I tagged along. It is a beautiful house full of ex-pats and Afghans. There is a wonderful garden that is nice to sit in and read. The roommates do wonders for my mood. It is nice having people around to talk to, or vent to if need be. They are also a great resource for the city since they have been around for a while.
Over the weekend, which is only Friday, I went to see a photo exhibit at a UN guesthouse. The photographer was a woman who has been traveling around Afghanistan and taking pictures. My favorite was a photo of a burqa-clad woman entering a beauty parlor. It was full of irony. Not only were the photos amazing, but also I had a really good time with the people at the exhibit. I was able to meet a lot of ex-pats who are working in many different sectors in the city. It was good for learning and networking.
I’ve just finished my first week in Afghanistan and things have gone strangely smoothly and calmly. My housemates are wonderful, friendly and sociable and I feel like they’re old friends. Sadiqa and I have settled into a comfortable rhythm and I’ve have gotten to know pretty much everyone in the office building. Khala jan who brings us tea every morning and lunch at noon, Jamila jan (jan means dear and you add it to the end of female names as a mark of friendship and respect) who runs Noor Educational Center, another NGO housed in the same building, and her colleagues, Fariba jan, Ostad Faim. Most of my time has been spent working with Sadiqa on devising a work plan, coming up with a preliminary budget and planning our field trips to Wardak and Nangrahar to visit the schools. However, my best times are spent eating lunch with everyone in the library or waiting for internet access in Jamila jan’s office or Sadiqa’s brother’s cafe. These are times I get to hear the stories. Afghan stories of courage, fate, friendship, struggle, beliefs, and even local humor.
Jamila’s story of how her disability proved to be her passport to an education, despite the extreme conservatism of her family, and her ambition her ticket to starting a business and ultimately an NGO serving Afghan women. Sadiqa’s story of leaving her village, moving to Pakistan and working with women like Jamila on advocacy for Afghan women’s issues and ultimately fulfilling her dream to open a girl’s school in her village. Sadiqa’s sister-in-law who was born in and grew up in Iran and has now returned with her family to Afghanistan so that she can lead a proud life in her homeland rather than as a refugee in places where she always felt like an outsider. These are the stories and memories that carry me through my days and give me hope for Afghanistan.
Sadiqa’s deep-seated conviction in the rights of women and human rights in general is what grounds her work and makes OMID a sustainable enterprise. One day we were discussing women drivers and I remarked how few of them I saw. I also wasn’t surprised given the horrible traffic and lack of driving rules and regulations. I mentioned that I wouldn’t want to drive in Afghanistan. Sadiqa on the other hand said that she wanted to learn. Her husband asked what she would do if she got into an accident. His implication was that she couldn’t very well get into a fighting match with the other driver as the norm seems to be. Sadiqa very calmly but confidently remarked that she would summon the police and file a complaint. This may sound naпve in a country where corruption is rampant and the rule of law seems to be upheld through foreign assistance. But coming from Sadiqa I could see it happening. Her confidence in what is right is not only absolute but also absolutely grounded in the possibility of its existence in Afghanistan and in the Afghan people. Having spoken to some expats at a few events, I realize how lucky I am to interact with Afghans who are involved in the rebuilding and reconstruction of their land. Most expats seem removed from local efforts and are anxious to meet women like Sadiqa and Jamila. I think they recognize, as I do, that ultimately the future of Afghanistan lies in the convictions and efforts of people like Jamila and Sadiqa who have a strong belief in their culture, homeland and religion but also in the larger issues of women’s development and basic human rights.
I’ve been sick all week. Malaria, the other scourge of Africa, has dealt me a mighty blow. I don’t know what I was thinking but I forgot to take the anti-malaria drugs before leaving the States! By the time I remembered it was already too late. Anyway, I didn’t worry because I have lived a couple of years before in Nigeria and I thought I would be immune by now…well, let that be a lesson to all adventurous travelers heading off to Africa. Don’t be a hero take all the preventive drugs that you can and save yourself some serious discomfort.
Dizziness, fever, headache, backache…I got the works. Thankfully, the storm has passed and I feel much better now but that was only after I took a series of anti-malaria injections, followed by a 3 day regimen of chloroquine.
Malaria is right up there with HIV/AIDS as one of the leading causes of death in Africa. And, even though it is easily treatable, some people cannot afford the drugs. Even when they can, new strains of the disease seem to keep popping up every year, making the parasite resistant to traditional modes of treatment.
The summer time (Raining Season) is also when the rate of infection dramatically increases because that’s when all the mosquitoes in the world seem to congregate to Africa and declare a feast celebration on mankind.
So I missed going to the office for a few days now but I’m ready to return on Monday all refreshed and cured. In fact, WOCON is preparing for another public outreach event by mid-July and I’m really excited to be a part of it, especially since I helped to design the posters, t-shirts and leaflets that we will be handing out…more details on this event next week so stay tuned!
The past week at the office I sat with Bijay a majority of the time going through their program for 2004. This has been a long process and the fact that we work differently made for a slow start. I like all information at once and he is more systematic. We have taken his route, but I have all the information now and will be editing the 2004 report for the next two days. Afterwards we will insert photos and then send if off to be printed. The report will be submitted to the donor organization as well as to the member organizations during the General Assembly, to be held the weekend of July 9th.
I am looking forward to the General Assembly because it will give me a chance to meet the other members of COCAP. Two from Nepalganj have requested that I visit for 2-3 days and discuss proposals and report writings with them. This is the biggest concern for local organizations because they don’t have enough funds to support themselves and they don’t have the best English to express their needs and goals in proposal form. Many can write a great proposal in Nepali, but the English translation is a huge barrier.
I have continuously stressed that I will not be writing the proposals or reports for them, but I can help with English translation and advising what information needs to be placed in the proposal or report. My fear is that if they don’t even know how to put together a proposal, what will they do when COCAP staff doesn’t have the time and when the foreign intern leaves? Bijay has been flexible with this request and proposes to sit a member down with one of our office volunteers to outline the proposal. Then the volunteer, who also speaks some English, can express the ideas and goals of the proposal to me and I can translate into English. This is the compromise.
This past weekend COCAP was part of a team of organizations that organized a two day National Conference titled, ‘Sustainable Livelihood and People’s Access to Natural Resources’. The set up of the program was an opening ceremony, and then participants broke into three areas of concentration, Land, Water and Forest. In these sub groups they were able to address the concerns of deforestation, irrigation and land rights. The first day they spoke about concerns and issues and the first half of the second day they came up with steps to take to resolve the issues from the day before. The second half of the second day had all three groups coming together again to share what they learned and their proposals for how to resolve the issues. A report will be published in the next few weeks of the outcome of the conference.
The conference was expecting around 300 participants, but they ended up with over 450 people attending with about 90% coming from outside the Kathmandu Valley. Most of these participants arrived late due to police checks along the road and arrived around 12 noon on the first day. Those that attended came from forestry groups, fishing communities in Chitwan, Dalits from eastern Terai, Halliyas from Dadeldhura district and freed Kamaiyas from far western Nepal, some of whom are experiencing land displacement or discrimination from those who still practice the caste system.
I attended the opening ceremony only, since all was in Nepali and I can not get the details of the meetings through my language skills. On Saturday I found out that Bijay and I were on TV the night before. During a news clip of the conference they showed us standing in the back of the conference hall as the opening ceremony was taking place – I made Nepali TV in the short time that I had attended the program!! That afternoon I had actually gone back to the office to work on our 2004 report. Within an hour of me getting to COCAP the electricity went off and did not come back on before 5pm. They were working on the electrical wires. In the paper today I saw a picture of a man at the top of a telephone pole, no ladder, no support whatsoever and the caption said he was working on the electricity in Anamnagar (COCAP office is in this town) on Friday. He was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, that was all, and he climbed the pole himself to work on the wires.
Last night I attended the viewing of “Tamas:The Darkness”, by Ashima Ranjit. She is a Fulbright Scholar at Columbia University. The performance was thought provoking. The ending was, for me, confusing, but as it was explained to me, the state of Nepal is also in a state of confusion and this is the way the performance left you. Simple, but effective. It was conducted completely in Nepali and afterward they provided both a Nepali and English version of her words.
On the way back from the program I walked with a Nepali man. He had explained the ‘confusion’ aspect of the viewing to me and our conversation turned to why I came to Nepal, to finding work in Nepal and then to discrimination. I noticed that the girls in my host family sent pictures with their job applications and asked the Nepali man if he had to do this. He said sometimes they ask and when they did he sent the photo. I admitted that I did not like these practices because it could lead to discrimination based on ones looks, either they are not pretty or handsome. He said that as a woman I should be more worried about this, but that they did not discriminate this way against men. In Nepal a majority of the time you can tell someone’s caste by their last name, so maybe the photo would not be needed because once they saw the man’s name they would know a person’s background and make their judgment. I pushed him a little more and said that if he did not look like the right caste he could be discriminated against. He again said that this did not happen, but he himself was a Brahmin and I wonder if he just doesn’t realize it happens because it has never happened to him. To be fair, he was being honest and was not defending the practices, he just didn’t seem to think they happened as much anymore.
Part of the Maoist insurgency is said to come from the constant discrimination against those of the lower caste. They have less rights or the laws in place to protect them are not enforced. For this reason many of the Maoist rebels are said to be from this part of society. Conferences like the one held this weekend, which works towards hearing the voices of the marginalized societies, are needed to let the people know that their voices are being heard. Other policies are also going through the current parliament to have a certain percentage of those in political offices to be representatives of women and of the Dalit communities. These steps need to be taken in order to integrate the people into society so that they don’t turn to the Maoists, who are offering equal treatment to all who join.
I hate writing grant applications. They always ask the same questions over, and over, and over until you feel like you are writing the same sentence 20 times. I realize that grants are one of the few ways we have to distribute money fairly, but all the same, I think the system sucks.
I have been working on fundraising all week for Dzeno. Like most smaller NGOs, this is one of their greatest needs. As it is, they do amazing things on a shoestring budget, but there are still major improvements needed. The computers are old, and lack some pretty basic software; the copier is temperamental; the fax machine is downright ancient; don’t even get me started on the difficulty of making a phone call; and I’m not too impressed by the communist idea of a comfortable chair either. Those are just the physical….the project needs are even more drastic. Currently, most of their funding comes from the government. For a media organization, this is unbearably restrictive; they’ve already had one of their major publications, a youth magazine called Amaro Gendalos, terminated because the government thought it too political.
Unfortunately, outside funding for Roma causes seems to be incredibly limited. Unlike many other ethnic groups, Roma are almost universally poor; there is no foreign rich diaspora to whom one can appeal. In addition, Roma have the misfortune to be located in Europe, one of the world’s richest continents. This creates the perception among outside funders that they don’t need help, or that if they do, it should be the EU who provides the money. While US foundations are off saving the Tsunami victims and feeding starving refugee children in Sudan (both worthy causes, don’t get me wrong), Europe shirks her own responsibilities at home. No one really seems to be advocating for this stateless minority in dire need of help, and certainly, no one really wants to give them money.
Ok, ok…there is some money. What about Soros, you ask? How about the World Bank? Or national embassies? The problem with the majority of these funds are that they are incredibly drawn to the new, creative projects. As with funders the world over, no one wants to fund salaries (how unsustainable!) or new phone systems (how mundane!). Foundations have their own profiles to think about….they want to be funding the cutting edge, they don’t want to fund the same organizations every year.
So where does this leave Dzeno? They don’t have the staff to start new projects; everyone here works insane hours at pitiful pay to produce what they’re producing now. Even if they had the time to write grant proposals for new projects, the money that accompanied them would still not be enough to support the rest of the underfunded projects that they do now. The silly Czech limitations on internet sales means that they can’t sell CDs or books online to an international market, and it’s even difficult for them to ask for donations on their website, as they can’t accept credit cards. What they really need is a steady source of support for their regular activities that will preserve their freedom of speech.
So here I am, supposedly the answer to all this, writing grants for new equipment, and maybe a grant to fund a full-time development officer for a year. But the whole thing makes me angry. I know that for every 10 grants I write, (if I even get around to writing that many) they will probably only receive funding for one. And when I leave, their ability to write grants will be halved, both by time, and because most grants must be written in English. This organization is providing great services to an extremely needy community. They are efficient with very little overhead. By all rights, people should be begging to fund them. It’s depressing to think that there are so many organizations out there just like Dzeno, worthy causes, incredible people and no funding. There has to be a better way to do this.
So, anyone out there have a rich uncle?
