ON RETURNING TO CANADA, I resumed my career at CIDA and worked happily there in a variety of capacities through the 1990s and into the new millennium. The assignments I received took me all over the globe, and each was rewarding in its own way. It would take another book to do justice to my experiences in each of the countries I visited, so I will simply relate here a couple of stories about the ongoing struggle for democratic rights and women’s rights that I witnessed in different parts of the world. Both issues are deeply important to me.
I started as a country analyst in the Central and Eastern European Branch of CIDA with a focus on the Ukraine, as it was struggling to make the transition from Soviet domination to independence with an open democratic government and a market economy. I later moved from there to the South East Asia division. That landed me in Pakistan in early 2001.
Approximately two years before my arrival, Nawaz Sharif’s democratically elected government had been overthrown in a military coup led by the head of the Pakistan army, General Pervez Musharraf.
A brilliant politician, Musharraf argued that the coup was necessary to save Pakistan from massive corruption and economic incompetence. He made some smart moves, such as devolving or decentralizing government services to the local level in order to improve services, which all Pakistanis agreed were wanting. He also moved to allow more participation by civil society in government and to encourage women in politics. He promised to restore democracy, starting at the local level.
It was not the easiest thing to believe a military dictator’s promise to improve governance, but Canada took Musharraf at his word and continued to provide aid to the country’s economically deprived masses. He came through, and there was great excitement on the ground when local elections were announced, with support from Canada, the European Union and the United States.
My role included managing a program to support Pakistan’s efforts to strengthen public participation in governance and the inclusion of women in local politics. CIDA was a great supporter of a non-governmental organization called Aurat (which means “woman” in Urdu), founded and led by the dynamic Nigar Ahmad. She was a tireless campaigner for women in governance and reproductive rights, and against domestic violence. Her organization had a strong grassroots network across the country, and it was effective in the elections.
The results of the voting were impressive. Many local government seats had been won by women (although in some cases, men had put their wives or sisters forward and were pulling the strings). As one might expect with a first-time experiment in democracy under the auspices of a dictator, the population was split in its support of the election results. Some saw the hand of General Musharraf in the outcome, while others believed the vote was entirely legitimate. Supporters of the process were especially pleased that the elections had uprooted Islamic groups from some of their strongholds in the North-West Frontier province.
I attended one of the first meetings of an elected local council, along with some of my colleagues a few weeks after the elections. The newly elected members representing a particular village were evenly split between men and women. After formally opening the meeting, the chairman promptly addressed the women councillors in Urdu. I requested a translation from one of my Pakistani colleagues.
“He asked the women councillors to turn around and face the wall.”
“Why has he asked them to do this?”
“Well, he does not think that women should look at or address the men.”
I was aghast and sat wondering how I would report this turn of events back to Canada.
One of my colleagues protested the chairman’s request: “Excuse me, sir. These women were duly elected as councillors, and you have asked them to face the wall, meaning that they will not be able to do what they were elected to do. They have more rights than you, considering they were elected and you were not.”
There was a tense discussion in the room lasting ten minutes or so. The chairman then announced in Urdu that the women councillors could turn and face the front of the room. The audience clapped, and the chairman lowered his eyes in embarrassment. The meeting continued, although it ended earlier than expected with no substantive decisions taken.
It seemed strange to me that Pakistan, which had elected one of the first women prime ministers in history, Benazir Bhutto in 1988, would still be struggling to accept the political equality of women. I was told that Pakistanis regard Bhutto, the daughter of a former prime minister, a person of great wealth and a member of the nation’s elite, as an anomaly. It did not help that there was corruption in both of her administrations. In any event, it was clear to me that whatever progress had been made in these recent elections, there were miles to go before women would be accepted as equal participants in Pakistani democracy.
