Invisible Women: Poor Female Artisans in Pakistan
- by Zainab Cheema
Handicraft - the word evokes delicate fingers laboring to bring works of art to
life. It is steeped in the aesthetic value of folk art and authenticity. But
where society enthusiastically supports the celebrity status of designers -
pursuing brand names as icons of consumption - there are no names and no faces
to connect to the handmade goodies we get in the bazaar.
That is, until the ground-breaking South Asian Home based Workers' Craft Fair,
organized by Pakistan's own Aurat Foundation, with the sponsorship of UNIFEM and
the UK based Department for International Development's Gender Equality Project
(GEP).
Hosted at the Alhambra Arts Council, Lahore, Pakistan from April 8th-10th, the
South Asian Home based Workers' Craft Fair provided a unique opportunity for
both the artisans and their urban consumers. Most significantly, it zapped away
the social light years separating Pakistan's urban-rural divide, bringing these
two communities face to face with one another other.
The issue driving forward the fair was clearly etched out in the slogan;
"Visible Products, Invisible hands." It sought to make visible poverty-stricken
women across Pakistan, who turn to the traditional arts of their area-usually
passed down from mother to daughter over generations-to increase their household
income. But because these women are manacled by 3 linking
disadvantages-illiteracy, oppressive social customs, and distance from urban
markets-they usually rely on middlemen to take their goods to market. Even
though they get only a small percentage of the price that the product actually
sells for, as it gets shunted from bazaar to major commercial centers, they
accept these terms because they remain trapped against the impenetrable wall of
poverty that throws its shadow over their existence.
This predicament is hardly mysterious in a nation where 30% of the population
cannot meet its minimum food requirements, and another 20% cannot meet other
basic needs like clean water.
"Our goal was to put the handicrafts women in direct contact with consumers to
that they understand the situation regarding the tastes of the consumers and the
prices at which their products are actually sold," said Nigar Ahmad, Executive
Director of Aurat Foundation, "as well as to make society conscious of the
condition of these women." "It's a confidence building exercise for these women
and an awareness building exercise for society," she confirmed.
One of the most startling freedoms granted to the women artisans by the fair was
that it eliminated the parasitic middlemen-and in some cases, middlewomen-who
contract their work on minimal rates and then sell them on the market at higher
prices to pocket a hefty profit at their expense. The artisans manned their own
stalls and could directly haggle and bargain with the customer; even when the
language barrier made communication too cumbersome, their mere presence asserted
their authorship of the handicrafts. As Chandni Joshi, Regional Programme
Director of UNIFEM commented, "This event was held to ensure that the home-based
worker's contribution should be recognized and assessed fairly."
"There is a false conception [we have to fight against] that only paid formal
labor-the kind done in factories and offices-counts as real work," continued
Joshi, "we have to make the productive role of these women visible." By all
accounts, the dramatic, visceral effect of these women on many of Lahore's
shoppers launched an impressive blow against the disenfranchisement and
invisibility of these women perpetuated by modern markets. For instance, the
fair taught Sanya and Beenish, two teenage girls attending the fair, to regard
such women as artisans and individuals.
"The most impressive thing about the mela," they said, "is seeing these women
and recognizing the creative mind behind all this wonderful stuff."
For the more materially inclined urban shopper, jaded by ubiquitous summer
trends, the event laid out before her the most delicious panoply of handmade
goods imaginable.
Gorgeous bedcovers and floor cushions at the stall from Multan (one of
Pakistan's most historic cities) stall beckoned from to passerbys; a
particularly memorable set featured intricate designs flaming across the khaddar
material in a sepia and mahogany thread combination. Many visitors were drawn to
the Hunza-region stall, which sported purses, wallets, pen-holders embroidered
in the traditional Iraghi-style cross stitch, which is native to that
mountainous area cradled on the Pak-China border. Skillful color combinations
like wine red and mauve gave the extra oomph to the delicate geometric-style
floral patterns blazoned on the basic black fabric of the purses.
The wares of the Nepal stall were a stunning testimony to the balance between
art and the natural environment perfected in many traditional communities. The
stall featured light-weight stoles woven from the nettles of the alloo plant
that grows in mountain forests, and cunningly crafted lampshades made from
bamboo paper. Conversely, the work of rural women from desert areas showed the
lavishness of imagination that can exist in the most deprived natural
environments. The Tharparker stall, which spotlighted the work of village women
from Pakistan's Thar desert, featured rich embroidery done in mirror work, gold
and silver thread, colorful tassels. The stall also sold stunning bedcovers made
of handwoven, blockprinted cloth, blazoned with gold and silver spangles in ari
work.