Natural disasters like the tsunami are hard to ignore (although, the headlines about Michael JacksonТs acquittal seem to indicate that much of the world is up to the challenge.) But Sri Lanka is rife with staggering tragedies of less spectacular proportions that the world will never hear about.
I began collecting content for HHRТs web site this week.
Going through files from HHRТs Torture Victim Rehabilitation Program, I read about a 21-year-old woman that Sri Lankan authorities arrested, beat, and stomped on. One morning, they threw her in a dark room where twelve police officers took turns raping her. They doused her eyes in hot sauce, and raped her again.
I read about a 19-year-old arrested as an LTTE suspect. His captors beat him for days until he was unable to walk. They covered him with cigarette burns and suffocated him in a plastic bag soaked in petrol and hot sauce. When this treatment did not produce a false confession, they hung him upside down by his thumbs and big toes. He tolerated this treatment for three years.
I read about a 47-year-old widow, a mother of four, that the army arrested and beat for days. After countless days of captivity, they took her out to the beach and raped her for five hours. They strapped her hands to a door frame and slammed the door on her fingers until her wedding ring broke off. By the end of her four-year incarceration, she could not find her way home or recognize her own daughters.
These are only three of the dozens of horrific stories I had to read. HHR has hundreds more. There may be thousands that HHR has never heard about. These innumerable trees continue to fall in the proverbial forest, and the world never notices the difference.
With even as epic a disaster as the tsunami fading from the worldТs attention, it is hard to hope that these silent tragedies will ever receive their deserved attention.
So, here I am in Italy – the land of plenty of fresh and delicious food, cheap wine, awful public transportation, and maniac drivers. And recently a country of immigration, trafficking with an economic recession. And I have to say, I love it here! Viva la Italia.
First few days brought a disappointment with the TrenItalia and train stations. But more importantly, I am already falling in love with the fresh food market outside of my apartment, the hospitality and friendliness of the Italian people. Contrary to my expectations and my experiences from my other trips to Italy couple of years ago, most Italians here in Turin speak some English or French, and my knowledge of Italian is increasing rapidly as well.
For the first few days, my main way of communication was to announce that I do not speak Italian (“no parlo italiano”) and to communicate with the wonderful means of sign language and other forms of body language – and a smile can get you far here in Italy. After a week, I am a proud owner of more than ten sentences in Italian and can easily buy a tram ticket, order a cap of cappuccino, ask for directions, and the most important have a small talk – making new friends have suddenly become much easier!
This has been increasingly important at my internship as well- although some staff members speak very good English, some do not. I, therefore, always have the most questions at the end of the meetings. Nonetheless, I try not to let the language barrier to stop me from participating fully in the daily activities of the office and am courageously wading through the ‘pile’ of computer files in Italian and other documents.
These first few days at the office have been incredibly enlightening. TAMPEP was working on the final version of the final report on the ALNIMA project to the European Commission. ALNIMA is an extremely innovative project, co-ordinated by TAMPEP and sponsored by the European Union that aims at addressing the problem of repatriation and the life after the arrival to the home country of immigrants, prisoners and trafficked women from Albania, Marroco and Nigeria. It achieved a great deal of good work trying to help the deported prisoners and people from deported from temporary detention centers to start a new life after their arrival; the project was also addressed to the people at risk of illegal migration. This has been achieved through the establishment of training session, micro-credit schemes and self-capacity building courses. The project tries therefore to pre-empt the attempts of the returnees at immigrate again, mostly illegally by creating opportunities in their home countries – setting up their own business, etc. This has been an incredible lesson of empowerment.
My small role in the final stage of the project was to assist TAMPEP with the English version of the project. And so I spent three days, including Saturday, something quite extraordinary for the lunch-break/weekend/holiday loving Italians, (P)olishing the English version of the report. Me and another staff member, Melania, toiled over the ninety pages of the report – it was a bonding experience I must say.
Having read the report and having done some more in-depth research on the activities of TAMPEP, I have to say that I am amazed at the quantity and quality of the work done here. The commitment of the small staff of the office is truly remarkable; and the originality and innovativeness of the projects undertaken admirable taking into account the limited financial and technical resources of the office. I truly look forward to spending the next two months here, hopefully contributing to the work done by TAMPEP.
I rather feel like I am on a treadmill at times, running and running, but not really getting anywhere. The biggest frustration I have come along is the utter lack of any organizational structure. While there are plenty of computers, much of the information, if recorded at all, is till hand written in journals. Files that are on the computer are saved haphazardly, with no regards to organizing them in a useful system to find again. Things are created and used, but not saved to be reused and updated later. I have probably edited the same 3 paragraphs about Bosfam 4 times in my short time here already.
I have decided, in addition to focusing on the redesign of the website, I will also try to bring some rudimentary organizational system to the organization. My main concern is the continuing of the system after I am gone. I have to make sure what ever I decide to do is simple and easy, or there is zero chance of it being kept up. I want to stress that I think this is more a function of the overall culture of the country rather than a shortcoming of this particular organization. Life and work just move at a different pace here. The country is still recovering from the double punch of war and the end of socialism, so progress in most all areas is slow.
The language barrier is getting easier to deal with. I found myself overwhelmed at times in the first weeks with my complete lack of understanding, but I have picked up a few basic words and phrases and there are a couple of people here who speak basic English that can help me out.
My basic day at work consists of at least 2 half hour to one hour coffee breaks, where the women catch up with each other and talk about the latest news. I then work on editing or writing a promotional piece in English. At some point, most of their information was translated into English, but not by a native speaker, so I am working to get these all up to speed. I have also been working on the design and flow of the new website. My first three weeks were consumed with getting Beba and Bula ready for their trip to the US and getting all the items they needed edited first. Now, I get to work more at my own pace.
One of WOCON’s most recent campaigns is the removal and reintegration of child laborers and child domestic servants. This is most intriguing because there is a wide spread African custom that encourages low income families to entrust their children to their more prosperous relatives for training and work in exchange for education and financial support. This practice is sometimes referred to as “fostering”.
In fact, in Liberia at least, the custom also works the other way around: for example, my mother came from a relatively well off Liberian family living in the city. She was then sent to the village to her grandmother’s every summer to learn how to cook and clean and other such appropriate training for women in the time.
However, it seems that this practice has recently mutated into something completely harmful and negative. In Nigeria, it is usually children from poor rural families who are sent to work as domestic servants in the homes of families living in the city. There, they are housed in inhuman condition and are made to work long un-interrupted hours, without leisure or access to education. Many of them are also subject of physical and sexual abuse.
I was rather shocked to learn about a case whereby WOCON discovered the existence of child labor camps right in the heart of Nigeria. In fact, the nature of these camps was well known by the communities that lived nearby, yet they did nothing about it. Even worse, they saw nothing wrong with what was going on.
This is to show that there is great confusion on what is the difference between child slavery and the African traditional practice of child fostering. WOCON withdrew the children from the camps and began developing its awareness campaign on these issues.
I think that the Nigerian government should also take its share of responsibility in the matter. The fact is, NGOs and other grassroots organizations are still no substitute for the development of an adequate child welfare system in Nigeria.
Today is World Refugee Day. A moment to reflect on some of the dire conditions faced at camps all around the world. In the New Vision newspaper the other day, I read that one IDP settlement in Northern Uganda had two wells available for 8700 people. In general, more advocacy should be pointed at the durable solution of integration into communities for refugees so that people will not be relegated to these separate conditions (which are often treated as falling outside the responsibility of nations). Last week after verbalizing some of the thoughts in my last blog to a highly esteemed authority in the field who is visiting RLP from Cairo, she referred me to her recently published book which critiques the UNHCR, entitled “Rights in Exile” by Barbara Harrell-Bond. It is a must read, a revealing look into when “good guys” turns bad.
Appropriately, this morning I was handed a project by the Legal Aid Department to work on RLP’s critique for a refugee bill being considered by parliamentarians for passage. Recommendations range from the right to interpreters (given the incredible variety of language spoken by refugees in Uganda) to important distinctions made in definitions. I am thrilled to be assisting in this capacity. I think the different department heads see my requests for more work as curious. But gladly give it to me after demonstrating some of the work I have already completed (and given their already limited resources). At the moment, I am assisting all three departments: research and advocacy, training and education, and legal aid.
After reviewing some of their materials, one of the biggest needs of RLP consists of a clearly delineated strategic plan for its future, which can be used to sell its story to funders. I am brainstorming to come up with alternative income generating ideas to buttress its fundraising efforts as well as some restructuring concepts to make the organization function more efficiently. A nice side project that I have volunteered myself for. Given the depth and amount of issues which fall under RLP’s mission (from conflict and IDPs to refugee settlements), I realize daily a host of new ways which would help to alleviate their already overflowing inboxes but change is slow to implement (which I find frustrating frequently). After a month without internet access at work, one begins to alter one’s work style.
80 meter swim, 30 km bike, 10 km run. This past weekend, I ran in a triathlon in Jinja (which is about 1-2 hours outside of Kampala) as a team with my travel buddy, another American girl. We were the first finishing women’s team, which pleased us but left us feeling as though there was room for improvement (re: the bike section). I have yet to spend a full weekend in Kampala. I thought my spontaneous trip to Kigali, Rwanda (appropriate given my work with refugees from there) which I took a couple of weeks ago was unusual but perhaps my modus operadi is actually more nomadic than expected. The weekend before this last, I went to Nairobi (13 hour bus rides) on a whim and miraculously ended up on safari in the stunning Masai Mara. I discovered that sitting a couple of feet from lions as they play in tall grass can result in a blasé attitude towards seeing giraffes and hippos. Thankfully, that kind of jaded outlook does not apply to my work at RLP, where I have been acquiring more and more responsibility.
After a few instances that have left me feeling quite heartbroken (I had one woman frantically waving her hand in my face), I have accepted the fact that Ugandans do not like having their pictures taken. Given my penchant of capturing everyday moments in the street, I have thus been obligated to take them surreptitiously, which frankly leaves me with numerous horribly framed pictures. Most of these have been sadly deleted. Perhaps I will have to come up with some creative alternatives (which may involve assuaging paranoia) or otherwise I will be relegated to taking pictures only of still life or animals.
I made it to Kabul yesterday. Leaving Peshawar was bittersweet. I was only there a week, but I liked working with the staff in that office. On the other hand, I am happy to be getting out of the heat. I say this relatively though. I am happy to leave before temperatures in Peshawar reach into the 120s, but to say “getting out of the heat” may not be the correct term since Kabul is going to be over 100 degrees this week.
The flight to Kabul was interesting. I took an ICRC flight, and there were only six people on board, mostly ex-pats. We had to make a stop in Jalalabad to drop off supplies. Before we started our decent, the pilot made an announcement but it was lost among the loud noises of the plane. We started to spiral downward and it would have been pretty frightening, but the Swedish girl sitting near me informed me that the announcement was that the decent would be that downward spiral. She had taken the flight before. So I sat back thinking the terrain was the reason behind it and I enjoyed myself. It felt a little adventurous. Then I noticed the Swedish girl starting to look scared and she covered her face with her chador (headscarf). I figured she just wasn’t a good flyer. It wasn’t until after we landed that I was informed that the reason for the spiral was so the plane couldn’t be targeted. It changed how I looked at things after that.
During the short twenty-minute stay in Jalalabad I watched four US Army helicopters land and the soldiers run around the tarmac. Then I got back on the plane for the short flight to Kabul. Upon arrival in Kabul, there was a VIP in the airport so we were not allowed at first to enter. I came to find out that Hamid Karzai, Afghanistan’s president, had just arrived and that was the reason for the delay. Again I amused myself by watching what was going on, only this time it was UN planes. It seems funny to me that the UN headquarters in New York are less than thirty blocks away from where I live. I pass them almost daily on the bus. Yet the UN presence in Afghanistan is much more prevalent.
After arriving in Kabul, I went to the AWN office. I was surprised to find everyone there and working. I figured it would be like Peshawar where the workweek was Monday to Friday. Instead the workweek is Saturday through Thursday. This might take some getting used to. Since everyone was already so deeply engrossed in their work, we decided to have a short meeting with the people I will be working with for the next two months to develop a work plan. I have been given several tasks and it sounds like my days will be fairly full. I will be dealing a lot with gender-based violence while in Kabul while also trying to keep up with the work on the web portal that I started in Peshawar. It may be tricky, but I am up for it.
