The paper that follows below was presented at the first ever conference on ICT for disability in Bangladesh. Held on August 14, 2007 at the National Conference the conference was titled “ICT and Persons with Disability: The Context of Bangladesh.” It was an exciting meeting and I expect that many great projects will follow out of the many ideas that were discussed on that day.

*****

Information and communications technologies (ICTs) are indeed poised to revolutionize communications and information sharing as we know it. As an American, I have witnessed these changes in technology and communication as they effect individual citizens, students, and institutions like NGOs in the US. With the help of ICTs we are able to complete formerly time consuming tasks in record time and connect with others around the globe in an entirely new way.

From America to Bangladesh for example, I was able to start a conversation with Mr. Huq and his staff from BERDO about ICT and the value of information. Following that conversation, I undertook the steps that have brought me before you now as a Peace Fellow of The Advocacy Project, a US-based NGO, and a new partner of BERDO. Now I would like to take this opportunity to comment on the potentials of ICT in Bangladesh, the successes of ICT in America, and our role as advocates for the creative application of these tools to improve the life skills and employability of persons with disability.

Having some experience with ICT in the context of America, it is very exciting for me to witness the potential of ICT being recognized in Bangladesh. I have been particularly impressed by the inclusive nature in which many are seeking to use growing ICTs. As this conference has recognized, ICTs have the immense capacity to empower those who may otherwise be marginalized, particularly disabled individuals. It is hugely reassuring to see that steps are being taken to ensure that the promise of ICT will be held for persons with disabilities in Bangladesh.

As noted in the conference flyer that I received with interest several weeks ago, “ICTs have brought new opportunities for individuals to acquire ‘the ability to compensate for physical or functional limitations... by enlarging the scope of activities available to them.’” ICT is indeed a vital tool and I encourage everyone here today to think about new ways in which these tools may be used. From sending letters across many miles, to talking phone software that allows visually impaired people to navigate the phone system through audio commands, the uses of ICTs are nearly endless.

For example, I would like to share with you some projects that have been distinguished for their success in the United States. The first example, an online journal program, EasyJournal at www.easyjournal.com, has been celebrated for its accessibility to blind, visually impaired, and physically disabled users. Designed to be accessible to persons with disabilities, particularly those using assistive technology like screen readers or voice recognition, EasyJournal is a space for all persons regardless of disabilities to voice their opinions on the web, connect with others through technology, and join in a variety of virtual discussions. Online journals, often called blogs, are a huge force in connecting, informing and mobilizing people across the world and it is exciting to note that developers are making sure that this technology is accessible.

Another success has also involved harnessing the power of the internet to serve other persons with disabilities, including those who are intellectually disabled. e-Buddies, part of Best Buddies International, a U.S.-based non-profit organization, works to enhance the lives of people with intellectual disabilities by facilitating friendships through technology. The e-Buddies project provides opportunities for one-to-one e-mail friendships between intellectually disabled and non-disabled individuals. Through these friendships, intellectually disabled individuals not only gain the support of a new friend, but also have a chance to learn and practice valuable computer skills. With these skills, intellectually impaired persons are better poised for success in school and work.

Yet another successful ICT project is called ATSTAR and can be accessed at www.atstar.org. ATSTAR, AT meaning Assistive Technology, provides a host of resources online to assist teachers in finding assistive technology solutions for students with disabilities. One of their success stories involves a young girl with cerebral palsy at a small school in rural America. Due to cerebral palsy and related mobility and speech impairments, the child needed alternative input and output devices for communication of her lessons. By using ATSTAR’s online training modules, the teacher and parents have been guided to a solution that has increased the student’s success in school.

While all of these great projects have been successful in the United States, my experience unfortunately does not allow me to comment extensively on the present state of ICT in Bangladesh, but I trust that the many experts present today will impart their valuable knowledge.

I’d like to emphasize that this time is an important opportunity for innovation. Technology is not only changing our world, but can be changed to our individual specifications. ICTs are “dynamic instruments of change.” As persons with disabilities seek to harness the power of ICT to improve life skills and employability, I urge you to think about both new and old ways to use technology. Persons with disability in Bangladesh will inevitably have needs and uses for technology that no one may have considered before.

For example, persons with visual impairment may need an opportunity to network with each other from across the country. To fill this opportunity, one creative option is to develop an accessible website in Bangla and English to act as a forum where visually impaired persons in Bangladesh can share information and opinions both audibly, via sound clips that can be uploaded and downloaded by users, and through text as well with facilitating software like Jaws screen reader. Like Facebook or MySpace, two sites that have a huge followings particularly among youth around the world, the networking site could be a place for people to connect to one another in new ways, to gain information, to share job and training resources, and to generate collective action and social change.

As a report recently noted, “e-inclusion and e-participation are ‘moving targets’.” It is important to remember that “while on the one hand, innovations in ICT continue to create new gaps or exacerbate the digital divide for the vast majority of people in the world, several underprivileged communities are also learning to bridge the gap by developing creative ways of using ICTs, individually and collectively.” It is these creative ways of using ICTs where the most exciting potential benefits lie.

At the same time, each of us who recognizes the potential of ICTs to empower persons with disabilities must become an ambassador for that message. Already, on an international scale there is immense interest in ICT. NGOs, funding agencies, and governments are coming together to brainstorm about the uses of ICTs in particular contexts. Representatives from Bangladesh, particularly persons with disability and those who work to empower them, must be sure to have a seat at these tables where decisions are being made and discussions are taking place.

