Tradeswomen Building Bridges: the North American Network of Women Working in the Construction Trades

When I started this, I was afraid I would annoy all of you with too many posts. Now I am not posting enough for some! I have been very busy with field work and trying to keep up with my notes and travel logistics. I spent 9 days in Delhi, interviewed a lot of folks and learned a lot. I leave for four days in Ahmedabad on Wednesday. I am working on some ideas for things to say about what I am learning and I’ll be posting something soon.

In the meantime, today I took my first day off since arriving. Here are a few pictures from a 13 hour excursion to Matheran, India’s smallest– and very cute– Hill Station.

Thursday, January 28, 2016

I have seen the monkeys and they want my orange

Today is my two-week anniversary in India. Ten weeks exactly to go. I hardly know how I will get everything done. I am in academic paradise, working 10-12 hours a day on the computer, on the internet, in the library and meeting people for interviews. Have not done much observation yet but it is coming. I have found some wonderful contacts or, as we say in my work jargon, key informants.

I usually only eat only two meals a day and then have fruit for the third meal. The food is (mostly) delicious and there is a lot of it. [Not sure what the yellow thing in the little bowl was yesterday morning, but it did not appeal to me.] I bought some fruit last night from the stand just outside the campus gate and planned to eat it for breakfast this morning. My roommate was sleeping in so I got dressed and headed to the canteen for a cup of chai to enjoy with my orange and a banana. And the monkeys swarmed toward me and the big one was right next to me and he was baring his teeth and the students in the canteen yelled, mostly in Hindi but I all of a sudden understood, “Put the orange away!”

Have I told you that India is full of homeless dogs? You rescue-hearted folks out there would go crazy. Dogs everywhere. All medium size, except the puppies, different colors and not aggressive. But they bark—some of them all night. According to my friend, Chandra, “dogs on campus” is the most controversial student issue. Until this morning, I was with the anti-this-many dogs camp, but my orange and maybe my knapsack were saved by a cute brown shaggy-haired pooch who went after that big monkey. The dogs have a job to do and I can use earplugs.

After breakfast and my monkey learning experience, I headed to Colaba, the most southern part of Mumbai (a long and narrow peninsular reaching to the Lakshadweep Sea), to meet with Vrishali Pispati and Devika Mahadevan of Mumbai Mobile Creches. Vrishali is the Director and Devika is a Board member and a friend of my friend, Julie Smith-Bartoloni. Julie made the introduction. Vrishali and Devika told me of the founding of the Mobile Creches movement in India in 1969 and how it has evolved to provide day care and education services to the children of construction workers who are living on the construction sites. I had a basic knowledge of the movement and its organizations but they added a great deal more. They have introduced me to the directors of the mobile crèches in Delhi and Pune who I hope to visit. Vrishali is setting up an opportunity for me to visit some sites, with a translator, and speak to some of the women workers. For those interested in more details, see the page My Field Notes on the blog. My deepest thanks to Vrishali, Devika and Julie for this entry into the lives of India’s women construction workers.

I took the train down to Colaba at 9 am. It was an indescribable experience so I will use a picture from the internet to illustrate.

I would be the one on the far left inside the train if I had had a long enough selfie stick.

I presented my research to a Women’s Studies class this evening. I think it went fine, but I am deeply immersed and passionate about this subject and it is difficult to distill it into 40 minutes for an audience that is has no previous knowledge. And the students were shy. All the same, I learned things from the questions and discussion and I appreciated the opportunity to do a first draft of a presentation that I will do again here.

Friday, January 29, 2016

I spent all day finishing my Friday night presentation, “The Peculiar History of the Labor Movement in the United States.” I was asked to present on the political economy and labor movement to a school-wide seminar for the School of Development Studies. Although their conversation was all in Hindi, I knew that the organizers, Bindu and Meena, were very nervous about the turnout. I could have understood that in any language and I told them I have been in their shoes many times and don’t worry. I have invited guests to UMass Boston from very far away and had 5 people show up. It is an academic hazard. But I had a great turnout of over twenty students and faculty, almost all women. They loved the presentations and I loved the discussion. I have been asked to do it again in a couple of weeks when I return from Delhi.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

On my way to Delhi for 9 days. I just got used to Mumbai. Marashtra from the air looks a bit like Ohio in September. Small farms and dry, but no hills.

