Fairness Meter

The billboards are everywhere. A close-up of a woman’s face with a card against it showing a scale of skin tones from dark to light. Like a litmus test. The sign says “Fairness Meter” and is advertizing a skin lightening product. In South Asia the whiter your skin, the more beautiful you are. So skin lightening products are everywhere. Fair enough (pun intended), in the West, we buy skin darkening products (tan in a bottle) to fulfill our own bizarre beauty ideals (and some still destroy their skin by spending hundreds of hours in tanning booths and on the beach). But the way these skin whitening products are being marketed is blatantly “degrading” (my female Bangladeshi colleague’s word) to dark skinned people, women in particular.

Skin lightening product TV commercial #1: The father of a dark-skinned woman is lamenting the fact that he has no son and therefore no money. The daughter uses the skin lightening product and lands a job as an air hostess. In the last scene of the commercial she is shown taking her parents to a 5 star hotel for coffee.

Skin lightening product TV commercial #2: A dark-skinned stunt man is a nobody until he uses the skin lightening product whereupon the director suddenly “notices” him and gives him the starring role in the film.

Obviously, neither person is purported to get the job based on merit, but on the color of their skin. Unfortunately, this is probably a real reflection of existing discrimination (just as naturally dark-skinned people are in Northern societies). What I find fascinating is that the commercials naturally condone this discrimination. Their solution? Cosmetics as social equity.

The ‘Fairness meter’ is promoted to right the wrongs in society that you have no control over. It is not fair that dark-skinned persons are discriminated against but if they use this product they can control this discrimination. By becoming fairer skinned, they are being given a ‘fair shake’ in society.

There are many ironies in this campaign, but the cruelest is that the products are actually extremely harmful to one’s skin, eventually degrading the elasticity to the point that if one required surgery on the face, it would be impossible to carry it out. So the dark-skinned are being convinced to buy a product that will supposedly give them opportunities in life, but the price they pay (in addition to the product) is destroyed skin.

Dallywood

My Bangladeshi colleagues have recounted to me two popular themes for movies in Bangladesh:

1. Young man has all of the right qualities of perfect husband: handsome, educated, refined, brave, etc. But he has no money. Daughter of rich man falls in love with perfect poor man. Father of rich man will have nothing to do with him. Daughter falls into the clutches of evil man (kidnaps her, leads her astray, etc). Father is helpless. Perfect poor man saves the girl and the day and convinces helpless father that he is worth daughter. Mother-in-law, who supported her daughter all the time, is vindicated. The whole drama is performed to singing and dancing. Apparently, all movies are variations on the same theme.

2. The recounting of the story of the Bangladesh revolution in 1971. People never get tired of hearing patriotic stories about the “freedom fighters,” those who fought and lost their lives (est. 3 million) in the independence from Pakistan.

Maybe there is a connection between the two genres. Bangladeshis do not accept fate. They continue to fight to improve their situation. Everywhere you look you see industrious people (mostly men; women are not encouraged in visible workplaces), driving rickshaws, making bricks, pounding iron, selling wares. It is rare to see someone idle. I guess that is why Bangladesh has made such advances in the last 30 years despite being located in a hurricane zone, and starting out as a nation with very poor circumstances.

NB: In the interest of fairness, my host, a film producer himself, has pointed out that a handful of Bangladeshi filmmakers have won international critique for their work at the Academy Awards for Best Foreign Film (nomination) and the Cannes, Montreal, Marrakesh film festivals. Most notable is Tarik Masud The Clay Bird, which I plan to watch while here.

Hazardous to Your Health

Traveling by road in Bangladesh is not for the faint-hearted. There are no more than two lanes and a hell of a lot of cars, buses, trucks, and rickshaws (in the urban areas) to share them. Driving long-distance consists of 90% passing, accompanied by beeping horns. As the shoulders are always occupied by rickshaws or other pedaled modes of transportation, the cars, busses, and trucks conduct a constant game of “Chicken,” waiting to see who will swerve first. This is usually decided by whoever honks the longest and loudest. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the size of the vehicle. Small cars will stare down 2 ton trucks. It is harrowing, to say the least. On our way out to Shirzgaz, we came upon a recent head-on collision between a truck and a bus. Ten people were killed.

