The other night, I left a bible study with a male friend who
looks similar to Rambo. I was carrying a backpack on my back, a flute case on
my shoulder, and a bunch of roses in my arms (one of my colleagues had asked me
to get them for his wife). Needless to say, my arms were full. After walking
about one kilometer to the main road, my friend and I settled on a fair price
to take an auto rickshaw about four kilometers to the area near my house. My Rambo
friend is one of the many thoughtful people in this city who would refuse to
let me go home alone after a late evening, so he came along as an escort of
sorts.
About three kilometers into the trip, our auto was driving
along a main road in the middle of a high construction zone (there is a huge
metro-expansion project in full swing). Suddenly, I was distracted from Rambo’s
conversation by the jerking response of our auto as it was nudged on the right
side by a motorcycle with two passengers. As my arms flew up, one of the
motorcyclists arms reached in and grabbed my backpack from my lap before
speeding up to weave through the heavy traffic ahead.
As I watched my bag drive away, I knew I would probably
never see it again. I reluctantly told Rambo that the bikers had taken the
backpack, and he switched into action, speaking rapidly in another language to the driver of
our auto rickshaw while I stared at the empty space on my lap thinking “At
least I still have the flute and the roses.” After getting out of the auto,
Rambo and I speed-walked back to my apartment, talking through the list of
things that had been in the bag and outlining a game plan for our next steps.
A fact of life in South Asia is that sometimes, things that
you want to work just do not work, like Wi-Fi. Normally, I can laugh and shrug at the fact
that my laptop seems to be the only one in our house that cannot pick up a
signal, because I live with giving roommates who will always lend a computer in
emergency situations. In a sick twist of irony and Murphy’s Law, Rambo and I
arrived at my apartment on an evening when the Wi-Fi was completely and utterly
dead. With no functioning phones of our own and no internet service, my
roommate did a rain dance in front of our router while Rambo magically
reconfigured his phone to make international calls.
When I reached my dad on his cell phone, it went directly to
his car phone, and I had to fight my way through the delighted and surprised din
of British and American voices in his car before asking him to cancel my bank
accounts. A quick “I love you” later, Rambo was back on his phone interfacing
with the police, who could not seem to find my apartment.
“The Locust Effect”
by Gary Haugen posits that a functioning public justice system is the lynchpin
to development. In his analysis of the South Asian public justice system,
Haugen systematically outlines all of the ways in which the colonial remnants
of British rule in South Asia still serve to protect the powerful from the
poor, instead of serving the needs of the common man (let alone the poor). The
resources that most developed countries have for basic on-the-ground police
work (forms, computers, good translation services, adequate facilities, a fair
wage for police, etc) are just not allocated to the grass root levels of the
South Asian police system. As I watched the public justice system in action on
this particular evening, Haugen’s words refused to leave my mind.
After three phone calls for directions, policemen from three
different jurisdictions of my area began to trickle through my door. With Rambo’s
helpful language skills, it still took over an hour for the policemen to establish the
jurisdiction in which I should file the First Information Report to the police.
In order to avoid more trips outside at night, Rambo convinced the policemen from
the established jurisdiction to come out to our apartment and take my
statement, which involved me writing the details of the event on a clipboard of
unlined computer paper.
After taking my statement, I watched as the policeman
apologetically told Rambo (in another language) that they see many of these cases every day.
There is, in fact, a back log of similar bag-snatching cases in this particular
police station. The chances of seeing my
bag again are slim. Regardless, Rambo assured me that he would follow up with
the police to ensure that my case would be typed up, filed, and properly
registered (which it was, after I was misidentified as a citizen of another
country).
Despite all the ways in which the initial intake of my
formal complaint could be considered frustrating and inadequate to a person
from a developed country, there were certain things about that evening that
resulted in me getting better treatment than most in my city. First, I am a white,
“Western” foreigner. That fact alone means that I probably get treated with a
higher level of attention and respect by police than most of my native friends.
When many police look at me, they don’t see a 24-year old idealistic intern;
many of them see someone empowered who expects the public justice system to
work for them, someone who will follow up with a case until it is fairly
processed. Additionally, I had an experienced and forceful advocate in my
friend Rambo. He knew the police system well and was able to orchestrate the case-filing
through the fog of everyone else’s jurisdiction confusion. Furthermore, Rambo
and I speak fluent English and understand what information needs to be recorded
in a police report in order for a strong case to be filed. There are so many
ways in which my situation put me in a position to receive more deferential
treatment than many other people who find themselves in similar situations in
the same city, and yet the process still struck me as ineffective and potentially useless.
The meaning of IJM’s work in the context of South Asia seems
all the more audacious to me after my brush with “the system”. In the face of a
system that has the potential to break down at so many points, my colleagues
work to fight bonded labour with a relentless and determined hope in the fact
that positive change can happen. And that change continues to happen, slowly,
and at so many levels of the public justice system. We see it happen on the
ground, in the way rescues are conducted and cases are registered, we see it in
the conversations that government officials are having about the need to
address egregious exploitation, and we see it in the discussion surrounding
crucial legislation in South Asia.
So many things have to go well in order for IJM’s work to be
successful, meaning that every rescue is all the more of a miracle. Earlier
this week, I had the honor of hearing the recounting of a story about a
recent rescue involving 179 people, all of whom are now walking freely. In
this case, IJM was blown away by the ways in which the government officials of
that area stepped up and did what was necessary in order to bring justice to
otherwise voiceless people.
Even after a year and a half of getting to work with IJM, I love
that I am energized by the hope of my colleagues in the face of overwhelming instances
of human cruelty. It continues to be MY pleasure.
Sincerely,
Alice