Playground Politics
I've been itching to express how juvenile the political situation here in Bangladesh appears to be, but have bit my tongue in an effort to show cultural and political respect for my host country. Recently, however, I've seen others with more courage express the same sentiment, which has (unjustifiably) made me feel less guilty about publicly criticizing this country's developing democracy.
The situation in Bangladesh is not simply one of petty bickering. In fact, the two main political leaders - Sheikh Hasina of the Awami League (AL) and her arch enemy, Khaleda Zia of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) - have done exactly the opposite: they have (reportedly) not spoken a word to each other in over 5 years.
The origins of the hatred between Zia and Hasina are deep-rooted. Hasina took over from her father, the first Prime Minister, when he was assassinated by army officers in 1975. Then Zia's husband, a freedom fighter who founded the BNP, was also assassinated and she assumed leadership of the BNP. Unfortunately, Hasina blamed Zia for trying to protect her father's assassins and subsequently attempted to assassinate her. For some reason their relationship hasn't been very fuzzy and warm since...
So it's not hard to see how a so-called democratic opposition has evolved into a bitter personal rivalry. Unfortunately, however, millions of Bangladeshis are suffering while these two leading ladies treat the political arena of the country as a playground cum battlefield. And I don't use the term 'battlefield' lightly; according to a local human rights organization, there were up to 50 people killed and over 2000 people injured when the clashes began in October.
In a country where violence against women is rampant and gender inequality is taken to an extreme, these two women have managed to waste endless opportunities for advancement that their extraordinary positions of power afford them. And yet, the support they manage to muster is beyond belief. Without strong ideologies or even real ideas, they have the citizens of Bangladesh whipping up the most passionate of democratic storms imagineable. If the AL isn't implementing its "agitation program" - which brings the whole country to a standstill with nation-wide blockades that threaten the country's entire economy, not to mention making daily life a royal pain in the butt - then the BNP is out on the streets protesting - as if the streets of Dhaka weren't jammed enough as it is.
The issue at hand is the upcoming election in January 2007, which both parties claim they want to be free and fair. I wonder, however, what there is to vote about when neither party has time to develop a true political mandate of any kind…
In short, things are a mess. Fortunately, The Daily Star announced today that there seems to a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. We’ll see. For the moment the blockades are off (unfortunately, as I eventually came to realize how blissful vehicle-free streets can be) and it appears that a solution about the election process will soon be reached. I for one am not holding my breath.
The Academic vs. the Practitioner
This week, as part of the Learning Partnership project that I am coordinating, and international conference was held on What Works for the Poorest: Knowledge, Policies and Practices. The focus was on extreme poverty and how to address it, seeing as many people living in extreme poverty are not reached by mainstream development programs.
The conference brought together a large number of academics and practitioners from around the world. There were some fascinating presentations, many of which were made by PhDs from big-name Universities in the UK and the United States. I found them extremely intellectually stimulating, but, while part of me wanted to rush off and start a PhD there and then, I also had to look around the room and wonder if a congregation of elite academics mostly from Western countries was really the answer to any question related to extreme poverty…? Are we just stroking our own egos, keeping ourselves in employment and pontificating on subjects we have no real understanding of? Or can we really make a difference?
The practitioner in me wants to get my hands dirty and work with people on their problems, solving them one by one. The academic in my wants to read and think and take on the challenge of solving problems on a much larger scale. Much like Jekyll and Hyde I watch myself take on these very different personas, which occasionally meet somewhere in the middle and fight over my soul. No one has won yet, which is probably for the best.
“I find it’s best if you hold your bicycle like this…”
So a couple of weeks ago (yes, I’m a bit behind on my blogging), I managed to wangle my way into a biker gang. Before you conjure up images of dudes decked out in leather with overgrown moustaches and bad hair, I should clarify that this gang rides mountain bikes and looks very respectable.
We headed off from the diplomatic neighbourhood of Gulshan, near where I work. To get out of the city we had to wind out way through rickshaw jams, down crowded narrow allies, over bridges and across wide avenues. I learned quickly how to negotiate traffic in Dhaka, mostly by closing my eyes, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best. When it wasn’t terrifying, it was kind of fun to be in the middle of all the chaos.
