The forgotten Tamils

As published in The Samosa

Rejected by the rest of the Tamil population and ignored by the Sinhalese authorities, tea workers who migrated from Tamil Nadu centuries ago are exploited in the plantations of the Sri Lankan highlands. Melanie Gouby reports.
Her hands are cut and swollen from years of hard labour on the steep slopes of the tea plantation. She smiles, but the rest of her face is tense from the weight of the basket she carries on her forehead.
In this basket are some of the world’s finest tea leaves, delicate and intensely green. Carefully chosen and hand-picked by tea-pickers in Sri Lanka, they will be sold to the biggest brands in the market, put into tea bags and distributed across Europe.
But for Yogaletchumy, the tea bag that ends up in our “cuppa” represents painful long hours of labour, for a miserable salary barely sufficient to provide for her family. “Everyday is a struggle,” she says. “We have so little money.”

The average wage for a tea-picker is a pound a day, just enough to buy food for the family. Women work in the field, men work in the factory or in the administration, and often entire families live on the estate.
Accommodation is traditionally provided by the company in the form of “lines”, a military term designating rows of Spartan aligned rooms, six or seven people crammed into each one.

Some of these rooms were built decades ago. Grim and dirty, they do not have running water or electricity and children sleep in the same bed as their parents.
“We did not have enough space, so we are building another room on the family vegetable garden. We build it in our free time, me and my husband, with the little money we can spare from his salary, because he is doing well in the administration. It is difficult to live in these small rooms. We have two teenage daughters, they need more privacy,” says Yogaletchumy.

The tea plantation is all her life. She grew up here, helping at home while her mother was picking leaves. In fact, her grandmother worked here too, and before her, her great-grandmother. Tamil people have worked at the Pedro Estate, in Nuwara Eliya, for generations.

A British institution

Although tea has become a mainstay of the Sri Lankan economy, it has not always grown on the island. British colonists introduced it to what was then Ceylon and developed tea plantations in the high country, the mountainous central part of the island.
Pedro Estate is one of the oldest plantations, and like all the others it employs the descendants of the Indian Tamil workforce brought by the British from Tamil Nadu in south India.

Sri Lankan Tamils, who have lived on the islands for thousands of years, look down on them because they come from lower castes. “Tamils would rather marry Sinhalese than tea plantations Tamils,” explains Amal Jayasinghe, the Agence France Press bureau chief in Colombo.
Ignored by both sides, they are victims of the conflict. “The Tamils, they think we are not like them,” says Jagian Morgan, a field officer at the estate, “and the government does not help us because ethnically we are Tamils.”
After Sri Lanka’s independence in 1948, tea plantation Tamils were even denied Sri Lankan citizenship – an injustice that has since been corrected, but remains deeply anchored in their mentality. Even they consider themselves as underclass citizens.
“For the tea workers the living conditions are not good, there is no welfare. The government said that they would have good houses and good salaries but did not give it to them,” explains an employee in the administration of the estate.
“The children are studying in schools, but they have no facilities. No computers, no books – and they cannot always pay for their education,” he says. “Before, I was studying, I passed Advanced Level in Tamil, Geography and Hindu Culture. I got good results,” says Vane, who works in the tea shop at the estate. “I went to the government school, but we still had to pay fees, I don’t know why. Other children they don’t pay to go to school, but we had to”.
The trade union representing the workers is part of the problem rather than the solution. CWC, the trade union in charge in Nuwara Eliya, where Pedro Estate is located, has a lot of power in the plantation and decides what the tea workers get.
“We tell our problems to the union leaders and they should tell the management and find a solution together. But the leaders, they do not care and we cannot get directly to the management,” says Jagian Morgan.
“The union is no help. It forces us to work even in bad conditions and we have to pay them 65 rupees a month to be part of it. If we are not part of it, then we cannot work in the plantations. And if the salary increases, then the membership goes up to 75 rupees too,” he adds.
According to local journalists, this is part of CWC’s strategy to keep control over the area. It is in the interests of the trade union to keep tea workers’ wages low in order to ensure their “loyalty”, or rather dependence, by generating the need for support.
CWC also forbids tea workers in Nuwara Eliya to go and work in the midlands, where the pay is higher, as it does not exert influence in that part of the country.
Contacted by phone, CWC’s president refused to comment on the accusations.
Righting the wrongs