A little time to reflect in the airport and on the flight

The pollution has been quite bearable in the two weeks I have been here. It is reported everyday in the paper and the TISS campus is a little enclave largely without vehicles. However, on Thursday the Deonar dump caught fire. It is only a couple of miles from the campus. This morning the campus was in a smoky haze and I had to cover my mouth with my scarf as I walked down the road to get a cab. I passed a few “autos” (3 wheeled auto rickshaws) on my way intending to take a 4-wheeled cab, but an auto driver pulled up beside me. I said nei, nei, Mumbai airport, and he nodded yes. I said it again, Mumbai airport and he nodded yes. So I got in. I had plenty of time and the traffic is so bad that the cabs can’t go much faster except on the highways. I thought we would stay off the highways but I was wrong and twice we were in the left hand lane on a flyover. I got here fine and it cost Rs 300 instead of 500. (That is 50 cents instead of 75 cents for a 40-minute ride).

Sounds and smells of Mumbai

Mumbai does not smell. Some places in Mumbai smell. One day this week, something reeked all of a sudden and then I passed a 4-foot high pile of garbage that had been gathered for pick up sometime soon. The Deonar fire smells when the wind is blowing to campus—smells like a fire, not like a dump. There are smelly places but they are occasional and situated and then you walk or ride past them and Mumbai smells like any city—a mashup of people, animals and vehicles. Mumbai adds more animals to the mix than I was used to. In the auto on the way to the airport this morning, I momentarily admired the beautiful brown coat on a dog beside the road, but it was a goat. The other night, an auto I was in had to slow down for a donkey.

There is an unbelievable amount of trash. It is as if it comes up from the earth like the rocks in New England soil. Like the New England farmers, the people are constantly managing the trash, cleaning it out, piling it up, sweeping the streets, trying to stay ahead of it. But, for now, the trash is winning against a people who clean all day long, from bathing with buckets in the morning, to washing laundry by the side of the road and hanging it on balconies and fences each day. The women in sarees and orange safety vests sweep the roads and highways all day. The people clean their bodies, their homes and their bastis day in and day out, but the trash wins.

Women can do anything in sarees, including riding sidesaddle on the backs of motorbikes and taking a brisk morning walk in bright red sneakers.

Bidets are everywhere in private and public bathrooms. I love it and want one.

Perspective is fluid. A line of shacks two weeks ago is a thriving commercial area today and I am looking for the fruit vendor.

Mumbai is loud. First the horns. They beep incessantly. It is the weirdest thing about this town and the thing that can most get under my skin if I do not let it go. Also people talk loud but that may be so they can be heard over the horns. The cawing of crows is constant. But the sounds can be musical. For a week or more, I could not make out the source of the harmonic hum that I hear every night from my room. Was it a distant religious ritual or a concert? It is the traffic and the horns on the road a half-mile away merging into a rhythmic cacophony. It puts me to sleep now and the call to prayers from the mosque on the other side of the Deonar Farm Road wakes me in the morning.

Be aware that the line you are standing in may just be a family stopping to catch up or make plans. Look around each group to see if the passage resumes on the other side.

The one thing I wish I had brought is Visine. I never use it at home, but would here. I bought an Indian version at a Chemist shop but it is loaded with percents of this and percents of that and I don’t like to use it too often.

Things I was told that are not true:

• “Nobody walks in Mumbai.” In fact, Mumbaikers walk all the time. And I have a FitBit to prove it. At least 5-6 miles a day.
• “Everybody speaks English.” Not. This morning I have had encounters with the guard at the dorm, the auto driver, the security at the airport, the airline employees at the gate. None of them spoke English although most can understand a bit. That is typical and it is fine. It is their county and they have their languages—700 of them. The announcement to raise the tray tables and seats for departure was just made by a recording in English, Hindu and Marathi. I am going to work on speaking more with the Indian lilt because I have noticed that those who do are more easily understood. Sometimes I am just stubbornly attached to my Boston accent. See here.
• “Be careful. It is not safe.” I have walked all over day and night. I take the same precautions I take in Boston and I am fine. It is a city like any other—no more, no less. But of course, I have magic hair. In any city, young men don’t see me and the older ones are not interested. Perfect safety gear!

