Obama’s moment on human rights

The US should make joining the UN Human Rights Council a priority

(Christian Science Monitor, December 10, 2008)

Washington – After eight years of neglect, President-elect Barack Obama is eager to have the United States re-engage with the United Nations. A good way to begin would be to join the UN Human Rights Council in Geneva.

President Bush snubbed the preeminent international human rights policymaking body when it was established in 2006, with disastrous results. A speedy reversal by Mr. Obama would give hope to moderate governments that yearn for a stronger UN human rights program. It would also invigorate the entire UN system, generate goodwill, and encourage others to help with tough policy challenges like Guantanamo Bay.

There is no time to be lost.

Dec. 10 is the 60th anniversary of the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, but it will not be much of a celebration. The UN’s human rights program has been badly weakened by an ill-advised reform and by America’s absence from the Human Rights Council.

Until 2006, UN human rights policy was made by the Human Rights Commission, a body of 53 governments that included Sudan and Zimbabwe. Sudan’s membership, at the peak of the genocide in Darfur, caused outrage in Washington and prompted calls for reform. The commission was voted out of existence in 2005 and replaced by the council.

The problem is that no governments have clean hands when it comes to human rights, so basing election to the council on good behavior would have excluded most of the world’s powerful governments. That would not have been credible.

As a result, the new council was organized along the lines of the much-maligned commission, into five regions. The big difference was that Africa and Asia each received almost twice as many seats as the West in the horse-trading. This was a recipe for mischief, and the Bush administration made it worse by declining even to apply for membership.

In the three years since, hapless Western governments have been consistently outmaneuvered and outvoted on the council. They suffered a particularly serious reverse in March this year, when Islamic governments weakened a key UN inquiry into freedom of expression.

Even more damaging has been the steady erosion of independent “rapporteurs” who follow the record of individual governments. Their reports have long been the gold standard for international human rights monitoring, but such finger-pointing against individual governments could soon be a thing of the past.

The African bloc has insisted – successfully – that any country monitors be approved by the government under review, and the rapporteurs for Cuba, Belarus, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Liberia have all been retired. This means, incredibly, that the UN has no formal process for monitoring human rights in eastern Congo, which is in the throes of a deadly conflict. Many predict that the days may be numbered even for the UN’s rapporteur on Sudan, which triggered the whole reform in the first place.

In place of these country inquiries, the council has established a process that is both bureaucratic and toothless. Known as the “Universal Periodic Review,” it requires that all UN member governments submit to a three-hour review by the council every four years. This puts zero pressure on violators.

All of this represents a sweeping retreat from the 1990s, when 15 governments were subject to critical public appraisal by the UN. Country-specific inquiries may have unfairly penalized weak governments. But in this age of genocide, the pendulum has surely swung too far in the wrong direction.

Can the trend be reversed? Yes, but it will require vision. This should not be difficult. All governments understand that global challenges such as climate change and recession will put immense pressure on the weak and require a strong human rights response from the UN.

Such a vision will need a strategy. The US should start by courting moderate governments that feel obliged to vote with their regions but could probably be persuaded to support a less politicized approach. Many have greeted Obama’s election with relief, but to take advantage of their goodwill, his team must propose a practical agenda instead of lamenting the council’s shortcomings. This should start with a commitment to abide by international standards of behavior. There can be no more preaching human rights and practicing torture.

Second, the US should call for an overhaul of the Universal Periodic Review. It desperately needs independent oversight.

Finally, Obama and his nominee for UN Ambassador, Susan Rice, should appoint a delegate with a proven commitment to human rights. Such an agenda would require an investment in diplomatic capital. But it would also produce a huge return – for the US and for human rights.

• Iain Guest is an adjunct professor at the School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University, where he teaches human rights. He also directs the Advocacy Project, an NGO in Washington that supports community-based human rights groups.

Micro-credit Empowers the Poor in Bangladesh

The following eight blogs were written during and after a visit to Bangladesh between July 31 and August 4, 2008. My purpose was to spend some time with the Blind Education Rehabilitation Organization (BERDO) in Dhaka, a partner of The Advocacy Project. BERDO has developed an important and innovative model for lending small loans to disabled people, particularly the blind. AP has recruited two Peace Fellows to volunteer with BERDO. This year’s Fellow, Danita Topcagic, is a former Bosnian refugee. The blogs should be read in reverse order.

