March 17, 2013

HOW DO YOU SAY 'TUPPERWARE' IN BANGLA?

KEY TOPICS: Bangladesh, gender roles, Tupperware Inc.


*No summary included.


I know, the title of this post is a bit tongue-in-cheek. 'Tupperware' defies translation because it's a US trademark, an invented word to encompass a business operation. It isn't a literal English word, like business, kitchen or female, for which the Bangla language has an equivalent. If you're wondering, the respective translations are 'banijjyo,' 'ranna ghor' and 'naree.' Nevertheless, US-based Tupperware Inc. recently extended its reach all the way to Bangladesh via neighbouring India where the company launched operations in 1996 (news to me too). Looks like the company has become a bonafide multi-racial clan! Building a 'chain of confidence' that its all-female sales force can rely on is of great value in a conservative society like Bangladesh. But, ultimately, this clan is commercial in nature, so sell it must.


2011 Tupperware Inc. Launch, Dhaka

The Bangladeshi side of the family faces a unique challenge to the success of its new venture. Gender roles in this Muslim country beg the question whether Tupperware Inc.'s employees will be able to create a consumer shift here in favour of the savvy saleswoman. As I see it, they'll have to work hard on a few fronts, the first and most risky will be confronting the view that men are society's self-starters. Tupperware Inc. is optimistic that consumers will embrace its products. It'll just have to work hard to promote the value of its employees.

Right round the globe, women work, and that's no different here in Bangladesh. Inside and outside the home, women perform work to support their families. Some do unskilled work while others skilled. Sometimes, the work is highly skilled, as in the case of statistician and classical singer, Dr. Nashid Kamal, and of course the current leaders of Bangladesh's two major political parties, Sheikh Hassina and Khaleda Zia. But in academia and politics, men continue to dominate. Women with bold ambitions are still rare, and, for many, selling Tupperware as a source of income would be a bold move.

Furthermore, sales savvy is a developing concept here. As the retail sector, including food and beverage outlets, falls in step with a growing, more discerning middle-class, 'selling' will have to evolve into an 'experience' afforded to the (potential) buyer. Once the retail sector matures, competition for customers will become the norm. That's when the "customer is always right" motto will take hold. In that climate, the Tupperware saleswoman might be better off as she's selling more than a product, she's selling the idea of convenience and ease. Accordingly, a good saleswoman will strive to do even better - to sell more. This business model isn't new for highly developed economies, like Canada, the U.S. or the U.K., but it is for Bangladesh. The 21st century corporate mantra of profiting, which fundamentally drives Tupperware Incorporated as much as any other big business, seems to be gaining momentum in this South Asian country. 

But there's more to the matter.


Retail shops, except for the upscale boutiques carrying select salwars and home furnishings, are almost exclusively staffed by men. It's mostly men who sell the saris, shoes, medication, flowers, cosmetics, milk, bread, tea, coffee and sweets, and many seem to do so as if it were an afterthought. Shopping in Dhaka, for instance, is so dreadfully functional that there's little consideration of the right or wrong way to serve a customer - let alone of gender diversity in the shops. So a sales force made up of middle-class women selling products to their self-built consumer base is downright revolutionary. Moreover, women supporting women (see above 'chain of confidence' link) to exceed their own expectations is a methodology that, while one may be skeptical of the company's intentions, can be truly empowering for the individual woman who experiences her very first earnings.


It may be a while longer before we hear 'Tupperware' spoken in Bangla. The company is now officially part of Bangladesh's business community, but it's not yet a part of the collective conscious. Whether through Tupperware Inc. or a series of corporations, women here will prevail, if that's what they want, collectively. 'Naree' was never meant to connote 'weak'; we made it so. Thus, we can undo this error so paid work is made fully accessible to every female - that would certainly be a shift worth fighting for.


March 15, 2013

THE TOXIC CONVENIENCE OF PLASTIC BEGS THE QUESTION: "SO NOW WHAT?"

KEY TOPICS: Bangladesh, plastic, recycling, sustainable architecture


*No summary included.






Water Bottle from Bangladesh


In North America, where I come from, the harmful chemicals contained in plastic can make headline news. BPA, or Bisphenol-A, is a chemical similar to estrogen, which at high rates is carcinogenic; it may also disrupt women's hormonal health. Websites like Breast Cancer.org therefore have a vested interest to inform the public of their exposure to BPA from widely used plastic products, like the water bottle above. But no matter the dangers, it seems like these bottles are here to stay. So now what?

Plastic products, you could say, are a toxic convenience: borne out of technological advances from the war era and then popularized as both incomes and homeownership rates in North America rose. The kitchen was arguably the most dramatically transformed by all the plastic products flooding the consumer market. By the late 1950's, a middle-class home without Tupperware Inc. storage containers was probably rare. This was a sign of changing times not to mention the huge success of the company's direct marketing efforts in the form of ladies-only Tupperware parties (CLICK link to see archival footage). Overnight, plastic was domesticated and became fashionably functional for those who could afford these new conveniences. The Tupperware Inc. phenomenon continues to grow as richly decorated kitchens spread through the East, in countries like China, India and Bangladesh, where I currently live. (Will blog about Tupperware Inc.'s arrival in Bangladesh via India in an upcoming post. Naturally, expect the Bangladeshi women that form the company's 'Chain of Confidence' to sport saris not slacks.)

Outside as much as inside the home, plastic has become necessary in the management of our economic, social and personal lives. From automotives to sports to medicine, plastic is a fundamental part of the innovations that we have come to enjoy and rely on. Heck, even the stretchy jeans we wear to the office on "casual days" contain plastic! (Personally, I live in my stretchy jeans so have, I admit, come to rely on them.) 