Moreover, for each of us that recognize the power of ICT and understand its uses, there are many more that are unfamiliar with ICT or its application in Bangladesh. In order to generate popular understanding and support, our advocacy is ever more critical. The good news is that the tools are already available - placing a well aimed phone call from your mobile to local government officials, sending a letter to the editor by fax or email to newspapers from your local technology center, or posting on a website built specifically to discuss ICT (and there are many in existence, http://www.netsquared.org for example) - each of those steps will help bring ICT for disability in Bangladesh into the public eye, both locally and internationally.

In closing, I want to say again that it is a very exciting honor to be here with all of you to discuss this important topic. While I have only been in Bangladesh for a few short months, I am very confident that all of your efforts will not go unrewarded. I have been consistently impressed by both the resourcefulness and forward looking outlook of all of Bangladeshis that I have met. As we move ahead, I urge you to remember that your advocacy must be ceaseless in its insistence. ICTs have great potential to improve the lives of persons with disabilities in Bangladesh, but it is your efforts that will help make that potentiality a reality.

*****

The conference also received attention of media in Bangladesh. Please visit RI-SOL's website (www.connect-bangladesh.org) for links to the stories published in newspapers and You Tube to view the video clip of the Channel i TV news.

RI SOL-Bangladesh:
http://www.connect-bangladesh.org/content/view/442/101/

The Daily Star :
http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=85

You Tube video : Channel i TV news
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IBmn1W7aWo

The Daily Independent:
http://www.connect-bangladesh.org/images/stories/ICT_Conf_Dis.jpg

As the summer draw to a close, I find that I'm at something of a loss for words. The past eleven weeks have been like nothing I've ever experienced before. I dove into the summer not knowing what to expect and, while I figured out what was required of me, I feel like I have yet to come up for air.

In some ways, these last few days have been spent looking back on the summer. After all this time, what did I accomplish that has made my time worthwhile? That's a relatively easy question as I evaluate all I've seen and learned, as well as all that BERDO and I have accomplished – from a website to a news bulletin, or a newsletter to presenting a paper at the first ever conference on ICT for Disability in Bangladesh, it has been a productive summer.

The larger part of my attention has been focused on looking forward. On the one hand, I want to know - how can we ensure that the progress made this summer will continue? As a practical question, there are plenty of practical answers. We can make sure that news from BERDO continues to reach AP and that AP continues to help BERDO reach the wider international community, along with many more mundane details like website maintenance and updating databases.

But, as the hour of my departure draws closer, so too do all of my worries about transitioning back into life in the U.S. – from the simple things like running water and driving my own car again, to the more intimidating prospect of returning to work and school, there's a lot to think about. The more complicated question that I've been asking myself lately seems like a bit of a cliché – will I ever view the world in the same way again?

Putting it in writing, the question seems pretty childish. But, in all sincerity it is one that's really got me concerned.

Next week, will I stop to be grateful that clean water comes out of the kitchen faucet every time I turn it on? Will I say a silent "thank you" to the water authority when I rinse my toothbrush with tap water without thinking about the consequences?

By Thanksgiving, at a stop light in Georgetown during my commute home will I remember all the frantic tapping on the windows that was the norm only a few months before as beggars tried to make a living out of commuters stuck in the traffic jams of Dhaka?

A year from now, when I put the recycling bin on the curb to be picked up will I bother trying to calculate the number of meals that my trash represents to a Bangladeshi child whose childhood is lost to picking through garbage for recyclables to redeem for food?

A decade from now, as I go through yet another job interview, will I remember Monju and wonder how many more times she had to listen to employers who simply say "we have no jobs for persons with disability"?

I don't know if this is culture shock in advance of my return or if the emotional goodbyes are just going to my head. I guess if nothing else, on a personal level, this summer has made me think about my life and work in an entirely new way. Sitting back and accepting that discrimination, poverty, and humiliation are the norm for persons with disability in Bangladesh, or other marginalized people across the globe, is simply not an option. There's just too much that can and must be done to prevent it.

Microcredit. Speak that word and the eyes of many a development practitioner light up. Microcredit means banking the “un-bankable”. It means helping those without income generating opportunities make their own way in the world. Microcredit, specifically the practice of extending small loans with no collateral to non-traditional borrowers, is in many ways considered a cure - for poverty and for all of the social ills that go along with it.

It was actually in Bangladesh that microcredit was born. With Grameen Bank and Nobel Peace prize winner Dr. Muhammad Yunus the practice of organizing the rural poor to use small loans started in 1976 and it has since taken flight. What started with Grameen is now a global phenomenon. Not only do NGOs across Bangladesh experience success with microcredit projects, but the practice has spread to almost every corner of the world.

But while microcredit projects have long focused on empowering the marginalized (namely poor, landless women, particularly widows or divorced women without the resources to support themselves and their families) many projects have missed a key portion of the least well off in the developing world - persons with disability. Considered an embarrassment and burden, surrounded by stigma and superstitions, disabled individuals in Bangladesh and around the globe have largely been left out of the microcredit boon. And it is into this void that BERDO has stepped.

Through projects first established several years ago, BERDO now provides microcredit facilities and training to 313 groups comprised of 2,332 individuals. BERDO operates on the principle of equality of opportunity. There is positive discrimination in that disabled members are actively sought out for inclusion into the group and offered special training during their time in the group. Of this total of 2332 participants, over 500 members are disabled and some 40 groups are lead by persons with disability.

Contrary to the first notions of many (including myself), BERDO staff are quick to point out that while disabled members receive support from their fellow members, they are by no means “carried” by their groups. Disabled members, like any other loan recipients, are considered as individuals by BERDO. They are responsible for their own financial obligations and family members often offer support to help them realize their goals. As family is the cornerstone of life in Bangladesh, this is not unusual.

Also somewhat remarkable, while the overall rate of repayment stands at 99.27%, disabled group members have never failed to repay their loans in the history of BERDO’s projects. The rate of repayment from disabled participants is 100% relative to the rate of repayment from non-disabled participants which is 98.54%.