After the meeting I went shopping. I needed some appropriate clothes—long shirts with long sleeves and chadors. I got a lot of attention and that doesn’t surprise me, but people were fascinated by my light skin and hair. Women I didn’t know were picking out scarves for me in colors they thought complemented my pale complexion. They were prepared to buy an orange one for me but I decided to purchase it for myself. Other items on my shopping list included a mobile phone and 12 liters of water. People have been sending me worried emails about the cholera epidemic so I stocked up on safe drinking water.
Things are going smoothly in Kabul so far and it will be interesting as I get more involved with the various projects with AWN. The women here all seem very strong and hard working. I have a lot of respect for them for the work they do.
Filling out questionnaires is rather unremarkable in the United States. I must have filled out hundreds in my lifetime: evaluations of classes, feedback to restaurants, surveys of public transportation needs on campus. Our culture loves such instruments, yet the average person filling them out gives little thought to how hard it is to make an effective questionnaire.
This week, my eyes have been opened. I have been working on designing a questionnaire to send out to other Roma organizations to gather information about evictions of Roma families throughout Europe. The information gleaned from these questionnaires will eventually become a report that Dzeno can present internationally. Of course, as the report must be in English, and as no one else here has the time to put such an extensive review together, this report is my major summer project. Which leaves me in charge of creating the questionnaire.
Writing the questions has difficult for two reasons: the first is trying to get the question to actually provide the information that we want to know. Asking why Roma were evicted is more complicated than you might think. The obvious answer, that we don’t need a questionnaire to prove, is that most Roma are poor, and so they are evicted more frequently than the majority population. The legal reasons are just as easy to come up with: the evicted Roma tenants didn’t have enough money to pay the rent, or they were illegally squatting in a dilapidated building. The problem is how to get at the motivations behind the evictions. In many cases, Roma have been squatting illegally for years before evictions occur. Evictions usually happen after some motivating event: in Greece it was the 2004 Olympics, in Britain, the 2005 National Elections. To create a complete picture of evictions, we need to know about all of these factors, and thus must make questions that will gather all of this information.
The second reason that question writing has been so difficult is my own lack of knowledge about Roma issues, and European life. For example: one of our questions attempts to enumerate the reasons Roma become homeless (to determine how many incidences of homelessness result from forced evictions); however, to ask a multiple choice question requires an understanding of homelessness among Roma that my American background just doesn’t cover. While asking my colleagues for feedback gives me a great cross cultural experience, and lets me learn more about Roma culture, writing this question also caused great discussions in the office….why would a Roma woman EVER become homeless because of domestic violence (a common reason for female homelessness in the US)? Aren’t mentally illness and choice the same responses? And on and on….every response must be talked over and examined for cultural relevance and accuracy.
It is a truism that to get the right answers, you must ask the right questions. Hopefully, at the end of the whole process, between my efforts and those of my Dzeno colleagues, we will come up with a questionnaire that gives us the information we need to make a good report. As frustrating as the whole process of writing the darn thing has been, I am excited to get back results and start working on the report. The finished project will be among the first reports Dzeno has been able to produce for an international audience, which will be a huge achievement, both for them and for me.
After what seemed like weeks of travel (but was really only two days), I finally made it to Peshawar. My luggage was not so fortunate. We were finally reunited today after a week apart. I wish it could talk. I think it has interesting stories to tell about its adventures in the past week. It looks like it has been through a lot anyway.
I arrived on a Friday and wanted to do nothing but sleep. I could not be productive as my brain was not functioning properly. I did have a meeting on Saturday though. One of my main projects to work on while I am here is to help AWM with a new web portal. My meeting was with the person who is in charge of this portal. He started using technical language and I was lost immediately. He was speaking English, but may as well have been speaking Farsi. Occasionally he would pause and ask for my ideas. I would just stammer and say I needed more information. I was relieved when the meeting turned to writing the project proposal. That is something I can do.
Today I began working on another project proposal for AWN. It is for an advocacy project to help imprisoned women and children in Afghanistan. Not only are the conditions very poor with a lot of reported abuse, but also there is much uncertainty surrounding the legality of their detention. The project is in its very early stages, but I hope that I am here long enough to see some of it carried out.
Along with proposal writing, I have attended some training sessions for AWN’s member NGOs that will help them implement the new web portal. Each member is learning how to design a website so they can do their own profiles on the web.
This weekend I am headed to Kabul to work at the office there. I have enjoyed working at the office in Peshawar, but I can’t say I will miss this heat…
Having just returned from an impromptu long weekend in Kenya which consisted of 13 hour bus journeys and getting up close and personal with some wild animals in the grassy plains of Masai Mara, I am ready to immerse myself this week to explore some of the issues in the growing queue for the legal aid clinic. After conversing with the head of that department, it was manifest that instead of working in symbiotic partnership with UNHCR, RLP finds itself struggling to reach its target audience as the UNHCR acts as an unwanted shield. The cases it does receive through their referral will be “trouble” ones or cases it deems to be a “nuisance” to be pushed off.
Such a lack of cooperation is quite disconcerting as the RLP must battle and use otherwise precious resources just to participate, to protect the rights of refugees. It seems as though the fundamental and thus critical differentials are the differences in structure, accountability and philosophy. While the RLP responds to the problems of refugees, UNHCR appears to be reacting to the refugee problem. One views the specific grievances of the individual to protect his or her internationally recognized rights while the other holds a collective perspective and thus treats them systematically. Both individualistic and utilitarian frameworks are indispensable in ensuring the protection of refugees and internally displaced persons (IDPs). Hopefully, there will be an improvement on relations in the future so that RLP has more access and that UNHCR does not view its work as a threat. See some of RLP’s working papers regarding the process of refugee status determination and the challenges therein.
One of the most significant challenges which face RLP and refugees is the utter lack of information concerning the displaced by governmental bodies, by international organizations, by the hosting communities and the displaced population themselves. In RLP’s latest working paper, research revealed that most people failed to realize that refugees resided in the city at all (because of the general thought that refugees were placed in settlements or camps) and thus no services or structures were in place to address the issues facing urban refugees. Education, training and general publicity present the first step in the protection of human rights. Refugees can be shuttled and referred from one place to another without a firm or written policy on procedures. Often times the general vulnerability of refugees is recognized without a lucid understanding of the manner in which they are vulnerable.
For example, the RLP is attempting to receive funding for training on the international standards required concerning sexual and gender based violence (SGBV) at the settlements. Given the structure of the settlements, women are especially vulnerable when certain acts including domestic abuse, prostitution, and rape are condoned by cultural practices and then overlooked by international humanitarian aid organizations who defer to traditional leaders (some of which may be committing such offenses). The lack of the rule of law is pronounced; camp commanders may justifiably feel they are above the law. Cases of SGBV are thus buried and remain unaddressed. Despite its abundant caseload and extremely limited resources, RLP desires to the opportunity to prosecute such cases but is faced with a system that suppresses the voice of refugee women.
The personal challenges of finding my way back to my new home (which I don’t think has an address), cold showers, (in)ability to find batteries and hosting a convention for mosquitoes on my arm pales (more like translucent because they are inane) compared to the issues which arise everyday at work. The other day I cut off 8 inches of my hair (bringing my age down to about 15) so that I could conserve water. Note that none of the above are complaints just minor (and oftentimes amusing) adjustments. In the past few weeks I have filled up even more pages in my passport, after weekend trips to Rwanda and Kenya. I look forward to the weekends to come where I will explore more rural areas of Uganda and Kampala itself. In my journeys crossing borders to the other nations, the beauty of the red clay, green fields and smiling faces of Uganda has become unequivocal.
IТm nearing the end of my first two week stretch in Batticaloa. The last few days have been heartbreaking, humbling, and frustrating, all at the same time.
In the last week, I have visited some of the beneficiaries of HHRТs post-tsunami reconstruction work: students in a sewing school that HHR established to help employ displaced women, a tailor for whom HHR replaced a sewing machine she lost in the tsunami, and two dhobies (people who wash clothes) who received buckets and bicycles to continue their trade.
I have collected some brief but horrific stories during my visits. Between the war and the tsunami, these people have survived tragedies I can scarcely imagine. One lady interrupted her sewing to show me pictures of relatives she lost to the war before she lost her home to the tsunami. A dhobie told me about his harrowing escape from the giant wave, his story punctuated by quivering hands and moist, reddened eyes. Another told me of the three months he spent after the tsunami, living on handouts until he could work again.
This was before Sanathani, the soft-spoken administrator from HHR headquarters who had been my interpreter, returned to Colombo. I am now just a language barrier away from the fascinating stories that surround me. Mr. Mariathasan, head of the local office, is the only staff member fluent in English, and he is unable to accompany me to the field because of tsunami-related injuries.
Without a translator, I am incapacitated. There are scores of people I have yet to meet and stories I have yet to hear. Many people I have met have not yet opened up enough to tell me about their experiences. Batticaloa is full of heroic tales of survival that I and the world need to hear about. But without a translator, I am only as useful as the monosyllabic sentences and wild but meaningless gesticulation my communication with the locals is limited to.
In the last week, HHR beneficiaries have given me brief glimpses into their private epics of conquest over adversity, for which they have my untellable gratitude. But my journalistic ambitions are stalled for the moment. Until I find an interpreter, I am confined to the only contribution I can make Ц ironing out bureaucratic wrinkles in streams of HHR paperwork.
After some initial programmatic hitches, much coordination, loads of family discussion and debates, one flight cancellation and a 21-hour plane trip to India, I’m finally on my way to Afghanistan.
I’m excited to begin work and meet new friends in Afghanistan that I’ve gotten to know in the course of coordinating my trip, accomodation and internship. I’m amazed at the generosity and kindness that perfect strangers and friends of friends of friends have shown me. Most Afghans that I’ve met have also been extremely helpful and bend over backwards even more when I speak to them in Farsi, a language that is a close relative of Dari, one of the two languages spoken in Afghanistan. As a result, I’ve gotten my visa quickly and without any hassles and a business class ticket from Delhi to Kabul for the price of an economy class ticket.
But sitting in an air-conditioned room in India, watching cable TV and surrounded by normal every-day amenities one can imagine, I’m getting nervous about the little things that I’ve always taken for granted. Having lived in Iran for 13 years, I’m used to keeping my head and body covered. However, the restrictions on female activity and movement of foreigners will be a new experience for me.
Stepping outside of the house and for that matter doing much of anything without male accompaniment seems ill-advised in Afghanistan, and given governmental restrictions on the movements of foreigners, I’m worried not only about my security but also about my sanity.
However, most of all I’m worried about being effective. I know Sadiqa is extremely busy and the first weeks will be challenging on us both as we figure out the pace and rhythm of a work schedule and I learn to navigate my life in Afghanistan.
Having pre-planned as much as possible, I have decided to leave the rest to fate and have taken to ending my sentences on getting to Afghanistan with the vague disclaimer, Inshallah (God Willing). So far God and Fate seem to be on my side.
The videotape I mentioned in my last blog has been the topic of the vast majority of conversations in the past days. It turns out the young man shot on the videotape is the son of a woman here at Bosfam. The woman’s sister saw the tape on TV and called to let her know what she had seen. The young man had fled into the woods to try to make it to Tuzla as Srebrenica was falling, but was captured and murdered. The woman’s other son died in the youth day May 1995 bombing here in Tuzla. Her husband was also murdered as he tried to flee from Srebrenica. The young man in the video was found in a mass grave and reburied last year at Potocari in the commemoration and reburial ceremony.
The video is played over and over on TV. I have seen it 3 times now. I never wanted to see it, but it was on the TV when we were in Srebrenica, and then replayed for us as we visited a teacher in Srebrenica. I didn’t feel like I could leave the room, so I stayed put. The image of the young man, without shoes, laying on the ground then being made to stand up and walk to his execution have awoken me at night. There was one portion of the video that showed an Orthodox priest giving some type of rites or absolution to the Serbian soldiers during this whole event. The video tape now rankles in my mind and the images are burned into my brain.
I went to Srebrenica, driving past Potocari and the graveyard there last week. The town of Srebrenica is nearly a ghost town. The majority of the homes are uninhabitable due to shelling and bombing. Between the current school buildings in town stands the shell of the old school that was bombed out and burned during the war.
It was cold and raining while I was in Srebrenica. The water went out a few hours after we arrived. When it rains too much, the water system can’t handle it and shuts down. If the rain continues for many days, the town could go days without water. A decade after the war and this basic utility is at the mercy of the weather. This town seems to have been frozen in time about 3 years after the war ended, frozen in time with the heavy damage to the buildings and complete devastation of the economy. Every conversation revolves around the war somehow.