One morning, six months after I joined CIDA’s Pakistan program, I was to host a small meeting of Canadian and Pakistani officials in Ottawa. As I drove to the venue in the west end of the city, I listened in horror and disbelief to a news flash on the radio recording the crash of first one, and then another, Boeing 767 commercial jetliner into the towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. These tragic events sent shock waves around the world. They heralded a new era of terrorism by Islamic extremists and led to wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Much less consequentially, 9/11 had a negative effect on CIDA’s work in Pakistan and spelled an end to my assignment in that country. After the explosion of a bomb in a Christian church in Islamabad, resulting in the injury of one of my colleagues, Pakistan was declared an unsafe post. I was among the last CIDA workers to leave Peshawar. Despite all of this, I made wonderful friends in Pakistan and enjoyed my time there immensely. Years later, when my daughter Sophia and her husband, Brett, announced their intentions to accept contract work in Islamabad, I gave them my blessings and hoped they would derive as much pleasure from Pakistan and its people as I had been fortunate enough to do.
In 2002, I accepted a two-year posting with CIDA as a Canadian diplomat and aid worker in Bangladesh. I took the long route to my new post, through Bali, where I spent several weeks relaxing and reading. Whenever I met people, I identified as Canadian. I was Grenadian born, but I had now spent a greater part of my life in Canada. I was pleased to note that perceptions of Canadians were always positive, even if some people in Bali could not understand why I would leave a tropical climate for a northern one.
My arrival in Bangladesh at ten at night on August 30, at the end of monsoon season, is something I’ll never forget. I was met by John Moore, head of aid with the Canadian mission. He greeted me and made arrangements for my luggage to be processed and taken to a waiting embassy car. I turned around and noticed swarms of people hanging off the fence that surrounded the airport. I was not sure if they were waiting for loved ones to arrive or, more likely, just watching to see what was going on at the airport. Either way, it hit home to me that Bangladesh, with 1,165 people per square kilometre, has by far the densest population of any large country on the planet.
Staff at the Canadian High Commission lived comfortably in the Gulshan area. The guest houses were newly renovated. We had access to cooks and drivers, as well as the Canadian Club, with its restaurant, tennis and swimming pool, located in Dhaka, the capital. It was impossible not to notice and be discomfited by the contrast between a diplomatic standard of living and that of most people in the host country. Bangladesh remains one of the poorest countries in the world, dependent largely on a garment industry and tea exports. Its average daily wage in 2002 was $1.50. There was some consolation in the fact that we were there to help the Bangladeshis, not to exploit them.
Most of the programs in my portfolio were concerned, to some extent, with promoting the welfare of women in this Muslim-majority country. The tools were legal aid, education, employment opportunities and a program aimed at women who had been disfigured in acid attacks, usually acts of vengeance by partners. It was worthwhile work, but one wondered how much real or long-term benefit was delivered.
Rokaya, an attractive and intelligent woman in her twenties, provides an example of the ongoing challenge to working women in Bangladesh. She was employed by a Canadian agency with which we worked in support of the Rural Maintenance Programme (RMP). The program’s objective was to recruit forty thousand destitute women and put them to work maintaining rural roads, which were often flooded and washed away during the wet months. The RMP women worked long, hard days, carrying heavy woven baskets of dirt on their heads to fill potholes on the roads. They were paid the equivalent of $1.50 per day, out of which a quarter was banked as savings. Each woman had a bank book and learned about basic banking procedures. The duration of the employment was four years, and in the final stages of their terms, they were taught the basics of micro-enterprise. Eventually, some of these once-destitute women were able to join the community with respect and dignity as small business owners. It was a program that gave me satisfaction and joy.
One day, Rokaya paid a visit to the local town hall to look after some business. Like some of the RMP supervisors, she was given the use of a small motorcycle to enable her to get around in the course of her work. With only a quick meeting to attend, she stopped her motorcycle outside the building, behind a four-wheel-drive Toyota. From inside the building, Rokaya heard the sound of an impatient car horn and immediately excused herself from the meeting to move her motorcycle.
