So what am I doing here?

Yesterday I had a gmail chat with my sister and she asked me to please explain what Sustainable Development is? I guess it's the story of my life that I always get involved in or do things that are difficult to understand. In Berkeley I was quite proud to be enrolled in a course that was called "The Rhetoric of Things" which, I will readily admit, sounds pretty vague. But the course itself was really interesting, covering topics from the cult of the saints in the early middle ages to gift giving in the primitive cultures of the Fiji Islands and the minting of coins in 16th century England.

Studying 'Cultural Analysis' didn't help either. My favorite answer was that "I can explain what that actually means, but it will take at least ten minutes" which was usually enough for people to forget about it or, though this happened less frequently, start asking questions which either ended up really confusing or really fascinating them.

But now I finally got some relieve. When people ask me what I do, I just tell them I work at a bank, which seems to satisfy most. Even saying that I am writing a sustainable development report for the bank seems to be clear enough, though I usually have to add that it mostly concerns energy use, CO2 emission reduction and Microfinance.

In fact, of course, it is a lot more. The further we get in the reporting process, the more I learn about all the different dimensions of SD (as everyone calls it here). The standard definition of SD is that "the needs of the present are met without compromising the ability of future
generations to meet their needs" (from "Our Common Future" a.k.a. the Brundtland report, 1987). For ABN AMRO (and for business in general) it also means that the organisation can keep making its profits, now and in the future.

They call it: "to meet the needs of the organisation and our stakeholders, thus seeking to protect, sustain, and enhance human, natural and financial capital needed in the future."

Notice that apart from financial capital, they also talk of "human" and "natural" capital. This is the so-called Triple Bottom Line, or People, Planet, Profit proposition. The idea is that while doing business componies should not forget that their actions have an effect on society and the environment.

Cynics will say that it's just a catchy buzz phrase and actually doesn't mean anything. Being immersed in SD for more than 2 months now I have to say they're wrong. There is too much money and effort, and attention going to all these projects that it's far beyond "greenwashing" the company (pretending that you're doing good). But I would also say that we're not there yet for a long while.

So where are we now, then? Ok, here it goes, a list of things that we will be talking about in the SD report:

• reducing waste and energy use
• training employees, encouraging volunteering
• environmental and social risk assessments
• being part of global iniatives like the millenium development goals
• introducing socially responsible investment funds
• microfinance (small loans to rural households, so that they can improve their livelyhoods) and capacity building (so that these uneducated peoplelearn how to use their resources more efficiently)
• philanthropy (supporting NGOs, charity work etc.)
• policies that aim to reduce human rights issues, or prevent getting involved in them (like conflict diamonds, child labour, money laundering etc.)

Hope that clarifies a bit what I am doing here. But feel free to make comments if you want to know more...

The Moskow Vector - reading Ludlum in Bombay trains

Today I finished "The Moscow Vector," my first Robert Ludlum novel, just before I had to get off at the Andheri train station. I started reading it just three days ago when I had to wait for my laundry to finish in one of the other apartments. The 18 AIESEC trainees in Sagar City, the apartment complex in which we are staying share three apartments and one laundry machine. So when I heard it was free I grabbed all my dirty clothes and took an elev ator up to the 15th floor, where the third apartment is located. I dropped my laundry in the machine, pressed the button which announced it would take 57 minutes for the washing cycle to complete and went down again.

An hour later I returned upstairs, eager to pick up my clean laundry, but to my surprise it still said I had to wait 14 more minutes. So, slightly narky - I was very tired and it was close to midnight - I took the elevator down again and waited. 15 minutes later: upstairs again. The display still said 10 minutes. Like everything else in India, things tend to not go as or take a lot more time than I straight thinking Western guy like me expects.  So I decided to wait around in the other apartment for the machine to finish. This was the moment that I saw Ludlum's book lying around. Being a reading junky I started reading the first chapter and got hooked. It took just two chapters and another twenty minutes for my stuff to get ready and to immerse myself in a world of spies, handsome American journalists slash undercover CIA agents and a deadly bio-weapon wreaking havoc in the upper echelons of world politics. 

The fact that I spent the next days reading until three in the morning and on my daily commutes is not really interesting. The plot of the book definitely didn't deserve the term 'novel'. But as I was coming near the end, and things were unfolding along familiar lines (deadly encounters, deceit, treason, near deadly escapes and whatnot) I noticed a change in my interest in what I was reading on those pages. Instead of reading about heroism and determination I found myself  reading about a certain way of looking at the world. Let's call it an American way of looking at the world. A world that requires a strong moral compass, strong physical abilities and attractiveness and determined evil opponents whom deserve no mercy. 

This is where the twist of this little post unfolds. Reading about all these square jawed Americans saving the world, while my own person was surrounded by a packed congregration of Indian commuters somewhere on the Western Metropolitan train tracks made me feel... angry - to be honest - about all of that cowboy bravado that was splattered across the book's pages. Just looking around me made the whole story so disconnected to the daily reality that people are faced with here. Sure, bioweapons, terrorism, world politics, geopolitical power play is exciting stuff and it's very good that there are people looking out for our safety. But it just does not connect to anything here... It felt so... boastful. 

