WUNRN
BANGLADESH
- THE GARMENT GIRLS OF DHAKA
Bangladesh’s
vast ready-made garment industry produces clothers for top Western companies.
A dispute over a wage levels led to riots earlier this year.
At 8pm in
the heart of Dhaka’s industrial zone of Tejgaon, hundreds of young women file
out of a garment factory onto the dark and dusty streets.
The scene is
repeated in every urban centre throughout Bangladesh, and recurs on the hour as
the nightshift workers clock off. Such a sight would have been unthinkable as
little as five years ago, and it is still considered unsafe – if not unsavoury
– for middle-class women to roam unaccompanied after dusk. But the three
million “garment girls” are altering the face of Bangladeshi society and last
year accounted for 80% of the nation’s export earnings – yet they remain among
the country’s most vulnerable and exploited people.
When the
Bangladesh government rejected the workers’ demands for a minimum monthly
salary of 5000 taka (about £46), instead setting it at 3000 taka (about £27),
riots involving 10,000 workers erupted. The Bangladesh Garment and
Manufacturers and Exporters Association responded by filing charges against
four union leaders for fomenting worker violence. After spending a month in
prison, three were released on bail shortly before Ramadan. One, Montu Ghosh, a
legal adviser to the Centre for Garment Labour Trade Union, remains imprisoned.
The entire
industry is jittery, but once the women are a safe distance from the factory in
Tejgaon, they are more willing to talk. Farida, 22, has spent the last seven
years working in garment factories, her average week totalling about 75 hours.
Her monthly salary is £1 less than the new minimum wage. When asked whether her
pay is sufficient, she shot back: “Look at me – I’m lean and haggard. I eat
mashed potato and daal [a lentil dish] because I cannot afford meat or fish.”
And when asked if
she would like to say anything to the people who wear the clothes she makes,
she replied: “I don’t have the right to ask them anything. They have money and
they are supposed to have the better clothes.”
There is no word for sustainability in their dictionary. Profit today – that is their target.
David Hasanat, chief
executive, Viyellatex
Nazma Akter was 11
when she started working in a garment factory and she earned the equivalent of
just £2.30 per month. She left after seven years. Today she is president of the
Joint Garment Workers’ Federation and general secretary of the Awaj Foundation,
which provides legal aid and conducts rights-based awareness campaigns. Akter
represented the garment workers in the latest wage commission negotiations. She
also worked on the previous negotiation round in 2006, when the minimum wage
was fixed at just over £15.
She said: “We
accepted the new minimum salary because it is almost double the amount of the
previous one. We will make fresh demands for higher wages in a year’s time, but
now we are fighting for implementation.” Like many other workers, she is
concerned that factory owners won’t abide by the law. The government is coming
under increasing pressure to better regulate the sector.
Prior to the
announcement of the pay hike, the prime minister, Sheikh Hasina, described
existing pay levels – the world’s lowest – as “inhumane”. However, Shahnaz
Parveen, a senior journalist at English-language daily the Daily Star, believes
that the new rate of pay only reinforces the gap between the haves and
have-nots of Bangladesh. She said: “It’s simply not possible to live in Dhaka
on Tk3000. People like us spend that amount on pizza.”
The ready-made
garment (RMG) sector emerged in Bangladesh in the late 1960s and currently
employs three and a half million people, 85% of them female. David Hasanat is
chief executive and chairman of Viyellatex, a Bangladesh garment company which
supplies clothes to Marks & Spencer, Debenhams, Esprit and Puma. He said
the RMG sector in Bangladesh has “huge potential” to develop over the next
decade. “But it requires fine-tuning,” he added – an understatement.
Akter agrees that
working conditions have gradually improved and cites the reduction of child
labour as one of the most positive developments. But she remains gravely
concerned about the sector as a whole. Hundreds of workers have perished in
fires, often as a result of blocked emergency exits and a lack of
fire-extinguishing equipment, and compensation to the families of victims is
notoriously low. In the last 15 years, more than 30 fires have broken out in
garment factories. Akter believes that conditions will remain dire until
workers’ trade union rights are protected. She said that at the moment the
government must disclose the names of those who want to join a trade union to
the manufacturers: “Management will then either terminate those workers
illegally, or harass them.”
Akter apportions
blame for the degrading rates of pay three ways: both the local manufacturers
and Western buyers push hard to maximise profits, and consumers buy
under-priced clothes. She said: “Western buyers are cutting their prices every
day and their targets are really tough. We try to talk to them, but they tell
us it is their business model. Most have the same attitude. And the consumers
get the ‘buy-one-get-one-free’ deals because these girls are working 12-hour
shifts.”