Moreover, disabled members, like all members of the groups, take on a wide variety of activities. They do not tend to do any particular activity, but are encouraged to do something that is comfortable for them. For example, Mr. Saiful Islam in Tongi knows about the fish business and has chosen to sell fish with his loan. Regardless of the activities they undertake, BERDO reports that disabled members experience the same quality of living increase as non-disabled members of the microcredit groups.

Given these successes, it is no surprise that the microcredit boom is set to continue with exponential growth. But until other institutions offering microcredit follow BERDO’s suit and take purposeful steps to include the most neglected segment of the least well off – over 400 million persons with disabilities throughout the developing world - it seems uncertain how much microcredit can really benefit those who need it most.

It turns out desperation does sell and lately flooding has brought exactly that to Bangladesh. As many of my American friends and family have pointed out in the past few days, Bangladesh is now finally making the headlines, both in America and around the globe. But it isn’t a story of joy or success that has brought it there. Floods, the worst in recent years, have gripped much of Bangladesh and are now encroaching on the capital city.

After a recent trip to Kolkata, formerly known as Calcutta, the images that have stayed in my mind are not the grandiose monuments to British colonialism (although those are certainly something to behold), but the brief glimpses of lives disrupted. The bus ride from Kolkata to Dhaka several days ago offered a surreal hint of the destruction that flooding can bring. Entire villages of huts along the roadside were submerged in several feet of water. Bridges were long ago overcome by the rising tide. Residents moved around in boats and rafts. Others crossed from high ground to the elevated road on makeshift bamboo bridges that seemed to hover precariously over the surface, sometimes dipping below the muddy water. But no matter how surreal the scene out that bus window was, the floods are also a jarring reality.

In the last 24 hours alone, at least 40 people in Bangladesh have reportedly died due to rising water and quickly subsiding rations of available clean water and food. Among the dead are many children whose lives were claimed by ailments as treatable as diarrhea. Without access to the saline, medicine, and clean food and water that I enjoyed only a week or two ago, the children perished of dehydration and related complications. Cholera and skin diseases are also feared as further shortages of clean food and water, combined with lack of sanitation facilities, will provide the perfect environment for the diseases to spread.

Amid it all, I can’t quite wrap my mind around what’s happening around me. Yes, I see it in the newspapers, I hear it on TV, I respond to the concerned emails of friends who are thinking of my safety, and I’ve even witnessed it as I peered out the bus window only a few short days ago. It may be the years of seeing flooding in Bangladesh in the news, but I can’t help but feel that I’ve been conditioned to accept the disaster as something less than reality. Catastrophes of this nature are portrayed as something that happens in the “third world” - not just one, but two whole worlds away from the safety of “first world” America.

But after gazing out that window of that bus at the inundated countryside, I am certain that there is no “third world.” There is one world and we all inhabit it. If you need to divide it into categories, there are just countries that have the resources and infrastructure they need and those that don’t. We need to start remembering before we flip the page of the newspaper or change the television channel, sighing about the misfortune of all those people who seem a world away - it is really not as far away as you’d think.

Ever since meeting Monju and talking with her about education and job opportunities for disabled people in Bangladesh, the topic of education has never entirely faded into the background. If anything, I just continue to struggle with new questions that arise or are posed to me.

Among these questions, perhaps the most critical is the one on which so many livelihoods depend: why, if someone will not be able to find a job, bother to give them education in the formal sector? To me, the gut reaction is clear – formal education, to some extent, is not only a means to an end (employment) but an end unto itself. But the question is much more nuanced than that. Informal education, particularly vocational training, can also be a hugely useful tool. If someone knows how to make baskets to support their family, what does it matter if they are literate or competent in long division?

There is certainly a great debate between formal and informal education and I’m unfortunately not particularly well versed in the arguments. But in small ways, the need for formal education has become clear during my time in Bangladesh. All it really took was seeing the smile of success on a young girl’s face.

Ruby is 14 years old, but is so petite that she looks much younger. Like many women and girls, particularly from poor families, she is the last to eat after serving every other member of the house and has probably suffered from malnutrition at some point. The house servant of the family I live with, Ruby spends her day cooking, cleaning, washing, baby sitting, and generally running errands. She has been living here in Dhaka for the past three years, several hours away from her family; six sisters, one brother, mother and father. Her salary is too low for her to afford to visit her parents - the money is of more use to pay for her family’s food anyways. Ruby is functionally illiterate in both Bangla and English, but as of late we had a huge breakthrough. Ruby can now correctly write her first name and recognize, pronounce, and write the English alphabet.

Over the past few weeks we have been over each letter countless times. Certain shapes tend to confuse her and the English shortcuts that I know (recognize L by the shape of your thumb and forefinger make on your left hand, for example) simply don’t translate in a way that makes sense. After nearly two months of almost constant practice, she has now mastered the alphabet. Almost every chance we are alone she will approach me to whisper the alphabet, drawing letters in the air, watching my face for corrections. Now the hard part, phonetics and attaching sounds to those hard won letters, will barely begin before I leave to go home.

In some ways, the lessons have been not only in English, but in patience too, in gratitude for the luck of my birth that placed me in a wealthy country with parents who valued education and had the resources to ensure that my childhood was work-free to pursue it, but most importantly in the power and empowerment that only a few letters can bring.

A few weeks ago a woman in BERDO's microcredit group in Tongi told me, “We are illiterate. We have no power to use our knowledge,” and after many furtive lessons with Ruby it has finally dawned on me exactly how powerful even the most basic of formal educations can be. Those few letters are the seeds of power.