* The conversion rate used in these blogs is one dollar to 69 taka (the Bangladesh currency)

Strange Travels

We are coming to the end of our visit to southern Bangladesh, and I am thinking that visits like ours must be very strange for those on the receiving end: Outsiders arrive in big car, jump out carrying cameras, and rush around taking photos of ordinary stuff – dogs sleeping, women washing in rivers, piles of manure. Orders are barked, strange questions are asked. Crowd gathers, people push and organizers push back. Visitors leave. Dust settles, life resumes.

In our case, we’re asking villagers to disclose confidential information about their lives, on camera, in front of their neighbors. I wonder whether their stock rises after we leave, or whether they’re resented for having caused a public nuisance. Hopefully, the former.

From our side, the pressure increases to capture that fnal photo as the time for departure draws nearer. With fatigue come mistakes and impatience. Equipment becomes an obstacle course.

Roadside interview

I’m realizing how far I am from understanding what is really going on in these villages. We’re certainly coming up with good information, but there are some aspects of this visit that seem more suited to Comedy Central than a serious investigation.

Lasrul Islam, 18, who receive a loan of 9,000 taka from BERDO and a 2,000 taka grant from us, will have none of it. It’s bad enough that his shop is suddenly surrounded by dust and a crowd of onlookers. He draws the line at appearing on camera. Danita and I secretly applaud, and I wander off to film a man sewing.

Sabbir, the 20 year old rickshaw driver, is very happy to be filmed but sits ram-rod straight on his rickshaw with a serious expression on his face. We don’t want him posing, but it takes ages to get this across and encourage him to ride his rickshaw slowly past the camera. He’s still wary and my efforts at direction must look hilarious. The resulting video interview is also amateurish. But hopefully some of Sabbir’s trusting, reflective, character comes across.

The ride back to Barisal takes us through green paddy fields and more picturesque villages. But our attention is focused on the road. We quickly conclude that this road is made for people, not cars. This is where the washing is dried, the rice is laid out, and the dogs take a nap.

Our driver takes a different view: to him, everything must move for the car, and he sits on his horn during the entire journey. This almost produces a very nasty accident. We come around a bend, going much too fast, and almost collide with three schoolgirls who are crossing the road and looking the other way. The car slides to the left to avoid them, but one girl backs into the car and spins out into the middle of the road. Luckily she is unhurt. But we are shocked and the driver is sheepish.

The boat trip back to Dhaka produces one of the strangest episodes of the trip. Danita, Saidul, Maksuda and I are deep into our dahl and rice in one of the cabins when there is an almighty crash and the boat shudders to a halt. We pour out onto the deck and find that we have hit an oil tanker. Luckily it was prow to prow rather than amidships, but the crash has caused a huge gash and our ship drifts away towards the shore as if seriously damaged.

Danita Topcagic, AP Peace Fellow at BERDO this summer

Danita and I begin to calculate who will carry Saidul if the boat sinks and whether we can rescue our cameras. Besides us an elderly man is hopping up and down, and speaking on two mobiles. (He turns out to be the boat owner). The crew of the tanker unleash a stream of invective. Eventually our boat recovers, and limps off towards Dhaka. We return to our cabins, unnerved and tired.

Morning comes quickly and brings another downpour. We head up the channel towards Dhaka, pass mile after mile of rusting tankers and small skiffs that are battling the storm.

Today will be spent at the BERDO office in Dhaka, visiting the braille library and other facilities, and spending some time with Danita, our Peace Fellow. That will be the subject for a future blog.

The Wisdom of the Poor

In Banari Para we are meeting individuals who were hit by the typhoon which swept in at the end of last year. Many have had trouble with repayments and BERDO has extended their grace period for repayments until the end of this year’s harvest.

As noted above, The Advocacy Project launched a modest appeal for BERDO’s beneficiaries at short notice, and raised $1,140. At the time this did not seem like much, given the scale of the disaster. But it meant a lot to those who generously contributed, and we have been curious to see how the money had been spent.

Here in Bangladesh, it seems like lot. BERDO divided the money up into 42 grants of 2,000 taka, which were handed out by Saidul Huq with some ceremony during one of his visits. This is equivalent to one-third of a small BERDO loan, and does not need to be repaid.

Sabbir receives his AP donation from Saidul Huq (photo Maksuda Huq)

 

This visit suggests that the grants have been well used, and that these beneficiaries clearly have a long-term perspective. (It’s common to read that the poor only think of the immediate future).

Take Dalim Begum and her brother Babul. Both are disabled. Dalim lost most of the use of both of her legs, and Babul has a serious speech impediment. Dalim received a loan from BERDO of 5,000 taka, which the family used to purchase a cow.

