Human Page #6

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and they're in the cities

building our swimming pools.

The sheer humiliation of it,

the sheer injustice of it!

I think

the fastest growing sector in India

is not software or IT.

It is inequality.

So, yeah, it makes me furious.

It is completely unacceptable to me

to see how closely

the affluence of the few

is tied to the misery of the many.

That's unacceptable.

World leaders,

help us have a decent life.

Otherwise we'll starve to death.

It's the fault of the government

and politicians

if we have nothing to wear,

nowhere to sleep,

and nothing to cook.

We're dying.

Who knows

if we'll still be alive tomorrow?

Who can say

if we'll have anything to eat?

My children are dying.

We have nowhere to live,

not even a roof or a plot of land.

I go from village to village

to plow other people's fields.

And all this for what?

One day, we eat,

the next, we have to starve.

But nobody listens to us.

The government doesn't care

about our problems.

They don't think

about us poor folk.

Only about themselves.

I left Pakistan

because of our living conditions.

It was especially clear to my wife

that my income could not provide

for health care and schooling.

She sacrificed herself for me,

for my family.

I sacrificed myself and my family too

by allowing myself

to emigrate so I could at least

give my children an education

and health care

and meet all their basic needs.

I'll never forget the day I left.

I was with a few friends.

My mother came out on the doorstep.

She was holding my son in her arms.

I was sitting in the car.

She put my son on my lap:

"Take a good look at him.

"Who knows

when you'll see him again?"

I'll never forget that scene.

I can still see my child

as if he were right in front of me.

I left Sudan because the regime

wouldn't leave us alone.

Entire families were killed.

Everyone figured

we were doomed.

The main thing was that I was saved.

God spared me.

I arrived in France.

Thanks to God,

at home, we were farmers.

And it was enough for us!

We had cattle.

We never lacked either money

or food.

Thanks to God, we lived well.

But the regime

would not leave us alone.

They raped my sisters in front of me.

When my wife arrived,

they flogged her.

They raped her in front of me.

How could I live

in that country?

When I was in the boat,

I was very scared,

because I saw absolutely nothing,

only the water.

And the boat also,

it's not a quality boat.

We are 110 people inside the boat,

nobody comfortable.

There was no food to eat,

no water to drink.

You are sitting in that fuel.

It destroyed all my body.

Things were hard for me.

So, when I see the Italians,

they come and rescue us,

I thank God.

I know that now I'm safe.

Europeans have their reasons

for limiting immigration.

We stay here, but there's no work.

There are entire families

in which no one works.

If you can't fish,

you have nothing to do.

Thousands of Africans

die at sea, going to Europe.

But it's worth it. I'm leaving again.

For Spain or Italy.

I've made up my mind.

It's in my blood to go.

I'll go by canoe.

I'll go, crying. I'll go, shouting.

Now I'm living

in the jungle of Calais.

The police come and disturb us:

"You have to leave the jungle."

I said:
"Where I have to go?

"Show me the place.

We want to go to that."

He said:
"You have to go back

to your country."

"Where is my country?

"I don't have a country, man!

"It's a killing ground,

"it's a ground of killing the people,

"it's a ground of fighting.

"It is not a country!

"Afghanistan is not a country now!

"It's a killing ground, man."

37 countries

came to control that country,

but they cannot control these people.

The UN cannot control these people!

How can you send me back

to that country?

I lost my family in that country.

How can I go back to that country?

I was a refugee in Pakistan,

a refugee in Iran,

a refugee in Dubai.

I was a refugee in Turkey,

a refugee in Bulgaria,

a refugee in a European country,

in Greece.

And now I'm a refugee in France.

But let me live, man.

I don't want anything from you.

I don't want eating from you.

I don't want anything from you.

I don't need help!

But let me live.

Dad, here I am in Italy.

I don't know how you are.

I don't know if you can see me,

but I'm in Italy.

I'll always worry about you,

you and the others,

all my brothers and sisters,

and all my friends over there.

If I make it here,

it'll be mainly for you.

I'll think about you

till my last breath.

I don't have the means yet,

so pray for me.

I greet you all!

I'm a Bangladeshi worker

in the garment industry.

I'm outraged

when a buyer comes to meet

the company owner

or the marketing team

to negotiate the price of his order.

And when other countries

slash prices,

our buyer will look

for the best deal.

He could just think:

"If Bangladesh supplies me

"with good quality garments,

"why not pay a fair price?"

But we've always been scorned.

By everyone.

Not just one person in particular.

It's the final consumer

who steals from me.

What can I do about it?

What can...

How will we be happy?

How?

Many things are forbidden

in the factory:

no talking,

no answering the phone.

To go to the bathroom,

we have to ask the supervisor

for permission,

and only one person at a time.

As for productivity,

he's very demanding.

There's an hourly quota to meet,

it's checked.

If the quota isn't met,

they blame you

and often insult you.

It's unbearable.

We're under constant pressure.

I feel exhausted.

I can't take any more,

but I have no other choice.

An honest worker isn't rich.

I'm talking about someone

who works in a company,

not the heir to the family business.

They just juggle

millions in a company.

Those folk don't work.

They sit at a desk

and sign bits of paper.

They're thieves just like me.

I'm sure of it.

If you're talking about workers,

they're people

who get up every morning

and who do real work.

I don't know any rich folk.

But take my mother,

she got up every morning,

and she's over 40 already.

She's not rich.

She's worked her whole life.

Losing my job was a huge shock.

Not finding another

was an even bigger shock.

You know, I worked for 27 years.

When I had to

go back to live with my mother,

I mainly felt

humiliation.

A feeling...

of devastation.

I sank into a deep depression.

More and more.

I said to myself:

"I'm 47 and my life is over?

"Have I nothing else to offer?

"Nothing more?"

And these thoughts

stop you going out and talking.

You look at yourself in the mirror

and say:
"Who are you, moron?

"What are you playing at?

"What are you doing in this life?

"Why are you breathing?

"Why do you see the sun?

"What makes you...

"any use in this mess you live in?

"Why, at 47,

"did you go back

to live at your mother's?

"Were you afraid

of being on the street?"

Yes, I'm scared

of being on the street.

And this humiliation turns into rage.

Rage,

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