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We're leaving tonight for Nairobi, then catching a teeny weeny plane to Eldoret, then hopping on a bus that will take us through Uganda and to Kigali. Why? Because something major is happening in Rwanda this week.
We've been planning this trip for nearly a year now. It's going to be amazing. Updates whenever we manage to find an internet connection.
Before... And... After
Remember that hovel in District 9? For months, dozens of Chinese migrant workers lived in filth in the middle of Singapore's poshest neighbourhood. And then, one very brave man decided to say something. His little video triggered outrage on the internet. It even led to a petition for better living conditions for ALL migrant workers in Singapore. More importantly, it shamed Tiong Seng Contractors, the company that put those men in the hovel, into cleaning up its act.
This, apparently, is what the place looks like now:
It took public humiliation for a company to act. Nothing like a bit of bad PR to spur penny-pinching executives into action. And what action too - I mean, didja see the flatscreen TV?
The truth is, most workers we know don't expect extra-special treatment. They want to be able to sleep in clean quarters with proper sanitation. They want employers to give them regular work and pay their salaries on time. They want to be able to send money home so their families can service the debt they took on in order to come to Singapore. They want to be treated like human beings, not units of work, ignored, despised, consigned to... hovels. There are many more in Singapore. We've seen them - overcrowded, bug-infested, unsanitary. People don't deserve to live like animals. Actually, animals don't deserve to live in some of the cesspits we've visited.
Click here to sign the petition.
This, apparently, is what the place looks like now:
It took public humiliation for a company to act. Nothing like a bit of bad PR to spur penny-pinching executives into action. And what action too - I mean, didja see the flatscreen TV?
The truth is, most workers we know don't expect extra-special treatment. They want to be able to sleep in clean quarters with proper sanitation. They want employers to give them regular work and pay their salaries on time. They want to be able to send money home so their families can service the debt they took on in order to come to Singapore. They want to be treated like human beings, not units of work, ignored, despised, consigned to... hovels. There are many more in Singapore. We've seen them - overcrowded, bug-infested, unsanitary. People don't deserve to live like animals. Actually, animals don't deserve to live in some of the cesspits we've visited.
Click here to sign the petition.
J Is For Justice... And Journalist... And Just Go Away
We were watching Waltz With Bashir when the message arrived. It was Mohsin, the journalist who had worked with us on The Human Trade and Migrant Dreams. He had been beaten up by four manpower agents (one of them, Rahim, appears about 7 minutes into The Human Trade). Could we please come now?
We ran out of the cinema. It was news we’d half-expected, dreaded, for some time. Mohsin is a tireless journalist, and a fearless one - no one has spent more time exposing the darker side of the Bangladeshi manpower trade then he has. Over the years, he’s made plenty of enemies. Many have threatened to harm him. Now it seemed, some had succeeded.
We found him inside Lamea Restaurant on Desker Road, in Little India. A bruised jaw, an ugly gash on his head. He appeared calm but the restaurant manager was agitated.
“Look,” he pointed to a broken vase on the table. “They hit! If I didn’t stop them, Mohsin would be dead and my restaurant, finished!”
Other eyewitnesses said the four also pushed and kicked Mohsin. How could this have happened in broad daylight, in the middle of a restaurant... in Singapore?
“Did anyone call the police?”
Mohsin said they’d come, and left.
“And?”
“They said since both sides alleged the other had started the fight, they preferred not to get involved. They also said since we were all from Bangladesh, we should settle our problems in Bangladesh.”
That familiar old argument again. Take your problems back to Bangladesh. We’d heard it so many times, in so many forms, from so many government officials, it was becoming a bit of a joke.
Cheated? Go look for your agent in Bangladesh. He was the one who took your money, no? No, it doesn’t matter if your Singaporean employer received some of that cash too. We’re not obliged to help you get it back.
Salary problems? MOM will mediate a settlement. But if your boss can’t pay up, there’s nothing more you can do but go home.
Worksite injury? If you have insurance, you’re lucky. If not, see if your boss can help. Otherwise, go back to your own country. Go be a burden to your family.
Go take your problems back to Bangladesh.
*
Five people went to the nearest police station with Mohsin - Debbie, a volunteer from TWC2, two witnesses and the two of us. We hovered over disinterested officers, took up space, stood around for a good 45 minutes before someone decided to pay attention to us. It all felt a bit surreal.
