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An outside view of Dubai

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An outside view of Dubai

Old 16th Apr 2009, 23:02
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Distorted views

if you live too long in the Middle East. How can you compare the UK or even Europe or the USA with this tiny town of Dubai. 380'000 homeless seems a bit high, but even if it is true it has nothing to do with the state sponsored and approved slave labor system that is used in the GCC. And yes I talked to laborers and maids and nobody had anything nice to say about Dubai. Beside the fact that there was a massive inflation, there was never a payraise and it is true that the laborers don't get paid. Daily news report in the Gulftimes about non-payments, disgusting living conditions, bad food, fires in labor camps, people sleeping on the roofs in downtown Doha because the camps are to filthy and hot. Maids getting raped and beaten daily, that is why certain countries do not allow their girls to work in the GCC anymore. Abuse is not the exception but the rule. The article was quite accurate about that.
One thing I always wondered. Why do these airlines here make no money? Labor is dirt cheap, a cleaner costs 500 Dhs, an engineer maybe 10000, the petrol is dirt cheap, cabin crew is cheap, the pilots get paid less than they would in Europe, administration also cheap Indian labor, no pension funds, bad insurance. Where does all this money go?
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Old 17th Apr 2009, 09:14
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Only thing that puzzles me, is why the local government doesn't do anything against it? Can't be that complex/expensive/etc...
2nd thing ofcourse is why some expats (???) would want to defend all this?

Maybe sanddune could post a picture of himself to rule out any confusion
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Old 17th Apr 2009, 10:59
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LLuke, you are behaving like a spoilt child, do you read your own posts?

I think the majority of contributers to this topic are in agreement that things in Dubai could be a lot better but as soon as anyone points out to you that similar things occur in every other country in the world you throw your toys out of the pram.

Have you ever lived in Dubai? I am curious to know why you have recently developed such an obviously unballanced opinion of the place. What you can`t seem to grasp is that the people from the subcontinents who find themselves in these positions have frequently been sold the dream, lied to and entrapped by their own nationals who have recruited them in their home countries. Don`t get me wrong , I am in no way defending the conditions or treatment when they get here, having helped a couple of them I have had to deal with the scumbag that employed them here on a first hand basis.

Maybe to you I am some sort of monster because I have a maid who turns up once a week to do my ironing and cleaning, but guess what, when I lived in the UK I had a guy who came around once a week and cleaned my windows for a few quid.

Ironically you are living in the Netherlands and Amsterdam is well known for many things although the two most famous are not its canal`s and bridges. Maybe you shouldn`t throw so many stones from your own back yard when you have so many glass windows and doorways of your own to shatter? Although I am sure that everything there is above board and none of the lady`s have been tricked into being there and they could all walk away from it at any time, right? Thank god you don`t have a drugs problem their either, right?

One of the attractions which brought me to Dubai was the opportunity to improve my own lifestyle and that is the very same reason that Indians, Chinese, Philipinos et al come here too. You may be surprised to know that the majority of them do just that and are happy to be here. I know one Philipina who works here earning 4500 DHS per month, considered a good wage for office work here, and owns a house and some land in Manila and a car in Dubai. These are things that she could never have acheived in the her home country. Dubai is making the headlines because it is Westerners that are leaving in their droves but in the Philipines 3000 people a day leave there to work overseas because of the problems in that country but that doesn`t make good sport for you does it?

Have a LLUKE at yourself and try to get a bit more perspective into your posts please.
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Old 17th Apr 2009, 11:27
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I fail to see where I blamed expats and their lifestyles for anything? That's what makes all the heated responses look so weird to me. I just find it strange that the government in DXB has been so passive. I think it is sad for the people that suffer from it.

I don't think DXB is an evil place with evil people. I am happy for the people that found their luck in DXB. But that wasn't the issue in this topic. It became an issue, but not by/for me.

The stuff with "look at your own backyard" becomes boring and pathetic and is of course for the subject totally irrelevant.
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Old 17th Apr 2009, 18:07
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Whilst I, thankfully, has not been in a position where I had to lower myself to accepting a job in the GCC countries, my job does entail quite a lot of travel in that region. Over the years, I've probably been spending on the dark side of 12 months in Do-buy and Bar-ain. And while the governments in both places are the most inept bunch of corrupt oxygen-thieves imaginable, what has always struck me as being particularly offensive is the behaviour of its expat population. The same people who would, in the real world, be nice and agreeable persons somehow develop the most nausiating colonial traits once they've settled in the sandpit. The amount of truly disgusting, racist and horrid behaviour I've witnessed is something I'd rather soon forget. But, I can't.

