This past Friday marked the launch of a campaign to fund my next multimedia project, “The Dubai Taxi Driver.” In the tradition of the great Tony Schwartz, the master of sound who recorded so many wonderful stories from New York City in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, my journey will be to Dubai, to speak with a group of people that have long fascinated and inspired me with their stories and life experiences. My task will be to sit in the front seat and record the stories, wisdom, and observations of this special group of people who drive the taxi’s of this world renowned metropolis.
Like special series and journeys that I have previously been able to share with you, this one needs your direct involvement. My brand of media is non-commercial and always personal, as is this project. And if you like what you’ve heard in the past, or if this idea sounds interesting and you’d like to know more, click on the kickstarter link.
Almost one year since my first ever visit to Dubai last summer, I find myself here again for a few days in preparation of a new project in Afghanistan. The details of the project I will leave to an upcoming post. The details of my days in Dubai is what I wish to talk about today.
South Asian Gentlemen and I on the Dubai Creek
It has been done to death and you can include my name among them, writing about Dubai with disdain calling it a capitalist experiment gone bad or gone too far or without a soul. Its easy to poke fun at a city that is so modern and busy yet so empty and transient. See there I go, doing what the reporters who are here for 5 minutes tend to do. Hard to resist.
To properly peel away the layers Dubai has it would take months if not years. The people who could do a proper job explaining it all are too busy trying to earn a living and send it back to their loved ones in Pakistan. In India. In Afghanistan. In the Philippines. In Bangladesh. Insert a nationality. The world is in Dubai. The emirates may claim it as their own and control things from a government level, but Dubai, no matter what they say, is firmly property of the world.
Somewhere along the way these polite gentleman in their eye-catching bright and clean white uniforms with that sweeping part that covers their head with the ever so well positioned black headband.. those gentleman did whatever they could to attract the world to their port city in the desert. They knew they had oil but they also knew that in this world, oil is not enough, so they sought to make something more. Tourism. Banking. Business. In the process they needed a massive amount of help. So they invited workers from all over the world, especially their nearby neighbors in South Asia. And so they came, mostly on their own leaving families at home. To drive the taxi’s, cook the food, collect the garbage, pick a job… there are so many that they do. In the course of 20 or so years… a port city with some oil reserves and a population of just over half a million, became an international economic engine of almost a million and a half. The city few knew about, became a name everyone knows about, even if they’ve never set foot on UAE’s sun scorched soil.
“21 years I have been here sir,” my driver from Peshawar tells me as we sit in mid-day traffic, “back then there was nothing like this. Maybe one shopping mall, now we have too many. And these huge buildings and the hotels. Nothing like this.” He sits in silence for a few minutes, cab drivers in Dubai will tell you of their lives, but they don’t like to carry on. Straight to the point: “I can never bring my family here. The money I make driving taxi could never pay rent for a family house. No no. I send some to my family and there we have a house. I even have enough to be a landlord of a second property. Here is just work. Its the only way.” He goes on to talk about the violence and risks in Pakistan. He is upset and disillusioned with the politics and innocent people who lose their lives. But bringing them to Dubai is not an option. 21 years and it is not an option. In effort to bring some positive energy back I ask him about Pakistan’s nature and beauty and his eyes light up as he describes all the lush countryside.
The next evening I’m in a trendy Thai restaurant in a residential neighborhood. The place is packed with locals, Indian and other South Asian accents all around. Surprisingly an Emirate man, in the signature white robe, sits with his family who seem themselves to be South Asian. They’re posing for photos and passing around a cute little baby. Back at the hotel there’s a sign, Prom 2011, and all around me are Indian teenagers and all their drama. Listening to their petty arguments and clever jokes, I could have been anywhere in Europe or North America hearing the exact same thing. High School in Dubai, here are the children of the people who are raising their families in this land where they are forever guests. What will become of them in the future?