But for those of us who had an eye to look beyond the delightful goodies and the
exotic costumes of the women at the stalls, it became apparent that the real
luxury item to bargain over and purchase at the fair, were the stories folded
away in the hearts of the vendors. These stories-life experiences of those who
are socially stifled and double cloaked as poor, Third-World women-could be
discerned in the lines faintly tracing their eyes, in the stoop of their
shoulders, in the expression of worry and careworn eagerness that leapt out in
the eyes of some. For the diligent searcher willing to sound the depths, these
were signs that pointed towards the hoard of experience that could be mined
through conversation.
Many stories bore stark testimony to the gender oppression that patriarchy
continues to brand into the social tissue of Pakistan. Sahibzadi, a Balochi
artisan at the Balochistan Rural Support Program Stall, said that she, her
sister, and her daughter had managed to sneak away to this fair by pretending to
her husband that she was going to Quetta to consult with a doctor. Her son
supported the NGO's work towards women's economic independence in the village,
and often helped his mother and sisters override the restrictions imposed by
chaar dewari (a social institution common in tribal areas mandating that women
stay within the private sphere of the home and rarely, if ever, venture out in
public) by covering for them.
Hasina, the 20-yr old daughter, said that she had only completed her education
up till primary school because her father and male relatives mandated that "no
man should see your name, let alone your face"-and at most secondary schools,
the clerks handling the enrollment registers as well as a significant percentage
of the teachers, are likely to be men. Primary schools and Quranic schools
cropped up within the confines of chaar dewari wherever women are able to pool
their resources. But quite obviously, it is not enough. Saabzadi mourned this
self-reinforcing circle of feminine ignorance and helplessness; "we're deprived
of education, our children are deprived of education, whole generations are
being destroyed."
"Sometimes there's no water," says Imaamzadi, "no water for farming, cooking or
anything. We go door to door to ask for water, but no one has any. On those days
we sleep hungry. But often, we can earn enough from our work to buy gharas
(potfuls) of water for Rs. 100 or 200 ($1). Then our men can farm and we can
cook." "We use water like most people use ghee (clarified butter used by people
in cooking)," she said.
Patriarchy is a universal condition in Pakistan as well in other countries.
Though devastating examples of gender oppression can be found in the cities, the
strains bred in the rural areas of Sindh and Balochistan (two provinces in
Pakistan) are especially lethal because they are bred in conditions
characterized by underdevelopment combined with the hegemony of traditional
tribal power systems. Civil infrastructure halts at the doorway of these
regions, with the government contenting itself with dealing with pre-existing
power structures rather than bring about systematic change. Periodically, the
government arouses itself and intervenes when the international press picks up
on a case like Mukhtara Mai's, who was condemned by a tribal council to be
subjected to gang rape for a perceived violation of the honor code. However, it
is usually content to let the matters stand as they are.
However, criticism of this state of affairs must avoid the simplistic
condemnations levied by most human rights commentary concerned with gender
issues-the problem demands a more complex understanding of the situation. Much
of blame game that targets conditions in Third World countries and holds them up
to standards of human rights, is rife with double standards and hidden agendas.
Most of these women, including the Balochi women whose stories are narrated
above, are ultimately grasped at the throat by a far more fearsome juggernaut:
the intervention of multinationals in the national economy through Pakistan's
endorsement of neo-liberal policies. Pakistan's longstanding alliance with the
U.S. has made it particularly vulnerable to IMF and World Bank blandishments,
and the economic decisions it has adopted over the past decade has resulted in
concentration of capital in the hands of an industrial-merchant class, one that
essentially fills the orders of the overlord rentiers-the
multinationals.
The redirection of the nation's resources to the multinationals, with the
absence of a comprehensive social security program, has devastated vulnerable
groups in society: small farmers, tenants, urban laborers, and workers in the
informal sector. Traditional support networks like the extended family have
taken increasing stress while oppressive social systems have grown more
reactionary to preserve power in a world of diminishing resources. It is these
small farmers, tenants and workers whose mothers, wives, sisters and daughters
have turned to traditional arts and skills to feed their families.
