Jeg har arbejdet med problemstillinger med fattigdom i over 20 år, og derfor er det ironisk, at problemet og spørgsmålet, som jeg kæmper mest med, er, hvordan man egentlig definerer fattigdom. Hvad betyder det? Altså ofte ser vi på pengetermer -- mennesker, der tjener mindre end en dollar eller to eller tre om dagen. Og alligevel gør fattigdoms kompleksitet, at man er nødt til at se på indkomst som kun én variabel. For i virkeligheden er det en tilstand om valg og manglen på frihed.
I've been working on issues of poverty for more than 20 years, and so it's ironic that the problem that and question that I most grapple with is how you actually define poverty. What does it mean? So often, we look at dollar terms -- people making less than a dollar or two or three a day. And yet the complexity of poverty really has to look at income as only one variable. Because really, it's a condition about choice, and the lack of freedom.
Og jeg havde en oplevelse, der virkelig gjorde den dybere og tydeligere for mig, forståelsen, som jeg har. Den tog sted i Kenya, og jeg vil gerne dele den med jer. Jeg var med min ven Susan Meiselas, fotografen, i Mathare Valleys slum. Nå, Mathare Valley er en af de ældste slumkvarterer i Afrika. Den er omkring fem kilometer uden for Nairobi, og den er halvanden kilometer lang og omkring 300 meter bred, hvor over en halv million mennesker bor stuvet sammen i disse små tinskure, generation efter generation, lejer dem, ofte otte eller 10 mennesker i et rum. Og den er kendt for prostitution, vold, stoffer: et hårdt sted af vokse op. Og da vi gik gennem de smalle alléer, det var bogstaveligt talt umuligt ikke at træde i det rå spildevand og skraldet langs de små hjem. Men på samme tid var det også umuligt ikke at se den menneskelige livskraft, aspirationen og ambitionen af menneskerne, der bor der: kvinder, der vasker deres babyer, vasker deres tøj, hænger dem ud til tørre. Jeg mødte denne kvinde, Mama Rose, der har lejet det lille tinskur i 32 år, hvor hun bor med sine syv børn. Fire sover i én dobbeltseng, og tre sover på mudderet og linoleumsgulvet. Og hun holder dem alle i skole ved at sælge vand fra den kiosk og ved at sælge sæbe og brød fra den lille butik indenfor.
And I had an experience that really deepened and elucidated for me the understanding that I have. It was in Kenya, and I want to share it with you. I was with my friend Susan Meiselas, the photographer, in the Mathare Valley slums. Now, Mathare Valley is one of the oldest slums in Africa. It's about three miles out of Nairobi, and it's a mile long and about two-tenths of a mile wide, where over half a million people live crammed in these little tin shacks, generation after generation, renting them, often eight or 10 people to a room. And it's known for prostitution, violence, drugs: a hard place to grow up. And when we were walking through the narrow alleys, it was literally impossible not to step in the raw sewage and the garbage alongside the little homes. But at the same time it was also impossible not to see the human vitality, the aspiration and the ambition of the people who live there: women washing their babies, washing their clothes, hanging them out to dry. I met this woman, Mama Rose, who has rented that little tin shack for 32 years, where she lives with her seven children. Four sleep in one twin bed, and three sleep on the mud and linoleum floor. And she keeps them all in school by selling water from that kiosk, and from selling soap and bread from the little store inside.
Det var også dagen efter tiltrædelsen, og jeg blev mindet om, hvordan Mathare stadig er forbundet til kloden. Og jeg så børn på gadehjørnerne, og de sagde "Obama, han er vores bror!" Og jeg sagde "Jamen, Obama er min bror, så det gør også dig til min bror." Og de så forvirrede ud før de ville være sådan "High five!"
It was also the day after the inauguration, and I was reminded how Mathare is still connected to the globe. And I would see kids on the street corners, and they'd say "Obama, he's our brother!" And I'd say "Well, Obama's my brother, so that makes you my brother too." And they would look quizzically, and then be like, "High five!"
Og det var der, jeg mødte Jane. Jeg blev straks slået af venligheden og mildheden i hendes ansigt, og jeg bad hende fortælle mig sin historie. Hun startede med at fortælle mig om sin drøm. Hun sagde, "Jeg havde to. Min første drøm var at blive læge, og den anden var at gifte mig med en god mand, der ville blive hos mig og min familie, for min mor var alenemor og kunne ikke betale for skoletakster. Så jeg var nødt til at opgive den første drøm, og jeg fokuserede på den anden." Hun blev gift, da hun var 18, fik et barn med det samme. Og da hun blev 20, var hun gravid med et andet barn, hendes mor døde og hendes mand forlod hende -- giftede sig med en anden kvinde. Så hun var igen i Mathare med ingen indkomst, ingen kundskaber, ingen penge. Og derfor blev hun til sidst prostitueret. Det var ikke organiseret på den måde, vi ofte tænker på det. Hun gik ind i byen om natten med omkring 20 piger, lede efter arbejde og nogle gange komme tilbage med et par skillinger eller nogle gange med intet. Og hun sagde, "Altså, fattigdommen var ikke så slem. Det var ydmygelsen og pinligheden ved det hele."