Once it starts producing milk, it will bring the family 100 taka a day which is a steady income. But the cow was young when they bought it 5 months ago, and has yet to start producing milk. Meanwhile, repayments started after only two weeks and the family has to pay back 125 taka a week. In addition, the cow has to be fed. This family dealt with this by using our grant to rent out a rickshaw, which they rent out again for 120 taka a day. This will cover them until their cow starts producing an income.

Lasrul Islam is someone else who has used our grant as an investment. He received a loan of 9,000 to set up a grocery shop on the main road. He used the AP money to buy food and stock the shop.

Sabbir, 20, also used our grant wisely. Two years ago, he came down with a severe fever and suffered partial paralysis in one of his arms and legs. Eight months ago, he secured a BERDO loan for 5,000 taka and bought a rickshaw. The rickshaw itself was in poor condition, so he used our grant to repair it. The repair cost 2,000 taka and he found the extra 500 taka on his own.

Sabbir (l) and his mother Rahima

Sabbir is still earning less than he should from his rickshaw (25 taka a day) and takes on occasional laboring jobs to help repay his BERDO loan. But his mother Rahima has five other sons and this helps to cushion the family. She keeps close watch on Sabbir.

Mothers like Rahima are emerging as critical to the success of these loans, as they did in Barisal. Beauty Begum was determined that her daughter Popi, 12, who has a speech impediment, would go to the local school like any other child. But this would require money, to cover the cost of food, books and clothes. Her husband died of cancer recently, and she has two other children to care for.

Beauty Begum applied for a BERDO loan, received 5,000 taka, and set a small shop which brings in 250 taka a day. She has kept up with the weekly repayments (135 taka) and has paid off 2,000 taka of the loan. Somehow, she is also able to find 60 taka a month to equip Popi for school. She watches with pride as Popi submits to her video interview.

Popi herself is a charmer. Judge for yourself. The video will be posted soon.

A Question of Health

Today we drive to the district of Banari Para, where BERDO is lending about 300,000 taka this year to 387 group members. Seventy-four were severely affected by the typhoon and they included several families with disability. The Danish Embassy in Dhaka has given BERDO 100,000 taka to help run the program. As noted in a recent blog, The Advocacy Project launched a small appeal for these families last Christmas.

The BERDO staff comprises several field officers and assistant, one of whom is himself disabled. The big difference with the Barisal office is that this team includes a doctor – Rafiqul Islam. Rafiqul accompanies us on our next visit with the Kali group in Rayarhat village. His presence will result in some important insights.

Saidul and his wife Maksuda (in pink), Danita, with BERDO

This group has 20 members, 11 of whom are receiving loans. Only one of them, a 12 year-old girl, Popi – is disabled. But seven other people with disability have received loans and all are here to meet us.

Meeting the investors: Saidul (in yellow), Danita and myself

 

There is a much stronger sense of disability at this meeting. Perhaps it’s because people are sitting around the walls, instead of in a group on the floor as in Barisal. This makes it easier to single out individuals.

Perhaps it’s the presence of Ridoy (“Heart”), a 12 year-old boy with cerebral palsy who is quite a handful for his mother Rina. Eventually, she brings him up to sit with us at the table, until his father arrives to help him out. Rina has two other children, and after the meeting I watch her carrying Ridoy back cross the narrow bridge to the village.

Rina (l) and her daughter Purnima

Of the others present, Biti’s daughter Purnima, 5, has a severe hearing impediment. Purnima has not received a loan but has just joined the group with her mother. Hafiza and her daughter, Mukthar, are also new members. Hafiza saves 20 taka a week and sells ducks’ eggs in the market. If she gets a loan, she plans to buy more ducks of a sewing machine. He husband drives a bus and they have two other children.

The other mothers watch carefully as we have these discussions. When preparing for this visit, we were interested in whether villagers would treat disabled people as normal people. But here this seems the wrong question. Ridoy, Purnima and Mukthar are clearly accepted by the other villagers, but they are also living proof that disability can strike anyone, at any time. “We know that they can study and work with assistance,” says Salaheh, the group leader, but that is not really the issue. The issue is why people fall victim to these ailments, and whether others can be protected against the same fate. Can BERDO’s program help?

Rafiqul Islam, the BERDO doctor, explains why there appears to be so much disability in these villages. Many of them fell ill to “fever” which seems to be used generically to describe typhoid or influenza (of which there is plenty, particularly in the rainy season). There are many other factors – poor clothing, rapid changes of temperature, lousy sanitation and a lack of tube-wells to provide fresh water.