Critics will point to the lack of rights. Even the abuse of guest workers. Even the term guest workers reminds us that these people from all over the world living and working here are never allowed to become citizens. A sad fact for those who have toiled for so long and help make this city what it is everyday. But putting that sadness aside, even potential power counts for something, so although the law may not be on their side, there is power in this massive population that call Dubai home and without their everyday contributions, this place would shut down.
If you should browse the current.com website, which belongs to the people behind currenttv (American cable channel founded by Al Gore), you’ll find a growing amount of content from yours truely. And as I posted a link to an article about the new French requirement that immigrants who wish their family members to join them in France must take a DNA test to prove they are really family, I received some interesting comments, and I say that not because several people agreed with me.
In discussing this topic on that website and amongst friends here in Amsterdam, one common concern that people bring up to defend the policy sounds something like this: “Using DNA will ensure that immigrants aren’t lying about who is family.”
I realize many people agree with this, on the surface it is a simple request, that people not lie. But when I hear this comment, my mind travels to the past.. to who I am and how I got to be where I am.. or better yet.. how I got to be at all. Or beyond me, what about all the people all over the world, who are the children of immigrants or the grandchildren of immigrants… what if they had had DNA testing?
The idea that people would not have been able to lie in any aspect of the immigration process would have basically changed the entire face of the western world, destination for many immigrants over the past 300 years. The midwest of the United States, with its huge Scandinavian population… imagine they had not been able to lie about who is who’s cousin or daughter.
I realize, there are immigration laws, there is a process, and it isn’t going away. I also realize that no matter the rules, if humans want to go somewhere, they will find a way, they will break or bend the rules, because it is a question of survival.
When it comes right down to it, history teaches us that there is a long and glorious tradition of lying for the sake of moving your family.. your hopes.. your dreams. It is a tradition that deserves our respect… it should be honored.. not disrespected with DNA tests that few migrants could ever afford anyway.
There are of course, numerous other criticisms of this policy that governments should take note of. But for right now, in this particular post, I just wanted to show my respect by defending the rights of immigrants.. of humans.. to not be DNA tested because they want to try and make a new life.. a better life.
I’ve been slow to post because life in Berlin was like a vacuum of time. No matter what time it was, I was supposed to be going somewhere to see something or someone.
Not that I’m complaining; it so happens that I have some of the finest friends a guy could have waiting for me in Berlin whenever I’m up for a visit. They’re so influencial, I now have a new city I might one day like to live in. (I can hear my mom gasping already)
But summaries and additional stories will come soon, as well as getting back to real issues instead of the world cup distraction from reality. First I want to talk briefly of my visit to Leipzig to see Angola take on Iran.
My intention is not to talk about the game itself. You can read sports blogs for that crap. But I do want to talk about the people… fans.. as some call them. It was already exciting to be seeing a world cup match, in Germany, in a city was part of old East Germany. But to be seated amongst so many Iranian supporters, and a few sections over from a huge crowd of Angolans… it was quite the experience.
In both cases, it is unlikely any of these fans had actually flown in from the home countries. Most were probably immigrants living in Germany, perhaps even second or third generation. They didn’t sing the songs I think you’d hear at a stadium back in Luanda or Tehran, because they probably haven’t been in a stadium in either city in a long time. Instead they dawned the colors, joined with friends, and filled the stadium. They also cursed their players when they messed up, and shouted their favorite player names, over and over.
As I sat there thinking to myself…this is not a matter of nationalism for one’s country. This is about culture… roots.. and remembering. To cheer for a miracle or at least, a good day, for the idea of a noble and admirable nation that at that moment.. in that stadium… becomes a reality.
On the way out of the stadium, I was happy to hear Portuguese. Angolan Portuguese of course, the sweetest of all the accents, as far as I’m concerned. I listened and watched, as families and neighbors joked with each other about the failures of their team. Flag trading and handshakes were also a common sight between the two groups of fans.
At this point, lots of sports writers these days would praise this is the key to world peace and a sign of how great the world is. But I disagree. As nice as it was, both these groups have sufferred greatly to arrive where they are today. Entire lives were uprooted because of overwhelming and complicated circumstances.