I am convinced that for the disabled community of Bangladesh formal education is even more vital. Marginalized in many of their communities and considered unfit for full participation in society, a basic success like Ruby’s propels disabled individuals forward as evidence of their capabilities. It is clear to me then that formal education must necessarily be the starting point to empower the disempowered, particularly disabled people in Bangladesh.

Like so many other development questions, we know how and why. Now, like phonetics, we must conquer the hard part - the resources have yet to be mobilized.

While I unfortunately can’t say that the mystery bacterium have disappeared, I do feel the need to take a step back from my recent cynicism - and, for better or worse, I still have plenty of time to stay lost in thought.

As a friend reminded me over lunch the other day, there is a great danger in portraying Bangladesh as a perpetually plagued country. Yes, there are problems; floods, poverty, rising cost of living, and a caretaker government that is looking ever clumsier in its attempt to clean corruption out of power. But these negative aspects are all too often all that is shown of Bangladesh to the world. Triumphant students whose dedication is rewarded when exam results are announced, joyful celebrations of Bengali culture, and incremental successes of its economy just don’t make for exciting news.

In a lot of ways, this has a familiar ring. Hasn’t media everywhere generally turned to covering the most sensational, sexy, sometimes chilling, sometimes infuriating events as a means of selling their news? I’m not nearly well traveled enough to say that it is so everywhere across the globe, but I think it is safe to bet that selling sensation, be it sex or utter desperation, is a whole lot easier than selling modest achievements in many countries around the world.

The problems of Bangladesh - the poverty, the disasters, the political wrangling - have proven an easy sell, but only when the proportions are so outrageous that people can’t help but stop to take notice. I came into the country thinking that maybe, in some small way, I could help to make the less outrageous, but equally important problems apparent - the workers who struggle day after day to put two meals on their family’s table, the people with disabilities who face unbridled discrimination as they search for jobs, the preventable illnesses that lead to a significant portion of disability throughout the developing world.

But, after talking over lunch about Bangladesh’s image abroad with a Bangladeshi who was educated in London and chose to return to Bangladesh to serve his fellow citizens, I’m beginning to think that telling the important stories is much more difficult than I had first imagined. First, there is danger in making the problems outrageous in a way that is nearly the same as the media and falling into the exact same sensation sells trap. Secondly, there is the very real possibility that my advocacy could simply contribute to the “bad luck country” image - and that image honestly doesn’t do Bangladesh any good. It isn't exactly a tightrope act, but it is certainly a challenge

Then I step back and realize that there is so much hope to write about that, even if it doesn’t sell, it certainly isn’t hard to find and is almost impossible to escape. Bangladesh has its share of problems, but it also has a huge bounty of beauty and energy. “Every day I wake up to the sounds of people working,” my friend told me over lunch, “and they are working hard - they’re shouting out their wares and carrying 20 kilos in a basket balanced on their head.” He went on to emphatically tell me that, “there is great potential here for people to improve their lives - we just need to give them a chance.”

It is this chance, along with the small steps in the right direction, which really deserves attention in the international limelight. If we could get people as excited about vitamin A deficiency-related blindness in kids as we could in former Bangladeshi lawmakers’ last minute maneuvering to somehow debunk the corruption charges brought against them, just think of what could be accomplished.

After weeks without any visuals to share, photos should now begin appearing on my Flickr account, although the upload process is frustratingly slow! Please visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/cburnett/ to view my photos.

Yesterday, lying in lost in thought trying to make it through yet another bout of stomach problems caused by some unknown bacteria whose source I can’t quite pin down, it occurred to me yet again- this is the longest time I have spent away from the United States and all of the comforts (and discomforts) of home.

While I can’t claim to enjoy being laid out by the mystery bacteria that is wrecking havoc on my gastrointestinal system, it certainly has given me time to think. And think I have. From the topics I’ve explored in past blogs, to what health and health care mean here relative to the United States, to America’s responsibility to others across the globe, between the cringes of discomfort it was a day replete with mini-revelations.

Perhaps the line of thinking that has captivated me most over these past few days is what it means to be an American - both on a personal level and in the eyes of others, including Bangladeshis and citizens from other countries across the globe who inevitably feel the aftershocks of American actions. I suppose it all started when, at a wedding celebration I attended a few weeks ago, a curious fellow guest struck up a conversation with me about American politics. “What do you think about Hillary Clinton running for president?” she asked. Since then I’ve added the question to the long list of queries I’ve come to expect, along with “Are you married?” and “Do you live in New York?”

While she was disappointed with my answer that, “unfortunately, I doubt that America is ready to support a woman for president- even if she is married to a popular past president,” the question started the wheels turning. Because really, when we meet a German national, do we ask how they think Chancellor Merkel is doing since she took office? While it is a fascinating topic, I just don’t foresee it coming up in casual conversation.

In trying to figure out why these questions don’t arise, it becomes ever more clear to me that, for better or worse, America occupies a unique position in the world - that of the world’s “lone superpower.” And while I try to distance myself from the American government’s actions (our unpaid dues to the UN for example, or the Iraq war for another), making that attempt for distance just doesn’t fly here. People continue to ask “but why does your country do that?” and no amount of explaining can make clear that, to me, to be American doesn’t mean to support every American action or inaction in the world. To be American in Bangladesh, for many people I have talked to, means to be irrevocably tied to the actions of American government, both at home and abroad.

And that is where the guilt sets in. While I’ve been in Bangladesh, I have almost entirely neglected American politics- and somewhat happily so. As a resident of the District of Columbia, having spent time on the Hill with various lobbying campaigns, and as an avid news watcher, over the past several weeks I have relished my vacation from America and all of the maneuvering of our politicians. But if, on the other side of the world, being American is often seen as synonymous with supporting American policies abroad, then by being inattentive I’ve been committing a very serious crime.