The absolute hardest thing for me is remembering to walk on the left. Here they drive on the left so they walk on the left—mostly. Completely counterintuitive, but very important when you are always waking in crowds and in traffic. I have to remind myself all the time.

The term “crowd” is insufficient to describe what I am talking about. Have you been in a crowd leaving a concert or a sporting event? People jammed into a narrow passage, but patiently and calmly moving forward? That is Mumbai, but there is seldom an exit. And there are cars in the crowd.

Justice for Rohith

India is unsafe for some people. The prejudice toward Dalits is comparable to the institutional racism against African-Americans. It has made me think about “caste” as a component—a complicator – of the position of African Americans within the broader concept of People of Color. Rohith was a student who, along with four comrades, was unjustly expelled from his university for political reasons and because he was Dalit. He committed suicide, a part of this story I find hard to grasp. Was it a political act, a martyrdom, or was it an act of despair or shame because a Dalit’s position in society is so very tenuous and he was knocked off the ladder by the expulsion? It does not matter to the student movement here. They have taken his name and the unjust act that was done to Rohith and made it a national movement for justice for Dalits. Google Justice for Rohith to learn more about students’ protests across India and politicians’ responses –ranging from stupidity to repression with heavy doses of opportunism in the middle.

I am safe and happy and I love it here.

Love to all.

I am in the library working – struggling –with two presentations I will be making on Thursday and Friday. The first is on my research here on women in construction. I will be presenting to Women’s Studies students. The second, by request and to a larger group, is on the US labor movement. I have titled it, “The Peculiar History of the Labor Movement in the United States.” I say ‘peculiar’ because, with the absence of class consciousness among American workers, why do we have any unions at all. And will we have any unions at all when Friedrich v. California Teachers Association is decided by the Supreme Court in the next few weeks? Anyway, that’s depressing so I thought I would share my day in the Mumbai slums.

And that is the last time I will use the word ‘slums.’ The poor of Mumbai live in settlements, resettlements and nagars (nagar: a town or a suburb). Their homes are nearly entirely self-constructed from found materials. But over time, people pour concrete or use bricks and build permanent housing and then, like my grandparents did, they build up and out. On Tuesday of the past week, I went on a tour of Mumbai’s M-Ward that was sponsored by the conference I was attending on Rethinking Cities in the Global South. Mumbai is divided into administrative districts designated by letters of the alphabet. M-Ward has the lowest Human Development score, which measures health, education and income, of any place in Mumbai.

TISS, where I am living, is located in the M-Ward and has had a long time partnership with residents and organizations. They have an 8 1/2 minute video, M-Ward: From the Margins, that is better than any pictures I took.

I will tell you about what I saw and who I met.

First we went to Cheeta Camp. We went to one of the settlements’ schools and met with community activist Abul Hassan. Classrooms are around a large center courtyard. Chairs were set up for us to sit in a circle in the courtyard and talk with Hassan. We were not there long when bells rang, children from all directions cheered and the courtyard filled with kids on their break. Many stood around the circle and listened, some played games including the ubiquitous badminton.

After the bell.

Cheeta Camp has about 110,000 residents and 11,000 households. They have 14 schools and 95% school attendance. Some kids go onto higher education and go to work in call centers. Some become laborers and migrate to the Gulf to work. This settlement has been moved at least twice since 1950. They were originally in many areas in central Mumbai but were forced out when their land became valuable. They were moved to Janta Colony, a marshy area near the docks where they became the dockworkers. After 25 year, they were forced to move again. However, the government determined that only a small share of the residents were entitled to resettlement (lots of legalistic bullshit about who has some land rights and who has no rights), but the community created what Hassan called a Mighty Alliance and refused to move without everyone. The alliance prevented any single political party from cutting deals for their supporters and the residents engaged in civil disobedience. They won and all the residents moved to their current location. They continue to fight for legal title to the land and continue to be threatened by government and developers who see the land as having increasing value. You can see the contrast in the photos where some residents have been able to make improvements in their streets with tile and a roof that makes a very big difference in monsoon season.

