No Relief?

At Kutupalong filling station, near Kutupalong Bazar, a tuktuk was on double duty. It had stopped for a refill and its riders took this stopover as an opening — giving money to Rohingya refugees. The scene was one of bestowal, but instead of titles or wealth, sporadic notes changed hands, eventually reaching those lucky enough to catch one. The act was as much a contained kind of theatricality as it was special dispensation. It was unclear whether the distribution was planned or spontaneous. If unplanned it was unclear how people got wind of the cash distribution and at any rate, the entire thing lasted around 20 minutes, after which the tuktuk sped away with a number of people trailing behind. 
All along the Kutupalong stretch of N1 highway convoys lined up with aid for Rohingya refugees. Relief vehicles adorned prominently with banners and signs announced their organisational affiliations; these were proud displays of assistance. So we knew where they came from — NGOs, donor agencies, charities, schools, societies and samities, political parties — though we couldn’t immediately see the fruits they were bearing for the distressed. Truckloads of relief would be unpacked when they reached their destinations, but until then they remained wrapped with logos. The desire to do something as always entangled with the need to be seen doing something. 
The trucks headed for refugee camps in Ukhia and vicinity where camps were still being set up in addition to already existing ones. Along N1, smaller settlements or even one-off shelters made for refugee homes. They will certainly be temporary as dreadful plans are already underway to corral refugees in one place with limited mobility, but at that point home was wherever you could set up a slice with makeshift coverings. Naturally then relief operations ranged from institutional to sporadic in a continuously unfolding situation. 
Well-heeled aid and charity organisations, some already present in Cox’s Bazar, others responding to sudden and unexpected arrivals beginning in August, have proceeded as relief organisations do. They set up medical camps and community kitchens, supplied clean water tanks and dug tube wells, contributed food and shelter materials, all of which kept falling short (even by their own admission) of actual need. Others, among their ranks, philanthropic organisations or individuals, political affiliates, any other organisation with funds raised for Rohingyas (I saw signs of REHAB, district sports organisations, schools to name a few) staked another kind of space for aid distribution at the camps, on and around N1, that is, according to their relative clout in the political landscape. On empty grounds by N1, pandals went up daily in quick succession; on the day of my visit, Kutupalong lay in wait for the minister of road transport and bridges Obaidul Quader and former dictator H M Ershad. Many others without similar resources and advance planning just parked their vehicles by the road and began aid distribution. Still others, not quite sure how it all worked or not feeling up to the task handed over their relief materials to seasoned aid organisations for distribution. 
Things are in short supply, but words hang in the air and travel fast; certainly that’s how a small crowd gathered at Kutupalong filling station. For the refugees, waiting could be endless. Waiting for things to get better. Waiting in lines for food or medicine, to use the bathroom or to shower, to run to or patiently wait for the next delivery which could just be a bottle of water, a pack of biscuits or worn clothes that don’t fit. 
Despite recent worldwide attention, refugee conditions are desperate. That more support is needed is unquestionable, but it also raises questions surrounding aid distribution. Consider, for example, flinging bread or biscuits from a truck to a mass of supplicants, their arms raised, heads skyward, as if they are waiting for divine blessing, not knowing who among them would be lucky enough to snag an offering. Then there are cash giveaways. Conventional wisdom suggests providing services and infrastructure is better than just giving away money, but conventional wisdom also reflects entrenched prejudices. In this case, the belief that the poor and distressed aren’t to be trusted with money, or that they don’t know what’s best for them. These classed assumptions run deep. If they have money or evidence of money spent on inessential items, then they must not deserve services and infrastructure support, otherwise cash giveaways must be revoked. Having it both ways is inexcusable for the poor.
There is a difference between responses from humanitarian organisations and spontaneous charity drives, but each with a drive to do good also reproduce certain tendentious logic of humanitarian assistance. One of which is optics. Help isn’t enough when accountability, transparency, and evidence demand more. Where does the money go is a reasonable question to ask and this is how we spend it (with evidence) is a sensible way to satisfy that question. But then evidence is an inescapable barrage of ‘courtesy of’ materials and services. They are constant reminders that help has been given — tents from the UN Refugee Agency, buckets from IOM, rice from Australian Aid and WFP, schools thanks to UNICEF. Each meticulously branded, stamped, recorded as testaments. If anything, they reveal how miniscule that help is. In each of the camps I visited — Balukhali, Kutupalong makeshift, Thaingkhali — UN Refugee shelters or IOM buckets or WFP rice stood out as exceptions, almost insignificant. 
Perhaps the amount of aid could never be enough in an increasingly insurmountable situation and perhaps we could look at the overwhelming response and conclude people are trying to help. But that help is both an acknowledgement of need and an attempt to showcase acts of help themselves. Every branded item, every banner, sign, photo opportunity, press release, facebook post collapses the distance between generosity and self-congratulation. Every act of well-meaning record, such as cooking utensils stamped with donor information or a photo of a rice bag detailing the gift’s provenance, complicates the lines between entitlement and gratitude. Refugees are entitled to support, but when that support manages to sneak in an imperative to be grateful? To be reminded that the plate you’re eating from is courtesy of so and so organisation, government, or charity? 
If gratitude demands meekness, generosity prompts callousness. At the Balukhali Gonoshasthyo medical camp, several boxes of donated medicine were found to be near expiration (Third party donations made to Gonoshasthyo, not Gonoshasthyo’s own supplies). Swirling complaints about donated clothes (mainly through local charity drives) as worn, torn, and unwearable were met with remarks that refugees were ungrateful. ‘Look at all the clothes they’ve thrown away’ was a common refrain while pointing to discarded garments all around camps and N1. 
There is of course another far more dubious side to relief as optics. When India sends aid for Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh, can there be a more cynical deflection? With officially sanctioned abuse of Rohingyas in India, often tacit and sometimes direct support of Myanmar’s genocidal campaign, Indian relief operates as merely decorative, a public relations ploy to not exactly cover but to tamper the narrative of refugee maltreatment with stories of generosity. In twists of geopolitics and a twisted world order, countries expected and resourced to send aid, are also countries inhospitable to refugees. Australia sends rice; Australia also detains, tortures, and condemns asylum seekers to degrading treatment at the now-infamous Manus Island facility. The detention facility will soon close, but not because of Australia’s sudden awakening, but because of severe criticism. Its refugee policy will remain almost unchanged. India wants Rohingyas out, India also wants Rohingyas out of Myanmar, Australia enforces one of the most draconian refugee policies in the world, and as much as we should expect international support and these countries to provide aid, that international order is at the core of much of our problems. It’s not an overstatement to say that international order thrives on an ideal like this: Aid can go to unwanted people, somewhere else, but the unwanted can’t come to us, be among us, live with us. 
A world that can declare people unwanted at will, enclose or expel them to service unhinged cruelties of borders, subject them to surveillance and violence, will continue these unmitigated disasters, and it is this world that’s unwanted. 
Relief is dignity. Relief is material and political. Relief is freedom from the strangleholds of a bordered world. 
[Author’s note: There are many reasons why aid isn’t sufficient. Donor driven activities frequently fall short of targets. The scale and speed of the problem made it difficult to respond adequately or on time. There are times when host governments would dictate or restrict aid activity. There are fair criticisms of bureaucracy of aid agencies themselves as well their high operational budgets.]

News Courtesy: www.newagebd.net