The next morning we stated early to go to the small villages in the hills surrounding Srebrenica. The car was packed with soccer balls and shoes that had been donated for the school kids we were going to visit. We drove on a paved road for about 20 kilometers before we moved onto a dirt road for 8 kilometers. While I say the first 20 KM were paved, its not quite smooth riding, there are still random potholes, areas that are unpaved and rocks that have fallen from the mountainside. The 8KM unpaved was filled with large puddles of unknown depth, crossing sheep and their herder, a cow, and many other obstacles. I was seriously doubtful we would find a school at the end of all this. We passed small villages that had been completely destroyed and had nothing but shells of old homes remaining. Finally, a school came into view. 2 young teachers live in the school from Monday to Friday then return to their homes for the weekend. There are 2 classrooms for children in grades 1 to 5. After grade 5 they have to walk the 8Km to the paved road to pick up the bus that will take them the 20KM down the mountain to the middle school. The entire school had about 20 students. Before the war the school had over 100 children. We passed out soccer balls and sweets to the children, much to their delight. We gave the teachers armfuls of shoes to give the children later, as they needed them. The children are all of refugees that have returned to Srebrenica since the war ended. None of their parents are able to get work, they have small gardens or raise some farm animals to live off of. The economy, once thriving is desolated. Before the war, there were mines and engineering companies in the area that employed thousands, now those plants and mines are al closed, and there is hardly any work to be found.
We went to another small school, off another and even more difficult path. This school has only one teacher who lives in an apartment above the 1 classroom. There are 11 students in this school, grades 1 to 5. None of the children had a ball to play with, so they were ecstatic when we pulled the soccer balls out of the car and handed those out. We also left shoes and sweets behind here as well. In this small village, only 2 people have jobs- the teacher and the woman who cleans the school. The teacher is from a neighboring area and returned after the war. The cleaning girl worked in the school before the war, but was expelled from the town. The Dayton Accords signed in 1995 mandate jobs be retuned to people who held them prior to the war (when possible), but the woman was just able to get her job back 2 years ago…8 years after the mandate.
Despite so much despair and trouble, the country is beautiful with rolling green hills and peaceful, bucolic scenes. The people are gracious and gentle. Magbula (Bula), one of the weavers going to the US for 10 days, calls me her little chicken and has offered to have me come to her home for a weekend, so she can cook for me. All the women want to marry me to a nice Bosnian boy, but this is a not a possibility as I can neither cook nor make coffee, not to mention I have the best American boyfriend in the world. But, it has been pointed out to me, they wouldn’t even make the gesture if they didn’t care for me, so I smile and laugh with them and I know that they have beautiful hearts and souls, and I amazed that they are still so willing to love and give to others despite having lost so much of themselves.
Here I was thinking I had it good. My family has a refrigerator, which maybe for KTM is not that big of a deal, but for me it is. I am still getting used to the more expensive prices and travel costs compared to the terai where I was before. It is hotter there and almost no one has a fridge. So they have a fridge and I buy bread. I tell them that if I keep the bread in the refrigerator it lasts longer. I do this in America and that way a small loaf will last all week without going bad. I explained this logic to them the day I bought the bread. So they put the bread in the refrigerator for me and made me happy.
This past weekend it was hot! I was looking for some pepper at the store and I saw ice cream!! Very excited because it only cost 85 rupees ($1.20). That night my Nepali bhahini (younger sister) told me that maybe we should eat the ice cream tonight, because when they turn off the fridge it will melt. Hhmm. You turn off the fridge at night? So we had the ice cream that evening, it had already melted a little because they had turned off the fridge a little bit before. The ice cream was still delicious.
The next day my bread was not. It had gone moldy – which is what happens when you turn the refrigerator off at night. Funny thing is that when I explained my logic as to why I keep the bread in the fridge no one bothered to tell me they turn it off at night. Oh, well, I will have to eat my bread faster now.
They are very happy with their refrigerator, saying that they have had it is a Japanese refrigerator and they have had it for over 20 years and it still works very well. I now wonder if the fridge really does work well? If they turn it off every night then they don’t really allow it to work continuously, therefore it never really gets cold inside. By turning it off every night they may be preserving their fridge, and it really does work very well. The other option is they don’t keep it on long enough to know that it does not work very well anymore. When winter comes I am sure they do not use it because it would be cold enough in KTM to keep things cool outside. In the winter do they put things inside the fridge to keep them from getting too cold?
I have volunteered in Nepal before, so I new in the terai that the work week was Sunday – Friday 10am – 5pm. I knew that in Kathmandu the work week was Monday to Friday, 10am – 5pm, maybe they started at 9am since they had two day weekends. Well, COCAP is open Sunday – Friday, offers trainings on the weekend, and though most of the time the staff tries to get out by 5:30pm, they are all in before 10am! Everyone says that they take turns coming in on Sunday’s, but for the past two Sundays everyone came to the office. I have agreed to be at the office M-F, 10am – 5pm, but already I have come into the office the past two weekends for meetings and trainings. I don’t mind because the staff is wonderful to interact with and there is always something to do or someone new to talk to.
This past weekend I took Saturday for myself, but came in on Sunday to attend the Education Journalist Groups discussion on the 7 political party’s agenda in order to bring about democracy in Nepal. The guest speaker was Krishna Karnal, a prominent political analysist in Nepal. I really wish I understood more of what was said, I got the overall ideas, but the details were missing. Bijay filled in the gaps as we returned to the office.
There are still many views on how the political parties are going to be able to bring democracy in Nepal. Everyone recognized that Nepal’s past political parties were corrupt and that they need to change leaders or change their ways. ‘What is the democratic process’ was brought up a lot. It was also noted how democracy in Nepal is only 15 years old and many recognize that there will be bumps in the road to establishing a more stable democracy, but stopping the process is not going to help them get there.
Nepal first obtained democracy in 1950, but ten years later King Mahendra took democracy away from the people, saying that the people of Nepal “were not ready for a democracy”. It is true that in the 1950s communication and infrastructure were limited and many Nepali’s were not receiving an education. All this made distributing information difficult. For some time, when people were leaving the villages and going to Kathmandu they would say, “You are going to Nepal”. This is because Kathmandu and the rest of Nepal were so drastically different in their stages of development it was like going to another country (and still is for some parts of Nepal). But if you don’t give democracy a chance and don’t try to get out the information to the people and educate the people on their choices, then you are also not allowing democracy to grow. Therefore, it would not be the people of Nepal who are not ready for democracy, since they were never given the chance to decide, but it would be those who continue to take back the power that are not ready for democracy – or so it would seem.
Today communication is greater, more students, throughout Nepal, are obtaining an education and the young adults of today only know democracy, no matter how corrupt it may have been. They do not know what it is like to live under an autocracy and they will not stand by and not let their voices be heard. While adhering to the mandates set by the king on public assembly and hearings, many human rights and civil society organizations are keeping a low profile until things ease up and they can hold peaceful demonstrations again. They continue to discuss the current situation and think up ideas and programs, but know that if they act now, there is a chance they will not be able to be heard later.
Currently a bill is going through the current government in order to “legitimize” registered NGOs. Corruption, unfortunately, did not stop with the government and many NGOs, though doing good work, may have pocketed some money along the way. The bill would be calling for transparency and any organization not willing to show their books and prove their legitimate book keeping will be under the threat of being closed.
This should sound good, except that those that will be under threat of being closed will most likely be the ones that have been the most successful in their work. They will be the organizations that have the strongest voice against the current government. Not that making organizations accountable is a bad thing, but again, it is feared the king will abuse another law to quiet those against him.
This is an intention of quiet ethnic cleaning, the sort that can not be photographed, but is nevertheless devastating
Today, it was 8:30, 9:00, 10:00am, and still many staff members did not show up. Finally the office assistant shows up: out of breath with his nice shirt all dusted. When I asked “what’s wrong?” he started cursing “the separation wall!” “what do you think it is? It is their nasty, nonsense checkpoints or this new ‘Wall.'”
He loudly said “God, when will it all end? The wall is making our life miserable; I woke up really early so I could be the first at the checkpoint. I was the first, but still it took the Israeli soldiers over an hour to let me pass. They are doing things with the wall today, that’s why they took so long…” His family is already suffering from the wall. The Israeli government has asked him to move, because the wall would go through his house, the only property he owns. If that happens, it will take Ilyas not just few hours to get to work, but maybe a whole day.
That is just one of the stories of many hundreds of thousands of Palestinians. The wall represents a prison with no warden. It has forced many to simply leave their homes, and live somewhere else as refugees.
This has the intention of quiet ethnic cleansing, the sort that cannot be photographed, but is nevertheless as effective and devastating. It has exacerbated the severe economic hardship the Palestinians already face, causing a loss of employment and income by destroying shops, farms and factories.
If Israel would genuinely be interested in the security of its citizens, and in separation from the Palestinian people, it would have erected the wall on the “Green Line” (the border that existed before the 1967 war). But this is not the case. The majority of the planned wall cuts deep into Palestinian territory, incorporating into Israel about 10%-15% of the occupied territories, a huge portion of very fertile land full of olive groves, greenhouses, vegetable fields and water resources.
Here, politics are a big part of people’s lives. Even if one wants to ignore it, he/she cannot because the occupation controls every aspect of Palestinians’ lives. Every day at work, I hear a story of a staff member suffering from the wall, the
What amazes me the most is how determined people are. All the difficulties they face under the occupation do not stop them from working, or even smiling.
My first week at the office has actually been quite chilled out. I think it’s mostly due to the fact that Bisi, WOCON’s Executive Director (also my supervisor) has traveled with most of the office staff to attend a conference in Abuja. The only other people left with me at the office in Lagos are the accountant, Fumi and another lawyer, Mrs. Ajayi. So everything has been really quiet. I think it is clear that it is Bisi who is the life and soul of this organization. When she is not around it’s like everything goes into hibernation, patiently waiting for her return to once again spring back to life.
As for me, I’ve started working on the website. In doing so I have realized that there is so much I need to learn about this organization. I’ve started reading some of their files and reports but I’m finding it a bit challenging to navigate among all this information on my own. However, for someone who is a novice web designer, I’m actually quite proud of what I have accomplished so far if I do say so myself…But just to make sure, I’m going to get one of my web expert friends to look over what I have done before officially launching the new site.
I can’t wait to see WOCON in action. I want to attend their seminars and participate in their workshops. I want to meet with former victims and other stakeholders. So I guess I’m also eagerly awaiting Bisi’s return. In the mean time, I’m happy that I’m learning new skills everyday and my efforts are taking shape right before my eyes.
So i’m in Bosnia. Tuzla, to be precise. Arriving in Sarajevo touched off memories of the nightly news I’d seen back in the mid-nineties. I recognized some of the tall apartment buildings, still pock-marked with bullet holes and scabs of naked rebar and concrete where walls had been blasted by shells. There were still even a few bombed out buildings that were now inhabited only by poplar trees. Sarajevo, like pretty much every major Bosnian town I’ve visited, is located in a low-lying valley ringed by rolling mountains. Sprawling below, the cities and their inhabitants offered easy targets for the snipers on the mountainsides. The mountains form the horizon in all directions, and as my taxi drove to the bus station from the airport, I asked myself how anyone could possibly have hidden and felt safe, the horizon seemed to signify terror.
Once in Tuzla I received a warm welcome from Zulfo, Vildana, Edisa, and Edina, some of the staff at Drina, the organization I would be working with. The next day they took me to Srebrenica, where Drina has another office and the site of the worst massacres in Europe since WWII. During the three-hour drive, we passed two recently discovered mass grave sites. One was on a wooded hilltop, the other in a flood plain near a creek. We also passed a battery factory where Bosnian Serb militiamen had rounded up Bosnian Muslims and shot them en masse. That same day, we saw on the news recently released footage of Serb soldiers rounding up Bosnian Muslims. In one brief clip played on the news, a group of Bosnians was ordered to lie face down in a gully on the side of the road. A soldier fired an automatic weapon just above their heads, causing clods of dirt to fall from the hillside onto the men’s heads. The soldiers ordered the men up and continued to walk. The tape picked up later, when several were executed one by one as the others watched, and then dragged off into the woods.. You can see a different part of the same video here: republikabih.net click on the link ‘snimku’ to the upper right hand side of the photo.
