Domestic Help and their Rights

Today's Star Weekend Mag had a compelling and warranted expose on the labour laws currently under regulation in Bangladesh. Unfortunately, those labour laws do not apply to domestic help. Domestic help must adhere to the rules set by their masters and/or mistresses. Calling them serfs depending on the people they work for isn't too much of a stretch. Sadly, domestic help, primarily young kids, are expected to work tediously long hours without suitable forms of breaks under the stern principle that any mistakes on their behalf will result in physical abuse from their employers. 

You always hear or read about horrific cases where young children, especially females, are brutally beaten by their mistresses, taunted and mocked by the children left in their care, and/or raped or molested by their masters or other male occupants in the house. It almost seems as if a young female is signing away her right to live once she agrees to work as a domestic help. The amount of stories depicting severe abuse whether phsyical, emotional, mental, and verbal upon hapless domestic help far exceeds the number of stories where domestic help are safely ensconed working with kind families.

It is quite shameful that these domestic helpers who work several long hours at usually terrible conditions are not subjected to labour laws that will ensure better working conditions and wages inclusive of holidays. The public must initiate a mass movement to guarantee domestic help are recognized as human beings entitled to good working terms and hours, decent treatment from their employers, and above all, entitled to voice their experiences if ill treated or worse. Would we, as employees ourselves, expect anything less from our employers?

Women in Quran

In the Quran, Satan asks Adam to eat an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. So, Adam and Eve(depicted as his wife) both eat from the Tree. It is of great significance that Satan is encouraging and thereby tempting Adam and NOT Eve to eat the apple. In the Bible, Eve has been vilified as the sole temptress in cahoots with Satan who beckons Adam to go astray. Yet in the Quran it is Adam that makes the fatal decision and fallacy.

Usually, when you hear of Islam and women, stories abounds in mainstream media how Islam, or rightly the fundamentalist strand, suppresses women's rights and identities. Women fall under the full jurisdiction of being contolled, dictated by, and living for and under the rule of their fathers or husbands. However, once you start reading the Quran, you will encounter, oftentimes, gross misinterpretations of the passages propagated by extreme Muslims. In many instances, the Quran dictates that women need to be taken care of and not subjected to the rigid control of men. Furthermore, the Quran heralds women as equal to men in all aspects.

Yet, fundamentalists Muslims strive to dominate and discriminate against women using the Quran as justifiable proof for their absurb and downright bizarre rules. The Shiite Law under contention in Afghanistan, and the video of a young Pakistani girl being whipped in public by men for a minor transgression such as leaving her home without permission or having an affair (the actual reason still shrouded in mystery) add credence to Islam being portrayed as the lone dissident against women rights.

Mainstream media loves a good story especially if it comes packed with tangible victims and villains. Too often, the very nature of Islam is seen as the ultimate villain when stories such as the above are making the rounds.

Bangladeshis in Iraq

NY Times ran this article about Bangladeshis working in Iraq. Surprisingly, even in Iraq amidst the turmoil and economic woes, Iraqis still find time to turn down jobs that they consider beneath them. This is where Bangladeshi workers swoop in to gladly take up those jobs and live in less than stellar accomodations. One of the cited worker mentioned he resided in a single room with other Bangladeshi men which can only be accessed by a ladder. The article further stated how the lives of these Bangladeshi workers tend to solely revolve around their jobs. They often dont see much of greater Iraq beyond their vicinity for rational fears of being killed or worse. Personally, I wonder what depraved conditions are those Bangladeshi workers in their own country for them to opt for working in Iraq?

Torture the Bush Way II

The Bush White House began planning for torture in December 2001, set up a program to develop the interrogation techniques by the next month, and the military and the CIA began training interrogators in coercive practices in early 2002, before they had any high-value al-Qaida suspects or any trouble eliciting information from detainees.

-Mark Benjamin, Torture Planning Began in 2001 @Salon.com

There we have it in a nutshell - the truth about torture under the Bush's regime. Contrary to what we have been told, the Bush administration did not seek redefining torture and implementing new torturing procedures as a last ditch effort to save mankind but was earlier conceived by Rumsfeld and others post 9/11. The most terrifying aspect of this report is how glibly President Bush defended and lied to the American public and to the greater world audience about their new torturing procedures. He assured that they were ONLY used in cases where the terrorist suspects had been taught to withstand and evade typical interrogation techniques. But the truth is far scarier and disturbing.