Maharashtra Nagar Transit Camp is not so settled, not so unified and its residents are living in substantially worse conditions. Seventy-six thousand people live there in 5850 households. The oldest part of the camp is ten years old. The camp spreads along open fields for about a half-mile. The end nearest the main road has electricity but none of the residents have running water. Water must be carried from a great distance. There are no toilets and residents use the field across from the camp. There is only one school and no health services. There is a pre-school in the camp but residents said that they resell food that they have received for the kids. (If you have not read Beyond the Beautiful Forevers, I recommend it. Small handouts to very poor people do not help and do perpetuate divisions among neighbors.)

Before the bell.

But there are community leaders in the settlement and they are organizing. They are part of the Make Your House/Save Your House campaign and the citywide people’s movement to secure the right to housing for all.

The best time I had in Maharashtra was in a section that is built along a trench next to the railroad tracks. The small shacks on the left are the toilets people have built. The city and/or the railroad will come along regularly and bulldoze them down. Then people rebuild them. The tarp on the right are the residents homes. The buildings are nearby apartments.This settlement seemed to belong to the women and children. The kids followed us and asked questions in English, “Whose your mom?” and copied our answers. “Dorothy.” “Dorothy!” from a chorus of 7 to 8 kids. Me: “But she died.” “But she died!” “Whose you dad?” “Henry, but he died.” “Henry, but he died!” The moms invited us into their homes and offered us sweets and desserts. We all had a very good time together.

Our final stop was at Mandala where the women welcomed us with garlands and anointed our foreheads with bindis.

The men took over to tell us the story of the 16 year old camp which is very well established with 1200 homes and a commercial area. But they still battle the government for land rights, water, sanitation, electricity and education. The final speaker, Ateek, was the young—or maybe not so young—lifetime guy organizer we all know, sometimes get annoyed by but love all the same. Not listing them by name but I am tempted. He taught us the Hindustani call for collective action in the settlements and maybe among social justice activists everywhere. Zindabad!

Our very able guides on the tour, Richa Bhardwan (I think) and Purva Dewooklar, who works at the M-Ward Initiative at TISS. My thanks to them and to Leena Joshi for an education in the settlements of Mumbai.

Richa Bhardwan and Purva Dewooklar

I am still unsure of the balance of the personal and the political here on my blog, but I am clear that the main purpose is to document my research on women in construction in India—my fieldwork, in the lingo of my trade. That might get tedious for you. I have witnessed the glassy stares of loved ones as I have passionately described the intricacies of implementing and evaluating best practices through multi-stakeholder partnerships. I lost the attention of more than a few a couple of months ago when I compared the Policy Group on Tradeswomen’s Issues to the Tunisians who won the Nobel Prize for Peace.

So my thought on this at the moment is to put headers on sections so you can know what is coming and skip it if you like. I like to report chronologically and not topically and that means you could be reading an interesting—to all, I think—story about the cab ride I took this morning, followed by some notes on housing and research paperwork at TISS (the Institute that I am affiliated with) and then a meeting I had the Dean of the Social Work School.

So here is what happened today.

My morning cab ride

This was my first day going to TISS, the Tata Institute for Social Sciences, the university that is hosting me. I went to meet Jennifer at the International Office to get my paperwork going for my official research status with the Indian government (all called FRRO). TISS is in Chembur in the northeast section of the city and I have been staying in Churchgate in south Mumbai. It is akin to going to Queens from Lower Manhattan. I could take the bus or train but the bus is slow and the train involves a couple of changes so I decided to get a cab. The first two taxi drivers would not take me. I was not sure if they knew where Chembur is, but I remember when I drove a cab and did not want to take a fare to someplace distant where I would not get a fare back. It is like being paid for half the trip. The third driver said yes and off we went—for about five minutes. This was about 10 am and that is heavy rush hour because the Indian business day starts and ends later than the US. Something very ordinary happened and then something extraordinary. The ordinary thing is the driver went through a red light and crossed in front of a line of oncoming traffic complicated by about 30 pedestrians crossing in the street at the same time. The extraordinary thing was that a traffic cop stopped the driver and waved him over! The driver then started screaming at the cop and tried to drive away but had nowhere to go. As the traffic ahead moved, the cop stood front of the cab. The driver inched forward, the screaming continued from both cop and the driver, and then the driver cut across three lines of traffic and pulled to the side of the road. The left side. I am still getting used to that. Screaming recommenced unitl the cop walked away and then the driver got out and followed the cop. He turned back once, took the key from ignition and told me to wait. That is the end of the story. I waited a couple of minutes then got out of the cab to see what was happening. Neither the driver nor the cop were anywhere around. I tucked Rs.25 into the meter and went looking for another cab.

