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.
Radim na problemima siromaštva više od 20 godina, i ironično je da su i problem i pitanje sa kojim se najviše borim upravo definisanje pojma siromaštva. Šta to znači? Vrlo često na to gledamo kroz novac - ljudi koji zarađuju manje od jednog, dva ili tri dolara na dan. Ipak, složenost siromaštva kaže da je zarada samo jedan aspekt. Jer zapravo, to je uslov za mogućnost izbora i nedostatak slobode.
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.
I imala sam iskustvo koje je zaista produbilo i razjasnilo moje postojeće razumevanje. Bilo je to u Keniji i želim to da podelim sa vama. Bila sam sa svojom prijateljicom Suzan Majzelas, fotografkinjom, u siromašnoj četvrti Matari Veli. Sada, Matari Veli je jedna od najstarijih siromašnih četvrti u Africi. Udaljena je oko 5 kilometara od Najrobija, i duga je oko jednog i po kilometra, a široka oko dvesta metara, gde više od pola miliona ljudi živi nagurano u ovim malim straćarama od kalaja, iz generacije u generaciju, iznajmljujući ih, često osam do 10 ljudi u jednoj sobi. I poznata je po prostituciji, nasilju, drogama. Teško mesto za odrastanje. I dok smo šetali kroz uske ulice, bukvalno je bilo nemoguće ne zagaziti u sirovu kanalizaciju i đubre pored malih domova. Ali u isto vreme, bilo je nemoguće ne videti ljudsku vitalnost, aspiraciju i ambiciju ljudi koji tamo žive. Žene kupaju svoju decu, peru odeću, kače ih da se suše. Upoznala sam tu ženu, Mamu Rouz, koja iznajmljuje tu malenu straćaru već 32 godine, u kojoj živi sa svoje sedmoro dece. Četvoro spava u bračnom krevetu, a troje spava na podu od blata i linoleuma. A ona ih sve održava u školi prodajući vodu sa tog kioska, i prodajući sapun i hleb u toj malenoj prodavnici unutra.
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!"
Bio je to takođe dan posle inaguracije, i podsetila sam se kako je Matari i dalje povezan sa svetom. I videla bih decu po ćoškovima ulica, a ona bi rekla, " Obama, on je naš brat!" Odgovorila bih, "Pa, Obama je moj brat, što vas takođe čini mojom braćom." Upitno bi me pogledali, ali bi onda rekli, "Baci kosku!"
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 tu sam upoznala Džejn. Odmah sam bila pogođena dobrotom i nežnošću na njenom licu, i zamolila sam je da mi ispriča svoju priču. Počela je sa svojim snom. Rekla je, "Imala sam dva. Prvi san je bio da postanem lekar a drugi da se udam za dobrog čoveka koji će ostati sa mnom i mojom porodicom. Jer je moja majka bila samohrana, i nije mogla da priušti školovanje. Tako da sam morala da se odreknem prvog sna i fokusirala sam se na drugi." Udala se sa 18, odmah rodila bebu. I kada je napunila 20, čekala je drugo dete, njena majka je umrla, a muž je ostavio - oženio se drugom ženom. Dakle, pnovo se našla u Matariju, bez prihoda, veština, novca. Tako da je na kraju počela sa prostituisanjem. To nije bilo organizovano na način na koji često o tome mislimo. Otišla bi noću u grad sa oko 20 devojaka, u potrazi za poslom i ponekad se vraćala sa par šilinga, ili nekad ni sa tim. Rekla je, "Znaš, siromaštvo nije bilo toliko loše. Već poniženje i sramota svega toga."
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.