I can’t help but wonder if Bangladesh is the norm rather than the exception across the globe in being aware of internal American goings-ons and their possible effect on national and international issues. And then, if it is the norm, my duties as an American citizen take on a much greater weight than I tend to acknowledge. My failure to participate, even for a split second, in American politics is then a failure not just on a personal, moral level as an individual citizen, but a very real failure to all peoples across the globe. If there is no corner of the globe which remains isolated from the hand of American government, there is no corner untouched by my lack of participation. Then it is clear to me- as an American, I can make no excuses when the livelihoods and lives of so many stand to feel the impact.

It is all quite clear-cut when you boil it down to the bare essentials. Life must be political- there is simply too much hanging in the balance. And my attempts to explain that the American government’s actions are not my own is nothing more than a pathetic attempt to explain my guilt away.

It turned into one of those days where I wished Imodium AD could do such wonders for guilt pangs as it does for stomach cramps – but then what other force can be as effective a motivation to create change for the better? It may be the inner cynic in me, but I can't help feeling that compassion or a vision of a shared humanity has all too often proven not to be motivation enough to get those of us who enjoy the spoils of power off the couch and into the service of shaping a more equitable world. Maybe some discomfort is part of the solution.

When BERDO’s beneficiaries come together, the meetings are inevitably festive. The bright colors of the saris and longis that participants wear seem to infuse the air with energy in defiance of the cheerlessness of the mildewed walls around us. With ready laughter and many jokes with punch lines that I don’t always understand, I’ve been glad that I long ago mastered the art of nodding and smiling. But underneath the lighthearted current, there are some very strong desires that creep into many of our conversations-I hesitate to label it desperation, but that might not be that far off the mark.

When asked about their needs, the individuals that BERDO serves have been anything but shy. Underlying their many needs is the paramount need of Bangladeshis in an era of increasing cost of living: money. They also tell me about the infrastructure they need, like a center where disabled children can receive rehabilitative health care, and the goods that are most vital to their lives, including free medicine and vitamins. Students tell me, “we need a place where we can gain access to the tools we need- Braille paper and typewriters, scribers and cassette players.” Several members of microcredit groups have asked me to help them find funds for a handicraft center where community members can learn new skills to generate income.

At the end of our meetings together, every single time, someone has more shyly snuck in, “will you remember us when you return to America?”

As I have reassured every one who has asked, I am absolutely certain that I will remember the women, children, and men I have met over the past several weeks for quite some time. The faces and names may inevitably become muddled, but their messages will not be lost. Already I am starting to hatch plans- how much would a well-loved Braille typewriter cost to send from the US to Bangladesh, after all?

But besides the ways that I, with the help of my family and friends, can directly help fulfill their needs, the constant laundry lists have made me think. If nothing else (as become abundantly clear from the stream of question marks in previous blogs), my experience in Bangladesh is bringing to mind important questions that I am sure will continue to grip my mind.

I can’t help but wonder, what would happen if these students and mothers asked with the same energy and intensity for these goods and services from their government? Has the government fallen so far away from its citizens that they cannot even hope to receive what they need to fulfill their basic needs? How do you create a culture where public servants truly serve the public? How can we, Americans or otherwise, work towards this change?

I keep hoping that one day the answers will become clear to me, but I guess only time will tell. In the mean time, I’ll just have to continue asking questions.

Barisal, the subject of a recent blog post, is now an idyllic memory; the pace of life slow and the natural surroundings beautiful. In BERDO’s microcredit groups there, hope overrode the intense suffering of those who lived in poverty. Even the landless had hope and options, however limited the quantities might be.

In Tongi, a semi-urban area only 25 kilometers from Bangladesh’s bustling capital where BERDO operates another microcredit program, the situation is much different. If anything, the suffering of “the poorest of the poor” is first and foremost.

Tongi, unlike relatively isolated Barisal, is a community of migrants. From all over Bangladesh, families come to Tongi in the hopes of creating a better life after they are unable to carve out a secure living for themselves in their home villages. Landless, they travel to Tongi in anticipation of getting jobs in the industries that serve Dhaka and its ports.

Due to its proximity to Dhaka industry, particularly garment factories, offers the illusory hope of jobs for migrants. However, when no jobs are to be found, NGOs step in to grant some relative security in the form of loans - in the absence of collateral like houses, lands, and commercial goods, banks will not consider the needs of the poorest members of society as they try to improve their lives.

Unlike the groups of Barisal who were optimistic in the face of the barriers they tackle, community members in Tongi appear worn down by the difficulties of their life. One woman, when I asked her what she would like to teach me about her life, simply told me in response, “We are illiterate. We have no power to implement our knowledge.”

In the absence of local agriculture, it also appears as though the market may exert more pressure here. Vitally important in the lives of all Bangladeshis, the price of basic goods is skyrocketing across the nation. While a kilogram of rice used to cost 15 taka, the same amount of rice now costs 28 taka. Every day the prices reportedly rise and there is no sign of them going down. The business syndicates that controlled the price of goods prior to the caretaker government’s assumption of power continue to exert their power unchecked even during the crackdown on corruption. For those without opportunities to generate and secure income, the future is uncertain.

For me, my time in Tongi pointed me to the same questions I asked after my experience with the corrupt border guard: If the caretaker government doesn’t succeed in stamping the corruption out of society, where will that leave Bangladesh? And, most importantly, where will Bangladesh leave her poorest citizens?

Right now, with the Tongi residents still fresh in my mind, the oppressiveness of their poverty has left me somewhat unwilling to consider the consequences of the unchecked downward spiral that seems to have gained a particularly troubling momentum as of late. The monsoon clouds that are gathering on the horizon this afternoon, rather than lending me a sense of relief with the promise of cooling the day’s heat, now seem an ominous portent.