I wonder what happens now? There are already several lawsuits filed against the Bush administration by tortured victims from Guatanamo Prison who declared they were illegally interned and tortured. But with these new revelations and with the swarming of the global media around these reports and punditry, will it open the pandora's box for newer victims to come forth and testify their experiences in being interrogated using 'special procedures' devised by the Bush's regime?

Torture the Bush Way

The Geneva Convention has very clear, precise, and stringent rules outlining what forms of behaviors constitute as torture. Accordingly, all nations under the UN umbrella must adhere, practice, safeguard, and propragate the principles regarding human life decreeed by the Covention. However, with the release of the torture memos under the Bush administration, it is easy to discern how the rules of the Geneva Convention were manipulated, contorted, maligned, and at times even wholly disregarded in President Bush's path of capturing the perpetrators of 9/11. The memos are at once highly disturbing and intriguing to see the extent the Bush administration resorted to in utilizing any means to justify their ends or their causes. The fiasco of Abu Ghraib prison prominently comes to mind. But there are and must have been other Abu Ghraibs in different international locales propagating the Bush administration's newly defined terms of torture and applicable torturing methods. That said, it is quite encouraging to note that the Obama administration, in the pursuit of truth and transparency, have disclosed the memos. However, one can question, why shouldn't the masterminds of these blatant disregard of the Geneva Convention and of human life not be held accountable for their actions? What immunes them from being prosecuted for defining and perpetrating heinous crimes on humans in their pursuit of an ideal world? Even though the Bush administration is long past deceased, their actions over the last seven years carries far reaching and palpable consequences across the globe and through the age. The Bush legacy holds strong and travels far. It would be a great shame for the Obama adminstration to NOT create an impartial committtee that can thoroughly investigate any and all trangressions against human life conducted under Bush's regime. It may be all in the past, but we are now bearing the brunt of all the mistakes and miscalculations committed by President Bush and his cronies. They must be brought to justice.

Two Pink Lines

As the plane gracefully glided through the air, making large slow circles above the airport, I knew destiny had called me to the stand today. Suddenly I stood up, sat down again, felt self-conscious, anxious, stood up again, and walked to the nearest windows to look out. There were three small cargo planes stacked in a horizontal row on my left, and two huge jets neatly parked waiting for fuel. Or so I imagined. Lightly pressing my forehead against the glass panel, I prayed wordlessly in gratitude.

*

It was the hottest day of that year, I recall, the weatherman had issued a list of advisory precautions to defend against heat strokes and dehydration. Stay indoors, carry water bottles, move slowly, and don’t stay out for too long under the sun. By even six in the morning, you could tell by the heat that the day was going to be a killer. As I quietly re-checked your luggage mentally checking off all the items packed, I wished it was just an ordinary Sunday.

You were in the bathroom showering and shaving. I quietly entered and saw your naked body through the opaque glass doors. There were scattered spots of foam on the sink from your shaving which you had forgotten to wipe clean. Ordinarily that forgetfulness would have incited an argument between us, but today I couldn’t, didn’t, and wouldn’t care. Fear lodged in my throat, but I had promised us I would not cry. I could not cry. I had shed enough tears leading up to this day. I had pleaded, implored, cursed, threatened, and even prayed. But to no avail. You always gently and consistently explained you were obliged to serve your duty and that you had to serve your country.

As the water trickled to a halt, I quickly left the bathroom and went downstairs to make breakfast. Today of all days I wasn’t going to send you out on an empty stomach. The rooms already seemed empty, vague, and unfamiliar. The house seemed distant, distrustful, and almost a stranger. Were you feeling the same, I wondered? Were you, too, feeling the air of foreboding encroaching upon our tiny abode? For Chris sake Anira, I’m a shrink, just a shrink! How much action do you think a shrink sees in the military? Come here, don’t be ridiculous! All I’ll be doing down there is listening to the soldiers’ talk about themselves, that’s all. I won’t most certainly be in the front line fighting the damn Talibans by making them pour out their innermost secrets to me!

“Mmm, what smells so wonderful? Is it possible that Anira is actually preparing breakfast?” you jokingly asked, as you walked into the kitchen. You grabbed my waist and swooped down your head for a kiss.
“Ha ha, funny, funny,” I retorted, as I tilted my head to meet your mouth. “You’re not the only one who can cook, Sam.”

“I know,” you chuckled.