International organizations are often willing to open their wallets to
investigate and analyze the abuse of women's rights in Pakistan, but when asked
to look at the foreign stranglehold over Pakistan that contributes to the
marginalization and victimization of these women, have significantly less
commentary-and even less cash-to offer.
Razia, a 25-year old woman presiding over the [Lahore] Community Service Stall,
lives in one of the many poverty-stricken back alleys of Lahore. She has never
been educated. She makes bangles for a living, selling them to the large bangle
retailers like Rung Mahal. Petite and slender, she looks extraordinarily girlish
despite being married for 10 years and having two children. Even more startling
is the world-weariness that characterizes her talk. It points to an acceptance
of hardship that is so bitter that it has moved beyond vocal emotion.
Razia says that at first her husband didn't used to do any work, but now does
repairs for a car-parts factory. Even so, its barely enough to keep the family
She learned bangle making when she was 12, and had to resume work after being
married because "things weren't so good at my in-law's place." She is
dissatisfied with her husband because "he doesn't earn enough for our
livelihood, and he doesn't pay me any attention." Her support network consists
of her brothers, who manage to spare her up to Rs. 2000 per month (about $30)
from their own household expenses and whom she can visit at their homes. She
buys the material for her bangles at the various shops that sell dapka, motis
(pearl beads), colored wires, and transforms them in gold-studded, jewel-colored
bangles that Pakistani women purchase in bangle shops to match with their
festive dresses.
The insidious oppression of economic inequality presents a challenge to
society's compassion; unlike chaar dewari and honor killing, the issue is more
diffuse, harder to pin down, and certainly one that has attracted less publicity
in the international media. Many from among Pakistan's middle or upper classes
acknowledge the necessity-something has to be done, so everyone says-but for
solutions offer only vague generalizations or a despairing shrug. But once we
strip away the veil of invisibility, the need to combat economic inequality
outstrips the platitudes that the world stage is usually prompt to plaster on
social problems; it becomes a moral imperative.
Take Saeeda from the city of Peshawar, who says that she is 25 years of age but
looks at least a decade older. She has high cheekbones, a nut-brown complexion
with a reddish tinge on the cheeks, and fine cross-hatching of wrinkles around
the corners of her candid eyes. Her father died a few years ago, and since then
she's been the primary breadwinner for the family. "I'm the eldest at home," she
says, counting her responsibilities, which include paying for her siblings'
education and bringing food on the table. She's engaged to a young man who works
as a driver in Azad Kashmir, but she's had to delay her marriage because "all
the responsibility for earning the family livelihood lies on my shoulders."
To make ends meet she makes parandey (ornamental cords that women twine in their
braids) decoration pieces and embroiders kurtas(traditional knee length shirts),
selling them to lower-middle class women living in the side streets and alleys
of Peshawar. The constant struggle of her life is making ends meet; "I can't
make enough to meet household expenses," she says. She's in debt, having taken
out loans to buy the materials for her handiwork as well as to meet the general
expenses of life. "Our story is heart-wrenching," she says with tears in her
eyes, the moisture punctuating the strain and oppression underwriting every word
of her story.
Handcrafts are opposed to mass-produced, assembly-line generated products-which
includes the priciest of brand names-that flood our consumer-crazy world. Their
value is invested in their labor-and-time intensive, personalized quality.
Considering that many of the home-based workers at the fair said it takes them
5-10 days to embroider a purse, and up to a month to finish a bed sheet-not to
mention the extraordinary beauty of the finished look-you can see why such a
purchase can be refreshing for many veterans of glossy outlets and shopping
malls.
Handicrafts also resonate with those who appreciate folk art; every glittering
thread, bead and mirror embodies the aesthetic sense, the creative impulse of
the people, as opposed to the pricey inspiration of some elitist designer.
"Anything made by hand is wonderful, and using it is naturally a good
experience," enthused Zain, a young husband who had come shopping with his wife.
Yet, notwithstanding the gratification of returning to one's roots that such
purchase can provide, the most successful stalls at the fair were those where
the NGOs commissioning the work had designed the products using effective
marketing techniques. Women artisans received the most payback where the NGOs
commissioning their work were particularly savvy in negotiating the rules of the
market. One of the cardinal laws of effective patronage of handicrafts turned
out to be keeping the tastes and desires of the consumer base firmly in mind.