“Whatever I can learn,” Ruhulamin’s ma tells me, “I will use to help my child.”

Ruhulamin, a 17 year old boy, suffered a high fever during his childhood. Ruhulamin’s ma sought out medical care for her child, but after a botched medical procedure Ruhulamin is hearing impaired and has problems with motor control, as well as a very short attention span. After learning and practicing a physical therapy regime from BERDO, he and his mother have made significant progress - he can now move alone.

His mother, like the parents of other disabled children I spoke with, came to the group to learn about disability, to share experiences, and to make use of BERDO’s credit program to achieve financial self sufficiency through loans and savings. In addressing both the causes and effects of disability, money seems all too often to be the deciding factor between a life hampered by difficulty and one filled with hope - good medical and educational assistance is hard to come by for those who cannot afford it.

After an 11 hour, overnight ride on “The Rocket,” a steam propelled paddle boat that plies one of Bangladesh’s popular river routes, I could have sworn that we had landed in another decade. We arrived in the early morning into the small, sleepy, rural port on an 80 year old boat. Walking across the wooden gangway and winding our way among sleeping families camped out on the covered walkway we eventually emerged on the narrow, rickshaw filled street that serves as the main artery of the port.

Looking at a map, Barisal shadar (district) seems to begin where the division between land and water start to breakdown. Largely agricultural, submerged jute and rice fields seem to occupy every available space. Not surprisingly, life in the villages of Barisal centers on the production and processing of agricultural products. For the landless, those who don’t have land of their own to cultivate, sharecropping or working as wage laborers are two options available - but neither guarantees the year-round security of their livelihoods.

In the face of this insecurity, it is NGOs like BERDO, Proshika, and BRAC that can impact whether or not a family can expect to enjoy two full meals a day all year round with a roof over their heads. For BERDO, this means facilitating some 47 microcredit and discussion groups in and around Barisal, with approximately 100 disabled members as well as hundreds of non-disabled participants.

Meeting once every week, BERDO’s groups come together to offer peer support and to undertake microcredit activities. With modest sums of money (US $50 to $200), the group members do a variety of things, from planting vegetable gardens, purchasing a rickshaw, to buying small stocks of cloth for cloth and tailoring businesses. The subtle way that BERDO’s groups are different from other NGOs is that each group intentionally includes at least some families whose members have disabilities. In this way, the groups are a place for preventative health education as well as a place where the community rallies to support people with disabilities as they work to live safely and independently in their communities.

When I asked the group members to tell me why they invested their time and energies into the group, the meetings inevitably blossomed with an abundance of voices. “Somebody has hands, eyes, or legs, while others don’t,” Rimon’s ma told me, “we must come together to work.” Her son, Rimon, is mildly intellectually impaired and will most likely need assistance throughout his life. Rimon’s ma, who took a loan to build small houses on her family land, has secured her family’s finances by becoming a small landlord.

But while some find relative security, others continue to struggle.

Shilfi is both intellectually and hearing impaired. She is married, but her husband refuses to accept her because of her disabilities. With a loan from BERDO, she manufactures cigarette filters and supports herself, but still lives in poverty.

For women with disabilities, life without the support of a husband often means that security is very hard to come by. While NGOs offer some respite through microcredit, the hurdles faced by disabled women will remain significant. It is in serving this population that the true test of NGOs’ effectiveness seems to lie.

“There is a problem with your paperwork,” he said, after consulting in Bangla with his fellow workers. At that moment I was seated in a chair on the opposite side of the overburdened desk of an immigration official at the Bangladesh/India border. “What sort of problem?” I asked. “You see there is not the appropriate stamp on this card,” he responds, “We can let you through, but it will cost money to send your documents to Dhaka be fixed - 5,000 taka.”

While I didn’t have 5,000 taka (approximately $75 USD) on my person, the border official didn’t object when I emptied my wallet for him. Nor did he provide me a receipt to document the “fee” that I had just successfully paid. Unfortunately, according to my Bangladeshi friends and colleagues, this “fee” is certainly nothing uncommon as people attempt to navigate the bureaucracy of Bangladesh.

Lately there is a lot of talk about corruption, especially around Dhaka. I’ve taken to reading the newspapers in the morning and each and every day there are more reports of this official who has been arrested by the Rapid Action Battalion (Rab, a military entity), another who has been tried by the Anti-Corruption Commission (ACC), and yet others who are surrounded by rumors of their bad deeds and resigning from their posts.

In fact, the entire purpose of the military-backed caretaker government- who has held power under the authority of emergency rule since January 11th- is to address the corruption that has gripped the nation in a vice and lined the pockets of its most unscrupulous bureaucrats.

Most Bangladeshis say that sacrificing democracy is a price that they are willing to pay in order for change to take root. “While I am suffering,” my friend asserts, “it will be better for our country in the long term.”

The suffering that he notes rises out of the very real negative changes that are taking place in the midst of anti-corruption drives: the price of basic goods is skyrocketing and unemployment is staying high. In fact, this morning’s paper was abuzz with news that the caretaker government will take steps to ban the export of Hilsa fish, a popular and quintessentially Bangladeshi food, in order to ensure that there would be enough of a supply to meet demand in local markets. The story in the next column was titled “Fertiliser hungry farmers ransack UNO office,” detailing angry farmers who rallied against the improper distribution of a critical feature of their livelihoods.

It seems to be an indication of the current political situation in Bangladesh that corruption is so in the lime light. Certainly corruption of those in power has a long and vigorous history in Bangladesh. In the wake of the country’s independence of the early 1970's, “rather than peace, the guardians of ‘law and order’ had brought extortion, banditry, and terror.”* While the terror may have subsided in many ways, the extortion and banditry continue to impact the lives of people in Bangladesh on a daily basis- and it both saddens and infuriates me to have witnessed it first hand.