You picked up the plate of toasts and the pot of brewing tea and sat at the table. A large man, you were quite agile in your mobility. As I whisked the eggs I quietly observed you engaged in the morning papers. Five years ago if you had told me I was going to be with a shaada man, least of all a soldier, I would have laughed in derision. Reared in a family of soldiers, I grew up detesting the rigid disciplinary lifestyle imposed upon my brothers and me by our father. Departing to America was a welcoming emancipation from my family. My rigidly Bangladeshi family. They didn’t approve of you. I wasn’t surprised. Amma’s silence at the end of the line when I announced my engagement told me all. I had fooled myself into believing they would relent knowing you too were descended from a military lineage. But Baba didn’t care to know about you. As far as he was concerned I had betrayed my roots, my culture, and my past by marrying a shaada, a foreigner, non-Bangladeshi. I didn’t even dare tell them you were fifteen years older than me and a divorcee. I never got that far.

“Eggs need much beating, darling?” you asked, with a mischievous grin.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, was just thinking.” I shook away my reverie and proceeded to fry the omelettes.

“Hmmm.”

“Here you go, darling. A feast of delight, if I may say so myself,” I gaily announced, placing the plate of omelettes on the table. “It’s Spanish Frittatas.”

“I’m impressed….mmmm…it even tastes good,” you said, and with a gusto dived into the food.

I didn’t want to ruin this ordinary breakfast, I swear I didn’t, but I couldn’t stop the words as they propelled through my mouth. “So, where are you stationed again?”

You looked up at me, your chewing momentarily paused. As a shrink, I knew, you always took the time to carefully use the correct and unthreatening words to convey your point across. So, I was ready for your glib response.

“Darling Anira…I told you already. I’ll be temporarily stationed in Kabul. Perhaps if and when needed and as determined by HQ, I might be posted in one of the hotter regions. But that depends on whether they require my service.” Chewing ensued. “For now, baby, I’ll be safely cocooned in Kabul, far way from any form of action.”

I nodded. I had nothing left to ask.

*

There were several families clustered in a line saying their last goodbyes to their departing partners. We were one of them. As you were greeted respectfully by your subordinates, I hugged and kissed some of the wives I had befriended since our marriage. I was the youngest among them. The only brown one. But together we shared a bond that transcended color, age, and geography. Together we shared the fear, the longing, the uncertainty, and the inevitability of having your beloved depart for an unfamiliar and enemy-laden terrain without knowing if they will ever return. I knew I had their support to get me through the nights and days I found myself alone in our home.

“Darling, it’s time,” you softly whispered, as you cradled me once more in your arms.

I buried my head against your chest. I wrapped my arms around you and held on tight, embarrassed by my tears. I couldn’t speak. I was scared of the words that would fall out of my mouth. I was scared of my fears. I was scared of the unimaginable.

“Oh darling…oh my baby…” you whispered softly, “take care of yourself. You know how much I love you…don’t worry honey…oh don’t worry about a thing…I’ve been on so many missions like these and I always never see any action…please don’t worry. Oh baby…my precious…I love you so much..”

I grabbed you tighter unwilling to let you go. You can’t, you mustn’t, you won’t leave me here alone, I shouted silently.

“Baby, I must go…I have to go…Oh Anira, I’ll be back…you’ll see…in six months I will return.”

“Sir, we are boarding,” announced a subordinate, hovering anxiously, embarrassed at having to interrupt us.

You nodded and the solider quietly walked away towards the plane.
“Anira…baby…I love you,” you said one last time, as you pulled away from my embrace. “Take good care of yourself….stay safe…and I’ll call you as soon as I find a phone.”

I nodded, still too scared to say anything. I clamped my mouth shut. You leaned towards me and kissed my forehead. Then you walked away.

As you neared your plane, and turned back once more to look at me, I ran. I ran, I ran with sudden propulsion and flung myself in your arms again.

“Come back….promise…come back to me…” I implored.

“Promise” he muttered.

*
The instructions read two minutes for the results to appear. Two minutes. I placed the thin strip down on the counter and sat on the edge of the tub. I buried my head in my hands. How could this be? How could we be so careless? I tried to decrease my throbbing beats, taking slow deep breaths; I tried to concentrate on something, anything. Two minutes. I checked my watch and saw I had a minute and ten seconds left.

I never skipped a month. Never. That alone should have been a harbinger. But I was too naive. Oh, what will I do now?