In the car with me was Edisa, Vildana, and Almir. Almir is 20 years old and he volunteers at Drina. In 1995, he and his father fled Srebrenica. They traveled six days, moving only at night, through wooded mountains and crevices. They avoided roads where they might be spotted by Serbian militiamen or ‘Chetniks,’ the worst and most extremist of the Bosnian Serb nationalists. As they hid in the woods, Almir, his father and others heard calls over loudspeakers to come forward to ‘the U.N. peacekeepers.’ Serb militiamen had painted a truck with U.N. peacekeeper logos to entice fleeing Bosnians to come to them. To be exterminated.
As the car wound through valleys and hillsides, I was shocked that Almir had made the trip by foot in only six days. Zulfo, the director of Drina, was one of the last to flee Srebrenica and it took him 32 days.
Once in Srebrenica I was shown around Drina’s office there, and met the town’s mayor who happened to be strolling by the coffee shop we were at and stopped in to say hello to Vildana. There was also a biker party/rock concert going on there. Apparently some one was returning from the United States and decided to celebrate by inviting every biker in the Bosnia Hercegovina (a couple hundred) to rock out. On Wednesday I helped write a project proposal for the Srebrenica NGO network. This is a group of NGOs in Srebrenica who work on a variety of different issues – aid to handicapped children, youth services – but for whom resettlement, reconciliation and building of civil society is a primary issue.
Drina is trying to organize them into a network to work together on resettlement issues, though it is slow going. Politics in Srebrenica was slow to return to normal after the war. Given its intense experiences, and its mixed population of both Bosnian Serbs and Muslims deep within the Serb areas of Bosnia, it was the seat of some of the most radicalized politics in the region. Some extremist politicians remained prominent for several years after the war. Even now, things are cordial but cool between the Serb and Muslim populations in Srebrenica. There is, for example, a discotheque on the main strip that is frequented only by Serbs. Muslims don’t go there because they “don’t want any trouble” so they “make their own fun”.
Beyond the delicate politics, there is a host of other problems. Economically Srebrenica is sluggish. Employment is a problem throughout Bosnia, but in smaller towns like Srebrenica it’s particularly acute. Before the war Srebrenica’s population was almost 40,000. Now it’s less than a quarter of that. Young returnees in search of employment become discouraged and end up leaving the town once again. Tourism used to be an important part of Srebrenica’s economy; the area is rich in springs that are advertised as providing a number of health benefits, and there is a lake, a river, and scenic mountainsides. Srebrenica also has mines. Though several heavily mined areas have been demined for industry, the natural settings are not all clear. An aerial map of minefields in Srebrenica shows the town was at one time entirely ringed by mines, sealing its inhabitants inside. Bosnia has the highest percentage of its land mass mined (a little over 4% according to the ITF) than anywhere in the Balkans. It is estimated that it will take twenty years for all the mines to be eliminated. Srebrenica also has mining. There are heavy bauxite and iron ore deposits. Concession laws give mining companies free reign for a distinct period of time, and so these companies have gouged the land for bauxite so intensively that some of the natural springs have been damaged. There are no tax laws in place to allow tax-deductible donations to non-profits, and so fundraising from businesses is difficult, though individual refugees in Sarajevo have been generous in their support of their former hometown. Drina has succeeded in getting a position created in the Srebrenica municipality for working specifically with non-governmental organizations, but the officer is somewhat inexperienced.
These are all problems that Srebrenica and its network of NGOs face, and which Drina is trying to address. Its work is cut out for it!!
I was in Prague around 5 years ago. While I knew that some things would have changed, it’s surprising to me how differently I see the city this time around. I’m no longer looking at the tourist Prague; nor have I done many tourist things. Living temporarily in a hostel, however, the contrasts between the two worlds, the American and the Czech, is striking. The feeling of living in a place is completely different than just passing through.
Among tourists, Prague has a reputation as a great place to visit. Tourists in Prague, in my hostel, mostly college undergraduates from a variety of nations around the world, tend to rate Prague well for cheap beer, gorgeous buildings and inexpensive entertainment. Perhaps slightly older travelers look more at the incredible museums, or the amazing history of Prague. Living here, however, I am more interesting in finding a nice neighborhood, with good access to public transportation and a gym. Tourists tend to see the city as an exotic destination, residents tend to see it as a potential home. Even more unlike tourists, who are mostly unaware that Gypsies exist outside of Broadway musicals, I am constantly on the lookout for Roma as I walk around Prague.
Working at Dzeno has made me incredibly curious about them. My childhood stereotypes resurface. Supposedly, Roma will be darker skinned, with more colorful clothes, and perhaps a wild or sad look in their eyes. The many pictures around the office reinforce my stereotypes…dancing women with dangling earings, captured in time wearing peasant skirts and spotless white blouses. Beautiful. Timeless. Exotic. But just like beer isn’t the whole story in Prague, the stereotypes of Gypsies aren’t the whole picture either. Roma in Prague have unique culture, folklore and traditions; but they also have everyday lives.
Working at Dzeno advocating for Roma, I will almost certainly get to see the exotic side of Roma, and probably of Prague. But I will also see the everyday nuts and bolts that go into making a small human rights NGO successful. Those nuts and bolts: the thousand phone calls, emails, articles, and ideas that go into a day at Dzeno are just as important as the more flashy side of Roma culture. In some ways, it’s more exciting to me to see these small things behind the curtain. It makes my experience here more real, and more inspiring. Anyone can drink the beer in Prague. But not everyone gets to work here.
I arrived in Batticaloa on Tuesday. The scenery surrounding this small town on Sri LankaТs east coast is as stunning as its people are welcoming. The clear waters of the lagoon that surrounds Batticaloa end in thick vegetation and all the shades of green one can imagine. The people here must be among the friendliest in South Asia, quick to greet outsiders with a smile, a nod, and if they can manage it, a Уgood morning.Ф
But all is not well in Batticaloa. The town was first ravaged by war and then by the tsunami. BatticaloaТs tourist industry was crippled when Sri LankaТs civil war intensified in the 1990s. The guesthouse I am staying in was closed for five years, and only reopened to host the foreign NGOs that swarmed here to help control the conflict. Batticaloa now operates under an unofficial and tenuous truce between the government and the LTTE: the army is in charge during the day, and the LTTE takes over after dark.
When the conflict subsided, the tsunami came. Reminders of the tsunami are omnipresent, from leveled brick houses half a mile from the oceanТs edge, to toys in a tree on the guesthouse grounds, deposited there by the tsunami and preserved by the guesthouse staff. The local beaches, which were once calm enough to guarantee safe wading for a six-month-old, are now potholed, littered with debris, and hardly fit for recreation. The singing fish that the lagoon was once famous for have not returned since the tsunami.
Two nights ago, I was standing at the edge of the lagoon looking for some respite from the areaТs oppressive heat. The serene silence was interrupted only by the distant barks of stray dogs and the occasional splash of a fish jumping out of the water. Looking up, I could see the stars trace almost perfect silhouettes of the palm trees. It was hard to believe that such devastating forces, of both natural and human creation, could percolate under the surface of this tropical paradise.
I donТt leave for the tsunami-ravaged Batticaloa district until tomorrow, but I already have one tsunami story under my belt.
I went cool off at the beach yesterday Ц at the Galle Face Green, a long stretch of lawn facing the sea where hordes gather for weekend R&R. I bought some ice cream from one of vans lined along the road, and found a seat among the loving couples that gather here on Sundays.
A pleasant, elderly man wandered along shortly and helped himself to a seat next to me. He asked me the time Ц always a reliable conversation-starter Ц and after exchanging some pleasantries, he mentioned that he was living in a camp for tsunami survivors.
He had seized my attention. He told me how he lost his wife, four of his six children, and most of his belongings to the tsunami. He told me that he had been sick for four days because of the filthy water at the camp. He told me how devastated he was that heТd never go home again. My bleeding-heart-liberal instinct was in overdrive. УTell me your troubles,Ф I imagined saying to him, УYou have my ear! You have my shoulder!Ф
And as I equated his cheerful demeanor to the tenacity of the human spirit, it turned out that what he really wanted was my money.
УOnly you can help, sir,Ф he added, and went into the same pitch I have heard countless times in Pakistan. УMy children are starving, I am hungry, sir,Ф etc. etc.
Suddenly skeptical of his story, I offered him 50 rupees Ц not a substantial amount, but enough for a roadside meal Ц and begged my leave. He refused and walked away.
I donТt know if this man was a tsunami survivor or if he was just a drifter down on his luck. I donТt know if it really matters. But itТs a shame that as calamitous a disaster, one that begs for every ounce of compassion the world can muster, can fall prey to his sales pitch and my suspicious mind.
This year the monsoon is a little late. Everyone keeps telling me it will start in the next week or two. In my first week the temperature was 33-35 degrees Celcius (that is 91-95F). This is the hottest it has been in Kathmandu in ten years. Where I work, and in almost all local offices, there is no air conditioning and there is rarely a ceiling fan – because, they say, it never gets this hot. People in a terai town started to do puja (prayer) to the gods for rain. I think it worked because we have had some rain every day for the past 3 days. There was a lot of sweating in the first few days, but everything is cooler now.
I have moved in with a Nepali family in New Baneshwor, Kathmandu. They are very kind and helpful. I am able to have dinner with them in the evening. We have had dhal bhat (typical Nepali meal consists of dhal, which are lentils, bhat, which is rice, and vegetables), veg momos (like chinese dumplings, but tastier) and last night we had roti with dhal and vegetables. The father works at a dairy so we get doi (yogurt/curd) sometimes. I am convinced that doi is so much better than any yogurt I have ever had before.
I go for walks at the end of the day with my two Nepali younger sisters. They are anywhere between 18-23 yrs old. Roads in Nepal are arrow and crowded with buses, cars, tempos, motorcycles, bicycles and people – all at once! Most of the time you spend dodging traffic and the other people on the street. As we walk one of the sisters tells me how most of her family lives in the area, about 5-15 minutes walk from their home. They have a name for every type of aunt and uncle you could think of, your father’s sister, your mother’s brother’s wife, you father’s older brother, your mother’s younger sister, etc. It goes on and they have a different word for it!
Work
Working with the organization so far has been great! I sat down with Bijay and we went over all their programs for the last six months. With all this information I have helped them complete the program descriptions of their 6-month report. This will be passed onto the coordinator to review and add to.
I have seen footage of rallies and protests that COCAP has helped organize and taken part in. What is so amazing is that the footage and the editing is all done by volunteers. They put themselves on the line, using their own equipment, in order to show others what really takes place at these rallies. Police forces take participants away, beat them or chase after them into buildings for standing at the rally.
Those in Kathmandu are not the only ones being caught in the crossfire. Many in the villages are accused by the Maoists as being government supporters; and then when the government comes they are accused of being Maoist supporters. Those in the village can do nothing, but provide food and items to the Maoist, or risk being taken away, beaten or killed; and they have to abide by the government laws in order to avoid being taken away, beaten or killed.
Today we had the director of a member organization ask if we could help him locate information on coping through traumatic situations. The organization is located in the far west of Nepal and is highly effected by the Maoist insurgency. So many have been recruited (forced) into the Maoist army, some are beaten and threatened, and others just disappear.
There are so many stories that have been told regarding the situation with the insurgency. So many unwarrented arrests, so many disappeared persons and too many deaths of those caught in the middle.
Now well into my second week in Kampala, I am feeling significantly more comfortable with how this city operates. For example, now when I get lost on a boda boda, I attribute more of the blame on the driver than on myself as I give him street names, neighborhood, landmarks. Even though we are equally as clueless, I at least have a valid excuse. In a place where English is the official language, I found it a bit frustrating for the first week, given my prior ability to communicate destinations even in places with language barriers.
After familiarizing myself with the history of fundraising at RLP, I see that there is a great deal of progress to be made. Much of the activity in this area is a bit haphazard, and an elaborate system and strategy needs to be devised. I have created a spreadsheet, which should make record-keeping extremely efficient. At the moment, much of the information resides in random computers and the trusty old filing cabinet. This week, I have worked on a number of proposals: drafting, revising, summarizing… I guess those legal writing classes on persuasive techniques had an immediate payoff. By the end of the summer, I am envisioning a business plan inclusive of funding strategies and other marketing materials. I am itching to get a powerpoint presentation together, and I thought those days were behind me.