Diverse programmes have been developed – or at least advertised – to improve the tea workers’ living conditions. The government has run a number of housing schemes, where loans are given to workers in order to buy land and build their own houses.
In Melfort Estate, near the ancient city of Kandy, the official line is that thanks to this programme, 80 per cent of housing problems have been resolved. However, workers inside the estate explain that the loan is too expensive for them to afford. Exception or rule, it is hard to tell, but a quick visit in their lines reveals the same appalling conditions – the rooms are overcrowded and insalubrious.
Old people particularly suffer; because there is no real pension system, retirement is never an option. In fact, once the tea workers stop working in the plantation, the little welfare support provided by the state and the company stops immediately.
Women often suffer from back and spinal injuries due to the nature of their work, but if the neck is hurting from carrying the tea basket, it will have to be working in road construction or selling vegetables in the street. Sometimes a family has to survive on one person’s income. Lunch is often skipped, as is breakfast.
Stanley, who writes board messages in Pedro Estate, has had to support his wife and three children by himself since his wife’s head became too weak to carry the basket’s weight. Both of them look like they are in their sixties, but are in fact in their late thirties.
Promotion inside the estate is difficult too. “It is possible for a tea worker to be promoted to Kangamy, which is the function of field officer, just above the workers, and some have been promoted as field staff officers. But none have been promoted to manager yet,” says Melfort Estate’s director.
For their children though, things can be different if they work hard enough. “It is possible for their children to get out of the estate if they work hard. I know one of them that became a doctor,” adds the director.
Kelany Valley Plantation, the company that acquired Pedro Estate in 1995, has set up a programme to improve tea workers’ lives. It is advertised on the package of the tea sold in the “tea centre” of the estate.
“Improvement to worker housing is an ongoing, annual process in which the company’s financial inputs have been augmented by donor and government funding, channelled through institutions specially established for this purpose,” says Kavi Seneviratne, Kelany Valley Plantation’s press officer.
No doubt progress has been made since 1995, but it still seems rather excessive for the company to declare itself ‘The Ethical Tea Brand of the World’. A good image can be a determining asset for tea estates if they want to enter the European market, but few checks are actually done by European companies who simply by the leaves at Colombo’s exchange.
The importance of the tea industry for Sri Lanka is immense. It is an asset so important that the dramatic drop in the trade price of tea back in February 2009 was one of the most important factors that brought Sri Lanka’s balance of payment near bankruptcy.
Tea is also a source of pride in Sri Lanka, and everywhere they go around the country, travellers are sure to be offered a cup. But despite its status as a national symbol, the people who work so hard to produce it are abandoned on all sides.

Why France does not want an ‘Entente Cordiale’ with the burqa

As published in The Samosa

By Melanie Gouby

Often, French political and societal issues create more debate abroad than on their own soil. The proposed partial ban on the Islamic burqa is one typical example, and as on so many occasions, it has largely been misread by foreign commentators.


Racism, feminism, multiculturalism, religion, integration, the burqa, and more generally the veil encompass so many delicate issues faced by modern society that they are bound to stir passions and disagreement.
Although France is not the first country to legislate on the issue, the legal moves to ban the burqa and the niqab in certain public places have caught the attention of the global media.
Interestingly – though unsurprisingly to me as a French woman – the disagreement lies between France and other countries (mainly Britain and the US) and not within France itself.
Indeed two out of three people in France are actually in favour of a complete ban on the burqa in public places, which goes further than the proposal the French parliament will act on this spring.
In other words, two thirds of France thinks that wearing the burqa in public should be completely banned and is “contrary to our values and to the ideals we have of women’s dignity”, as Mr Sarkozy said.
Now let’s be clear about one thing. Unlike the implication made by Laurie Penny in her recent article for The Samosa, the burqa law is not Sarkozy’s newest fad but the subject of a very serious investigation led by a parliamentary commission, in which the president has nothing to say.
The commission comprised MPs from all parties and its conclusions will be discussed in the French parliament, which is to legislate in the spring. Let’s remember here that Parliament is composed of democratically elected MPs representing all sides of French society.
Female MPs were part of the commission and women are very much involved in the debate at national level. No-one in France thinks this debate is about Western men imposing their will on poor Muslim women.
This is not a hypocritical debate hiding the misogynist, racist or anti-Muslims feelings of a white male minority, but a legitimate discussion.
The fact that I even have to justify this angers me. After all, these are French politics and if anyone wishes to comment, they should at least be thoroughly informed.
To forget that France is the country which proclaimed the Declaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen in 1789 is to forget everything France stands for and indeed why so many people come to live in this country.
The British talk about civil liberties, the French talk about human rights
French and British cultures have, at heart, a radically different approach to the public space, religion, multiculturalism, and justice. This is reflected in our different legal systems and if we look at these differences, it may explain the different approach to issues such as the burqa.
To be in public in France, is to be in front of a public. You don’t walk down the street ignorant of other people like you might do so easily in Britain.