I stood up, sat down, stood up again, and paced the tiny bathroom. I glanced at the strip to make sure it was still on the counter. I wish I could speak to someone. I wish I could speak to you. But you were stationed at Tikrit now. You rang consistently but oftentimes for three minutes or less. You sounded quite well. A bit agitated at the escalating violence, the desolation of your surroundings, the deteriorating conditions of the soldiers who sought your help; but you put up a good façade for me. You told me small snippets of your life there, what you ate, who you saw, in general, informing and assuring me that you were safe. Those brief calls did not allay my fears. However, I duly came to accept its presence. It is rational; I told myself, it is perfectly normal to have those fears. You told me so yourself.

One minute. I sat down again but my legs started shaking. Uncontrollably. What shall I do? What if..? No, I can’t be. I’m not ready. We aren’t ready. We had spoken about children once, when you were courting me, and we were trying to figure each other out. I was still in grad school. You came to our school to give a series of lectures on the modern affects of post-traumatic stress on the soldiers’ minds. You were the sole thing I took away from those lectures.

Forty seconds. What will you say? Will you be happy? Are you ready?

Thirty seconds. Am I ready?

Twenty five seconds. I think I’m ready. We had talked about this, and negotiated based on your age, and both our careers, that we could have two children. I wanted two girls.

Twenty seconds. I knew you wanted a son. A son with whom to play baseball and basketball, and other typical American games fathers played with their sons. You wanted a son to carry on your family’s military legacy.

Ten seconds. The phone started ringing. I glanced at my watch and knew it had to be you. You usually called around this time. I neared towards the strip. I had to receive your phone call.

Five seconds. Two pink lines appeared on the strip, growing pinkish by the seconds.

I crushed the strip in my hands and hurried to pick up your call.

*


You had kept your promise. You came back to me.

The descending plane smoothly graced upon the landing strip. As it neared its hangar, the cluster of subdued families moved towards our designated waiting spot. I recognized some faces, we quietly exchanged looks. Words failed us at this time.

I quietly followed the wives outside towards the hangar, panting slightly, carrying my enlarging body. Amma walked beside me, gently holding my arm. She was so concerned about me now. I heard her, last night, plead to Baba imploring him to convince me to go back with them to Bangladesh. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t now. A few of the wives smiled at my expanding abdomen and whispered helpful hints to me. I nodded without hearing them. I do that now. Words have ceased to be of use to me. I just use them to speak to you when we are alone.

The air was thick with grief and disbelief. As the coffins draped with stars and stripes flags were gently lowered from the plane, I smiled. I was the lucky one, I told myself. I was the fortunate one among the rest.
----------------------

High Seas Pirates

Although it is plausible to romanticize all pirates as incarnates of swishbuckling pirateer Captain Jack Sparrow, in reality, the escalating encounters of pirates kidnapping, capturing, and confronting international vessels on the high seas is quite troublesome.

Usually, the pirates, (most likely Somalians) tend to focus on American ships. American ships with American crew or materials and supplies destined for the American heartland automatically guarantees immense media attention. The last encounter where the pirates had captured Alabama Mersk and traded the crew for their American captain is a prime example of the massive media attention generated upon the otherwise unknown lives of the crew and their American captain. After a harrowing rescue operation which left several of the pirates dead, the American captain was eventually retrieved unharmed.

However, on that same day, another batch of pirates attempted to attack another vessel in nearby waters.

What is motivating these pirates to venture out and dare to attack and kidnap international vessels? Their motives and factors need to be understood and utilized in deterring future attacks. Furthermore, what form of policing and to what extent is security available for ships on the high seas? These frequent occurrences of pirate attacks can very well lead to many international vessels taking different routes to their destinations, which would lead to more time and fuel wastages. Finally, what if the pirates, motivated by their recent somewhat successful endeavours, focus on cruiseliners as their next targets? On that event, ordinary civilians' lives will be in jeopardy.

Right to Rape II

Brave, mostly young, Afghan women dared to rise and march against the new Shiite law only to be verbally accosted by young Afghan men calling them "whores" and un-Islamic. One of the powerful clerics, Muhammad Hussein Jafaari, stated that they didn't want foreign powers interfering with Afghanistan's domestic policies. Funny, wasn't it foreign powers that saved Afghanistan from the clutches of the Talibans?

Regardless, the law had more clauses such as women aren't allowed to leave the home or attend school without their husband's or father's permissions, and they cannot refuse to adorn themselves if ordained by their husbands. Effectively, this law, renders women rights obsolete. Just as one of the young marchers noted in NY Times, they become mere properties.

Considering Hamid Karzai is so beloved by the US, it is deeply troubling that enough pressure isn't being enforced to efface such a law.