Upon reaching the city limits it felt like we were entering a whole new world: the buildings had given way to endlessly open space and the soundtrack of abnoxious honking replaced by the closest thing you’ll find to silence within 10 km of Dhaka. We road out on a main road for a while before turning off onto a narrow path between fields of fluorescent green rice paddies. I was at the back so I couldn’t see the bridge when we came to it. The next thing I know, one of the men I was with turns around and says to me “I find it’s best if you hold your bicycle like this” and proceeds to pick up is bike. I poked my head around the corner to see why exactly he was picking up his bike, and almost fell over when I saw what awaited me.
I guess you could call it a bridge. That was it’s purpose, anyway. But it wasn’t like any other bridge I’ve ever seen. For starters, it was made of bamboo. Which is very flexible, and tends to bounce, if say you happen to be carrying a bike across it. It’s also not very straight, so if you were to string 4 or 3 or even 2 pieces of it together there will be lots of gaps to get your feet caught in, if say you happen to be carrying a bike across it.
I think you get the point: I had to carry a bike (and not a light one) across a bamboo bridge (i.e. 3 pieces of bamboo tied together) about 4 inches wide, with one hand. To top it all off, the kids in the area found this (or perhaps just me) hilarious and thought it would be a good idea to bounce along the bridge behind me.
I had to do this 4 times throughout the 40km ride, as well as having to get my bike on a teensy weensy (and consequently unstable) boat to cross a larger river. It was all worth it though: it was about the most incredible morning ever, and I thoroughly enjoyed weaving through the rice paddies, stopping in small villages, waving and children who raced along behind us, and finally breathing in a semblance of fresh air. My legs weren’t so pleased, but they survived.
Your country, please?
I am asked this question at least once a day. Always in this way. I was almost offended the first time someone interrupted my conversation with this strange demand/inquiry, but now I laugh and delight them with a simple word: Canada. Or, if I really want to make them laugh I act surprised and reply “amar desh Bangladesh!”
The Bengalis fascination with nationality often makes me ponder the different lives we lead depending on which country we are born in. If you are born in Bangladesh, for instance, you will probably get to school in a small, cage-like wagon being towed by a bicycle. In the winter you might play badminton at night in the parking lot of a market. You will eat a lot of rice, and wear colourful sharees, shalwar kameez, and lungis. You may die your beard or fingernails with henna. You will be generous with the little that you have to live with. You will live by a set of cultural rules that define your life’s path according to your gender. And you will no doubt develop an absurd interest in the countries of the strange looking bideshis you meet!
The differences in lifestyle I see around me are endless and never cease to amaze me. I wish I could describe more of the contrasts I see and do a better job of bringing them to life. Unfortunately they tend to be so quickly absorbed that they don’t linger long enough in my mind to really develop into coherent thoughts.
A Day in Dhaka
I recently described Dhaka in an email as the “biggest, dirtiest, noisiest, busiest, smoggiest, smelliest, most crowded, virtually alcohol-free city I have ever known.” And I mean it. Not in a harsh way, but that’s just how it is. Dhaka is dreadful. Or at least it should be. But the funny thing is, it’s not.
Yes the streets are busy to the point of seeming frantic. But that means there is always something to watch as you get bumped along in a rickshaw jam or run the obstacle course that is the 200 yards from point A to point B.
Yes the air is one big smog cloud, but that often makes for lovely sunsets. The other day I drove past a park just as the sun was setting and watched two young boys standing on a fence pointing up at the a flock of passing crows, silhouetted by a brilliant pink sky. So, even though the strange substance that comes out of my nose any and every time I blow it is a yucky shade of black, smog is not all bad.
Yes, there is incessant horn-honking which leaves your ears ringing at the end of the day. But there are also beautiful rickshaw bells, soothing prayers, mooing cows (yes, cows and goats live in the city), lots of laughter, and occasionally unusual but pleasant Bengali music.
So as you can see, Dhaka is a dark cloud with a silver lining - as are most places, I think. And if nothing else, today was a good day: the power didn’t go off all day and it's brihoshpotibar (Thursday), Thank You-know-who.
