The worst form of inequality is to try to make unequal things equal – Aristotle
As I ran down the narrow alley tiny drops of rain fell on my head. It was a grey lazy afternoon and my running shoes glowed bright orange against the dark wet concrete. The perfect weather for a jog, as the sun hid behind clouds and the wind stirred up leaves and plastic bags. They danced around each other in glee as I swiftly ran past their ballet. A cold cat wrapped in its tail peered curiously from a corner. I had no destination.
This was my neighborhood and I followed the bike trails I took as a child. The area was desert decades ago but was now a concrete jungle. My breath was even and legs still solid, so I decided to go farther than usual and explore what was behind the construction site.
As I neared the end of the new street, I noticed an old Bahraini man driving a beat-up pick-up. We call them “waneit”, a vestigial term from our colonial ancestry where the British coined them “one-eight” due to their 1.8-litre engines. He had a white cloth falling around his head without the traditional ghitra, which indicated a local farmer. He stopped and got out to inspect the large garbage bin on the corner. He was skinny and his grimy thobe was wrinkled and had dirty hand prints all over it. Seems like this man had a long week. I was curious and decided to say hello.
His whole face smiled at me as the wrinkles of a millennium came together. His eyes were white from cataracts, and his few remaining teeth yellow. I respectfully asked: “What are you looking for uncle”?
As I neared the bed of his pick-up it was full of used cardboard boxes. He explained that he was looking for any cardboard, and he could sell them between 35-40 fils per kilo. A quick number crunch meant 100kgs would fetch BD4. Not even enough to cover his petrol costs. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I wanted to help.
As I tried explaining where I lived, I realised he was slower (and older) than he looked. It was pointless, so I helped him dig out a few cruddy boxes then jogged back home.
Parliament recently passed a bill forcing any company owned by the government (over 50 per cent) to exclusively employ Bahrainis. There is a strong public fury towards expats and foreign investors taking over Bahrain’s jobs and wealth. Many locals are unemployed and scrounging for anything to make ends meet. My encounter was a shocking reminder of that. To try and untangle this socio-economic thread in a small column would be futile, but I must point out that every economy is based on supply and demand. There is a demand for skilled cheap labour that locals cannot compete with.
Until the 1960s (our petro-explosion) Bahrainis were handling every job from construction to engineering, but globalisation and a lack of labour (small local population) changed everything too fast. We now have an oversupply of cheap labour (construction, education, medicine, architecture, hospitality, corporate etc.) and not enough jobs or economic power to employ locals. Relying on cheap labour to make higher profits became cultural.
I don’t believe that parliamentary legislation tackles the root of this catastrophe. Education, training, internship, and gradual integration (and replacement) of foreign workers into the economy is the way forward. The cold economic engine must be satisfied before our emotional legal enforcement (Bahrainisation quotas etc.) can get any traction. Only with a rational minimum wage imposed upon all can this integration be successful. The top 1pc will have to make less profit and pay better wages. That is how we can help the (tens of thousands of) struggling Bahraini families and ensure everyone has an honourable living.
We need to spread the wealth.