Right to Rape

Lately all the media is abuzz with the new law implemented in Afghanistan making it permissible for husbands to rape their wives. Or so the media and the international community tells us.

I caught a bit of Al-Jazeera's interview with a rep from the Qatar University who was asked to analyze and explain this new law. Unfortunately and almost absurdly the rep trembled and floundered while attempting to define the terms 'male needs' and 'female needs'. Suffice to say, he failed to give a concrete explanation and definition of the said law.

NY Times ran an editorial today disapproving of this new law. According to it, and I paraphrase, a wife unless ill has to give in to her husband's sexual desires. I wonder what symptoms can be regarded as signs of an illness. Does it only have to be a physical ailment, or can it also be emotional and/or mental conditions? Sometimes a wife maybe physically able but mentally and/or emotionally unwilling to engage in sex. Does that then negate the women's right to say no? Or does the law sanction the husband to engage in sex with the unwilling wife and not have it labelled as rape? When does a woman's right to say no end and a man's right to violate begin? Where does those lines merge and deviate?

This new law, whether conceived under political or religious guise, is indeed quite troubling. The law, effectively, silences the wife's voice regarding her own body and her own sexual rights. More international pressure and scorn must be applied to overturn such an abusive and horrific law from further marginalizing and suppressing Afghan women.

WTF? The electricity's gone again...

Let me count the times the electricity's gone in a day...6..7...hours perhaps?!!

How are we supposed to be productive, how is the nation supposed to progress, how are the citizens supposed to work when we cant even keep the lights on for a day???

Unless we install industrial generators, it is quite impossible to get any work accomplished in a stretch of time. Oftentimes, we are stymied by the sheer exhausting heat to complete any productive work.

In a country that sprouts millionaires overnight, raises and loses billions in backhand deals, you would think we would have the lack of sufficient electricity problem already solved? Not just swiped under the expensive Afghan rug.

Right to Walk

http://www.thedailystar.net/newDesign/news-details.php?nid=83627#

I came across a pretty personal and poignant account of the writer's experiences in being personally violated on the public space. Even though I have not personally be groped or harassed in public, yet I too have felt the personal invasion tied to being out on the streets.

Walking in Dhaka can be a nightmare. The amount of eyes peering at you, checking you out, undressing you, following all your gestures etc can be quite daunting. Add to that already unpleasant experience, the coterie of small street urchins latching on to you begging for money and attention. I cannot even imagine walking around my block. Who wants to be gawked at by clusters of men? Whether you are in western or eastern attire, the very sight of a female out on the streets seem to generate an unwelcome instinct in men to invade their personal space.

Will this ever change? I admire how I spot many young females walking on the streets wearing jeans and tshirts in defiance of the lustful staring eyes at them. However, oftentimes, I notice those females are usually accompanied by at least one male figure. Does this imply that it is impossible for females to venture out on the streets alone without being harassed?

Maybe there should be laws against 'eve teasing' as it is named in Bangladesh. Maybe there are already laws in place. But I personally don't think those rules make any difference. Until ordinary male citizens cease regarding females as sexual objects, we wont be feeling much eagerness to be out walking on the streets alone.

What happens when an earthquake strikes?

The devastating earthquake in Italy has so far claimed more than 100 lives. Striking during the night, it surprised and devoured most of the landscape and human lives that could have been otherwise saved one hopes. However, the extensive and efficient search and rescue operations conducted by Italian police and local citizens is a testament of human compassion and solidarity.

But I cannot help but compare the earthquake that struck Italy to any possible earthquakes that strike Dhaka. Italy sits squarely on the map of developed and thriving nations, however, even the most advanced countries cannot survive nature's wrath. The images of rubble, destruction, bodies, and survivors emerging from graves of sand and stone are quite a contrast to the usual impression of Italy that we possess. Yet we see once again that nature is far more potent, destructive, and powerful.

Now imagine if an earthquake of that magnitude or slightly less occured in Dhaka or anywhere else in Bangladesh. What will happen? How will the landscape be altered? And how many innocent lives will be claimed? These are rational fears that must be answered. After watching the fire that consumed Bashundhara Mall while the masses, fire brigade, politicians, ineffectively stood on the sidelines, how will we cope if a devastating quake strikes us? Do we have any policies, plans, and actions in store in cases of quake emergencies? 

I fear how many ordinary citizens on the streets will suffer and perish for our own follies in not protecting ourserlves beforehand.