Rafiqul also blames poor nutrition, which results in a lack of vitamin C, and sheer ignorance. By a show of hands, it becomes clear that most of the women here consult local (traditional) doctors, who rarely diagnose medical problems correctly. Add to this a powerful amount of superstition.

But these women can hardly be blamed for their superstition. According to Rafiqul, doctors in the local hospital rarely leave the hospitals and charge 50 taka for each visit. There is only one government health center, on the main road. Patients pay 60 taka for medicine, which they buy from private shops.

These charges are beyond the means of many of these villagers. One is reminded, again, of Bangladesh’s overwhelming poverty: in a country of 3 million blind, there are said to be just 600 ophthamologists. Only 120 are practicing in rural areas.

But this would seem to present an opportunity for BERDO’s own experiment with micro-credit. These group meetings offer an opportunity to provide basic training in health and hygiene, and so make a small start towards preventing disability. BERDO is aware of this, but is not yet pushing aggressively in this direction.

Ridoy has cerebral palsy

 

 

Rafiqul, the doctor, goes out into the field for three days a week. He advises group members to eat vegetables, visit mainstream doctors, and be careful during maternity. In June alone, he dispensed 85 prescriptions. So far this year, he has sent about 6 women to hospital for treatment.

But this falls far short of a concerted program. Just as the groups in Barisal could be more active when it comes to working with husbands, so the groups here could do much to preach the message of nutrition and hygiene.

On its own, this would not be enough to prevent the catastrophic disease that overwhelmed those we have met on this trip, including even Saidul Huq himself. But it’s a start, and in this area of Banari Pari, BERDO’s groups would seem to be one of very few opportunities to provide consistent health education.

For this to happen, BERDO needs to invest in more training for the groups. It should also consider more alliances with other organizations which work on health. This could bring BERDO closer to achieving Saidul’s dream of using microcredit as a tool for development.

The Investors

We’ve decided to offer some of BERDO’s beneficiaries the chance to do a modest video cameo. Several AP Peace Fellows are trying to get video profiles this summer, and we hope to build up a visual portrait for partner organizations like BERDO. I’m not sure how we will deal with editing and translation, but we’re not getting any resistance so far: people here appreciate our interest and the chance to be heard, even if they themselves will never see the end product. I do show them the tape after the interview.

We start with Aslam, the group leader. We visit his house later in the day and find him propped up on a big wooden bed. His mother slowly fans him, as we crowd in.

Aslam’s story is a salutary example of how disability can strike capriciously and without warning (which explains why some villagers think it is a curse). He was making good money – 6,000 taka a month – as a bus supervisor. His family owned 12 cows and land. Then he got the fever, suffered a strike and lost the use of his legs.

It was a catastrophe for this small family. They sold the cows and land to pay for his treatment. Eventually Aslam emerged a crippled. His grandfather found a partially broken wheelchair.

Aslam applied to BERDO for a loan of 8,000 taka, which he used to open a small shop on the side of the path. It brings in about 100 taka a day, after his loan is repaid. This has to feed a family of five. The one big advantage is that he can manage the store from his wheelchair.

Aslam (l) with Saidul Huq

Aslam has the confidence that comes from having held down a responsible job before his accident. He also reads and writes. This brings him standing in the village and helped to get him elected as group leader. He says that attitudes towards him have changed since the group was formed. “They used to call me a lame man. Now they call me by my name.”

Aslan’s loan helps to keep him from the brink and from begging – the thought repels him – but he still faces overwhelming difficulties. He cannot grow vegetables because the river is so high. His wheelchair needs repair. Every time he leaves the house it requires immense effort and assistance from his family.

*

On the road back to Barisal, we stop off to meet several other beneficiaries from the BERDO program, which is clearly beginning to extend deep into the communities. These roadside encounters attract a huge crowd of onlookers, but this does not disturb Shafin Aldar, 35, who has opened a tailoring business. Shafin is working with one of the political parties, and seems to like the attention. This impromptu meeting actually competes with a rally that’s taking place down the road.

In the Spotlight: Shafin Aldar

Shafin has a deformed foot from childhood, and is one of the BERDO stars. He has received 9 loans, the latest for 9,000 taka. He has used the money to open a tailoring shop on the outskirts of Barisal which allows him to employ two workers and produce 5 pieces of cloth a day. During Ramadan he works around the clock. He also rents out two rickshaws. He estimates that his total daily income is 340 taka, which more than covers his weekly repayment (250 taka). BERDO uses him to promote the program, which is why he has qualified for so many loans.

