By Anonymous
(cover image taken from here)
Feminism
ˈfɛmɪnɪz(ə)m/
noun
the advocacy of women’s rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes.
(dictionary.com)
By Bryan Chua (14A01A)
Photo credit: http://blogs.greekpod101.com/blog/2011/06/11/greek-word-of-the-day-short-adjective/
I hate taking the class photo. There, I said it. The annual ritual of gathering together as a class, with photographers and everything set up at a central location with the big screens and flash umbrellas to take a series of photos to be put in the yearbook (and on your bedroom wall, if you love your class that much).
The thing is, I don’t hate the awkward smiling, or being uncomfortable with who I’m standing next to in the photo, or having to look somewhat presentable for the camera or anything like that. No, what I’m really bothered about is this incredibly annoying ritual that revives an unnecessary obsession with height. No other time will you not only stand in a line in ascending order of height, but also stand back-to-back asking the question “Who’s taller?” On no other occasion do we find a reason to arrogantly stand with our backs as straight as possible, lift our heads up as high as we can just to say, “Ha! I’m taller than you.”
In fact, nobody ever tries to compete to be the shortest in the row. What does happen, instead, is that the second shortest guy turns to you and says, “I was actually really depressed (about being shorter), but then I realised you’re there,” followed by an apology even Karen from Mean Girls would know was completely insincere (in case you didn’t know, Karen’s the ‘dumb blonde’ in the film). Did you really mean to apologise for asserting your height over me? We all know this is a competition, and being taller than just one person is often enough to feel slightly better about ourselves.
We forget though, that there has to be someone who stands at the front of that line, and is shoved out to the unimportant edges of the photo by virtue of simply being shorter than everyone else. The one person who stands at the front of every row, can never sit in the back row just so he/she can see the board and is the target of every single short joke known to man. Oh, the humiliation.
Thing is, despite the constant barrage of reminders that I’m just simply shorter than everyone else, I don’t really care anymore. Why is it such a big deal, being shorter or taller? Does it really say anything about you? I’m reasonably certain this is just a thing to make ourselves feel better when we know that at least we’re better than someone else at something, even if it is just a matter of genetics and biology that grants us that.
But we cherish height, don’t we? It’s constantly about trying to grow taller, trying to gain that extra few centimetres of height and move into that bracket of “tall” to “taller”. Sure, there are benefits of being tall, like being able to reach that book you accidentally left on the top shelf while packing your room, or being able to see your teacher eye-to-eye to help reduce the trembling fear that strikes when you’re looking up at your Civics Tutor who’s telling you off for falling asleep in his class.
Being short is cool though. Someone on Thought Catalog wrote a piece on 20 reasons why “being short is the best”. Probably a massive overstatement, but there are at least some benefits to being short. For starters, it’s so much easier to slot in and out of crowded MRT stations, or fit on the train at peak hour since you take up (in general) so much less space – plus, it’s more comfortable, since you don’t have to crane your neck and contort your body just to fit in that little gap in the train. Also, it’s far easier to get a cheaper lunch when you smile widely and lie through your teeth when trying to convince a waiter you’re young enough for the child discount, when you’re really not. Fine, maybe that’s a little unethical – but that’s besides the point.
Sure, we’d all like to be taller because it not only gives us a sense of superiority over the next person, but perhaps also a representation of what we all are – just trying to be better than the next guy. We’ll jump at any chance we get to assert ourselves over the next person just to boost our own sense of self-worth, forgetting that really, sometimes it really doesn’t matter.
All that aside, that’s why I really hate this annual, laboured ritual of photo-taking, and having to line up in a row in order of height just to make the photo look symmetrical. I hate it, but I’ll still proudly take my place at the front of the line, while everyone battles with one another trying to measure that additional 0.1cm to warrant moving further down the line. It’s so much easier.
By Caleb Chiam (14S06O)
Back when Mrs Lim was still the Principal and I was a lanky boy of dubious athleticism (still am actually) in Secondary Two, there was an assembly talk Mrs Lim gave that I dwell on every now and then. I didn’t expect it to stick with me, given that my attention was divided between her (in retrospect, very wise) words and a particularly riveting Math worksheet of a topic I cannot quite recall.
No Shoes Day is just around the corner (Thursday, 17 April). An annual initiative by the Raffles Community Advocates, this event aims to raise awareness about the issue of poverty in developing nations. The act of taking off one’s shoes for a day has become a key feature of CA’s advocacy efforts, and will hopefully become a lasting tradition. However, we are aware that concerns have been raised about the usefulness of the project, and would like to take this opportunity to answer any questions or doubts that you may have.
A key concern raised in the recently posted article is that the influx of donated foreign-made shoes will destroy local cottage industries, causing local shoemakers to lose their jobs, resulting in the local community becoming over-dependent on foreign shoes. Based on our own research as well as discussions with our partner organization, the Tana River Life Foundation (TRLF), we are glad to share that the upcoming shoe donation drive will not threaten the livelihood of local communities.