I got to TISS about 11 by way of a very unusual driver who actually asked directions twice.

New Place to Stay

I did a lot of paperwork with Jennifer, Zuzubee and the staff at the International Office. They were very helpful and gave me a really nice TISS bag. I am moving out of the downtown hotel on Wednesday and into the hostel at TISS. By “hostel” I mean the girls’ dorm. Triple room so I may have roommates but the most exciting part is that there is a locked cabinet where I can leave my big bag while traveling.

Made three new friends. Hannah, Batseba and Daniella are Swedish undergraduates studying social work who are at TISS on a semester abroad. We had a tour of the campus and—jumping into the future—will take a trip downtown on Wednesday to get our research permits and do a little shopping in the Fort.

Vocabulary interlude: A “chowk” is a square, as in Harvard Chowk or Trafalgar Chowk.

Figuring it out as I go

I am writing this two days later. Two thoughts:

• It is always hard to find time to write—no easier here.
• I have changed the tab “Evolving research questions” on the blog to My Field Notes. I will give a heads up in the blog when some readers might want to check out how my field work is going., but I will mostly use the blog function for reflection—like I am doing right now!

Meetings with two professors

Joined Heather Ridge in two very good meetings with faculty members: the Dean of the School of Social Work and the Dean of the School of Management and Labour Studies. The latter is where I am affiliated. I got a lot of information about how TISS operates and good leads for interviews. Details can be viewed—soon I hope—in My Field Notes.

An Ugly American mistake

I forgot it was Martin Luther King Day on Monday and there was no reminder here, nothing in the morning paper, no one mentioned it. I did not remember. I was reminded when I went on Facebook later. Of course Indians do not acknowledge, or even have knowledge of, MLK Day. However, my inner American exceptionalist was still surprised. Not logically, but emotionally. Another lesson learned.

The next day- Tuesday, Jan 19—I participated in a field trip, “Making Homes in M Ward Mumbai: the City’s Dumping Ground.” That’s the next post with pictures.

Love to all.

This blog was created to report on my research. It was in my proposal to Fulbright in response the question of how I would make my work known to others. I could not decide before I left if it would be strictly research or also my personal experiences while being in India for three months. I still can’t decide, but today I have decided that I would like to share some thoughts about the three questions above with my family, friends and community. Or maybe I have decided.

I have been here for less than 48 hours. I know it but it can’t be true. You know the theory that time is slower when we are young and speeds up as we grow? The idea behind this is that the more stimulation we are receiving, the slower everything seems and as we age and newness recedes, time goes by. Songs have been written and time, for me here and now, is nearly at a standstill as all I see and hear is new and unique to me.

What is it like?

Today is Saturday and the streets and parks are full of temples and cricket. Sounds of drums, crows and car horns. My hotel room is in the back and five floors up. It is quiet at night. The crows are different, beautiful and everywhere. People walk in the street because the sidewalks are too crowded, someone’s home or popup shop, or just not there. Horns blare constantly as drivers honk in anticipation of the green light, to let pedestrians know they are going to run them down, to move a car over another foot so that three cars can fill two lanes. Motor bikes pay no attention to traffic rules such as lights or one-way streets. It is not true that everyone speaks English. Not true that most people speak English. Cab drivers, clerks and vendors, staff at the hotel, understand a little, but we are communicating through universal sign language and willing bystanders who see the predicament and step in to translate. Four people helped me get a cab an hour ago. Earlier, I asked two men sitting/working in a park for directions. They were unable to help me, but a minute later, an older man came up behind me and asked if he could help. He showed me where to go and said it was his duty to help me, “his elder sister.” I went into a café for chai and, only after taking a table just inside the door, did I realize that there were all men there and women sat upstairs. No one bothered me, just my mistake for not paying closer attention. Again, the stimulation can be overwhelming.