One of the more successful stalls was Al-Falah's, an NGO that has already
established an outlet in Pakistan's commercial mecca, Karachi. The products
included stunning table runners, floor and sofa cushions, wall hangings,
drawstring purses and wallets that featured the embroidery of Baloch Sindhi
women from a village in Pakistan's rural Sindh area. All the items were
perfectly tailored to the demands of modern urban lifestyles, and tastefully
combined embroidery with bold color and expensive material. The success of the
NGO's marketing strategy was proved by the way Lahore's women went absolutely
wild over the goods, practically cleaning out the shop in 3 days. "We're earning
in the hundreds of thousands," said Bakhtawer, a young artisan at the stall.
The same principle was at work and on a larger scale at the most successful
stall at the Fair: Homenet India, where the organization SEWA-the Self Employed
Women's Association-stocked up on the kurtas, saris, stoles and other garments
of the make of rural Indian women. SEWA showed that India has balanced the
problem of the unequal distribution in modern, industrialized societies and the
need to help the invisible poor, by active, relentless and organized social
work. Unlike most of the Pakistani NGOs present at the fair, SEWA simply doesn't
target a village or a district; it's network has spread across the whole state
of Gujerat like a densely woven cloth of compassion, involving close to 2
million women workers.
Clothing from SEWA stall went off like steaming hot jalebis because the stock
was designed to meet every possible nuance of taste to be found in a crowd. This
observation was Ghulam Akbar Malik's, a Lahore-based businessman who owns
several garment shops and who was shrewdly scouting the stall to pick up a few
ideas for his own ventures. "The Indian stall is clearly superior," he said,
assessing the wares with the practiced eye of the expert, "it features the most
variety as well as number of designs." He was right; the garments weren't as
sensually gorgeous as at the Tharparker or Baloch stalls, but they were tailored
for modern life and covered a range that included block printing, appliqué work,
crochet work, tie and dye, as well as beadwork and embroidery.
A look into the organization's strategy gives some insight on exactly how to
help these invisible women. SEWA provides women workers with a wide range of
capacity building services like training and skills development; it also offers
them an impressive range of support services that cover savings, credit, health
and child care. All this contributes to financial security, giving women the
peace of mind and resources to turn out a higher quality of product, as well as
the independence and self-reliance to launch their own businesses. SEWA has also
extensively involved itself in the problem of distribution; it holds yearly
distributions in all of India's major cities as well as abroad. It gives its
extensive customer base regular access to the goods through an on-line catalogue
of home furnishings, accessories and clothing. The idea is simply this; lack of
development should not prevent self employed women from the informal sector
gaining employment and livelihood.
Skill, practical know-how and modern marketing techniques are definitely
important, but compassion-a willingness to see the women-is at least half of the
battle for making invisible women artisans visible. Aurat Foundation's
initiative in organizing the fair provided an exciting opportunity towards
achieving all that; the first truly pan-Asian event on this issue, it gave the
NGOs and women artisans a forum to gain recognition and learn from each other.
One of the most exciting things about the fair was seeing women artisans visit
each other's booths and catching onto new skills and techniques. "First, I used
to make goods only according to my own tastes," said an artisan, "now I'm
beginning to understand what customers look for." But the fair also showed us
how far we have to go in setting up supply and distribution networks that will
give just due to the talent of these women.
For Pakistan's urban consumers and those in the world audience who are willing
to see and understand, it opened a powerful flood-gate of stories; the struggles
of women born in the lethal triangle of gender oppression, rural backwardness,
and economic marginalization. It showed us exactly what goes into a stitch on a
kurta or a bead on a purse: the skill, aesthetic sense and imagination of a
woman trying to carve out survival in desperate circumstances. We are certainly
willing to see these women when social work organizations marshal their
resources to bring them into mainstream bazaars and arcades. The next challenge
is to move beyond our complacent appreciation of the exotic, and include these
women in an active, vital way. Appreciation should be a prelude to the awakening
of a social consciousness that will lead us toward solutions.
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Zainab Cheema, 22, recently graduated from Johns Hopkins University in Political
Science and spent six months in Pakistan, working for an NGO on women's rights
called Aurat Foundation. She can be reached at zainab_tariq_cheema@hotmail