You behave and dress accordingly, and this is valid for men as much as for women. I can assure you that punks attract as much attention as someone wearing a burqa, because it is perceived as an aggressive statement.
Moreover, France has been a laic state since the French revolution. The idea that religion should be separated from the State and kept as far as possible from the public sphere was advocated by French philosophers during the Enlightenment and is very much anchored in people’s mindset.

Wearing a veil or a burqa when working for the State simply runs counter to one of the main republican principles; hence the law passed a few years ago prohibiting the veil for civil servants.
But the main difference lies in our approach to freedom. “Free” in Britain means to be allowed (or at least not forbidden) to do what you want. “Free” in France means to “have the right”. While British activists fight for “civil liberties”, French activists fight for their “rights”.
What does that mean in the case of the burqa?
Put simply, it means that while in Britain a law against the burqa would be perceived as aggression against your liberty to do what you like, in France it is seen as a necessary step to ensure the rights of women are respected.
The burqa ban follows this logic that the law needs to defend the people and guarantee them the respect of humanity. France is a laic state where women are considered the equal of men. So let’s be honest here – what does the burqa stand for, except the opposite of these two principles? Not to mention that the “integral veil” is actually a tradition and not a religious obligation.
Of course some women “make the choice” of wearing the burqa and the law may seem outrageous to them. They would like to “have the liberty to do what they like”.
In the eventuality that such a choice can be made by an educated rather than an influenced or traumatised woman, it seems odd that such a woman would not think about the liberties she, in fact, despises. Such a choice would resonate like an insult addressed to the millions of oppressed women fighting, braving male violence and sometimes death, to one day be able to enjoy the right to show their faces to the world.
The insult is not only directed against oppressed women but also to those welcoming them in their country. Indeed, to many French women, it is also their own rights they are defending through the law.
After all, it was not such a long time ago we had to fight for our right to vote, to abortion and the pill, or even to independently open our own bank accounts. In the minds of women who fought for these rights, the burqa is a symbol that this freedom is fragile; it is a slap in the face.
One of them, Elisabeth Badinter, a pioneering figure of French feminism and a respected scholar and writer in the vein of Simone de Beauvoir, wrote in Le Nouvel Observateur to women wearing the burqa: “In a modern democracy, where we try to establish transparency and equality between the sexes, you brutally signify to us that it is none of your business, that relations with others don’t concern you and that our fights are not yours. So I asked myself: why not reach the Saudi and Afghan lands where no one will ask you to show your face?”
I could not agree more. If I were to go to Afghanistan, I’d have to wear a veil, and I would do it not because I am forced to, but out of respect. Why would you want to live in France if it is not to interact with French society?
Defenders of religious tolerance, such as the Imam of Drancy, have clearly stated that the voile integral is not an obligation but simply a tradition. So why bring with them the shame imposed on them in those foreign lands if they truly have a choice on whether or not to wear the burqa?
The Imam of Drancy has regularly been attacked by extremist groups, and one can only wonder whether any woman wears the integral veil out of choice.
To those women who do not have a choice
This debate, I reiterate, is not about men telling women how they want them to dress. The burqa goes beyond that. Legislation pro-miniskirt or against ugly underwear, now that might interest French men. But the burqa? Really, I give men more credit than that.
In the end it is not about how men feel, because even if the law had been initiated by the wrong person for the wrong reason, there are still legitimate grounds for feminists to pick up the fight.
Do we, in our heart, feel that any women wearing the integral veil, be it a so-called choice or not, is right? Don’t we feel outrage that anyone would ever think that women are objects of temptation? That they are not worthy of showing their face to other people? And why don’t men have to cover their face too? That is the bottom line to me – it is simple and it is clear and there is no need to get into complicated analyses of the why and how.

To me and many French women I have talked with, the only real debate is whether a law banishing the burqa and the niqab from certain public places will worsen the life of those women who are forced to wear it.
Will they be forced to stay home? Will they be further withdrawn from human society by their husband, father, brother?
This is my real worry, and I hope it will be too for those women who “chose” to wear the burqa and will be able to take it off. For many veiled women it won’t be that simple; have they ever thought of that?

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