The questions that continue to haunt me are these: if the caretaker government fails and corruption continues, is the price of democracy still an appropriate price for Bangladesh to pay? If the anti-corruption drives fail, who will be held accountable? Will the same rationale lead to the ouster of another democratic government in the future? If it does, where will that leave Bangladesh?

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*Hartmann and Boyce, “A Quiet Violence: View from a Bangladesh Village,” Dhaka, Bangladesh: University Press Limited. Pg. 242.

Monju is several years my senior. At 28 years old, she has already completed a Master’s degree in history and has been married for some 12 years. Born in Barisal, she attended Dhaka University and has lived in Dhaka for the past decade. By all accounts she is a success, but her story illuminates some important points about life in Bangladesh.

Like some two million Bangladeshis, Monju is blind. At the age of two and a half she contracted typhoid fever and survived, but the disease claimed her eyesight. As a child she attended a blind school in Barisal, then went on to a women’s college, and with the help of BERDO she went on to complete her schooling at Dhaka University. Through scholarships and a “talking” library of books on audio cassette, Monju has benefited from BERDO’s work along with hundreds of students.

But despite her success, she still faces a frustrating prospect; Monju simply cannot find a job.

In a small country with a population of some 140 million people, unemployment is high among Bangladeshis. For job seekers with disabilities, the situation is daunting. Not only is unemployment among the general workforce a huge problem, there are few safeguards to protect disabled persons in Bangladesh from discrimination. “When I go with my application,” Monju states, “they just tell me, ‘there is no job for you.’” Unfortunately, Monju’s experience is a common one, particularly for women with disabilities who face not only Bangladesh’s patriarchal society, but also public opinion that people with disabilities are a burden on their communities and an embarrassment to their families.

In the face of discouraging problems, there are also reasons for optimism. The Bangladeshi Parliament did adopt its first comprehensive disability legislation in 2001, the Bangladesh Persons with Disability Welfare Act, and has signed on to the recent UN Convention on the Rights of People with Disabilities. However, by many accounts these efforts have not been made to serve the disabled community. According to Mr. Huq, Executive Director of BERDO, “some changes are coming. The government has passed the law and signed on to the UN convention- these are symptoms of change.”

Mr. Huq goes on to note however, that “while we have already seen some changes, we have not seen those promised opportunities.” Moreover, in the absence of a parliament little progress promises to be made in the realm of law. Elections for a new democratic government to replace the military caretaker government are not scheduled until the end of 2008.

In the midst of these problems, I have found myself wondering how the international community can help while the local government is nonexistent and all politics are banned. To me, it seems as though the most promising way forward lies in increasing awareness of disability among citizens as well as legislators-to-be while empowering people with disabilities with the skills and resources they need to improve their lives.

From this vantage point, there is a long, long road ahead, but it is one that other countries have traversed successfully before. For the meantime I will take heart in the successes of others across the globe and keep my hope in the generosity and kindness that so often characterize Bangladesh.

While I was fretting over wet feet, much more serious consequences resulted from the heavy rains only a few days ago.

As I later learned, the flooding was not quite in step with the normal rhythm of the monsoon season in Bangladesh. While Dhaka, the capital city, only experienced flooded roadways and a brief shut down in the workday due to the abnormally heavy monsoon rains, Chittagong, Bangladesh’s commercial capital, suffered a much heavier toll.

According to a report today*, over 120 people have been found dead, buried by the mudslides that were some 6 to 8 feet deep in several areas. Workers, for lack of excavation equipment, are making slow progress and the death toll is expected to rise in the coming days as more casualties are unearthed. One relief worker reportedly stated, "never before in my life I confronted such a calamity."**

After only a few weeks, I have found that I have quickly acclimated to life in Dhaka. The things that were cast in a harsh light when I first arrived have all too quickly become part of my normal days; the pollution and poverty, the garbage piles and children hunting for recyclable materials, and the mangy stray dogs have become a seemingly inevitable part of my daily commute.

While I haven’t become complacent or stopped working towards a more just end, this news has hit close enough to home to make me realize that I need to look more closely at the impermanence around me. As of yet, I have yet to meet with beneficiaries of BERDO’s work. To be honest, I look forward with a sense of both hope and apprehension to hearing their stories that will thrust me out of my current state.

Referenced articles:

* United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), June 14, 2007, “UN supports Bangladesh landslide response.”

**Reuters, June 12, 2007, “Landslides, floods kill dozens in Bangladesh.”

“You may want to stay at your home today after lunch,” Mamun, my colleague at BERDO, said to me in the morning, “the weather may have caused some problems in the roads.” After a morning of torrential rain, the sky had finally cleared to a relatively chilly, overcast gray.

I briefly ran through some possible problems in my mind. I wondered if maybe the gutters had spilled over into the road. Maybe the intersection between roads, particularly those where a dirt strip connected the main road to the smaller road, had been washed away. I didn’t imagine any other problems, certainly not any problem that an ingenious rickshaw wallah couldn’t overcome.

After a few minutes of protest (the internet had finally come back up after throwing a fit all morning - I was inclined to stay), we eventually agreed that after a productive half day in the office I would stay at home for the rest of the day. “Good,” Mamun nodded, “we will hire a rickshaw and send Shahinur with you to your house.”

Off we went in the rickshaw. Everything seemed normal, albeit a bit more damp than usual.