I’m off early to try and beat the rush hour rickshaw jam. My best to all those who made it this far!
The situation in Bangladesh is not simply one of petty bickering. In fact, the two main political leaders - Sheikh Hasina of the Awami League (AL) and her arch enemy, Khaleda Zia of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) - have done exactly the opposite: they have (reportedly) not spoken a word to each other in over 5 years.
The origins of the hatred between Zia and Hasina are deep-rooted. Hasina took over from her father, the first Prime Minister, when he was assassinated by army officers in 1975. Then Zia's husband, a freedom fighter who founded the BNP, was also assassinated and she assumed leadership of the BNP. Unfortunately, Hasina blamed Zia for trying to protect her father's assassins and subsequently attempted to assassinate her. For some reason their relationship hasn't been very fuzzy and warm since...
So it's not hard to see how a so-called democratic opposition has evolved into a bitter personal rivalry. Unfortunately, however, millions of Bangladeshis are suffering while these two leading ladies treat the political arena of the country as a playground cum battlefield. And I don't use the term 'battlefield' lightly; according to a local human rights organization, there were up to 50 people killed and over 2000 people injured when the clashes began in October.
In a country where violence against women is rampant and gender inequality is taken to an extreme, these two women have managed to waste endless opportunities for advancement that their extraordinary positions of power afford them. And yet, the support they manage to muster is beyond belief. Without strong ideologies or even real ideas, they have the citizens of Bangladesh whipping up the most passionate of democratic storms imagineable. If the AL isn't implementing its "agitation program" - which brings the whole country to a standstill with nation-wide blockades that threaten the country's entire economy, not to mention making daily life a royal pain in the butt - then the BNP is out on the streets protesting - as if the streets of Dhaka weren't jammed enough as it is.
The issue at hand is the upcoming election in January 2007, which both parties claim they want to be free and fair. I wonder, however, what there is to vote about when neither party has time to develop a true political mandate of any kind…
In short, things are a mess. Fortunately, The Daily Star announced today that there seems to a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. We’ll see. For the moment the blockades are off (unfortunately, as I eventually came to realize how blissful vehicle-free streets can be) and it appears that a solution about the election process will soon be reached. I for one am not holding my breath.
The Academic vs. the Practitioner
This week, as part of the Learning Partnership project that I am coordinating, and international conference was held on What Works for the Poorest: Knowledge, Policies and Practices. The focus was on extreme poverty and how to address it, seeing as many people living in extreme poverty are not reached by mainstream development programs.
The conference brought together a large number of academics and practitioners from around the world. There were some fascinating presentations, many of which were made by PhDs from big-name Universities in the UK and the United States. I found them extremely intellectually stimulating, but, while part of me wanted to rush off and start a PhD there and then, I also had to look around the room and wonder if a congregation of elite academics mostly from Western countries was really the answer to any question related to extreme poverty…? Are we just stroking our own egos, keeping ourselves in employment and pontificating on subjects we have no real understanding of? Or can we really make a difference?
The practitioner in me wants to get my hands dirty and work with people on their problems, solving them one by one. The academic in my wants to read and think and take on the challenge of solving problems on a much larger scale. Much like Jekyll and Hyde I watch myself take on these very different personas, which occasionally meet somewhere in the middle and fight over my soul. No one has won yet, which is probably for the best.
“I find it’s best if you hold your bicycle like this…”
So a couple of weeks ago (yes, I’m a bit behind on my blogging), I managed to wangle my way into a biker gang. Before you conjure up images of dudes decked out in leather with overgrown moustaches and bad hair, I should clarify that this gang rides mountain bikes and looks very respectable.
We headed off from the diplomatic neighbourhood of Gulshan, near where I work. To get out of the city we had to wind out way through rickshaw jams, down crowded narrow allies, over bridges and across wide avenues. I learned quickly how to negotiate traffic in Dhaka, mostly by closing my eyes, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best. When it wasn’t terrifying, it was kind of fun to be in the middle of all the chaos.