The young officer asked what Mohsin wanted.
“To make a police report.”
“Only a police report?”
We tried to explain what had just happened. Wondered if we were all wasting our time. And then, Mohsin said three words that changed everything.
“I’m a journalist.”
A flurry of phone calls. A volley of questions. An older policeman came out, issued a bunch of instructions to the young man attending to us. Their actions spoke volumes. Perhaps in the eyes of the law, journalists are more equal than lowly migrant workers. Before we left, the officer reminded us, “This is only a statement. We can’t guarantee an investigation.”
It was better than nothing. It was a start. Some people we knew – exploited workers who had even more serious complaints – never got this far.
We ran out of the cinema. It was news we’d half-expected, dreaded, for some time. Mohsin is a tireless journalist, and a fearless one - no one has spent more time exposing the darker side of the Bangladeshi manpower trade then he has. Over the years, he’s made plenty of enemies. Many have threatened to harm him. Now it seemed, some had succeeded.
We found him inside Lamea Restaurant on Desker Road, in Little India. A bruised jaw, an ugly gash on his head. He appeared calm but the restaurant manager was agitated.
“Look,” he pointed to a broken vase on the table. “They hit! If I didn’t stop them, Mohsin would be dead and my restaurant, finished!”
Other eyewitnesses said the four also pushed and kicked Mohsin. How could this have happened in broad daylight, in the middle of a restaurant... in Singapore?
“Did anyone call the police?”
Mohsin said they’d come, and left.
“And?”
“They said since both sides alleged the other had started the fight, they preferred not to get involved. They also said since we were all from Bangladesh, we should settle our problems in Bangladesh.”
That familiar old argument again. Take your problems back to Bangladesh. We’d heard it so many times, in so many forms, from so many government officials, it was becoming a bit of a joke.
Cheated? Go look for your agent in Bangladesh. He was the one who took your money, no? No, it doesn’t matter if your Singaporean employer received some of that cash too. We’re not obliged to help you get it back.
Salary problems? MOM will mediate a settlement. But if your boss can’t pay up, there’s nothing more you can do but go home.
Worksite injury? If you have insurance, you’re lucky. If not, see if your boss can help. Otherwise, go back to your own country. Go be a burden to your family.
Go take your problems back to Bangladesh.
*
Five people went to the nearest police station with Mohsin - Debbie, a volunteer from TWC2, two witnesses and the two of us. We hovered over disinterested officers, took up space, stood around for a good 45 minutes before someone decided to pay attention to us. It all felt a bit surreal.
The young officer asked what Mohsin wanted.
“To make a police report.”
“Only a police report?”
We tried to explain what had just happened. Wondered if we were all wasting our time. And then, Mohsin said three words that changed everything.
“I’m a journalist.”
A flurry of phone calls. A volley of questions. An older policeman came out, issued a bunch of instructions to the young man attending to us. Their actions spoke volumes. Perhaps in the eyes of the law, journalists are more equal than lowly migrant workers. Before we left, the officer reminded us, “This is only a statement. We can’t guarantee an investigation.”
It was better than nothing. It was a start. Some people we knew – exploited workers who had even more serious complaints – never got this far.
October 18
I wish I could say 18 October 2009 was a brilliant day for all of us at Team Hope. Everything was in place. Sparkling blue skies. Music. Laughter. An amazing sense that finally, after months of fundraising and planning, our little project was taking off. I wish I could say everyone left on a high, buoyed by the tremendous show of support from the dozens of student volunteers who came to help, the Law Minister, the celebrities who showed up to play. But I cannot.
Instead, there is this immense sadness. A heaviness that refuses to go away.
At 12.10pm, Nasri Kasbari collapsed on the pitch. He was Team Hope’s 25-year old goalie; had eagerly volunteered when he showed up bright and early to collect his kit. He had seemed so very excited, so happy to play.
At first, it looked as if Nasri had fainted. Or perhaps it was a cramp. The first aid team was with him immediately. From a distance, we could see someone fanning him with what looked like a big towel. Everyone appeared very calm. We thought it was probably not very serious.
But the minutes ticked by and Nasri didn’t seem to get any better. He was given CPR. An ambulance arrived soon after. It all looked so surreal. We watched in near silence as Nasri was placed onto a stretcher and carried into the ambulance. Gerard, our volunteer emcee for the day and a trained medic went with him to Tan Tock Seng Hospital.