More enterprising beneficiaries are waiting to meet us at the BERDO office in Barisal – and each one is a testament to hard work and perseverance. Rimon, 18, was bullied at school for using a stick (he is partially crippled). He and his mother borrowed 15,000 taka, and rebuilt their house. They now rent out three rooms at 750 taka a month. Honufa, who is blind, took out a loan of 8,000 taka to buy land where she and her mother produce rice for the family. They pay back the loan by working in a cigarette factory.

All of them attest to the wisdom of micro-credit and its core assumption – that the poor will invest money wisely. Disability, certainly, is no barrier, as long as the beneficiary has support and counsel. In this society, where families are close-knit and depend totally on each other, such support will usually be forthcoming.

Still, the image that stays with me from the day is that of Aslam’s tiny mother straining to carry her son down the steps of their house and into the wheelchair, where she slips and slides in the mud. And this is not yet the rainy season.

Helping the disabled requires effort – particularly in a society where everyone is under pressure.

Out of the Shadows

The village of Jagua lies off the main road, through a grove of bamboo cane, down a small brick path flanked by water on either side. The current is fast-moving on the right, and eddying on the left. The water leaves no space for anything else, from personal hygiene to small agriculture. Everything happens in this water. Here, people and animals bathe, wash, defecate and drink. It is picturesque and desperately unhealthy.

We are visiting the Kadampul microcredit group, which has been in existence for four years. All of its members have crammed under a large thatch roof to meet us, along with most of the rest of the village. We are introduced to the group leader Aslam, 26, who lost the use of his legs after a stoke and is confined to a wheelchair.

This group has 28 members, of whom 7 are disabled. Four are receiving loans. Several others have received loans in the past and are keen to apply for new loans. Amin Khan, a student, would like to join. He uses crutches and has come from the next village, at some effort. He wants to fish.

Danita and I go around the group while we try to get a feel for the issue and gage everyone’s energy and staying power. Some are here because they were told to attend, and one little boy, Khairul, sits slack-jawed and completely overwhelmed. For some reason, he is here without a parent. Someone barks a question at him, and he stands up in confusion. His parents used a loan to buy a sheep, but he’s too young to have benefited directly. I ask our translator to be gentle, and quickly move on to someone else.

Several young women, all visibly impaired, are sitting next to their mothers, and are happy to join in the discussion. Shanu received a loan, and her mother used it to purchase a rickshaw. Silpi, who is mute, and Salehar her mother, bought four 4 cows with 3 loans. They rent the cows out to cultivators, and make between 800 and 1,500 taka a month. Now they want to open a shop.

BERDO investors: Shilpi (l) and her mother Salehar

Mukul (a young blind woman in shocking pink) and her mother are the acknowledged micro-credit stars: they borrowed 13,000 taka and used their loan to buy clothes. They then went door to door selling them and made a profit of 10,000 taka.

In each of these cases, the loans were given to a daughter-mother team, and a strong mother would seem to be the key to economic success.

Saidul Huq’s other goal – confidence-building – is also being met, to judge from the way these girls speak up in public, and by the pride in their mother’s eyes. There’s no question about them being accepted by the others – their disability is simply not a factor. A cynic might say that’s because they are the group’s meal-ticket to loans, but none of this seems forced or artificial. Disability is no longer in the shadows in this village.

Still, not everything about this group is sweetness and light. Esmutara, a young women with a blue sari, stands up to complain that her husband demanded the loan (15,000 taka for poultry) and expected to run the business. She dug in her heels and agreed on a division of labor under which her husband would run the chickens and she would manage accounts. Later we interview her on camera, standing next to her husband. She comes across as the stronger partner.

But there are some issues among the other members, and these quickly dominate the conversation. Diluara is unable to repay her loan because her husband took the money and then went off to Dhaka where he married a new wife. She will not qualify for another loan and looks very glum. “I wish I’d known then what I know now,” she says through translation. Taslema received a 15,000 taka loan which her husband immediately took control of. She’s now doing nothing and wants some more training from BERDO.

This has been an unexpected encounter. It has shown that the “disability” loans are all working well and in some cases – such as Mukul – have produced a serious profit. It’s the other loans – to women – that appear to more controversial, because they challenge the status quo between husbands and wives. Aslam, the group leader, says that such issues are not really discussed at group meetings – how could they be? – but that they might intervene with Diluara’s husband if he returns from his jaunt in Dhaka.

One conclusion seems clear: these groups should do far more to grapple with gender training and work more directly with husbands before loans are given.

BERDO’s Micro-credit Model

Our boat arrives at the port of Barisal with a thud, in the pouring rain. Small children – waste-pickers – scurry in and out of cabins collecting empty bottles, which are piled up on the jetty for recycling. We stumble off the boat, bleary-eyed and short of sleep.