Best of all, I have also started to interview refugees through the Legal Aid clinic about their experiences. At the moment, I am trying to understand the treatment of unaccompanied minors and urban women. Frequently, I find myself wishing that I had become fluent in French because of all the refugees here from Congo and Rwanda. It has been quite disheartening to learn of all the problems that accompany good intentions. The work of international aid organizations not only preserve poor conditions but in certain instances have exacerbated them. For example, by being forced into the refugee settlements, children are much more vulnerable to recruitment into rebel forces (when I say vulnerable I do not mean to imply choice) because it is often the case that there is limited educational or other opportunities. I have heard that Right to Play at least mitigates those circumstances. With meetings regarding the repatriation of Rwandan refugees and on the incompatible concept of justice by the ICC intervention, I am happily absorbing background on conflict and post-conflict dynamics and its impact on forced migration. The situation in the north is still tenuous with over a hundred abductions over the past couple of weeks.
A few days ago I participated in my first “hash,” which apparently is international. Someone mentioned that their motto is, “Drinkers with a running problem.” It is quite a sight for the locals: a bunch of Mzungus and locals running together through the streets of Kampala. The shared taxis (their form of public buses) which are always barreling down the street somehow had no problem stopping traffic for the crowds of runners/hashers (running and walking). This presented me with a chance to improve my navigation skills as we trekked all over the city. After over an hour of running in confusion, I had to chug a beer and introduce myself to the large group. How special, I think I am going to be a regular as it provides my only outlet for exercise these days. Information can be found at http://gotothehash.net/
Combinations here are quite extraordinary: the contrast between the slums and the golf course (smack dab in the center), homeless people who own mobile phones, the speed at which people drive and the speed (or lack thereof) at the checkout line.
Right now I’m in Zurich International Airport awaiting a series of connecting flights that will basically take me through every capital in Western Europe. Once I arrive in Srebrenica, I quite frankly am not sure what to expect. “Terrified” is too strong of a word, but “uncertain” really doesn’t capture what I am feeling. My job description is to help put on a conference marking the 10th anniversary of the 1995 srebrenica massacre where up to 10,000 Bosnian muslims lost their lives. I`ll be helping as well with donor networking and hopefully get a glimpse of how efforts at refugee repatriation are conducted. The number one thought on my mind is the hope that I can be of some help to Drina and the other organizations putting these events on.
To prepare, I began by having a friend of mine who works at the Kosovo desk at the State Department give me a crash course over drinks in Balkan history, and have begun reading several books for the plane: “Yugoslavia: Death of a Nation”, “Endgame” (the story of the Srebrenica massacre), and “To End a War” (an account of the Balkan wars by Richard Holbrooke). There are also reports by AP’s Peter Lippman to continue looking at.
I will be staying with Zulfo, who runs the organization Drina, for the duration of my stay. The deal is that I help him with English in return. It was a very generous offer, and I hope to be able to repay Drina in kind.
For now, it’s off to Vienna!
I still have a few days before I go to the office and officially begin my internship with WOCON. In the mean time, I am settling down quite nicely in my new environment. One thing I forgot about spending the summer in Nigeria is the amount of rainfall. It seems that I have left the rain clouds of Boston only to meet them again in Lagos. Nevertheless, the situation is actually quite pleasant because when it rains in Africa, the air is still hot and the water is cooling to the skin.
Unfortunately, rain in Lagos is also synonym to flooding. Two days ago, there was a thunderstorm and a number of streets transformed themselves into miniature rivers. Extremely poor city drainage systems seem to be at the root of the problem. That day, I saw some people walking knee deep, trousers folded and slippers in hand in the muddy street waters. I think this is a clear example of the true resilience of the Nigerian people who refuse to be slowed down by the negligence of their government leaders or, in fact, by Mother Nature herself. Did you know that some places, which are especially prone to heavy floods, people have resorted to using mini canoes to get to work?! Amazing…
Beba mentioned to me this morning over coffee that she did not sleep well last night. On the local news last night, the Hague released a video of a man being killed by Serbs in the Srebrenica killings. The release was in response to a man purportedly supporting Milosevic and condemning his imprisonment as unjust. The video was released as evidence of his collusion with Milosevic and basically to shut him up and show that he too is a veritable war criminal.
Beba said you could see the man’s face, his relatives would be able to identify him. He was crying and begging for his life as he was murdered. The Serb Scorpions (I think they are like Hitler’s Gestapo) videotaped some of these incidents for bragging rights.
This lead into a very interesting discussion about some of Beba’s experiences in Srebrenica. As a child her family had 6 children, but often her mother would invite a poor neighbor boy over for meals as well. He called Beba “sister”, and even called her mother, “mother”… he was a Serb, but at that time, no one thought about people in those classifications. After school, he joined the Serbian Army. He remained friendly and close with the town, coming to school reunions.
When the war broke out, he changed. He returned to his hometown as one of the leaders in the military force that was responsible for the murder of the missing men. She said something in him snapped. He began referring to Muslims in a very derogatory Bosnian word. Beba said she does not know how to translate the word to English, but it is below the lowest of animals.
I asked her how this could happen. How could the two of them grow up very similar, and take such different paths? This lead to another story. She said as a principal of the school in Srebrenica, she maintained a book of children that had problems. These could be any kind of problems, family issues, behavioral issues, anything. Basically, it was like the army got a hold of this book and each person in it was given money, uniforms, and a weapon. They had the power to take girls they never would have been able to say hello to before. They had the power to go to homes and demand anything they wanted. She asked one young man how much he was paid… the young man was given the equivalent of 10 months pay of a teacher to join the army. Who wouldn’t turn that down? People who had nothing their whole lives, but all of a sudden were given money and unlimited power over those around them….as the saying goes, absolute power corrupts absolutely. They swallowed the rhetoric that was fed to them in exchange for the opportunity to bask in the glory of their newfound money and power.
Beba said something that will resonate with me for a very long time. People didn’t believe there could ever be a war. They didn’t believe genocide could even occur in their land. But it did. And, she warns, it can happen anywhere- when you have a few leaders with bad ideas that are willing to spend the money and time to get people on their side, the can convince anyone of just about anything.
Beba was expelled from Srebrenica on 1 May 1992 to a town about 10km away. Then, she and her family were expelled again on 11 May 1992 to Tuzla where they remained. She said it was termed ethnic cleansing, which she never understood. “I am not dirty,” she said. The Serbs was intent to remove all non-Serbs, be them Muslim, Croat, or Roma. They wanted a certain radius around the river to be Serbs only. Beba believes this is the mindset that is so deadly. They were not getting rid of just Muslims or Croats, but instead were aiming to rid the area of anyone non-Serb: a small difference in semantics, but a large difference in mindset.
Sadly, this aggression paid off. The border today between Serbia and Bosnia is this river. The Serbs were able to extend their land and achieved the land grab they so wanted.
The odd thing is, as I walk around the town, I have no idea who is what race or religion. There are no distinguishing characteristics, no sign that marks one as Croat vs. Serb vs. Muslim. Just your name…I have seen a few women in headscarves that I assume to be Muslim. They are fair skinned and blue eyed. I have seen olive skinned women with dark eyes dressed in Western clothes. Something as chance as your birth and your name determined your life or death here for a period of years.
We think things like this could never happen to us, that we as Americans are far more civilized. We would recognize such aspirations in emerging leaders and the country would never stand for such actions. Well, they felt the same way here. In 1984 Sarajevo was home to the largest Winter Olympics held to that time. It was a very Western and advanced area. During the war, Sarajevo was without power or running water. Snipers and shelling killed 10,000 people, of which 1,500 were children. The city was under siege for over 3 years…
It can happen in the US. We should never be so cocksure and arrogant to believe that we as US citizens are somehow above this type of problem. Anytime you have people that are oppressed, people that believe they deserve things as a given right, and multiple ethnicities and nationalities living together, you have the opportunity for corruption, and ambitious individuals to take advantage of the situation.
The people of BiH are no different from us. In fact, I would argue many of them are stronger, more determined and seek democracy more than any American ever could. When the forces in power required people to follow their rules to receive even basic services such as food and jobs, some people said no. They were willing to stand for what they believed was right, to fight for democracy in the face of terrible hardship. Would you have done that? Or would you have just given up one more civil liberty the government asked because it was easier than fighting it? Would you have changed your name because you were so hungry and scared for your life? Would you have fled your hometown rather than stay and fight for what you knew was right and the city you loved?
These women did not. They stayed, they fought and they survived.
So I’m leaving for Prague tomorrow. It still seems surreal. I’m packing my bags, and getting ready to go, but it still hasn’t hit me that I won’t be in New Haven on Monday. Despite the fact that I have been virtually interning for Dzeno since January, I can’t quite get it through my head that I am really going to Prague. To live. For 10 weeks. And I don�t speak a word of Czech. It’s all quite hard to wrap my mind around.
Ten weeks seems like such a short time to accomplish anything. Thinking back to my time in Peace Corps, after 10 weeks I barely knew the names of all of my colleagues. It really did take me the entire two years to finish my major projects. So what can I accomplish in ten short weeks for Dzeno? The fight for Roma rights in Europe is huge: they are the lowest of the low, their situation is worse than many refugees or immigrants. The Roma remain strangers in a land they have inhabited for generations. I am overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the problem: what can one person (or one small NGO) do to change the world?
Of course, I am forgetting my history, forgetting where I am going. The former president of the Czech Republic, Vaclav Havel, answered these questions in 1978, in one of my all-time favorite works: The Power of the Powerless. Facing the enormity of the Communist regime, Havel wrote:
“…[T]he crust presented by the life of lies is made of strange stuff. As long as it seals off hermetically the entire society, it appears to be made of stone. But the moment someone breaks through in one place, when one person cries out, “The emperor is naked!”–when a single person breaks the rules of the game, thus exposing it as a game–everything suddenly appears in another light and the whole crust seems then to be made of a tissue on the point of tearing and disintegrating uncontrollably.”
Years before the fall of the Berlin Wall, Havel saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and predicted the end of Communism. But it wasn’t just one person that ended Communism, you’ll say, it was the triumph of the masses. But each person decided on their own to break the rules of the game, to refuse to exist in the cage, to see that the emperor was naked.
The fight for Roma rights is quite different. To achieve progress for the Roma, change must occur on a level deeper than political systems; it must occur in the hearts and minds of individuals steeped in generations of prejudice. The Roma themselves must believe that they deserve better. Czechs must believe that Roma are equal, and worthy of the rights and duties of full citizenship. And every individual must believe that they can change the world. Even me.
I headed out to the exhumation in the afternoon, accompanied by Don Felix and Rutina. The exhumation site consisted of the two forensics experts, the 2 diggers who were hard at work, two observers from ECAP, and 2 police officers, along with a few local folks and family members who sat by and watched the men at work. One of the forensics experts oversaw the actual digging, documenting what they were finding, while the other expert conducted interviews of the surviving family members. They started at 5.5 m depth this morning, and made it to 7.68 m by day´s end. They have found some pieces of clothing, old sandals and some pieces of rope, which they believe was probably rope used to handcuff the victims.
By the end of the day, the relatives began to approach the experts and relating their recollection of the events, seeming confident that the bodies will be found below the stone that the diggers have hit. I hesitated to take pictures most of the afternoon as I did not want to be disrespectful to anyone that was present, particularly as many of the victims´ family members had been there all afternoon. In the end, I was given the go ahead.
After taking a few pictures and seeing how they were turning out, some of the family members expressed the desire of rounding up the surviving family members of all of the victims and taking a picture of them in front of the site. I was obviously happy to oblige and honoured to be asked to document the event. I hope that we can actually round everyone up early next week.
I should note that there has been a bit of controversy around this site as the victims were themselves said to be conspirators and had murdered others before themselves having been murdered. Individuals have expressed being incredulous as to why the experts and the Public Ministry were bothering to dig them up.
I went on my first visit to the Community Museum last week. The museum itself is pretty basic but houses an incredible story and represents the pain of many. The first room contains in large part the story of local customs, but also has some exhumated bones on display. Buckets of bones are showcased in a glass covered display. The image is striking. Even more so as one enters the second room which is a small room plastered with 5 x 7 pictures of those who perished during the massacres which occurred between 1980 and 1984.
Men and women, young and old, and children alike, all victims caught in the middle of a brutal internal conflict. The walls also contained stories relaying the context leading up to particular massacres. One that struck me the most occurred in the town of Chichupac, where the military had announced that they would arrive on Jan. 8, 1982 with toys for the kids in celebration of the New Year. Enthusiastic about the celebration, the local people decorated the town and were present for the occasion in large numbers.
The forces arrived and indeed gave presents to the children, and then as morale soared, they dismissed the women and children and tortured and murdered all of the men. One of the victims who was being interrogated about who the guerrillas were, was tortured, had his penis cut off and then proceeded to cut the part of his nose off, leaving him bleeding to his death. Those who were tortured were many, and that is only one horrific story among many others.