The rest of the day felt like a dream. The packing up and counting of kits. Boxes and footballs loaded onto the van. Calls from Gerard that kept getting cut off because of poor reception.
We received the news long after all the players and guests had left. Nasri passed away that afternoon. He never regained consciousness.
*
All of us who’ve worked hard on Team Hope had looked forward to October 18. We all cheered when we saw the players in their black and gold jerseys on the pitch. Whooped when they scored their three goals. We had all believed in the project. Believed in it wholeheartedly. I have never collaborated with people more passionate, more enthusiastic, more giving.
Was there more we could have done? Nasri was just 25. He looked healthy, assured us he would make a good goalie. He’d had a rest before the second half of the match. And he had received help almost immediately after he collapsed. The hospital says he died of cardiorespiratory failure. Why? How? Perhaps we will never know.
For now, there’s an overwhelming sense of sadness. Shock. Our priority is the family. Team Hope Chairman Pastor Andrew spent the afternoon consoling them, but the committee was told to wait a day before visiting. Nasri’s wife wants to grieve in private. She needs to deal with her own trauma, settle her kids, make plans for the future. She needs her space.
The rest of us? We need now to find the strength to carry on. We will regroup, and we will ask questions. We will run through the day’s events again… and again. Was there anything we could have done better?
And we will not forget that when Nasri woke up on 18 October 2009, he was excited about joining a team. He was excited about playing, about being part of a community.
Thirty men and their families are still part of the team. And because of that, we have to keep going. To be better, try harder. To hope.
Instead, there is this immense sadness. A heaviness that refuses to go away.
At 12.10pm, Nasri Kasbari collapsed on the pitch. He was Team Hope’s 25-year old goalie; had eagerly volunteered when he showed up bright and early to collect his kit. He had seemed so very excited, so happy to play.
At first, it looked as if Nasri had fainted. Or perhaps it was a cramp. The first aid team was with him immediately. From a distance, we could see someone fanning him with what looked like a big towel. Everyone appeared very calm. We thought it was probably not very serious.
But the minutes ticked by and Nasri didn’t seem to get any better. He was given CPR. An ambulance arrived soon after. It all looked so surreal. We watched in near silence as Nasri was placed onto a stretcher and carried into the ambulance. Gerard, our volunteer emcee for the day and a trained medic went with him to Tan Tock Seng Hospital.
The rest of the day felt like a dream. The packing up and counting of kits. Boxes and footballs loaded onto the van. Calls from Gerard that kept getting cut off because of poor reception.
We received the news long after all the players and guests had left. Nasri passed away that afternoon. He never regained consciousness.
*
All of us who’ve worked hard on Team Hope had looked forward to October 18. We all cheered when we saw the players in their black and gold jerseys on the pitch. Whooped when they scored their three goals. We had all believed in the project. Believed in it wholeheartedly. I have never collaborated with people more passionate, more enthusiastic, more giving.
Was there more we could have done? Nasri was just 25. He looked healthy, assured us he would make a good goalie. He’d had a rest before the second half of the match. And he had received help almost immediately after he collapsed. The hospital says he died of cardiorespiratory failure. Why? How? Perhaps we will never know.
For now, there’s an overwhelming sense of sadness. Shock. Our priority is the family. Team Hope Chairman Pastor Andrew spent the afternoon consoling them, but the committee was told to wait a day before visiting. Nasri’s wife wants to grieve in private. She needs to deal with her own trauma, settle her kids, make plans for the future. She needs her space.
The rest of us? We need now to find the strength to carry on. We will regroup, and we will ask questions. We will run through the day’s events again… and again. Was there anything we could have done better?
And we will not forget that when Nasri woke up on 18 October 2009, he was excited about joining a team. He was excited about playing, about being part of a community.
Thirty men and their families are still part of the team. And because of that, we have to keep going. To be better, try harder. To hope.
By Popular Demand - More From Our Shoot In North Korea
Street advert, North Korean style.
Misty morning along the Taedong River. The structure in the distance is the Juche Tower, built in 1982 to mark Kim Il-Sung's birthday.
Pyongyang has its own Arc de Triomphe.
Apartment block.
Young ladies on a school excursion. We had a great time chatting in sign language.
At the Korean Film Studio - gynormous mural featuring the Flower Girl and scenes from other landmark films.
Budding movie stars. Smart, young and yes, as so many of you have pointed out, very good looking. The older guy in the middle is the acting teacher.