Most importantly, the part of Africa the shoes are being sent to does not have a significant shoe-making industry. The shoes are going to the Tana River County, specifically the village of Isdowe. This village relies almost exclusively on agriculture, with the majority of villagers being farmers – it does not have a local cottage industry to make shoes. When villagers do buy shoes, the shoes are likely to come from larger manufacturing businesses located in larger cities in Kenya such as Mombasa and Nairobi. These manufacturing businesses, being much larger, are less threatened by donations of shoes. In particular, the limited number of shoes we donate every year (a few hundred) will not cripple local industries. Rather, the real problem is with large multi-national corporations, such as TOMS, which routinely and unscrupulously dump enormous numbers of shoes, along with a massive influx of cheap Chinese imports. This larger problem of Chinese imports will only be solved through economic policy, such as by the imposition of higher tariffs, or with World Trade Organization agreements. The number of shoes, as well as the breakdown of local industries, needs to be taken into context in examining this project; in particular, one needs to balance whether the shoes donated will do more harm or good. As elaborated upon below, the small number of shoes donated through the TRLF do significantly benefit local villagers.
Rather than simply introducing a free handout that encourages a dependency on foreign imports, the shoes serve to encourage entrepreneurship and create business in the local industry. The Mitumba project serves more as a microfinance scheme, providing capital for local entrepreneurs as well as providing the training and business skills they need to succeed. This is because, instead of just handing out the shoes, the shoes are sold to local villagers who pay $0.50 for each pair of shoes. They then receive entrepreneurship training, learning how to sell and market the shoes. The villagers, who then sell the shoes at $2.50 per pair, can then go on to use these skills to run businesses in the future. Without entrepreneurial skills, many local businesses in fact fail due to poor management. The TRLF views this as a way to help villagers in a sustainable way that respects their dignity and self-sufficiency. The payment for the shoes is treated much like a bank loan, which must be paid back; indeed, all beneficiaries last year had excellent credit discipline with no bad debts, and they submitted receipts to prove that the supplementary income was used to send their children to school. The 56 beneficiaries of the project were in fact women whose main profession is farming – without the skills provided them to run a business on the side, they would not have had enough additional money for education.
Moreover, the shoe donations to TRLF benefit the local community there in many long-term ways, going beyond the immediate donation of shoes. The Tana River Life Foundation has many other projects to benefit the local community, of which this project is only one. Out of the shoes donated, the shoes which are broken, old, or cannot be used, are first sold to the garang guni or sold in jumble sales in Singapore. Last year, sales made to the garang guni made S$1457, and the jumble sales raised S$5569. TRLF in fact places much more focus on this money raised as opposed to providing the villagers with shoes. Rather than this money simply being a handout, the Foundation invests this money in the local infrastructure, building schools, providing mobile libraries and improving classrooms, and rebuilding farms that were destroyed in floods. An example of how they improve local education would be by setting up the Delta Mustard Seed Academy, which educates 115 children of the Tana Delta river tribes. The entrepreneurship scheme is not only extended to the women who sell the shoes; training is also given to local youths to set up and run small businesses, learning trades such as mobile phone repairing. As the author of “Acta non verba” rightly pointed out, the correct way to help poor economies is through the introduction of capital, training, and infrastructure, which creates jobs and an independent economy. Most importantly, it gives the villagers dignity, and a way to break out of the cycle themselves.
No Shoes Day can indeed be seen as “slacktivism”, as it is true that taking off one’s shoes may just be a “feel good” gesture, that does not directly benefit the Kenyan locals. However, we hope that through this publicity gesture, we will generate greater meaningful debate about helping developing countries, and the ways in which one can help. Those participating can contribute by explaining the project and donating shoes. Hopefully, the participants will find it meaningful enough to be inspired to find more direct ways to help.
“What have I been taking for granted? What do I have to share?”
We hope that everyone who participates in No Shoes Day and in Heartware 2014 can better appreciate the little things we have around us.
We appreciate alternative viewpoints on this project, as well as on the wider event of Heartware 2014. Thank you for generating debate and giving us a chance to explain No Shoes Day, and we look forward to more discussion on the concerns raised. Excita acta probat: we hope that the outcomes of our work will speak for us.
For more information about the Mitumba Project please proceed to the following link: tinyurl.com/mitumbaproject14
Mr Gabriel Teo the founder of Tana River Life Foundation will be coming down to RI on Wednesday, 16th April 2014 (tomorrow) to give a talk about the foundation and what projects they are currently embarking on. Accompanying him will be three Kenyan youths. Please drop by LT6 (Block J) from 2.30-3.30pm if you are free!
By Anonymous Y6
One year ago, along with many of my fellow batch mates in the class of 2014, I went one day without shoes around campus, perceiving that we were doing something good for the world. While I didn’t actually donate any of my shoes to the donation drive, I thought that the entire project was a worthy and noble act that would save the unfortunate communities who had no access to good shoes.
One year later, I realised that I was sorely mistaken. What we were doing was not benefitting communities – it was potentially destroying them instead.