Upon reaching the city limits it felt like we were entering a whole new world: the buildings had given way to endlessly open space and the soundtrack of abnoxious honking replaced by the closest thing you’ll find to silence within 10 km of Dhaka. We road out on a main road for a while before turning off onto a narrow path between fields of fluorescent green rice paddies. I was at the back so I couldn’t see the bridge when we came to it. The next thing I know, one of the men I was with turns around and says to me “I find it’s best if you hold your bicycle like this” and proceeds to pick up is bike. I poked my head around the corner to see why exactly he was picking up his bike, and almost fell over when I saw what awaited me.
I guess you could call it a bridge. That was it’s purpose, anyway. But it wasn’t like any other bridge I’ve ever seen. For starters, it was made of bamboo. Which is very flexible, and tends to bounce, if say you happen to be carrying a bike across it. It’s also not very straight, so if you were to string 4 or 3 or even 2 pieces of it together there will be lots of gaps to get your feet caught in, if say you happen to be carrying a bike across it.
I think you get the point: I had to carry a bike (and not a light one) across a bamboo bridge (i.e. 3 pieces of bamboo tied together) about 4 inches wide, with one hand. To top it all off, the kids in the area found this (or perhaps just me) hilarious and thought it would be a good idea to bounce along the bridge behind me.
I had to do this 4 times throughout the 40km ride, as well as having to get my bike on a teensy weensy (and consequently unstable) boat to cross a larger river. It was all worth it though: it was about the most incredible morning ever, and I thoroughly enjoyed weaving through the rice paddies, stopping in small villages, waving and children who raced along behind us, and finally breathing in a semblance of fresh air. My legs weren’t so pleased, but they survived.
Your country, please?
I am asked this question at least once a day. Always in this way. I was almost offended the first time someone interrupted my conversation with this strange demand/inquiry, but now I laugh and delight them with a simple word: Canada. Or, if I really want to make them laugh I act surprised and reply “amar desh Bangladesh!”
The Bengalis fascination with nationality often makes me ponder the different lives we lead depending on which country we are born in. If you are born in Bangladesh, for instance, you will probably get to school in a small, cage-like wagon being towed by a bicycle. In the winter you might play badminton at night in the parking lot of a market. You will eat a lot of rice, and wear colourful sharees, shalwar kameez, and lungis. You may die your beard or fingernails with henna. You will be generous with the little that you have to live with. You will live by a set of cultural rules that define your life’s path according to your gender. And you will no doubt develop an absurd interest in the countries of the strange looking bideshis you meet!
The differences in lifestyle I see around me are endless and never cease to amaze me. I wish I could describe more of the contrasts I see and do a better job of bringing them to life. Unfortunately they tend to be so quickly absorbed that they don’t linger long enough in my mind to really develop into coherent thoughts.
A Day in Dhaka
I recently described Dhaka in an email as the “biggest, dirtiest, noisiest, busiest, smoggiest, smelliest, most crowded, virtually alcohol-free city I have ever known.” And I mean it. Not in a harsh way, but that’s just how it is. Dhaka is dreadful. Or at least it should be. But the funny thing is, it’s not.
Yes the streets are busy to the point of seeming frantic. But that means there is always something to watch as you get bumped along in a rickshaw jam or run the obstacle course that is the 200 yards from point A to point B.
Yes the air is one big smog cloud, but that often makes for lovely sunsets. The other day I drove past a park just as the sun was setting and watched two young boys standing on a fence pointing up at the a flock of passing crows, silhouetted by a brilliant pink sky. So, even though the strange substance that comes out of my nose any and every time I blow it is a yucky shade of black, smog is not all bad.
Yes, there is incessant horn-honking which leaves your ears ringing at the end of the day. But there are also beautiful rickshaw bells, soothing prayers, mooing cows (yes, cows and goats live in the city), lots of laughter, and occasionally unusual but pleasant Bengali music.
So as you can see, Dhaka is a dark cloud with a silver lining - as are most places, I think. And if nothing else, today was a good day: the power didn’t go off all day and it's brihoshpotibar (Thursday), Thank You-know-who.
I’m off early to try and beat the rush hour rickshaw jam. My best to all those who made it this far!
posted by ash at 12:42 AM
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