It’s a short car-ride to the BERDO office, where the staff is waiting. The wood fire is soon blazing and filling the office with acrid smoke. Sweet milky tea is offered. Outside, the rain has stopped and the streets are suddenly full of people running down the streets and chanting slogans. Local elections are in full swing. They will shortly be electing a new mayor.

Barisal is one of three BERDO microcredit centers. The model works as follows. Responding to requests, BERDO will establish a group of between 20 and 25 individuals, who will then qualify for a loan. Throughout the country, BERDO currently gives out loans through 136 different groups. There are 59 groups in the Barisal region, with about 800 members. Around 550 people are currently receiving loans.

Observing our meeting

When the program started, in 1995, BERDO decided to lend only to disabled people. But it was only able to find two or three beneficiaries in each village, and almost no-one turned up for meetings. Based on this, it was decided to extend the program to poor women, regardless of any disability. In any one group, about a quarter of the beneficiaries are likely to be disabled. Children qualify, although their loan is managed by their parents or guardians.

The aim is to help disabled people invest in something that will bring them a regular income – a cow, a rickshaw, or a small shop. But in the process, says Saidul Huq, they should acquire confidence and turn away from begging.

As the program has expanded to poor women, its goals have become more ambitious. By encouraging these women to work alongside disabled people, BERDO hopes to make them more accepting of disability. Disabled people live in the shadows, says Saidul. Many are afraid even to leave their homes. “Society is ashamed of disabled people and feels they are cursed. But everyone knows someone with disability, or has some disability in their family.”

Neither of these two goals is easy, but a third aim seems positively utopian. BERDO hopes that its micro-credit program will serve as a tool for development. It’s hard to see how this could happen, in a country of such overwhelming needs.

*

The money for loans comes from banks. BERDO borrows at 10% and lend at 12.5%, to cover the administrative costs. Last year BERDO disbursed 280,000 taka ($4,059) in Barisal.

Once a beneficiary is chosen, he or she signs a single piece of paper. But the terms are quite tough. Repayments begin with two weeks, unless the loan is for a longer-term agricultural loan, in which case it can be repaid at the end of the harvest. Joining a group is a precondition for receiving a loan, and the groups meet every week with a BERDO staffer in attendance. The groups select their own leader, who serves for a year.

BERDO offers four days of “motivational training” when a group is formed. Motivation means that beneficiaries are encouraged to invest wisely and save; mothers are encouraged to send a disabled child to school; husbands are encouraged to support their wives (who received the actual loan); teachers from the local school are encouraged to accept disabled children into school. Group leaders are also given leadership training.

It is now well established that women can make good use of micro-credit, but some of this is quite bold. I’m interested in how their husbands respond.

Measured by repayments alone, the program is a striking success. Ninety-nine per cent of the loans are repaid, and on time. The rate has fallen to below 90% in the areas affected by last year’s typhoon, and BERDO has postponed the collection for a year. But overall, it is working. And there is no difference at all between the disabled and others – at least in terms of repayments.

As a result, the program is attracting growing support. It has received a series of one-off grants to help cover costs, from the Rabbo Bank in Holland, Cordaid (the Dutch agency), OPEC in Austria, and the Danish embassy in Dhaka. The latest to come on board has been the World Bank, through a foundation, which has given 100,000 taka. If the Bank comes through with a second grant, it will enable BERDO to lend at a much lower interest rate.

All of this suggests that the first big question has been answered: disabled people can use micro-credit as effectively as the next. But what of the other members of the groups? Are they more accepting of disability? And can this program make inroads into some of the larger development challenges?

We hope to put these questions directly to some beneficiaries here in Barisal and in the neighboring district of Banari Para.

“I Remember the Colours”

 

It takes an hour and 30 minutes to reach the port, and the journey is wearing enough just sitting in an air-conditioned car. Goodness knows what it’s like for the beggars, who press their faces to the window when the car lurches to a halt. No one offers them money. Many of the beggars are disabled, and one of BERDO’s goals is to wean its clients away from begging. Some beggars are said to make a small fortune. Right now, it seems like a very tough way to make a living.

 

People are everywhere as we cross the gangplank onto our boat – a huge passenger ship. The traders are more ferocious even than the beggars and refuse to take no for an answer. Small skiffs bob perilously in the wake of the boat, selling pineapples. I look down and find a shoe-shine boy applying wax to my sandals. Some-one takes him by the ear and gives him a kick, which makes me feel uncomfortable.