Then we hit the main road that connects Rupnagar, Mirpur, and the rest of the city. Water rushed out of man hole covers, creating impromptu fountains in the middle of the flooded road way. Gigantic two level buses with huge wheels to match, a la bright red double deckers in London (but a whole lot more unsettling given chronic Bangladeshi overloading), sank up to mid hubcap. Motorcycles bravely kept going while their exhaust pipes blew bubbles in the muddy water. Several feet off the ground, I kept watch as my feet and pant legs were threatened by the waves created by larger traffic.

We eventually made our way to my house without any remarkable incidents and I was relieved to see that the small roads to the courtyard were high enough above water to allow for walking without wading.

After a wide eyed commute, I now have a new appreciation for the word that I thought I always understood - weather.

After meeting for the second time with staff at BERDO, I am energized, hopeful, and daunted all at once.

The office is full of energy and the organization appears to be in a state of growth as construction for their new office moves forward. Construction is done by hand - with few safety standards, if any- and the workers milling about add to the festive atmosphere.

Moreover, I learned today that they have two branch offices in addition to their office in Dhaka and operate a successful revolving loan fund for income generating activities. Already, I feel that my brief time with BERDO has opened up new and exciting areas to work. I am elated by the idea that these revelations will continue- and that I will have the opportunity to travel to their rural offices to meet more staff and clients in other areas of the country.

At the same time, I feel that it will be a daunting challenge to adopt my ideas about technology to the particular situation of an NGO in Bangladesh. The fact is that electricity regularly goes out- a new law mandates that shops close by 7 pm (rather than staying open until 10 or 11 PM) to limit demand for energy. Internet connections are slow at best, if the connection is operable at all.

Amid it all, I find myself asking: what strategies will truly work best or work at all?

While the flight was noteworthy for the panic stricken moments of doubt, I have to note that it was also an incredible opportunity to see Bangladesh by air. After reading about its geography and weather, I could have told you that it was a riverine country essentially situated on one gigantic delta that is prone to seasonal flooding. However, I couldn’t have given you much more insight into what that means.

As the plane drew closer to Dhaka, we descended and I was surprised to find that what I assumed were rocky outcroppings along the rivers’ edges were actually villages perched along their curves. The suspected rocks turned into tiny organic clumps of dwellings as the ground came more clearly into view.

In some areas the communities seemed to succumb to the river itself, nearly falling into the water. In other ways, the evidence of the river’s power was somewhat more subtle. An outcropping of houses would be set back a considerable way from the river itself while an eerily flat stretch of land was placed in between. For yet other areas, rivers seemed to have abandoned their courses altogether- forming oxbows that are now a considerable distance from running water. Moments later a broad, mud brown river filled almost the entire width of the airplane window as I peered below.

In the night, the skies opened up and the downpour has continued to form a regular pattern, along with related power outages and lack of running water. I can’t help but wonder what challenges await me as I try fall into the rhythm of life in Bangladesh for the monsoon season.

One of more daunting legs of this experience, the travel to my destination, is over. Now my task is to adjust and get down to work. Somehow, I had envisioned it as a relatively easy transition that would somehow just sort of happen or click into place- but after landing and taking a short tour of Dhaka, I think I may be in for more than I bargained for.

The line to get on the connecting flight from Dubia to Dhaka was my first glimpse into the chaos that in some ways seems to mark life in Dhaka. Rather than follow the orders of the airport staff, it seemed as though all of humanity was determined to squeeze their way through that 4 foot wide gate towards the runway, no matter what the cost in unceremonious bumps to the elderly- and forget boarding parents with young children first.

After finding my way to my seat and fighting my bag into the overhead compartment (not a good sign at the beginning of the trip- I haven’t even started to go handicraft shopping yet!) I found myself seated next to a nervous flyer who spoke only a few words of English. While we couldn’t converse, the man and I shared a number of knowing grimaces and smiles as the plane hit choppy air, as all the babies on the plane burst into a simultaneous chorus of ear splitting proportions, and as meals were inevitably mixed up. When he murmured something that sounded “thank Allah” under his breath after we touched down on the Dhaka runway, I heartily seconded his statement even as a confirmed atheist.

On the last leg of the flight, I have to admit that I was more nervous than I can ever remember being in my life. The apprehension pooled like a lead ball in my stomach. I kept asking myself in between fits of momentary panic- can I really do the work required of me? Will I be able to be an effective communicator? Am I deluding myself in thinking that I have something to offer to this work?

I obviously don’t have any of the answers yet. However, following a brief, stomach-churning and somewhat hair-raising drive from the airport to the house of the family I will stay with, the leaden feeling in my stomach has dissipated ever so slightly- even against all odds.

Over the past several months I feel as though I have lived and breathed The Advocacy Project, BERDO, and Bangladesh. Yet when people ask me questions about what Bangladesh is like or what specifically my position with entail, I often have to give them somewhat halting or convoluted answers. More than anything, I am just not quite sure what to expect - and I'm both elated and terrified by the prospect!

After all, how well can you really get to know a country without being there? Even after obsessively reading every news article I can get my hands on and perusing more history books than I care to remember, I can't come close to scratching the surface of Bangladesh. I can tell you that the country gained independence from India in 1947 and from Pakistan in 1971, or try to count the number of times that the government has been dismantled and put back together again, but I don't think my reading can ever fully prepare me to live in that historically-informed context.

Nor can I imagine the hurdles faced by those who are blind or visually impaired. In Bangladesh there are about 750,000 adult and 40,000 blind children, with a woefully inadequate support system that is ill equipped to prevent and address the causes and effects of blindness.

Once again I find myself jumping off a cliff into the relative unknown. But to be honest, I couldn't be happier or more excited to immerse my self in work with BERDO, to begin to know the culture and people they serve, and to do my part to accomplish real strides towards change in the name of social justice and human rights.

Keep your fingers crossed for me!