And it was here that I met Jane. I was struck immediately by the kindness and the gentleness in her face, and I asked her to tell me her story. She started off by telling me her dream. She said, "I had two. My first dream was to be a doctor, and the second was to marry a good man who would stay with me and my family, because my mother was a single mom, and couldn't afford to pay for school fees. So I had to give up the first dream, and I focused on the second." She got married when she was 18, had a baby right away. And when she turned 20, found herself pregnant with a second child, her mom died and her husband left her -- married another woman. So she was again in Mathare, with no income, no skill set, no money. And so she ultimately turned to prostitution. It wasn't organized in the way we often think of it. She would go into the city at night with about 20 girls, look for work, and sometimes come back with a few shillings, or sometimes with nothing. And she said, "You know, the poverty wasn't so bad. It was the humiliation and the embarrassment of it all."
I 2001 forandredes hendes liv. Hun havde en veninde, der havde hørt om denne organisation, Jamii Bora, der ville låne penge til folk uanset, hvor fattig man var, så længe man havde et lignende beløb i opsparinger. Og derfor brugte hun et år på at spare 50 dollars op og begyndte at låne, og med tiden blev hun i stand til at købe en symaskine. Hun begyndte at skræddersy. Og det blev til det, hun laver nu, hvilket er at gå ind i genbrugstøjmarkederne, og for omkring tre dollars og 25 cents køber hun en gammel balkjole. Nogle af dem kunne være dem, I gav. Og hun fornyr dem med flæser og bånd og laver disse luftige pyntesager, som hun sælger til kvinder til deres døtres 16 års fødselsdag eller første nadver -- disse milepæle i livet, som folk gerne vil fejre over hele det økonomiske spektrum. Og hun klarer sig virkelig godt. Faktisk så jeg hende falbydende gå gennem gaderne. Og før man vidste af det, var der en flok af kvinder omkring hende, der købte disse kjoler.
In 2001, her life changed. She had a girlfriend who had heard about this organization, Jamii Bora, that would lend money to people no matter how poor you were, as long as you provided a commensurate amount in savings. And so she spent a year to save 50 dollars, and started borrowing, and over time she was able to buy a sewing machine. She started tailoring. And that turned into what she does now, which is to go into the secondhand clothing markets, and for about three dollars and 25 cents she buys an old ball gown. Some of them might be ones you gave. And she repurposes them with frills and ribbons, and makes these frothy confections that she sells to women for their daughter's Sweet 16 or first Holy Communion -- those milestones in a life that people want to celebrate all along the economic spectrum. And she does really good business. In fact, I watched her walk through the streets hawking. And before you knew it, there was a crowd of women around her, buying these dresses.
Og jeg reflekterede, da jeg så hendes sælge kjolerne og også smykkerne, som hun laver, at nu tjener Jane mere end fire dollars om dagen. Og efter mange definitioner er hun ikke længere fattig. Men hun bor stadig i Mathare Valley. Og derfor kan hun ikke flytte ud. Hun bor med al den usikkerhed, og faktisk i januar under de etniske opstande blev hun jaget fra sit hjem og var nødt til at finde et nyt skur, hvori hun kunne bo.
And I reflected, as I was watching her sell the dresses, and also the jewelry that she makes, that now Jane makes more than four dollars a day. And by many definitions she is no longer poor. But she still lives in Mathare Valley. And so she can't move out. She lives with all of that insecurity, and in fact, in January, during the ethnic riots, she was chased from her home and had to find a new shack in which she would live.
Jamii Bora forstår det og forstår, at når man taler om fattigdom, er man nødt til at se på folk over hele det økonomiske spektrum. Og derfor med tålmodig kapital fra Acumen og andre organisationer, lån og investeringer, der vil gå den lange vej med dem, byggede de et billigt boligområde omkring en time uden for midten af Nairobi. Og de designede det fra perspektivet af kunder som Jane selv, der insisterer på ansvar og regnskabspligt. Så hun skal give 10 procent af panten -- af den totale værdi, eller omkring 400 dollars i opsparinger. Og så matcher de hendes pant med det, hun betalte i leje for hendes lille skur. Og i de næste par uger bliver hun blandt de første 200 familier, der flytter ind i dette boligområde.