 

The cabins have two bunks, and around ten o’clock we settle down for a companionable dinner of chicken curry, rice and dhal. Saidul Huq tells his own story. As I look over my notes, there seem to be two distinct phases.

 

Phase one involved coming to terms with the catastrophe of losing his sight. He was six when he fell ill with a fever, and lost his sight. His mother thought he was going to die. He doesn’t remember much from the time when he could see except for the colors – particularly red, green, white, blue, green and yellow.

 

He came from a well-off family and entered Dhaka University, where he embarked on a career of activism. There were about four visually-impaired students at the time, and Saidul formed them into a group. They sought a meeting with the Vice-Chancellor and urged him to make it easier for blind students by providing a small subsidy of 500 Taka a month and braille books in the library. Today, the number of blind students at the university has risen to over 60 and a small number have gone on to take a PHD. Saidul himself graduated with honors and a masters degree. He then taught for seven years at a teacher’s training college for the visually impaired, and a college for the blind.

 

The second phase of his career began in July 1991, when he set up BERDO. A businessman friend gave him a loan and an office. (BERDO has since moved twice). Saidul received a huge boost when he was selected as an Ashoka fellow in 1994. (Ashoka is the organization that supports social entrepreneurs). This brought him a stipend of $400 a month for three years, which enabled him to invest in the organization. He remains deeply grateful to Ashoka, and impressed by its model.

 

He started to travel: to Japan, Belgium, Germany, Holland and the United Kingdom, learning how richer societies support the blind. In 2001 he won a McNamara fellowship from the World Bank worth $7,500. This gave him a chance to reflect on the problems facing the blind in Bangladesh. He wrote a paper for the Bank, and was able to lobby the Bank to include disability when it opened an office in Bangladesh.

 

Saidul’s first goal as an advocate is to pressure the government to provide more support – for the disabled and for civil society. Bangladesh passed a law on disability in 2001, but it has still to be implemented. Saidul would also like to see donors working directly with NGOs, instead of channeling everything through the government. Every donor should have a disability fund.

 

As we head south, everything seems to be pointing towards phase three of Saidul’s career, which centers around the villages. There are three million blind people in Bangladesh. Saidul Huq has made it his life’s work to improve their lives.

Arrival in Bangladesh

July 31, 2008: I am visiting Bangladesh at the invitation of Saidul Huq, who runs the Blind Education Rehabilitation Organization (BERDO) in Dhaka. BERDO has been a partner of The Advocacy Project (AP) for two years.

 

BERDO has a head office in Dkaha, the capital, and three sub-offices in the districts of Tongi, Barisal and Banara Pari. It is quite small by Bangladesh standards and one of many NGOs working on disability. But in one respect, BERDO is unique: it is using micro-credit to empower the blind.

 

Bangladesh is the home of micro-credit, and Mohamed Younus’s work with the Grameen Bank won him this year’s Nobel peace prize. But BERDO is taking the idea a step further by making loans to the disabled. This raises many questions, including most obviously whether disabled people can make good use of a loan and repay on time. Caitlin Burnett, who served with BERDO as an AP Peace Fellow last year, visited some of the beneficiaries last year, and alerted us to the program with her blogs. I’m here this year to follow up, accompanied by this year’s Peace Fellow, Danita Topcagic.

 

I have an additional interest in visiting. Last December, a typhoon struck the southern region of Bangladesh with devastating force. Many of BERDO’s beneficiaries were affected. The Advocacy Project raised a modest $1,140 for them in a Christmas appeal. I am curious to know how the money was used, and report back to our donors.

 

I want to hear directly from these families – about what it means to be disabled in one of the world’s poorest countries, and whether microcredit can help. I’m also realistic about what can be achieved in a short visit. The last time I spent any time in Bangladesh, I stayed in a village near Jessore for several weeks and only scratched the surface. It will be hard to get more than a superficial impression in a few days.

 

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Arriving at Dhaka airport, I am met by Saidul Haq, who has borrowed his brother’s car and driver. Saidul is in his early forties and is very slight. Instead of shaking my hand, he takes hold of my arm and explores it for several seconds. He does not carry a cane.

Advocate for the blind: Saidul Huq (l)

I’m trying to imagine what it must be like to be blind in the world’s most populous nation. Eyesight is our first line of defense, and there seem to be a million hazards awaiting anyone who ventures onto the streets of Dhaka. As the car pulls out, it is engulfed in a tide of buses, taxis, rickshaws, beggars, jaywalkers, and street vendors. The tide moves forward in a mass – stuck in slow gear one moment, faster the next.