The author of the article we're debating has got more than a few things right, and I'm afraid to say that one of them is the management employment dump that's GCC. All those failed, useless and downright ignorant managers who are finally seen for what they are, somehow find a way to the GCC where they're promoted far and above their abilities. The nepotism amongst expats is alive and well; one inept manager will hire a "mate" from back home, a mate who's always less capable than himself. So you've got idiots hiring even bigger idiots, etc ad infintum. Worst part, once settled they all take on royal airs and try to pretend they're really good at what they do, conveniently forgetting they were booted out of their home country for being, well, useless. Small minded people, and guess what, within a short period of time they start talking about the "lower classes" (i.e where they themselves came from) and treat anyone their junior worse than crap.

That is what really gets my knickers in a twist and is the overwhelming reason why I've turned down many an offer to work in Do-Buy, Cat-ar and Bar-ain.

Feel free to shoot me down; I know I'm right, and if you dare take a good honest look at the situation, you'd have to agree. But, bearing in mind the arrogance of your average Sandpit-expat, I'm quite sure you wont.
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Old 17th Apr 2009, 18:51
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Originally Posted by SMT Member View Post
Feel free to shoot me down; I know I'm right, and if you dare take a good honest look at the situation, you'd have to agree. But, bearing in mind the arrogance of your average Sandpit-expat, I'm quite sure you wont.
Hmm -- so anyone who disagrees with you is arrogant?

Sorry but that says far more about you than the rest of us.
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Old 17th Apr 2009, 21:07
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I worked in Dubai for nearly 4 years, had an absolute blast.

However the article is absolutely spot on, and I have no problem in admitting that I recognised my own attitude from the drinkers in Double Deckers!!

Sad really.

We can all throw mud at other countries and compare histories etc, but if you are unable to agree that the are so many truths in that article, then stay in Dubai, you have been there too long and your beliefs are now endemic!!!
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Old 18th Apr 2009, 03:27
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SMT you shot yourself in the foot a little by starting your spiel with;

"Whilst I, thankfully, have not been in a position where I have had to lower myself to accept a job in the GCC....." Reminded me of a line from the muppet show when Miss Piggy says, " Pretentious? MOI?? "
Maybe you just mingled with like minded Ex-Pats?

I don`t think anyone on here who lives in Dubai is disagreeing with the contents of the article, poetic licence et al, it is just funny to observe the attitude it brings out in the ABU`s.

Feel free to talk down to me, i`m just an ATCO.


(ABU-Anywhere But UAE)
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Old 18th Apr 2009, 09:58
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Yet another Gulf bashing article

The British press seem to be continuing to bash Gulf states at every opportunity.

Here's a piece from The Sunday Observator's bumptious columnist Gerhan Hankins, covering his visit to the nearby state of Bahdobian.


I look at myself in the mirror, sullen face staring back at me, wide, empty London smile fixed to my face, hiding the torment within. I have the faded look of the once-objective. What's causing this? A meeting I have just had with my editor.

'Gerhan', he told me. 'I want you to go to Bahdobian and write about how rubbish it is.' 'I thought we loved it,' I asked. 'The last five features this paper ran said it was the best thing since sliced bread?'. 'Good point,' said my editor. 'The pendulum swings both ways though you know. We decided it's rubbish now. Because we can.' 'Fair enough, but why do I need to go', I asked. 'I already know everything there is to know about the place from my friend Germaine Greer she spent four hours on the bus there only the other day.' 'I know', grunted my editor. 'But we've got five days' free at one of their best hotels, provided we give them a mention in the article you'll write. File your piece before you leave, if you like - take the week as holiday.'

I'm still in shock. How can I, with my values and example-setting lifestyle, manage to survive five days in somewhere so awful as Bahdobian?

At home I spend an hour looking for my passport, which I haven't had to use since my last travel article. The mental scars of that particular piece still haunt me. Images of interviewing drunken tourists at four in the morning at nightclubs in Ibiza fill my mind. None of them seemed to care in the slightest that they were in a town that lacked an opera house or in a country that lets people fight bulls. And that used to be a dictatorship and had some kind of civil war a while ago. Or something. These people just wouldn't talk to me. They simply carried on drinking Aftershock and vomiting.