Happy World Habitat Day - Let’s Visit A Hovel In District 9
Location, they say, is everything. And in Singapore, living in District 9 means you’ve got it all - posh condo, swanky car, cushy job. You know, all the good things life has to offer. The guy who made the video below should know. He left China for a job here. And his boss was kind enough to put him up in - gasp - District 9.
This video has been widely circulated on the internet (more here). It’s triggered angry comments from shocked Singaporeans and even led to a front page write-up in a local paper. But the truth is there are probably many more hovels in District 9, and across the country. When we were making our documentary, Migrant Dreams, we were led to an illegal cluster of container dormitories. And just round the corner from we’re staying now, workers are housed in dingy walk-ups, crammed dozens to a room, with just one shared toilet and very little ventilation.
Filthy loos. Bug-infested beds. Rampant overcrowding. How do employers, in good conscience, expect their workers to put up with such squalor? One employer told us – “The workers don’t mind. They are used to it because they live in slums back home.”
When confronted, the landlord of the container dormintories complained bitterly. “I’ve given them stoves to cook on, running water and toilets [five for 200 men], what more do they want?”
What more do they want? There is the implicit assumption that these foreigners, these lucky bastards, should be grateful for whatever we give them. Because, don’t they come from some third-world backwater? If they don’t like it, they can jolly well go home. What do they expect, condos?
No. They don’t expect condos. They expect to be treated like human beings. And humans aren’t generally meant to live in damp, smelly, bug-infested hellholes. The irony? Hovel living doesn’t come cheap. Most workers will tell you they have to pay their employers for food and lodging. Never mind if their so-called dormitory is rat-infested, or stinks of poo and piss.
It’s World Habitat Day today. The theme this year – “Planning Our Urban Future”. Perhaps in our own planning, we should take into account the ones who do the physical building. The ones who toil long hours, for very little pay. Just so that we can have our swish apartments and giant malls.
Modern-day Singapore was built on the backs of migrant labourers. It has been said our forefathers also endured horrendous conditions when they first arrived. Why should foreign workers who come now expect any different? Because we like to think we’ve evolved since the 1800s. That was when we didn’t have our world-class everything. Back then, even the poshest homes didn’t have flush toilets. Now, good sanitation is a given. Especially when you’re living in the miracle that is Singapore. And most certainly when you’re living smack in the middle of District 9.
This video has been widely circulated on the internet (more here). It’s triggered angry comments from shocked Singaporeans and even led to a front page write-up in a local paper. But the truth is there are probably many more hovels in District 9, and across the country. When we were making our documentary, Migrant Dreams, we were led to an illegal cluster of container dormitories. And just round the corner from we’re staying now, workers are housed in dingy walk-ups, crammed dozens to a room, with just one shared toilet and very little ventilation.
Filthy loos. Bug-infested beds. Rampant overcrowding. How do employers, in good conscience, expect their workers to put up with such squalor? One employer told us – “The workers don’t mind. They are used to it because they live in slums back home.”
When confronted, the landlord of the container dormintories complained bitterly. “I’ve given them stoves to cook on, running water and toilets [five for 200 men], what more do they want?”
What more do they want? There is the implicit assumption that these foreigners, these lucky bastards, should be grateful for whatever we give them. Because, don’t they come from some third-world backwater? If they don’t like it, they can jolly well go home. What do they expect, condos?
No. They don’t expect condos. They expect to be treated like human beings. And humans aren’t generally meant to live in damp, smelly, bug-infested hellholes. The irony? Hovel living doesn’t come cheap. Most workers will tell you they have to pay their employers for food and lodging. Never mind if their so-called dormitory is rat-infested, or stinks of poo and piss.
It’s World Habitat Day today. The theme this year – “Planning Our Urban Future”. Perhaps in our own planning, we should take into account the ones who do the physical building. The ones who toil long hours, for very little pay. Just so that we can have our swish apartments and giant malls.
Modern-day Singapore was built on the backs of migrant labourers. It has been said our forefathers also endured horrendous conditions when they first arrived. Why should foreign workers who come now expect any different? Because we like to think we’ve evolved since the 1800s. That was when we didn’t have our world-class everything. Back then, even the poshest homes didn’t have flush toilets. Now, good sanitation is a given. Especially when you’re living in the miracle that is Singapore. And most certainly when you’re living smack in the middle of District 9.