A world cup match may provide some nice stories and some unforgettably sweet moments, but it should not mask the truth about the kind of world we live in and helped create.
My family members are pretty avid readers of blog. At least as far as I know. I try never assume that they are or aren’t reading. But I can tell you it’s been a world of help in keeping in touch.. for a boy that has lived across the ocean for the past 5 years. 5 years!
Years and numbers and family came to mind today as I had lunch with BlondeButBright. Truth is, BBB and I don’t see each other that much, but I’m one of her biggest fans in this life. Over some good soup we talked about how time passes here in Amsterdam, and we meet people who remind us of ourselves when we arrived. Sometimes thats a good thing, other times there’s just nothing more annoying then seeing yourself.. again and again. I think it has taken a toll on both of us. But we’re still hanging in, and we agreed that we still love this town and what we’ve done with our years here… it’s a work-in-progress.
She spoke of going home for much of the summer and I admit to yee the blog readers that I’m jealous. It seems like it would be great to be able to be back in New Jersey for a spell, with my parents and my bro and little A-Ren who now says “stop” when he thinks something is too much. Come to think of it, it would be great to be able to be in Portugal for a while and be with my grandparents, as grandpa goes for some important yet routine eye surgery. Is anything routine when you’re in your 80’s?
But back to my point, I wish I could be in these three places right now, and ultimately that is not possible and therefore, somewhat saddening. Time passes. Families grow and get older. I start to wonder if I’ve spent my time correctly; made the right choices, or if I’ve missed some of the most important moments with some of the most important people in my life… my family.
Then again, like BBB and I spoke about today, lots of things are happening and the way things are now is not how they will always be.
In the meantime, I pick up the cross word puzzle out of the newspaper every morning at work. I find time to try and do the puzzle.. not because I like crosswords, but because it is what my father does, and we always do together when I’m home. We’re connected you see… it’s a direct line through the crossword puzzle on a six hour time difference.
postscript thingy: happy birthday to my compadre the mindcaster, few hours late, but it’s the blog-thought that counts.
Since yesterday was not-one-immigrant day in the US, today might be a good time to talk about something related here on the communique.
As many of you may remember fondly, it was only 2 years ago yesterday that Cyprus, Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Malta, Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, became new members of big blue. Yes, those were exciting times that resulted in a Union of 460 millon people and an economic powerhouse of sorts. Maybe more important, for us regular people, was that being a citizen of the EU meant that you now had certain universal rights in all member states: to work, live, travel, do all kinds of activities – anywhere within the 25 member states. As a person who’s entire adult life has been shaped by these rights, I was naturally very pleased that more people would be able to experience what I have experienced as a Portuguese/European citizen.
Unfortunately, as is the case with so many politicized issues, certain countries (Germany, Austria, Luxembourg, Netherlands, UK, France, etc.) fairly quietly put an asterix onto the addition of the new EU states. This extra clause involved limiting or flat out preventing new EU citizens from places like Poland or Slovakia, from exercising their right to free movement and seeking employment within their national borders. Complete with extensions for these provisions, some of which expired this year, as in the case of the UK. Others which carry on and have been open-ended extended, as in the shameful case of the Netherlands.
In other words they may say the new Eastern European Nations are part of the EU. They may even show up to ceremonies, shake hands, and pose for photos with officials from that member state. But they don’t actually respect or honor the rights that membership entitles all citizens, including their own. So next time anyone starts talking highly of the big EU countries, or the Netherlands, make sure you remind them of the xenophobic, underhanded, and perhaps even racist policy of the sitting government that for some mysterious reason – people still haven’t forced to resign.
Not that I’m complaining; it so happens that I have some of the finest friends a guy could have waiting for me in Berlin whenever I’m up for a visit. They’re so influencial, I now have a new city I might one day like to live in. (I can hear my mom gasping already)
On the way out of the stadium, I was happy to hear Portuguese. Angolan Portuguese of course, the sweetest of all the accents, as far as I’m concerned. I listened and watched, as families and neighbors joked with each other about the failures of their team. Flag trading and handshakes were also a common sight between the two groups of fans. 