I fly in on Bahdobian's national airline. 150 years ago this counry had no aeroplanes camels were used for transport. Now they operate a fleet of carbon-belching planes, allowing people to flit from continent to continent in search of instant gratification. Whilst I feel this kind of form of travel is unethical, it is very useful for helping journalists such as myself to get to important destinations quickly. I refuse to watch Top Gear playing on the in flight entertainment. The works of Lenin and Marx shall be my only companions on this journey. I settle into my first class seat.

'Are you a slave?' I ask the smiling stewardess. Katy Framione from Essex looks at me blankly as she offers me a glass of a particularly cheeky Chablis, her wide, empty Bahdobian smile beaming up at me as she crouches, shamed at my elbow. 'I'm sorry?' she says, clearly not understanding what she is part of. The poor woman doesn't even realise that she is an indentured worker, forced to slave her life away at 40,000 feet, never to return home. Behind her smile I read her mind she knows, but cannot admit what she sees and feels. I smile at her. 'Take courage,' I say, 'I hear you I hear you.' I pat her on the head encouragingly. I write down her innermost thoughts on my notepad as she backs slowly away from me. The look of fear on her face is thanks to me, I congratulate myself I have opened her eyes.

As I fly into Bahdobian, the clear air of the Gulf of Mexico provides me with a clear view of the city. It rises from the desert like a [insert turgid metaphor here please, sub editor]. I wish I had gotten off as lightly as my colleague Simon Jenkins, who managed to file his piece based simply on flying over the city. I, alas, must venture into its portals of doom.

Bahdobian takes it's name from the ancient Arabic for ant, the 'dob'. This is an undisputed fact. As we fly in I see people on the streets below. They look like ants from up here. Later, sitting on my hotel balcony, I see an ant. The sympbolism overwhelms me.

As we land at the airport, skyscrapers surround us. Every window, every free piece of space on every building, absolutely everywhere is taken up with pictures of a Sheikh. Sheikh [insert name here subs, please make sure you spell it right] is the absolute ruler of Bahdobian. Just 35 years ago he lived in a desert. Now he has made of the desert a city. But of this city, a desert shall once again rise. I predict.

I enter the airport, its ceiling hung with more images of the Sheikh. Looking more closely, however, I realise that there's one small image of the Sheikh and that the rest of the pictures are actually adverts with people wearing local dress. I remind myself to get some new glasses. It's so hard when they all look the same.

'Passport please,' asks the smiling Bahdobian at the desk, clothed in cool, crisp white robes, his beard neatly trimmed. 70 years ago these people dressed in sackcloth. Tradition, it seems, counts for nothing here. He is drinking a Coke, I notice. I shudder.

'I know your game,' I snap back. 'You just want to imprison me here for ever, forcing me to write press releases for a living, paying me a pittance and never allowing me to return home.'

He looks at me blankly, but I read his true thoughts - he agrees with everything I say, but he cannot admit so in public. This, he senses, would be a transgression too far. 'May I have your passport please, sir,' he asks again, hiding his shame behind a face filled with mild confusion.

I know we've connected, sensed his guilt. I hand my passport over. He stamps it and wishes me a pleasant stay in Bahdobian.

As I buy four litres of vodka at Duty Free I wonder how I will manage to get through the next few days in this oppressive atmosphere.

60 years ago this place was desert, filled with nothing but Red Indians and cowboys. And tumbleweed too I expect, like in the Clint Eastwood films. Now, as I drive to my exclusive hotel, there is nothing but 18 lane motorways. Everywhere. Even the side streets have at least 10 lanes. Every car I pass is a gas guzzling 4x4, not a bicycle in sight. I weep silently.

'Are you a slave?' I ask my taxi driver, a bearded man from Baziristan. He looks confused. 'I work hard here, yes, but there is little for me back home and this is what I need to do to support my family.'

I look into his eyes as he tries to avoid my gaze. He pretends to be focusing on the road, but deep inside, I know what he really feels, but he cannot admit it. It's Bahdobian's fault there is no work for him back home, this is clear. For him to say otherwise would be, he senses, a transgression too far.

He asks me if I can help him to get to Britain. I shake my head in disbelief. How naive he is. I only have a three bedroom flat in Islington. How could I manage with him staying there for weeks on end?

I check into my hotel, a gorgeous understated place well worth staying at apparently its minibreaks are great value and come highly recommended. You can book your stay there via my newspaper's website.