How’m I doing?

I am doing very well although I woke up scared this morning. Only two days gone and three months to go, but I know I will settle in and it will be fine. I am exploring my neighborhood a block at a time. I just keep taking rights until I get back to the hotel. Today I made it to the ocean, the Arabian Sea. It was midday and very hot so I had to head back to the neighborhoods for shade. I automatically stay to the right when walking and that is wrong because walking and driving are on the left. I have a technique for crossing streets: get into the middle of a crowd and just go with it. But don’t fall out of the scrum or you will be standing in the middle of the road with traffic whizzing by.

I have been twice to the khadi emporium. Beautiful clothes made by fabric made and dyed in the villages. This continues Ghandi’s movement for the economic and spiritual benefits of spinning and homespun fabric. I thought I might go to the museum today but it was too ambitious. Got my culture fix by shopping instead.

I found myself at the train station early this afternoon. Walked off the end of platform like everyone else and crossed the tracks to get to a southbound train that had just pulled in. Mumbai is a peninsular and there is nowhere for a southbound train to go so I thought I would just take the train to wherever it went and take a cab back. Second thoughts can be good because, while I was mulling this idea over, the train pulled out of the station going north again. The station is the terminus of the line and I have no idea where I would have gone if I had gotten on that train.

I am still figuring out food. The hotel serves breakfast and that is my only regular meal so far. I am following the advice to not eat street food, but that makes eating complicated as that is how Mumbaikers eat. I know there are restaurants somewhere but not so much in my part of town. I search for bananas and today I went to Starbucks for a predictable meal—hummus and pita—and a cup of Earl Gray. It was a nice break.

Where’s my stuff?

This is my biggest challenge. By vocation and habit, I am an organizer but not organized. Now I am carrying all my stuff for three months on my back figuratively and in three bags literally. My natural impulse is to buy more bags. But I know this is oh so wrong. So I search… for the camera, the money, glasses, medications, passport, a pen, the phone receipt I suddenly need, the box for the phone I should have had when I returned to the store and now have to go back a third time.

I don’t know if I will solve this or not. I am keeping my expectations very low. Today I made small improvements. I will not carry more than 2 pairs of glasses at a time (reading plus sun OR not). I exchanged all my US money for rupees so I only have to keep track of one currency. I am packing up and stowing the last minute clothes I packed out of panic but will not wear. Will probably just give them away when I get a chance.

Where is my stuff will be an ongoing issue because I will be moving often. I will leave the West End Hotel in another 5 days when I move to a B&B in northern Mumbai. In the meantime, I soak up the opportunity to experience time as a child does, filled with newness and excitement.

Love and peace to all.

No problem finding women working in construction in Mumbai.

These women are digging a trench right outside my hotel in preparation for pipe work. They appear to be family units. The women work in the trench shoveling and removing cobblestones and dirt. The men work the pike loosing the materials. The workers spoke no English. The woman in the blue sari on the sidewalk spoke a bit. She seemed to be the supervisor. She wants 10 rupees apiece if I want to talk with them tomorrow. I might try to find a translator. They were still working when I went for a walk at 7:30 tonight. Not sure if these kids are the workers’ but they could be. They were at the site all day. Maybe the workers children or could be part of the many families that live along the side of the rode.

I will be finally on my way to India at 8 PM tomorrow night. I am very excited, but some of my closest people are anxious because they have not received notices of any posts on my blog. That is because I have not posted in weeks, time taken up with packing, unpacking and repacking. I am ready now.

Dhanyvaad, David Bowie, for inspiring a couple of generations to be more than we could have imagined, for teaching us to push boundaries.

Dhanyvaad to my family and friends for all your support. Dhanyvaad in advance to all the new friends I will be making in India.

There are many reasons that women do the heaviest and dirtiest work in the construction industry in India. One is that , right now, women are cheaper than machines. But global companies come with capital and machines. As bad as the jobs are, what will women do if these jobs disappear? Here is a story about the merger of a small Indian firm with a Chinese megacompany to do the work that is being done by women in the accompanying photo.

Women repair a road in Umaria district, Madhya Pradesh, India. (Yann/Wikimedia Commons)