I claimed the only seat in the car with a three-point seat belt, claiming my status of a single mother as a reason. The downside is that it is in the front of the car, which means I see everything. Probably would have been better to sit in the back with the others. I can’t imagine anyone surviving a collision with one of these busses or trucks, seat belt or not…

Dhaka!

I’m in Dhaka, Bangladesh. My first trip to South Asia, I was experiencing more culture shock. But from the beginning the town reminded me of Nairobi: lots of buildings, terrible traffic, and crowds of people. Except the traffic is worse here than I have ever experienced. My hotel is 7 kilometers from City Hall, where we have our meetings, and it takes us an hour and a half to get there and the same time (or more) to get back in the evening. The air is so polluted that your chest is constantly scratchy and you find yourself coughing even though you are not sick. My friend Robin, who has lived here for 18 months, says she and her family are sick every 3 months. So I guess it is a good thing that I have spent every minute of the last 3 days inside or in the car. Tomorrow we are going to visit health clinics.

I am here with a team of experts conducting a mid-term review of a $90 million urban public health project funded mostly by Asian Development Bank (and the Brits, the Swedes, and UNFPA). It is extremely ambitious, and designed to serve the most needy in the urban slums – of which there are currently 30 million people in Bangladesh. At the current growth rate, 50% of Bangladesh will be living in urban areas in 25 years. So this is a highly relevant project, and exciting to be here.

Popular kid on the block

I've lived overseas off and on for 20 years now and I can honestly say that this is the first time in my life that I am popular because I'm American. After Obama won my friend Carla said "I can finally hold my head high overseas and say I'm American." And I agreed. I have spent the last 20 years trying to hold my voice down in supermarkets, in shops, and on the subway so noone would know where I was from (particularly difficult when one's daughter, who at 5 was still innocent about speaking English in public and the secular nature of this country, would remark loudly once in awhile, "MOMMY, TELL ME THE STORY ABOUT BABY JESUS!"). As any American expat will know, this isn't because I was ashamed to be American. I just was sick of the stares and the sometimes unpleasant remarks people feel obliged to make to you as if you represented the government or the whole population (and sometimes because of the security risk).

When Obama was elected I received numerous e-mails, text messages, and phone calls from all kinds of Swedish friends and acquaintances who simply wanted to share in the wonder of his election. And I was gratified. I was only thrown once when my next-door neighbor called me (no, she didn't come and knock on my apartment door and say it in person) to congratulate me about "my man." Now, "man" in Swedish could either be husband or just man and I was totally thrown for a minute because I had no idea who she was talking about. I haven't been married for over 2 years. Did she know something I didn't? But then I realized she was talking about Obama, because she had seen the poster on the inside of my door.

Its weird suddenly being the popular kid on the block when you are used to being bullied, though. I don't quite know how to react. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just know something is going to happen and everyone is going to say "We always knew you were a bunch of idiots!" I got a taste of this at a Democrats Abroad inauguration event last week where some Swedish guests were disparaging about the prayers before and after the speech, and disapproving of Obama's emphasis on national security. I felt like saying "if you don't understand the role of religion/spirituality in American culture or the importance of national security post 9-11 then you haven't understood why Obama won or what he is facing."

I have been saving up some more pithy observations but am trying to be better about being concise so I'll stop here. Comments welcome!

Last stop: Dushanbe

June 6, 2008

Dushanbe, Tajikistan

Tajikistan is the poorestof the four countries that we visited on this mission. Sixty percent of the population lives on less than $2 a day. The contrast coming from Kazakhstan, the richest in the region, is striking. Dujanbe is more the size of a regional capital, so I have to keep reminding myself that I am in the capital of a country. I attended a reception where there was a representative from the U.S. embassy and I was blown away when he said they had 50 staff here, until he reminded me that Tajikistan shares a border with Afhanistan. Oh, yeah...

Another contrast besides the wealth is the clothing styles, indicating a much more traditional culture. Virtually all women wear long skirts and many cover their heads with a scarf. But for some reason, they only seem to import the baggiest dresses with the loudest, brightest prints. If Tashkent was dominated by extremely fashion-concious women wearing very well-cut, form-fitting dresses, this country can be said to be a fashion nightmare. It's also hot. Damn hot. Temperatures over 40 celsius (105 farenheit) in the shade. So having to wear long, polyester dresses must not be much fun. I sweat buckets just looking at them.