Checked into my room, I decide to stretch my legs, the cramps caused by the conditions in first class still causing the pain to jab through my calves.

Naturally, as a first class investigative reporter, my first destination is the hotel car park. It is here I see my first signs of the shocking truth that fills Bahdobian. A truth that no Essex expat may dare speak of.

Mohan shakes his head in disbelief at me. He repeats the same thing over and over he is a driver for a local businessman and he is waiting for him to return from a lunch meeting. But I know what he is really trying to say, deep down. He cannot say it though this, he senses, would be a transgression too far.

Mohan is clearly living in his Rolls Royce in this car park. Maxed-out, in debt, he has nowhere else to go. No choice but to spend his days sleeping in the car with the AC on. Afraid to go home, he is destined to spend his life here, in a Rolls Royce, in a hotel car park. His story isn't unique. Across Bahdobian, maxed-out expats sleep in their cars, not thinking to sell them or to live somewhere more practical than a hotel car park, not possessing even one friend with a couch to spare in their hour of need. No, sleeping in their Rolls Royce is their only option. I know this I can read it in Mohan's eyes.

But it's not only sleeping in cars. The desert, 40 years ago nothing but tumbleweed, lions and tigers, now resembles a refugee camp, as expat middle managers huddle, with nothing but a Rolls Royce, Range Rover (HSE or Vogue) for shelter, nestled amongst the dunes. with nowhere to go.

That evening I set off for my first bout of real research. Although I already know what I am going to write, I feel I should pay some lipservice to journalistic standards.

I look at the list of meetings arranged for me by the local government's media relations office, the British Consulate, a business group, local charities, educational institutions and the like. I decide to take a stand. Throwing these contacts to one side, I head to the only place I will get objective, honest, in-depth feedback on what it's like to live here. I resolve to visit a local pub hosting a long lunch for a visiting rugby team from the UK.

I arrive just before closing time. People, I am astonished to note, have been drinking. In a pub! Not able to decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing, I sit alone in a corner, trying to make up my mind if I should comment on the fact that despite the fact that this is an Islamic country it's pretty generous of them to allow expats to be able to drink. I decide to ignore this point.

I talk to two old ladies, just the sort of people you would expect to find in a pub aimed at the under 30s. They too, have been drinking. Drinking beer, I notice. Hiding my disgust, I order a cheeky glass of rose and engage in conversation.

'It's great here,' says Aliciana Frackmouter. She works at a local school for disabled children, teaching them skills that will enable to live as normally as possible in society. 'After a hard day at work I had nothing that would really help me relax when I was back in England. Here I relax by going to the market and buying maids to lock in my basement. Everyone does. It's the British expat way.'

There is a common echo I hear in every one of the imaginary conversations I have with myself during my visit. Everyone has staff. Even maids have maids. Fifty years ago, there was nothing here but desert, roamed by dinosaurs. Now the desert is filled with runaway maids, sleeping under maxed-out expats' Range Rovers, with noone to look after them but slightly more junior maids.

I leave the pub, my head spinning from one too many glasses of Jacob's Creek there is no quality wine available here, sadly. Feeling tired and emotional after the day's onslaught of awfulness, I forego a night in my comfortable hotel and, in solidarity with those maxed-out expats, climb into a nearby car in the car park. I will sleep here tonight, shoulder to shoulder with the millions of others doing the same thing. Going back to my hotel, would be, I sense, a transgression too far.

The following morning, I wake up around midday when the car's owner rudely turfs me out of the backseat. 'Are you a slave?' I ask him. He shouts at me rudely, not realising I am on his side.

I visit a local shopping mall. Shopping malls are everywhere here. Glittering domes of consumerism, rising out of the desert like the cactuses which filled the area just 20 years ago.

As I approach this brand new building, I am struck by something so few others seem to have noticed it's new. This new city is filled with new buildings. There is not a single Anglo-Saxon era church, no Roman remains, no Georgian terraces. Nothing built here over the last twenty years is older than twenty years. How can British people sink so low as to live here? Why have they not built anything older?

Once inside, I wander, dazed, from dress shop to dress shop. I am a man and don't wear dresses. With each salesperson's pitch, my spirits sag further. Why are they trying to sell me dresses?

I approach a 17 year old girl wearing a miniskirt, walking through the mall. She walks briskly away from me. 'Are you a slave?' I cry out, but still she walks away. To talk to me, she senses, would be a transgression too far.