As she approached, the Toyota’s owner unleashed vicious threats and abuse at her. No sooner had she mounted her bike than the man put the Toyota in gear and pushed her over, along with her bike, in the street. He then got out and kicked her as she lay in the dirt. As is typical in Bangladesh, a crowd gathered to offer opinions on the situation. There was a lot of waving and high-pitched shouting. Rokaya, covered with cuts and bruises, was advised by the crowd to follow her assailant into the building, which he had now entered, to offer her apologies for upsetting him. Rokaya refused the advice on principle, adding that she intended to charge him with assault.
Rokaya was accompanied by one of her colleagues to the hospital, where her bruises and abrasions were carefully documented and treated. A full report was handed over to the local police. Some weeks later, when the case was called, the magistrates dismissed the charges. It appeared that the records had been tampered with at the police station. The medical report stated that Rokaya had suffered from “low blood sugar” rather than wounds from her assault. Fortunately, a copy of the original documents had been kept, and with the help of the Bangladesh Legal Aid Society Trust (BLAST), an appeal was launched.
As the RMP project officer, and because I was interested in the case, I accompanied Rokaya to the Bogra district courthouse. The building was old, dirty and run down. It recalled a bygone era, as did the justice practised within. Accused prisoners awaiting trial were crouched and chained like animals at the back of the court, while lawyers sat in a row on backless wooden benches at the front. As we awaited Rokaya’s case to be called, it became obvious to us that influence was being exerted by the well-connected defendant, who fraternized openly with police officers in the court, slapping their backs, sitting and joking with them. When our case was finally called, the judge looked down at the documents before him and, without looking up, declared the case postponed for three months.
“But Your Honour, on what grounds?” protested the BLAST lawyer.
“I am not required to provide you with a reason.”
We were all shocked and more determined than ever to seek justice. The BLAST lawyer advised us that the only way we might succeed was to have the case removed from Bogra. The papers were duly filed to transfer the case to Dhaka. It look a long time to implement, like everything else in the Bangladesh legal system. In the meantime, I was advised that Rokaya and her family were receiving threats to their lives. She was issued a mobile telephone and reassigned from the field to indoor work.
When the case was finally called in Dhaka, we were advised by BLAST that it no longer felt it was the best advocate for Rokaya. Another lawyer was sought. On the day of the hearing, the new lawyer called in sick. Frustrated, I spoke with John Moore, Canada’s head of aid, requesting permission to obtain the services of Sigma Huda, the Canadian high commissioner’s lawyer in Bangladesh. I had come to know Sigma through a mutual friend and had invited her and her sister, Kushi, to our residence for dinner. By no strange coincidence, Sigma’s husband was the minister of communications in the Bangladeshi government.
From the time Sigma took on the case, events turned around in Rokaya’s favour. For instance, on the day of the hearing in Dhaka, confirming the transfer of the case from Bogra, we learned that the entire legal file on Rokaya had gone missing. Our new legal team demanded that the court produce the documents or be charged with negligence. The documents immediately turned up, the transfer of the case went ahead and a date set for two months hence. When the appeal was finally before a newly appointed female judge, the defendant (who was not present in court) was found guilty and an arrest warrant was issued. He appeared to have fled the country. Approximately six months later, on his return to Dhaka, he was arrested and jailed.
The Rokaya case has become a landmark in Bangladesh. Women in that country are now cautiously optimistic that the page is turning and that it is finally possible to obtain justice in a thoroughly patriarchal society. Of course, there is still a long way to go.
My experience in Bangladesh underscored for me the challenges of development work. Things are not always what they seem. Politics in Bangladesh were for many years led by two women. One as head of the country, the other as head of the official opposition party. Yet the challenge of women’s rights remains one of the country’s biggest obstacles. While some progress can be seen in the field of education and employment mobility, it has become clear that real change depends on a combination of factors: social, structural, cultural and attitudinal in addition to political.
Bangladesh also left me with a bad back, which I attributed to long days of travel on its rough rural roads (also, a minor car accident in Ottawa did not help). In 2004, not wanting to return to a desk job in Canada, I took early retirement from the Canadian government and returned to Grenada for another adventure, this one as a businesswoman on one of the world’s great beaches.