About 80% of
Viyellatex’s 8000 employees are already receiving wages in line with the new
minimum salary, which comes into effect this November. As well as distributing
5% of the company’s profits amongst employees, Viyellatex pays each of its
workers 20% more than the legal minimum wage, making it something of a model
employer. In 2008-09 the company’s turnover was US$165 million, but Hasanat
said it would have been “impossible” for it to raise wages to meet the demands
of workers.
He said: “People
outside forget the socio-economic conditions here in Bangladesh. Our workers
are generally happy, because our expectation levels are lower.”
Tumpa, 18, who
works in one of Tejgaon’s 300 factories, disagrees. She quit her job at a
factory last February after a “helper”, a young boy, died of jaundice. He was
refused sick leave – which in any event takes three days to process – and he
died on the job. Tumpa complained that the factory in Tejgaon she now works in
has similarly bad conditions. She said: “Our boss misbehaves – he curses us if
anything is misplaced or missing. If we don’t finish our work on time, he
starts yelling. Sometimes the bosses beat the men, as well as the weakest
women.” She had no qualms about taking part in the protests.
Hasanat
acknowledges that exploitation is rife in many garment factories but he is
confident that his own factory, located 20 miles north of Dhaka in Gazipur, is
one of the best in the nation – if not the very best.
On the day the
Sunday Herald visited, a workplace safety workshop was being conducted in a
spacious, well-lit meeting room. A large plaque containing the Labour Law Act
2006 is nailed to a wall, as are pictorial instructions on fire-fighting and an
anonymous complaints box. The workers wear identical white aprons and their
mouths are covered by surgical masks. In the samples room, a dozen or so pairs
of eyes stare from behind a pile of purple fabric. Some workers do not look up,
but remain crouched intently over sewing machines, or make dextrous use of
large pairs of scissors. The finished products are familiar – on the far wall
are glass lockers containing folded T-shirts, each with a logo stuck to the
front of the cabinet: G-Star, Debenhams, Marks & Spencer – it really is
just a label. The scale of the operations is overwhelming under the harsh
fluorescent light, yet the floor is devoid of human voices.
As Hasanat pointed
out various labour industry awards in a cabinet, he said: “We provide many
facilities, not just the legal ones.” Viyellatex employees receive free
lunches, and the leftovers are turned into fertiliser and distributed among
farmers in a neighbouring district. Last year, it signed up to the United
Nations Global Compact, and the company is offsetting its carbon emissions by
planting six million trees in the northern region of Sylhet.
In fact, the UN
was so impressed with Viyellatex’s efforts to support a “green economy” that
Hasanat was invited to make an address on the subject at the UN’s Private
Sector Forum as part of the summit on Millennium Development Goals in New York
last weekend. Hasanat used the opportunity to bemoan the fact that his
government provides no incentives for Bangladeshi companies to adopt
eco-friendly practices.
And along with
complying with the 112 days stipulated for maternity leave, Viyellatex also
provides free medical assistance at work, an antenatal clinic and childcare
facilities. Such initiatives are in stark contrast with the situation Nadiya,
21, faces. She pointed to her swollen belly as she stood on the street in
Tejgaon and said she is certain she’ll be sacked from the factory she works in
when she gives birth.
Hasanat believes
the widespread exploitation is the result of the “conventional mindsets” of
factory owners. He said: “There is no word for sustainability in their
dictionary. Profit today – that is their target.”
He also complained
that few people are aware that Bangladesh is the world’s second largest
clothing producer and that it is consequently “globally underrated”. He said:
“After China, we are the only country with the capability. Cambodia is small
and cannot compete with us and Indonesia is not so competitive.” He believes
that if it were mandatory for a “made in” label to be used when supplying to EU
countries, Bangladesh would have the standing it deserves. He formerly supplied
garments to a high-end Italian brand. During a visit to Hong Kong, he
recognised his products selling at a very high price. “The label said that the
clothes were made in Italy,” he noted dryly.
Hasanat
acknowledges that buyers have been concerned by the unrest, but emphasised that
only 5% – about 100,000 workers – took part. He appears confident that the
sector will continue to flourish, and many certainly hope that other factories
will follow in his business model’s footsteps.
Aasha, 22, has
other things on her mind. She started working in Tejgaon a month ago after
leaving her home village but is finding it difficult to adjust to the physical
demands of the work. “There was nothing else for me to do,” she said. “I am a
woman so I cannot pull a rickshaw.”
Aasha will receive
20p for each of the three hours’ overtime she just worked. “The worst part of
my job is standing all day. But really, the whole thing is bad to me. I just
have to do it.”