Finally I corner here between an ice cream shop and a fast food joint. I lower my head before talking to her, overcome with disgust that people in this country might want to eat fast food or ice cream.

I know what this young girl thinks, as I can read her mind, but before I can ask her again, I feel a firm grip on my shoulder. The authorities have clearly caught up with me it took longer than I thought, but the secret police were bound to be on my tail. The presence of a campaigning journalist such as myself was bound to become an open secret eventually.

The secret policeman is disguised as a security guard and speaks only rudimentary, broken English. 'Good afternoon, Sir,' he mumbles, in halting, disjointed sentences. 'Would you please be so kind as leave this young lady be? You seem distressed. May I recommend that you proceed forthwith to your hotel, where a cold refreshment and a lie down might server to revive your spirits?' I struggle to interpret his attempts to communicate, but, finally understanding, I agree that a quick lie down might be a good idea.

He leads me, brtually, to the taxi rank. I sense he would like to cuff me, but he holds back, aware of my vaunted status as an international newspaper columnist, standing a little ahead of me, smiling encouragingly. As I climb into a my cab, I see the 17 year old girl looking at me from across the marble floor of this temple of consumerism. She is talking to a friend. 'Weirdo, freak' are the words I can read on her lips. I smile at her in agreement. She is clearly referring to the disguised secret policeman who has treated me in such a degrading manner. She wishes to speak to me, I can tell, but is afraid to. That, she senses, would be a transgression too far.

My time in Bahdobian over, I forego a normal cab back to the airport and choose to take hotel transport to the airport. I ask for a bicycle, but am met with blank looks. Clearly, environmental sensibilities have not made much of a mark here. The concierge points out that a bike may be unpractical, given my three suitcases. I give in and grudgingly accept a lift in the hotel Bentley. To my surprise it is being driven by Mohan. I congratulate him. He has clearly stolen the car and is hoping to escape this hell hole. He tries to deny this, telling me, in halting English, that he has a new job driving for the hotel. I smile knowingly, understanding what he is really saying. He is telling me that he has given up on life and has agreed to become a slave. To admit that openly would be, he senses, a transgression too far.

At the airport, I take my last chance to speak to an expat of the horrors they experience, daily. I signal to a cleaner, beckoning to him from where I sit on the toilet, pleading with him to join me. He hangs back, hesitant. He speaks no English at all, but I know what he's saying. He's trying to create a poetic metaphor about mirages, deserts, oases and that sort of thing, but can't quite find the words.

'Do you feel this place is like a mirage?' I ask him. 'A brittle rose of the desert, apparently whole, yet so delicate, crumbling when touched, yet so perfect to behold, as if buried in time, but ready to shrivel like a date in the midday sun?'.

'Yes, sir', he answers. I congratulate myself on pinpointing his thoughts so accurately.

My flight back is uneventful. I sit, drained, in First Class. The habits of expats have rubbed off on me, leaving me no choice but to numb myself with cheap liqour. Sharon from Manchester feeds me glass after glass of Moet. I look into her face, frozen as it is in an empty Bahdobian smile. I sense a feeling of utter revulsion coming from her as she looks at me. I know what she is thinking about the desperate awfulness of the sweltering desert city we have left behind. 'Another glass, sir?' she asks. I know what she's really saying though. She turns her heard away from me, shamed that she has chosen to live anywhere other than London.

I whisk through Heathrow's VIP fast track. All around me I see pictures of the Sheikh. They are everywhere. Or am I getting confused with advertising boards again? Who knows - Bahdobian has left me dazed.

I pick up a copy of the paper on the way through. My Bahdobian Hell, the headline screams, my name and photo just below. Once again I'm filled with joy at seeing my face and name in print. The article I filed before leaving on holiday has been printed. Wikipedia and a quick phone call with Germaine were all I needed she went on the Big Bus tour when she was over, after all. With contacts like these, my visit was superfluous. I had the material I needed to print straightaway, but five days' paid for holiday is five days' paid for holiday!

Finally reaching my bijou pied-a-terre, I collapse onto my sofa. Looking around, I am pleased to see that the cleaner's been while I was away. Everything is spic and span, my underpants ironed, bedclothes neatly made. That nice plumber form Poland has also popped around and fixed my blocked toilet. I write cheques to pay them their monthly wages. Should I give them a little extra, considering the great job they do? Maybe pay them the same amount I am paid for writing my in-depth reportage?