I plan on returning to the museum regularly, each time focusing on one story, or the story of any one town in order to try to grasp the horror that their experiences represent, which will help me put this whole experience into perspective.
After a long journey here and some confusion as to my arrival, I have finally made it to Bosfam. To be cliché, the country is both exactly what I expected it would be like and nothing like I thought it would be…
Shortly after crossing the border into Bosnia, I saw fields marked with the red skull and crossbones signs indicating active mine fields. My guide book strongly suggests staying away from fields that look as if they may not have been touched for 10 years as they may also be mined. Although I have nothing to worry about here in Tuzla, it’s a shocking reminder of the war and how far this country still has to go on the road to recovery.
I can hear the Muslim call to prayer multiple times a day, but see very few women wearing traditional Muslim clothing, or even head scarves. The square near the office has an obviously Muslim influenced arch in it, but I haven’t found the mosque yet in my regular wandering around town.
Since I cannot speak the language, I rely on a lot of sign language when Beba is not around to translate for me. I am overwhelmed by the stories of these women and what they faced in the war. Some of these women are my age and are now widows raising their children alone. Others are older but are left without their sons and husbands and even their homes. It boggles my mind to think that this country was torn apart by war, no running water or electricity just 10 years ago with snipers posted around. I was 18 then, and I cant fathom how life would be if I had been born a Serb or Muslim in Bosnia rather than a US citizen.
Despite the troubles, pain and loss these women and this country have faced, everyone is so friendly. I have learned a few phrases, and the women are delighted when I try to speak to them. Even in the market, I am able to get by with pointing and smiling. The pace of life here is much more relaxed and slower than in the US. There is always time for coffee and a chat with friends and family. There is always snack or a cigarette offered to the guest, regardless of the economic state of the host.
ItТs my fifth day in Colombo, and the first day that my jetlag has been controlled enough for me to venture out, find an internet cafщ, and post my first entry to my blog.
Until next week, when I leave for the tsunami-affected Batticaloa district in Eastern Sri Lanka, IТm staying at Colombo House, an old colonial mansion converted into a four-room guesthouse. ItТs quite interesting being a Pakistani staying here. Everything about it from the enormous rooms to the stark, heavy furniture, to the stately balconies, to the leafy view, feels like colonial India.
The most interesting part of my stay here Ц the only interesting part, really, since the remainder of my free time has been spent in my room, reading, playing my guitar, or passing out at entirely the wrong time of day Ц is breakfast. I walk down to the dining area, exchanging pleasantries on the way with the lovely Danish lady who runs the place. In the empty dining room, I ring a bell to let the wait staff know that I demand breakfast.
As I chat with my host, discussing plans for my day Ц plans that will never come to fruition because I will be asleep by 6:30 pm Ц a middle-aged gentleman in a sarong rushes out with china and silverware for my meal. A younger Sri Lankan lady follows with a newspaper, half a papaya, toast with butter and margarine, and some damn fine tea. For the remainder of my breakfast, they take turns walking by, checking on my tea, and asking, УBring something else, sir?Ф
Having grown up in Pakistan, hearing all about the evils of colonialism and the glorious independence from the British, IТm realizing that things in South Asia really havenТt changed much. I suppose the racial walls are coming down Ц seeing as IТm closer in heritage to my servers than the official European colonizers Ц but the class barriers are alive and kicking. And theyТre really making me quite uncomfortable.
Article in today´s Prensa Libre: (5/30/05) Maintaining Hope, Baja Verapaz
Photograph – Forensics experts carry out excavations in Rabinal in search of the remains of people executed by the Military
Rabinal- Josefina Ortiz and Roberto Ortiz (aunt and nephew) expressed the fact that they are hopeful that they Hill find the remains of their relatives, who were murdered by the military on December 19, 1981.
The excavations are being carried out by a team of experts from the Foundation for Forensic Anthropology of Guatemala (FAFG) in the locality of Guachipilín, in Rabinal, where it is believed that Máximo Ortiz and Ovidio Ortiz, father and uncle of Roberto Ortiz, who is determined to locate his relatives in order to rebury them in an appropriate place and manner, were buried.
Ortiz explained that on that day, December 19, 1981, they were celebrating the town´s festivities, when an order arrived from the military commanders that everyone needed to be present at the locality of Guachipilín. ¨My father, my uncle, and other people hurried to the meeting, not knowing that it would be to kill them.¨ remembered Roberto Ortiz sadly.
They point to a captain Family members of those who have disappeared demanded justice against those responsible in the military. They only remember that the person who gave the order for the killings was Captain Solares.
May 30, 2005 – Happy Memorial Day I have arrived. While landing in Kathmandu you notice the plane comes in at a steeper angel than at most airports. Of course we cannot start to descend too far until we have cleared the hills that surround the valley. Nepal is humid and hot, all of the country looks forward to the rainy season.
My first two days were about getting adjusted to the time zone. Nepal is 9 hours and 45 minutes ahead of American EST. I found myself up from 12 midnight till 6am without a problem and would take a nap in the afternoon. Last night was the first night I slept the whole night. Having spent my first day at COCAP, meeting staff and volunteers, I was able to stay up during the day and sleep at night.
COCAP is located in Anamnagar. It is near other human rights organizations and NGOs. The staff and volunteers are extremely welcoming and helpful. I was icked up by Siyaramdai and taken by motorcycle to COCAP. I do not ride motorcycles back home, so it was an adventure. It is also a very fast way to get around and by the end of the day I was enjoying the ride! No worries, I had a helmet!
Bijay, the program manager, sat down and went over COCAPs creation, past programs and current work. Very comprehensive! What I had not been aware of is that COCAP’s partner organizations are from all branches of human rights. Through COCAP they have a unified voice for peace, equality and stability. Organizations are able to share knowledge and resources with each other to make their individual programs stronger.
One of COCAP’s most recent program was a human chain created around Ratna Park In Kathmandu. The chain was to bring attention to human rights violations and actions the government should be taking. It was held just before the royal coup of February 1. The event was significant, I think, because it was a positive peaceful protest that did not disrupt the daily activities of the Nepali people. Many Nepali’s are tired of protests, bandhs(strikes), and road blocks that disrupt theri day and make them loose money. COCAP is conscious of their actions. They are able to bring attention to their cause without disrupting peoples lives in the process.
COCAP can also be complemented for its “practice what you preach” approach to their work. They are demanding that everyone have equal rights, equal representation, governemnt transparency and accountablity. COCAP has all of these. There office staff are 2 male and 2 female, that come from the terai and hill regions, and come from different cultural backgrounds. Their volunteers are also a strong mix of men and women, young and old. Both staff and volunteer are given opportunities to help organize and participate in events at different levels.
Their budget is transparent and for all to see, either on their website or at their office.
My responsibilites while working with COCAP will be highly focused on proposal writing and reporting. We will be putting together a plan on assessing what proposal writing skills are needed and what members areas I will visit. I assit in putting together the 6 month report for the donor organization Misereor (which will be my initial task). I will spend time working with Nita, resource center manager, on brainstorming ideas for the resource center, ie, how to organize, expand and maintain (though I beleive she does have this unter control). I will also help edit information to be posted on the website.
Bijay also took me to meet Suvesh Darmal-COCAP general secretary and Jagaran Meadia Center’s (JMC) chairperson. JMC works through different media, radio, TV, newspapers, etc., in order to highlight the rights of the Dalit community; and to highlight when those rights are not being enforced or followed. Dalits are part of the untouchable caste. Though the caste system has been illegal in Nepal for some time, many still live by the old practice.
JMC is currently working on a TV series showing a Dalit’s journey from a village in the far west to Kathmandu. Far west is known for being more conservative in their social norms. I will also being working with JMC, but we are not exactly sure what my work will be just yet.
This was my first day! I took in a lot of names, faces and information. Hopefully I will keep in straight!
First impressions, Day 1 at ADIVIMA:
I arrived in Rabinal on Wednesday with no contact info other than that I would be working at ADIVIMA. Soon after I checked into my hospedaje (pension) someone from ADIVIMA came by to get me. Bekki, from Rights Action, had called after dropping me off at the bus station to let them know I was coming and had no contact info and did not know where the office was. I got there and Don Juan was in a meeting. I waited.
He seems a little surprised at the sight of me there as if he did not know what to do with me. He tells me that that Don Carlos Chen is who I needed to speak to. He was not around. I waited for about an hour I was told that he would be back after lunch. So I wandered off, walking aimlessly around the town still with no contact info or point of reference. I came back shortly before 2. He was not there. After waiting for a while I was told that in fact he was in Cobán, a town northeast of Rabinal which is probably 3 hours away, and he would not be back until the afternoon. I was to return at 5.
So I went back on my way, walked around some more and eventually ended up back in my pension. I found my room, and particularly my bathroom, to have a serious mosquito infestation problem. They offered to fumigate and apologized for giving me that room as apparently the better rooms were all booked.
I returned to ADIVIMA, and after waiting for a while, Don Carlos finally returned. In the meantime, I was given some background reading on the Coordinadora de las comunidades afectadas por la construcción de la hidroeléctrica Chixoy (COCAHICH) (Coordinator), it´s forming and purpose.
The Coordinadora de las comunidades afectadas por la construcción de la hidroeléctrica Chixoy (COCAHICH) led a protest on September 7 and 8, 2004 in order to present their demands for damages they have suffered based on their own story and investigation of the events occurred, damages suffered, and shortcomings on the part of the World Bank and the Inter-American Development Bank in terms of their initial promise regarding compensation and relocation, as a re-vindication of the indigenous and rural communities that were affected.
The government interpreted this protest as a violent and subversive act instigated by foreigners, resulting in the demand for an order of capture of the leaders of the protest. (My direct supervisor, Carlos Chen, being one among those included on that list)
I met with Carlos for about 5-10 minutes. He did not give me any better sense as to what I would be doing or any other information. We decided I should return in the morning. Day 2 at ADIVIMA
Rose early, by 6, as the roosters had by then been up and vociferous for a while! I arrived at the office at 8, and met with Don Juan and Don Carlos to discuss how I could help them and try to determine what my role and responsibilities should be. Again, we discussed somewhat abstract things including several forums and meetings that are being planned in the longer-term, but did not get much closer to a work plan.
They discussed having me put together a proposal for the two Forums against Dams, and for Life, Communities and Water, planned for mid-October, after a brief 5 minute chat. I explained to them that I was happy to help but would need more information on what the forum is about before I would write a proposal about it, but got little in terms of additional information in return. I continued reading a report created last year by Monti and Barbara Johnston regarding the damages caused on the communities affected by the construction of the Chixoy Dam. After that I decided that despite feeling hampered and frustrated by the lack of knowledge on the topic, I would give the proposal a first rough go at it.
I wrote out an objective, goals/purpose, some additional concerns, and listed the participants based on my brief conversation with Don Juan and Don Carlos. In the meantime, Carlos and Juan held a meeting with a group of women from some surrounding villages. I did not take part in their meeting, but joined the group for lunch. The women were very welcoming and invited me to join them for lunch.
By the afternoon, I had reached a dead end on the proposal so I called Rights Action in Guatemala City to try to reach Annie. To this point I had not spoken to or met Annie, who seems to be the one and only person that works on this project with the Chixoy Case and thus my only source of information.
I was eager to have finally found her and to gain as much information as possible and advice! I once again found it hard to get information from Annie. Much to my relief, she mentioned that there are several proposals that have already been created for the October Forums and promised to send them along.
My job on this proposal will thus be to share the existing proposals with Juan and Carlos and edit the existing documents based on their comments, which seems like a much more attainable goal. She also mentioned that I might be able to work with Rolando, who works for Rights Action, on some additional investigations that he has been doing on the affected communities below the Dam, who no longer have any access to water and who were formerly excluded from last year´s study of the affected communities.
This would give me an opportunity to leave Rabinal and visit some of the affected communities outside of the town. I would be helping him redact/synthesize his findings. She also mentioned the lack of communication and collaboration that exists between Rolando and ADIVIMA, which became apparent to me immediately upon arrival when I asked about Rolando, and no one seemed to know who he was or what he was doing.
In theory, Rolando should be working in conjunction with ADIVIMA, and they should be kept up to speed as to the status of the work he is doing with the affected communities. In practice, each has worked independently of one another operating under a certain level of disinterest and mistrust. One of my goals will also be to facilitate a meeting between Rolando, and the people here at ADIVIMA as a first step towards the establishment of a cooperative relationship.