The terrorism in India is quite ugly. The Bombay trains were bombed during rush hour not that long ago. There still trying to apprehend those responsible. Recently there was a horrible bombing in Hyderabad, a big city south east from here. The police and the government are clamping down hard on terrorism. But an Indian novel in the same style as Ludlum about all that would just seem... ridiculous. I have to think more about what exactly it is that makes this note worthy. But I share this little thought here today anyway. Perhaps just to remind my self that the American way of doing things is not the only way, that their logic, although pervasive is not universal, and that realizing this, just realizing that logic has different perspectives, is something noteworthy.

Travelling by train to work

Today I got up late and had to rush to the station to catch the train. It is important to get the right train, that is, the train starting from Andheri, the suburb where I live. If I miss it, I either have to wait for half an hour or get another train, but a train that will be much busier. So busy in fact that people grab hold of the doors before the train has come to a full stop, so as to ensure that they will be able to get inside. Andheri is also a place where a lot of people get off, so the drill is usually that the train slows down, people at the platform tense up, start moving with the train and when the train has lost enough speed a big rush of people push themselves and those in front of them outside, shouting "hey-hey-hey-hey!" This must be done really fast as the people trying to get in basically close in on them and start entering as soon as they outnumber the people getting out. If you're too late getting out, you're basically pushed back in again. The pushing-in will continue until after the train starts moving again and people will hang outside the doors, only holding on to the rail above the door, or the iron bar that seems to be put there specifically for that purpose. By keeping the pressure on the people inside, everybody slowly shuffles to a position where there is more space until everybody kind of fits in.

I have been in a situation where the train was so packed that when I wanted to get out (which was considered very rude, or, because I am white, ignorant, because you're not supposed to get off at any other station than the last one because it is very inconvenient for everybody...) Most of the people around me looked disapproving, but some tried to help, shuffling to try to make some space for me. There was none, but somehow I managed to get up from the bench I was sitting on (4 people sit on each of the two opposing benches and 3 or four people stand in between them. Because I stood up somebody else could sit down, which creating a small pocket of space which enabled me to edge closer to the aisle. But when the guy sat down again, there was no more space to move in so I was stuck again. Literally, I could not move an inch. Fortunately a guy offered some help, nodding with his head on which side of the train the platform at the Andheri train station would be. Others would shake there head, because they considered it foolish even considering trying to get off there, certainly from my current position. The door was less then 2 meters away from me but there were at least 30 people between me and the exit. The friendly face nodded encouringly that I should try to edge closer. I started moving but we were so compressed that I was basically moving into him, making his smile disappear. I knew I had to go on so I used some force, psuhing myself back from the iron divider into the crowd. As I moved, not more than a few centimeters, a guy at least three or four rows back cried in pain. Our bodies were so tightly packed that my movements caused people at the other side of the compartment to feel the effect!

But as things go in India, when you think there is no way that you can move on and just give up, a current of movement started to take place in the corridor as we neared the station. Those not getting off would start moving away from the door, anticipating a new wave of commuters trying to get in. Others who were getting ready to get out moved in. I followed closely behind. Then the platform appeared and the pressure on my back towards the exit increased. The train slowed down and at that certain point the first people started getting off, quick, quick, me just behind them. The gap in the crowd on the platform was closing fast. I just managed to get through and then looked behind me. The door now packed with a scrambling bundle of people fighting to get in. Their ages ranged from 18 to at least 60. As the train started to move again, some let go, but the more courageous held on tight by just their hands and the tips of their feet on the doorplank.

I raised my eyebrows and then headed for the stairs. I would be home soon...

A few things I noticed in the past days

There was a taxi driver behind us, with on its roof a box of tomatoes belonging to the passengers inside. While the taxi was slowly navigating through the busy Bombay streets, a crow landed on the box, let itself be carried along a bit, then took a peck in the box, secured a tomato on its beak and flew off. The passengers sitting under the roof, oblivious to the theft taking place above them, talked on.

This weekend I was sitting in a sports bar in Lower Parel, waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. I had time to look around and spot some differences with what I would consider normal. First of all the volume of the music; obviously, this is a very general complaint, applying to most bars all over the world and is probably caused by young people’s inclination to consider loud noises as mood enhancing. But it was simply impossible to keep up a conversation. Every sentence was drowned out by music. Second, the music was the most random collection of eighties rock and early nineties pop. Third, the number of people serving us was almost as big as the number of patrons in the bar. And it was a big bar, pretty full. Lastly, suddenly, I was sitting there and then I heard this very classic Dutch song, Suzanne by VOF De Kunst, written in the early eighties, in a live English version. It was so strange; the crowd seemed just as familiar with the song as I was.