Читать книгу Free The Children - Craig Kielburger - Страница 8

PROLOGUE

The room broke into thunderous applause as he climbed onto the stool behind the podium. He was a mere four feet two inches tall, but his presence filled the room.

His name was Iqbal Masih, a freed child labourer, a champion fighter for the freedom of his peers, and he had come to the United States from Pakistan to receive the Reebok Youth in Action Award in recognition of his courage in exposing the horrors of child labour.

As Iqbal turned to the microphone, young children craned their necks to see him more clearly. His small frame made him look no older than some of them. For many in the audience, it was hard to imagine him as a powerful activist for human rights.

The story Iqbal told was not unlike that of many children in South Asia, sold into bondage as a result of loans taken out by poor families. Iqbal’s parents, to pay for the wedding of their eldest son, had borrowed six hundred rupees (about $12 US) from the owner of a carpet factory, a rich and influential man in the community. In exchange, Iqbal, said to be only four years old at the time, was forced to join several other child weavers squatting before looms in the owner’s factory, tying tiny knots to make the carpets of elaborate design that sell for high prices in markets around the world. Until his family’s loan, called a peshgi, was paid off, Iqbal would belong to the factory owner. The man had not only the right to Iqbal’s labour, but also, if he wished, the right to sell him to any other factory owner.

Iqbal’s days were long. He worked from early morning until seven at night, twelve hours a day, six days a week.

He learned quickly not to bring on the wrath of the factory owner. If he made mistakes, fines were added to the sum owed by his parents. He worked with the threat of getting a beating, or having his legs tied together and being hung upside down in a back room. Many of the children had scars on their hands and feet where they had been whipped or struck with sticks or sharp metal tools for falling asleep at the loom. Often, too, they cut themselves accidentally with the carpet knives, especially when first learning the trade. The foremen would dip the wounds into hot oil to stop the bleeding, or fill the cuts with matchstick powder and set them alight so the skin and blood would bond together quickly. Then the children would be sent back to work.

When Iqbal was ten years old, he realized he would never be able to pay off his family’s debt and, like many others in his village, would remain a slave forever. The debt had increased to thirteen thousand rupees from the fines for his mistakes and the charges for the bowl of rice he ate each day.

With the help of a human rights organization, Iqbal was able to escape and go to school. Iqbal completed two grade levels that first year. He learned to read and write, and he became an uncompromising critic of child servitude, leading child workers in many marches to protest this exploitive practice. He developed into an eloquent and powerful speaker. He travelled to places very distant from his home.

In the spring of 1994, Iqbal spoke at a press conference in Stockholm, organized by the Swedish Industrial Union. “Now I am not scared of the factory owner,” Iqbal told the reporters. “He is scared of me!”

Later that year, he arrived in Boston to receive the Reebok Youth in Action Award.

Holding a pencil in one hand and a carpet tool in the other, Iqbal stood before the audience. And in his small but commanding voice, he spoke of the horrors of child labour. The room was intensely silent.

“We have a slogan at school,” Iqbal said. “When children get free, we all together say, ‘We are free! We are free!’”

By this time the audience had risen to its feet.

“We are . . .” came his voice, filling the room.

“Free!” shouted the crowd.

“We are . . .” Iqbal called again.

“Free!” bellowed the well-dressed men and women, and their well-fed young children.

Iqbal’s dream was to become a lawyer and help more children in his country to gain their freedom. Inspired by his courage, Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts, offered him a full scholarship for when he finished his schooling in Pakistan. A representative from Reebok set up an appointment with an American doctor to provide Iqbal with a year’s supply of hormones to improve his stunted growth. His future looked bright. And millions of child labourers now had a spokesperson.

But on Easter Sunday, April 16, 1995, four months after Iqbal’s trip to the United States, tragedy struck. Iqbal had taken the bus from Lahore to visit his family in Muridke. He spent most of the day with his mother, his half-brother, and his younger sister. He proudly showed them his report card from school. Then at seven o’clock that evening, he left by bus to return to Lahore. Two cousins of his boarded the bus at the same time to return to their own home a short distance from Muridke.

When the cousins got off the bus, Iqbal decided to go with them to visit his uncle, whom he hadn’t seen in some time. When the boys reached the uncle’s home, they discovered he was working in the fields. They headed off by bicycle in search of him. All three rode on the same bicycle, one on the carrier in the back, another pedalling, Iqbal sitting on the front handlebars.

On the deserted stretch of land leading to the fields, there was a rough, seldom-travelled road. From out of the dark came a blast from a twelve-bore, double-barrelled shotgun. One of his cousins was struck in the arm. Iqbal fell dead.

The next day, Iqbal’s body was placed on a funeral platform and carried through his village. A white headdress surrounded his face. A bright-red blanket covered his body. A large cross lay beside him, a symbol of his Christian faith. Death, in dreadful contrast to the jostling stream of people through the streets, had taken Iqbal. The voice of freedom from child labour was silenced.

One young girl, Shenaz, who had been forced into bonded labour in a brick kiln, looked on and declared, “The day Iqbal died, a thousand new Iqbals were born.”