 

There is plenty of danger here, and Saidul explains that he never uses a cane because he is likely to be hit by a rickshaw or fall into an open manhole. His defenses lie in an acute sense of sound, a phenomenal memory, touch – and people. There is always someone at his side to hold his wrist and guide him, and they are invariably gentle.

 

The best way to describe Saidul’s situation is that he relies on others but is always in control. He bumps into things all the time, but laughs it off. “I am a very happy person!” he exclaims. Still, being blind in Bangladesh cannot be easy. Rising above it and achieving something out of the ordinary? Well, that seems almost insuperable.

 

At the BERDO office, I meet Danita Topcagic, this year’s AP Fellow. Danita is from Bosnia and lived in Velika Kladusa, in northwest Bosnia, until fighting in 1995 forced the family to flee to Croatia and then the United States. She’s chosen to live full-time at the BERDO office during her fellowship. Her room is hot and dusty.

 

We leave for Saidul’s apartment and a snack of mangos, jackfruit, and sweet milky tea prepared by Saidul’s wife Maksuda. Saidul’s eldest daughter sees us off, before she herself heads off to work with her tutor. (As driven as her father, she also attends special class after school).

 

Then it’s out again into the sea of traffic for the port, where we will catch a boat to Barisal in the south.

SREBRENICA, JULY 2008 – FINAL THOUGHTS

The following nine blogs were posted after a visit to Srebrenica in Bosnia, in late July 2008. Our group, the Advocacy Project, is helping survivors of the 1995 Srebrenica massacre to develop and promote a memorial quilt commemorating the victims. Beba Hadzic, who heads the Bosnian women’s group Bosfam and is coordinating the quilt project, is keen to involve more weavers from Srebrenica itself and was interested in our input and ideas. As chance would have it, Radovan Karadzic, the former Bosnian Serb leader, was arrested shortly before I arrived in Bosnia. Karadzic was one of the authors of the 1995 massacre at Srebrenica. There are nine blogs in total, and they should be read in reverse order.

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The sun is shining as we leave Srebrenica. A plan for the Bosfam weavers is definitely taking shape.

If money can be found, Bosfam will identify about 15 women like Hasnija from the villages or refugee settlements, who will invited to Tuzla for several weeks of training over a three-month period. That will give them exposure to other women and teach them a skill. They will then be given a loom and wool to work on a home. Beba likes the idea of Hasnija at her loom while the snow falls silently outside. So do we all.

Setting up a training center in Srebrenica itself seems beyond Bosfam’s capacity at the moment, but it could be done the following year if this first phase works well. Together the trainers and trainees will make a dozen more quilts, which will be shown in North America, Europe, in Bosnia itself, and even in Serbia.

Never forget: Beba Hadzic at the Potocari site, where her brother in law is buried

This is an ambitious plan, and after a moment of euphoria we all come down to earth. There is always the risk that the quilt will lose its appeal as Srebrenica loses its hold on people’s imagination, as discussed in an earlier blog. This is unlikely as long as Karadzic is on trial and Mladic can evade capture. Milorad Dodik seems intent on doing his best to stoke the anger of the survivors. And for Beba, Magbula and Hasnija, the pain will remain vivid until their relatives are identified and reburied. They hope to use the memorial quilt to keep the memory alive for as long as possible. This will require a mighty effort from many well-wishers.

There are other questions about this initiative. The quilt is not a profitable venture – indeed it is currently losing money. But it can make a lasting contribution if it can provide women like Hasnija with an economic cushion against poverty. This will happen if the weavers can parlay their skills into a profitable business, and here they face a formidable obstacle. Bosnian carpets, even the traditional cilims, cannot compete against cheaper carpets from Turkey, Pakistan, and Afghanistan. They will need special marketing once the connection with the massacre wears thin.

In a wider sense, the same holds true of their former town. Underneath the veneer of the new supermarket and mosque, there is very little to show for the past thirteen years. Part of this was due to the inbuilt contradictions of the Dayton agreement, which created two states and gave the Serbs an opportunity to block the return of refugees. Part of it was our inability to face up to the horror of what we let happen here in 1995. The world recoiled in shame and disgust, and the hard men took advantage.

Is it too late, one might ask? This is the wrong question. Having let these people down, we do not have the luxury of abandoning them a second time. Instead, we should listen and follow their lead.

I expect to take many more coffees with Magbula in her little house, near the grave of her husband. I also hope to see Beba back in her house by the Lake. And of course there are many other massacre victims throughout the world who can learn from the awful experience of Srebrenica.