Tokom 2001. njen život se promenio. Imala je prijateljicu koja je čula za organizaciju "Džami Bora", koja je pozajmljivala novac ljudima, bez obzira na to koliko su bili siromašni, sve dok obezbede proporcionalnu sumu u obliku štednje. I tako je ona provela godinu dana pokušavajući da uštedi 50 dolara, i počela da pozajmljuje i tokom vremena uspela je da kupi mašinu za šivenje. Počela je da se bavi šivenjem. I to se pretvorilo u ono čime se danas bavi, a to je da odlazi u radnje sa robom iz druge ruke, i za otprilike tri dolara i 25 centi kupi staru balsku haljinu. Neke od njih mogu biti one koje ste vi poklonili. I onda im ona promeni svrhu, naborima i trakama, i pravi tu penušavu konfekciju koju prodaje ženama koje ih kupuju svojim ćerkama za 16. rođendan ili svetu pričest - one prekretnice u životu koje ljudi žele da slave širom ekonomskog spektra. I ona pravi stvarno dobar posao. Ustvari, posmatrala sam je kako šeta ulicama. I pre nego što shvatite, gomila žena bi se stvorila oko nje i kupovala bi ove haljine.
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.
I shvatila sam, dok sam posmatrala kako prodaje te haljine i nakit koji je napravila, da sada Džejn zarađuje više od četiri dolara na dan. I prema mnogim definicijama, ona više nije siromašna. Ali i dalje živi u Matari Veliju. I ne može da se odseli. Živi sa svom nesigurnošću, i ustvari, u januaru, tokom etničkih nemira, bila je isterana iz svog doma i morala je da nađe novu straćaru u kojoj bi živela.
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.
Jami Bora to razume. I razume da kada govorimo o siromaštvu, moramo da gledamo ljude iz celokupnog ekonomskog spektra. I tako, sa strpljivim kapitalom Akumena i drugih organizacija, pozajmicama i ulaganjima na duži rok, izgradili su jeftino socijalno naselje, oko sat vremena udaljeno od centralnog Najrobija. I dizajnirali su ga iz perspektive korisnika poput Džejn, insistirajući na odgovornosti. Tako da ona mora da da 10 posto od svoje hipoteke - od ukupne vrednosti ili oko 400 dolara ušteđevine. I onda porede njenu hipoteku sa onim što je platila iznajmljujući svoju malu straćaru. I u sledećih nekoliko nedelja biće među prvih 200 porodica koje će se useliti u ovo naselje.
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."
Kada sam je upitala da li se nečega boji, ili da li će joj nešto iz Matarija nedostajati, rekla je, "Čega da se bojim, a da se sa tim nisam već susrela? Ja sam HIV pozitivna. Izborila sam se sa svim." I rekla je, "Šta da mi nedostaje? Misliš da će mi nedostajati nasilje ili droga? Nedostatak privatnosti? Misliš da će mi nedostajati činjenica da ne znam da li će se moja deca vratiti kući na kraju dana?" Rekla je, "Da mi daš 10 minuta moje torbe bi bile spakovane." Rekla sam, "Ali šta je sa tvojim snovima?" i odgovorila je, "Pa, znaš, moji snovi ne izgledaju tačno onako kako sam mislila kada sam bila mala. Ali ako razmišljam o tome, mislila sam da želim muža, ali ono što sam zapravo htela je porodica puna ljubavi. I strašno volim svoju decu i ona vole mene." Rekla je, "Mislila sam da želim da budem lekar, ali zapravo sam želela sa budem neko ko pomaže, leči i brine. I osećam se balgosloveno sa svim što imam, da dva puta nedeljno savetujem pacijente sa HIV-om. I kažem, "Pogledaj me. Nisi mrtav. Još uvek si živ. Ako si živ, moraš da služiš." I još je rekla, "Nisam lekar koji daje pilule. Ali možda ja dajem nešto mnogo bolje jer im dajem nadu."
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.
I usred ove ekonomske krize, gde su mnogi od nas skloni da se povuku u strahu, mislim da smo mi pogodni da poslušamo Džejnin savet i da krenemo, i prepoznamo da biti siromašan ne znači biti običan. Jer kada su sistemi slomljeni, poput onih koje viđamo širom sveta, to je mogućnost za izume i inovacije. To je prilika da istinski izgradimo svet gde možemo da proširimo usluge i proizvode na sve ljude, tako da oni mogu da donose odluke i da prave sopstvene izbore. Istinski verujem da tu počinje dostojanstvo. Dugujemo to svim Džejnama ovog sveta. I podjednako važno, dugujemo to nama samima.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(aplauz)