Baridhara (Dhaka) Garbage Heap

But these accumulated plastic conveniences have proven to be real inconveniences when it comes to their disposal. Recycling facilities may be the norm in major North American cities, but not in Dhaka, a megacity that is growing daily. Plastic products like wrappers, water bottles and other packaging are thrown out with food waste. Once collected, these products are dumped and may be sorted and re-sold to companies that will recycle the products for profit. The people who facilitate the recycling in Dhaka are addressing the problem but piecemeal. A large-scale (labour is plenty), energy efficient (that could be a challenge) operation that engages all sectors: public offices, businesses and residences in a network of recycling, reusing and reducing so-called waste is needed here. Wishful thinking?

Volunteer for Bangladesh Office at
Jaago Foundation (Dhaka)
So then what? There is an old adage that says, "Necessity is the mother of invention"; it can also be the mother of cheap sustainable architecture. The bottled wall to your right had me mesmerized when I visited Jaago Foundation's Rayer Bazaar branch back in January. After all, those are 500-ml water bottles collected from a local fast-food shop. Six thousand bottles were filled with sand for strength and cemented in place over the course of about 3 months. A plan lovingly executed by Shabbir Ahmad and his friends in a collective effort to tread lightly on this overtaxed land of ours. The cost of this new office for 'Volunteer for Bangladesh' youth? About 15 000 Takas or $200 US with labour provided by the youth themselves. These details I only found out later. It is the sheer simplicity of this ingenious idea - found on the Internet - that struck a deep chord. In that moment, 'Made in Bangladesh' took on a new meaning. 

People power change. If plastic is a human-made toxic convenience then surely we humans can unmake this reality so that we are better served in the long-run. Maybe Bangladeshi youth, like Shabbir, can help lead the way - with a little help from Google!

March 09, 2013

THE NIGHT I LEFT MY CAMERA AT HOME


NOTE: In light of recent terrorist attacks in Dhaka, Bangladesh, I'm reposting this 2013 article that captures the rising political tensions from an ex-pat's point of view.

KEYWORDS: Bangladesh, hartals/strikes, photography, Susan Sontag

My political convictions are being stirred as Bangladesh - admittedly, there's more than one way to summarize the state of affairs here - fights to redress past wrongs and retain its secular identity. A story is unfolding, which the likes of Al-Jazeera and the Economist are following, not to mention national papers like The Daily Star. The daily goings-on in the capital, where I live, implicate the masses, ex-pats, and bourgeoisie in a turbulent historical moment that's sure to have far-reaching consequences.

I like to observe my local environment. You could say that I like to bear witness to life's cross currents as they happen. This puts me in the moment. So photography or taking pictures tends to upset me. How could a single frame and "click" capture what's happening? Then there's the compulsion to share those frames with an easy "double-click." In our image-saturated times, I feel that observing with the naked eye is a kind of subversive act.


Susan Sontag (b. 1933; d. 2004)

In her seminal work, On Photography, philosopher Susan Sontag sheds light on the photographer's passionate pursuit: the essential photo. It seems my general discomfort with cameras and image-taking wasn't unfounded. However, my stay in Bangladesh is making me wonder about my long-held discomfort. Could the camera, under certain circumstances, show a moment of unvarnished truth, and in that way become the subversive tool? Perhaps I've been behaving self righteously all these years.

But that night, I didn't travel with my camera. It was Saturday, March 2nd, 2013. A hartal had been called from Sunday to Tuesday. A 3-day hartal - unheard of, at least in recent months. I was ancy and wanted to get out of my flat, maybe go to the beauty parlour or get a meal. Not much else I could do if I was advised by my employer to stay within the confines of my upper middle-class neighbourhood. Plus, I'd called my trusted driver, "J", to work that evening. So, on the one hand, I felt the pressure to venture out; on the other, I was curious about the night. I like the night and I wanted to see what would surface. "J" wasn't as curious but he'd come to know "madam's" need to see things up close, even at night. Tonight, I thought I'd see something, something picture-worthy. From my experience, the night before a hartal is the busiest and this hartal was billed as more intense and potentially dangerous than others because of Jaamat's rousing anger at the government's death penalty decree upon one of its top leaders (and possibly more to come). I left my flat knowing that I was taking a risk, but not like the protesters at Shahbagh who call for a ban of Jammat's political activities. I wore no political badge that night expect for the interior one that calls forth my anti-authoritarian sentiments.


This is what surfaced: two unmarked cars, ahead of "J" and I, speed up to catch a light. Stop. A plainclothes officer jumps out to control traffic. In the back seat of one, window rolled down, another officer sits with a rifle propped between his legs. Nearby, a street peddler carries his roses. All of us converge at this busy intersection in Gulshan for about five minutes.


Flowers can be sold,

a gun can go off,
a woman can emerge from her car -
all in a period of five minutes.

In reality, the seated agent scoffed at the young peddler who in turn approached me in the hopes he'd sell his wares. That rifle. Conversation ensued but to the boy's chagrin no sale made. Twice rejected. That rifle. The boy and I conversed some more and drew the officer's attention who now seemed amused; perhaps he'd reconsider the flowers? The boy and I agreed that the sight of an armed officer was distasteful. That rifle. The signal changed; cars moved ahead. The tension dissipated as a result of vehicles and people moving on. 


The irony: roses denote love and friendship but on this night they caused aggravation and were used surreptitiously to engage an officer of the law.

My camera is not yet an extension of me. I still "click" using my internal memory-making tool: my mind. But, in these image-saturated times, I wonder if I can tell you my stories without pictures. If you'll believe my words alone. 
Believe me, there was a rifle, and it was the authority that night.