Jamii Bora understands that and understands that when we're talking about poverty, we've got to look at people all along the economic spectrum. And so with patient capital from Acumen and other organizations, loans and investments that will go the long term with them, they built a low-cost housing development, about an hour outside Nairobi central. And they designed it from the perspective of customers like Jane herself, insisting on responsibility and accountability. So she has to give 10 percent of the mortgage -- of the total value, or about 400 dollars in savings. And then they match her mortgage to what she paid in rent for her little shanty. And in the next couple of weeks, she's going to be among the first 200 families to move into this development.
Da jeg spurgte hende, om hun frygtede noget, eller om hun ville savne noget fra Mathare, sagde hun, "Hvad skulle jeg frygte, som jeg ikke allerede har mødt? Jeg er HIV positiv. Jeg har prøvet det hele." Og hun sagde, "Hvad skulle jeg savne? Tror du, jeg vil savne volden eller stofferne? Manglen på privatliv? Tror du, jeg vil savne ikke at vide, om mine børn kommer hjem, når dagen er slut?" Hun sagde, "Hvis du gav mig 10 minutter ville mine tasker være pakkede." Jeg sagde, "Jamen hvad med dine drømme?" Og hun sagde, "Jamen, du ved, mine drømme ser ikke nøjagtigt ud, som jeg troede de ville, da jeg var en lille pige. Men hvis jeg tænker over det, troede jeg, jeg ville have en mand, men det, jeg virkelig ville have, var en familie, der var kærlig. Og jeg elsker virkelig mine børn, og de elsker mig." Hun sagde, "Jeg troede, at jeg ville være læge, men det, jeg virkelig ville være, var nogen, der tjente og helede og kurerede. Og derfor føler jeg mig så velsignet med alt, jeg har, at to dage om ugen går jeg, og jeg rådgiver HIV patienter. Og jeg siger, 'Se på mig. Du er ikke død. Du er stadig i live. Og hvis du stadig er i live, skal du tjene.'" Og hun sagde, "Jeg er ikke en læge, der giver piller. Men måske mig, jeg giver noget bedre, for jeg giver dem håb."
When I asked her if she feared anything, or whether she would miss anything from Mathare, she said, "What would I fear that I haven't confronted already? I'm HIV positive. I've dealt with it all." And she said, "What would I miss? You think I will miss the violence or the drugs? The lack of privacy? Do you think I'll miss not knowing if my children are going to come home at the end of the day?" She said "If you gave me 10 minutes my bags would be packed." I said, "Well what about your dreams?" And she said, "Well, you know, my dreams don't look exactly like I thought they would when I was a little girl. But if I think about it, I thought I wanted a husband, but what I really wanted was a family that was loving. And I fiercely love my children, and they love me back." She said, "I thought that I wanted to be a doctor, but what I really wanted to be was somebody who served and healed and cured. And so I feel so blessed with everything that I have, that two days a week I go and I counsel HIV patients. And I say, 'Look at me. You are not dead. You are still alive. And if you are still alive you have to serve.'" And she said, "I'm not a doctor who gives out pills. But maybe me, I give out something better because I give them hope."
Og i midten af denne økonomiske krise, hvor så mange af os er tilbøjelige til at trække tilbage i frygt, tror jeg vi kunne have godt af at tage et vink fra Jane og række ud, erkende, at det at være fattig ikke betyder være ordinær. For når systemer er i stykker, som dem, vi ser rundt omkring i verden, er det en mulighed for opfindsomhed og for fornyelse. Det er en mulighed for virkelig at bygge en verden, hvor vi kan række ydelser og produkter ud til alle mennesker, så de kan foretage beslutninger og valg selv. Jeg tror virkelig, det er der, værdighed begynder. Vi skylder det til Jane'erne i hele verden. Og lige så vigtigt, vi skylder det til os selv.
And in the middle of this economic crisis, where so many of us are inclined to pull in with fear, I think we're well suited to take a cue from Jane and reach out, recognizing that being poor doesn't mean being ordinary. Because when systems are broken, like the ones that we're seeing around the world, it's an opportunity for invention and for innovation. It's an opportunity to truly build a world where we can extend services and products to all human beings, so that they can make decisions and choices for themselves. I truly believe it's where dignity starts. We owe it to the Janes of the world. And just as important, we owe it to ourselves.
Tak.
Thank you.
(Bifald)
(Applause)