I met some of the forensics experts working with ADIVIMA on an exhumation in the nearby locality of Guatipilín and spoke to them about heading out to the site where they are excavating what they think was a mass grave containing approximately 6 people in the coming days. Thus far they had not reached actual evidence based on witness accounts, but the trip out to the site will be well worth it in order to watch the work the work that they do in the field.
I arrived in my hometown of Karachi, Pakistan last night Ц I leave for Colombo tomorrow morning. Between Washington, D.C. and Karachi, I have had 20-odd hours to think about what IТm going to find once I get to Sri Lanka. Part of me thinks the summer will be the proverbial piece of cake, but another, equally substantial part is convinced that IТm in WAY over my head. I am accustomed to working with small, under-funded, and often chaotic NGOs, and I grew up in a developing country in South Asia, so the summer shouldnТt be too much of a challenge. On the other hand, I speak none of the local Sri Lankan languages, IТm not much of a fan of the heat, and the guesthouse IТm staying at is all out of air conditioned rooms. The word УdisasterФ comes to mind.
But regardless of whether the summer will be a light-hearted breeze or a grueling misadventure, I know it will be meaningful. Many of the briefings and reports I read to prepare myself for the summer identify tsunami reconstruction and abatement of the government/LTTE conflict as the two major hurdles to Sri Lankan development. How often does one get an opportunity to work with an organization thatТs working on both? This fact alone is enough to make me look forward to my time with the Home for Human Rights, be it a cakewalk or a catastrophe.
All these concerns, however, can wait till later. Right now, I need to beat my jetlag.
In my application to the Advocacy Project Summer Internship I wrote that I’m passionate about human rights, democracy and advocacy. This might sound cliché but I really am passionate about these issues; the problem is to put these noble word and ideas into a daily practice.
So this summer I’m heading to Turin, Italy to see for myself whether these words can be translated into a true commitment on my part to the TAMPEP’s cause or whether these were just hollow ideas.
Will I be able to work in an under-resourced, poorly funded organization that has to make do with the limited resources and be happy and feel like I’m achieving something? The idealist in me says yes, and why shouldn’t I be optimistic about it? If there’s one thing I expect, it is that I will meet people there who are as committed to ideals I subscribe to and they do put them into their daily practice in spite of the difficulties they face. I know this will be a great learning experience and I’m open to the ups and downs that I probably will have to face.
Embarking on this exciting journey, I obviously have doubts about my ability to make a significant contribution: do I know enough, am I culturally sensitive enough, etc.? On the other, I believe that as along as I keep an open mind and get rid of stereotypical thinking, I can achieve and learn much.
So, yeah, I guess I’m still an idealist – let’s see at the end of summer how far this idealism takes me. World of human rights – here I come!
Day 6 in Kampala, which is a bit surprising given how settled I have felt for days. Perhaps it harkens back to my nomadic days wandering around in SE Asia and having to adjust quickly to new local cultures, languages, sensory revelations while spending only a night or two in any one location. In any case, I am grateful for the easy transition because after final exam period I was feeling more than slightly dazed. But what better way to celebrate the end of my first year of law school, then to board a plane to the other side of the world. And after about 30 hours in transit (which included 12 lovely hours wandering around at Heathrow airport), I was greeted in Entebbe with my first sunrise in Africa.
After working through some kinks regarding finances (all the ATMs here only take Visa), I took a “modest” room at Backpackers Hostel. By modest I mean pretty bare but at least it has a mosquito net, which is my only real requirement since I am a mosquito crowd-puller. I have been sure to bring the usual anti-malarials, but this time around I have come to terms with the fact that the risks are pretty significant. I immediately set off for the RLP office in Old Kampala that same morning much to their surprise. Even I was surprised about how much energy I had despite the fact I had just arrived in a new city a few hours earlier. As they were not quite expecting me for a few more days and were limited in space, I took the next few days to explore. White water rafting on the Nile (and being bruised up on rocks after being flipped off the boat) and riding boda bodas (motor bike transport) through different neighborhoods and meeting people at my hostel who were working all over East Africa (one at the ICTR, another doing HIV research in Northern Uganda) and getting absolutely lost in the sprawling, large city that is Kampala are just a few of the memorable moments of my first few days.
Yesterday was my first full day at the RLP office, which is located across the way from a primary school. While working, I can hear the happy sounds of children at play, which adds some levity to the gravity of the work at the RLP. My first impressions of the office are in line with my expectations, following closely with the description I received from a friend who worked with the RLP last summer. The staff is quite congenial and welcoming, and I felt quite at ease with the people I will be working with in the Research and Advocacy group. I have arrived at a time of transition; two of the handful will be leaving shortly and one researcher is new.
Through conversations with the Director, Zachary Lomo, I was briefed on the technology issues which currently plague the office. With new hardware sitting in the offices, the technology capability of the office is superficially misleading. In particular, the office lacks the capacity to access the internet with only one dial-up connection. Although now somewhat autonomous from Makerere University after being founded as a research project under its public university status, the RLP must deal with additional bureaucracy of approvals for certain items such as technology purchases as outlined by university procedures. Therefore, the RLP cannot directly make IT purchases without significant delay. Despite having funds earmarked, the office is estimating months before the launch of a faster connection. Given the present structure of RLP, in-kind IT donations would be a much more efficient means to realize its communication needs. Although the Advocacy Project has attempted to assist in matching the office with an in-kind donor, such efforts have been unsuccessful given the limiting criteria of those technology donors. This avenue, however, should be continued to be explored.
With currently approximately 200,000 officially registered refugees from Sudan, Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda and Burundi and 1.5 million internally displaced persons (IDPs), the topic of forced migration in Uganda is inimitable. The work of the RLP is nuanced and multileveled, fulfilling a role which is essential to protecting the rights of refugees and IDPs, but its mission is simple. It comprehensively addresses problems left unanswered and largely neglected by the government of Uganda and the UNHCR. The RLP strives to humanize the plight of refugees and not just simply deal with them. The RLP is not merely responsive to the “refugee problem” but is proactive and preventive as it seeks to understand, interpret, deconstruct and integrate policy and law with practical applications which will respond to the needs of refugees. From criticizing the policy of forced rural settlement to evaluating the implications of the ICC investigations in Northern Uganda to opening up a dialogue on the troubles of UNHCR’s status determination procedures, the RLP has the energy and idealist perspective of a startup. Refugees are treated with respect as individuals, not as some number in the system. In this manner, the RLP fulfills a specific gap in the needs of refugees by providing a local voice which serves as a check on the government and international organizations.
I am quite thrilled by the opportunity to work here for the next three months. This week I am immersing myself in funding and grant application developments, which is an area of which RLP has great need. Although I lack experience in this regard, I am confident that I will be able to bring myself up to speed as well as develop a work plan and database with contact histories of prospective granting organizations within in the week, which will build on the preliminary research I conducted from DC. At the moment, the RLP lacks structure and organization in terms of grant seeking; continuous tracking and assiduous labeling are not quite the norm here. I hope to leave that mark on the office with my detail-oriented, efficiency-hungry work ethic. Bearing in mind, that could be waylaid at times with the frequent power outages (which I hear can last for days)… But then again my persistence has been known to yield some interesting creative solutions. Now if only I can figure out how to navigate through the city without getting lost.
I am getting down to my final days before I head to Afghanistan for the summer. I have never been to Afghanistan. I have never even been close. I am picturing myself withering under a burqa in heat I have never before experienced. Though in reality, I will not be wearing a burqa and I have been told that the heat is tolerable. It might not be your typical dream internship in Paris or Rome, but it is MY dream internship.
When I picture the people and the culture of Afghanistan, I have two views: romantic versus realistic. In my romantic views, it is a country of mystery. Beautiful women masked by burqas, a camel caravan across the desert, a strong devotion to a religion that is still a mystery to me. In my realistic views, it is a country of unbearable heat, sporadic electricity, and land mines. Hopefully, the reality will fall somewhere in between.
I am excited to be involved with the Afghan Women’s Network. They are doing very important work and I hope I will contribute to their mission while I am working with them. Mahatma Gandhi once said, “We must be the change we want to see in the world.” These are brilliant words of advice that it seems the Afghan Women’s Network has taken to heart.
After 2 sleepless nights before leaving for Guatemala, I have finally arrived in Guatemala City. Rubén from Rights Action picked me up at the airport and took me to the pension where I would be staying during my time in the capital. Once I was on my own, my first day consisted mainly of wondering around the streets getting familiar with my surroundings and the place that was to become my home for the next three months, followed by a long 13 hour night of sleep.
The next morning, feeling well rested I was eager to get to the Rights Action headquarters, meet the people there and gain some insight as to what I would be doing during my time here. After the usual meeting and greeting I was given lots of background reading material on the Chixoy Dam, the communities that were affected by the Dam, the atrocities that have occurred in connection with the construction of the dam and the displacement of the people in the surrounding communities.
The studies that I have been reviewing outline the ongoing difficulties experienced by these communities as a result of their displacement, the flooding of their lands, loss of their crops, problems with access to water, and acts of violence and intimidation against them in connection with the Dam.
I am heading on my first unofficial field trip today to Antigua. I am tagging along with Mariko, who works here at Rights Action, as she heads to a meeting there this afternoon. I am excited to venture out of the city and visit the place that everyone keeps raving about. I will be heading to Rabinal tomorrow, where I will be staying for the remainder of my stay here.
I am really eager to get to Rabinal and to meet the people that I will be living and working with. So far, all I really know is that the people at ADIVIMA are expecting me and are waiting for me to arrive. I get the feeling that they will be really welcoming, so I am looking forward to it. It is a 4+ hr drive on some sort of pickup truck. Pray for no rain so all of my things do not my get soaked as my bag will be strapped onto the roof of the truck apparently and afternoon storms have been an absolute certainty so far!
The countdown is almost complete: only two more days until I am off to sunny Nigeria to begin my internship with WOCON. I’m ready, I’m excited and I just can’t wait to get out of here. I have just recently started my graduate studies in economic development and international migration so I truly look forward to experiencing first hand some of the concepts I have only learned in the classroom.
However, in the mist of all this excitement, I can’t help but feel a bit of pre-departure jitters. After all, the Nigerian professional scene is still uncharted territory for me. I have lived in Nigeria for five years but I have never actually worked with Nigerians in a formal office setting. I anticipate that making the transition from a more casual Western/American work atmosphere will sometimes be tricky.
For instance, I know that deference and respect are crucial elements of the Nigerian inter-generational dynamic. This is something that I will have to keep in mind, being a young person working with older and more experienced women. Fortunately, I have already met with Bisi and some of my other future coworkers. They were all perfectly lovely and I am sure that we will get along just fine.
Only two more days! I already have my sunglasses and mosquito repellent all packed in my bag. So goodbye America…I’ll be back in September. In the mean time, please tune in next week to read up on the start of my new adventures.
05/24/2005 Departure… Greetings! I am home in Washington DC, but preparing to leave for Tuzla on Saturday, May 28. It will be a long journey- I have approximately 11 hours of flying and a 6 hour bus ride before I arrive in Tuzla on Sunday. My bedroom currently looks like a tornado passed through as I sort through things trying to decide what to pack for my two months in Bosnia.
I am very excited about the opportunities I will have with Bosfam this summer. I have been working on webpages, articles and other information for Bosfam since February. I am ready to meet Beba and the other weavers, I feel like I already know them!! My nerves are a bit overactive lately, but I know this will be a great experience, and these women will impact my life in amazing ways as I work to help Bosfam.
My main goal this summer is to help Bosfam update their website to a more attractive and more lucrative site. I will also be helping coordinate the commemoration activities both in the US and Bosnia in honor of the 10th anniversary of the massacre at Srebrenica. I can’t imagine the emotions and passion the commemoration ceremony will elicit. I am both anxious and nervous to share these life changing moments with these women.
I have purchased my ticket and now I am trying to pack my bags. Weather in Nepal will be hot and humid, but in Kathmandu you still have cool evenings. I have bought the basic Nalgene bottle for international travel. I have bought bug spray and iodine tablets. If I need sheets or clothing I can buy these in Nepal very cheap. I am bringing the bare minimum and that is all.
Tonight I must find my training materials and some language lessons that I can review. I have happily purchased a tetris game for my 17 hour flight to Bangkok, which I hope I can sleep a majority of the way.
I can’t believe I am returning to Nepal! I am excited to see my Nepali family and friends and can’t wait to see how things work at COCAP. It will be a great adventure!