The Tajikstanis are poor, but they are working hard to re-build their country after 10 years of civil war, 60,000 dead, and half a million displaced. Forty percent of the adult population has migrated internationally (mostly to Russia) for work. They must be finding it because they send a half a billion dollars a year back to the country, which is about 70% of the GNP.

There are so few tourists here, and an apparently amazing mountain range, it seems criminal that we won't see anything outside our hotel or office. Luckily, our hotel - Marion's Guesthouse - is a veritable oasis. Both Susanna and I almost broke into tears when we arrived. It is a B and B with 8 rooms and a small pool, large rooms, free wi-fi, free driving service, free laundry service, and 80 euros a night. Just too good to be true. So we are glad that we are ending our trip here.

I have to end with a quote about another hotel in town from the Lonely Planet Central Asia guidebook, which has been our bible for restaurant eating anyway. The wry style of writing makes it an enjoyable read, regardless of whether or not one is traveling there:

Hotel Avesto: Old-fashioned and chronically overpriced monster with a dreary Soviet feel, though some rooms have a fine view of the mosque and the suites are big enough to get lost in. the management must be waiting for the Brezhnev-era wallpaper to come back into style. The US and Russian embassies used to be here, so expect some rooms to be bugged...

23 hours in Kazakhstan

June 5, 2008

En route from Almaty, Kazkhstan to Dujanbe, Tajikstan

We got in the country but I’m not sure it was worth $262 in visa support and visa costs and all of the hassle. If Uzbekistan was characterized by friendliness and hospitality (and a certain level of ‘cloak and dagger’), then Kazakhstan can be characterized by its suspicion and xenophobia.

From the time we arrived until we left we felt unwelcome, examined, and suspected. For example, arriving at one of the “luxury” hotels in town (former Department of Geology), we are greeted with “Documenty!” We were then given the privilege of handing over $200 for one night in a giant (thankfully cool) cave with one small double bed (strangely short), two chairs, two bedside tables, a desk and a TV. But it is only one night and we are in Central Asia and are not going to complain. The high cost and low value is irritating but we had been warned that Almaty is a very expensive city. However, we were given a taste of the back side (or maybe cause) of the paranoia here the next morning when we were checking out of our room: pure corruption. The housekeeper came to our room to check the mini-bar. She claimed that we drank 2 bottles of water (complimentary water is apparently not included in the $200). We insist that we only drank one bottle of water and show her the empty bottle as evidence. Down at the front desk, we are now accused of drinking three bottles of water. We are obviously being scammed and insist that we will only pay for one bottle. It’s not the money that is the problem (although $4 for 250 ml of water is a scam in itself), but the fact that we know the blasted housekeeper is completely corrupt. They threaten to call the police if we don’t pay for the other two bottles and since prison isn’t something we want to add to our list of misadventures, we call our contact in Almaty who talks to her. She then tells him there is no problem because “I only charged them for one bottle.” Grrr…Needless to say, we couldn’t wait to get out of the country.

But trying to leave is almost as difficult as getting in. The passport control to leave is puzzlingly the most rigorous of any country I have ever visited. But all of the suspicion and unfriendliness we experienced probably had nothing to do with us; Kazkhstan has simply not been able to shake the Soviet mantle the way the other Central Asian countries we have visited have. For example, we noticed that every time two people exchanged shifts, all items and money had to be counted and checked. I think the paranoia would drive me crazy if I lived here.

Enough whining. We are now on a Tajik Air flight to Dujanbe, Tajikstan and already we can feel that the final country on our tour is going to be very different from anything we have experienced thus far. Boarding was a chaotic, whirling adventure, with people waving their boarding cards around, children bawling, and someone blasting Persian music from their own radio for everyone’s enjoyment. A troupe of 10 year old “Scouts” walks by with blue uniforms and white braiding, a line of skinny, grim Indian or Pakistani men file by. The only people not making noise are the few women in headscarves. Lunch is a plastic box filled with a potpourri of items from around the world: Finnish cheese, a Chinese wet wipe, Turkish peach juice and chocolate, Russian chicken and prune pate and apricot jam, Iranian cookies, Moroccan Nescafe, Belarusian hard candies, Dutch butter, and boiled eggs and bread presumably from Kazakhstan. The United Nations in a box!