I decide not to do so.

That, I sense, might be a transgression too far.
Courtesy of Chris Saul
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Old 18th Apr 2009, 11:32
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OMG , Thanks Jet
That is the funniest thing that i have read in ages.
I`d like to admit that I almost pissed myself laughing.

But that, I sense, may be a transgression too far!
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Old 18th Apr 2009, 16:08
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Hey Tower Ranger, maybe you could whip down to the Xerox shop on SZR and use your EK discount to make a few copies of that article and try to get a few copies into the camps in Al Quoz. I hear those boys really appreciate a little smug satire. Who doesn't love a smarmy Brit journo. Hilarious!

(Note to the author: when your point has been made in the first line with the subtlety of an anvil dropped on your head, restating the same "joke" in variations for endless paragraphs only serves to demonstrate a love of ones own voice that borders on the masturbatory.)

So far the horrors of Dubai have been countered with:
1. Every place has it's problems. *shrug*
2. Paying a Pole in London to wash your windows = beating/raping/imprisoning your Filipino maid in Abu Dhabi.
3. The Americans/British did it first.
4. You don't live here so your opinion doesn't count.

I'm convinced. Dubai is just misunderstood. The UAE is actually a victim, and a model for the future.
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Old 18th Apr 2009, 18:17
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My advice to all you ex-pats in Dubai.......stay there!
In the last 3 weeks, my son's best friend, my nephew, and my future son-in-law have all been attacked and badly beaten in separate incidents...my future son-in-law has lost several teeth, and his face is a total mess!

Was he drunk, or walking down an unlit footpath....no, he was simply driving home from work when a car overtook him, stopped abruptly, whilst a second car pulled up behind him so he was hemmed in, the occupants of both cars then dragged him out, beat him senseless and stole his laptop.

If the police even bother to persue this offence, and if they are lucky enough to catch the [email protected] who did this to him, at worst they'll have to wear a tag for a few weeks.

There may be a lot of injustice in Dubai, but the scumbags over here always have the last laugh!
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Old 18th Apr 2009, 20:00
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There may be a lot of injustice in Dubai, but the scumbags over here always have the last laugh!
LOL! Good one skysod!
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Old 19th Apr 2009, 14:21
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Codger's Post #32

Codger's post just about sums it up really.

The original article could so easily have been written substituting UK for Dubai. Talking of exploited workers from across the sea arriving with bright eyes and expectations of fairly lavish wages and sublime working conditions, having paid 'agents' for the trip, fit equally as well to Poles, Latvians, Portugese, Rumanians and so on. Whether they work as cheap, indentured labour in construction, (65% of the Olympic Village) or as fruit and veg planters, pickers, cleaners, packers, (90% in East Anglia) or sex slaves to 'gang-masters' in every city in UK (80%) they are not so different to the men and women mentioned in the original article.

The UK Gov't is powerless, in spite of UK and EU LAWS to prevent such things. Money changes hands and the laws are sidestepped. If they all went back home tomorrow the economy of the UK would collapse, as would the economy in the Gulf States. Even if the Gulf States passed humanitarian and begnign laws to protect the rights of workers, the same exploitation would flourish. They would simply look to the way the system flourishes in the UK and copy that.

I do not condone the exploitation of any man or woman in any industry and like most of us, wish things were different. To change such things requires determination, sympathy, patience and charity, all of which are sadly lacking in modern society.

Just as an aside, I am living in Thailand where the daytime temps are around 34-38C at the moment. I watch men and woman working on construction sites and road building projects and am astounded that they can work in such heat. I drip if I walk around the garden and pull up a weed! To be working in the Gulf when the temp is over 50C just seems inhuman. Then again, picking sugar beet at minus 5C in wind blasted Norfolk for less than the minimum wage seems equally inhuman.

Shit happens, all over the place; the question is, what are you prepared to do about it?
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Old 19th Apr 2009, 20:55
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The (e.g.) Poles have a contract in UK, they can go to court together if the contract is not honoured, they can go home/resign if they don't like it any longer.

According to the various articles, workers from e.g. Manilla are promised reasonable salaries. Upon arrival their passports are confiscated, so they can't leave. They don't have a ticket to go home. They just get a couple of Euro's per day when they arrive, not enough to save for family at home or for a return ticket. It looks pretty different to me.

Same goes for the story of forced prostitution. I assume prostitution is illegal in the UK, making it more difficult to protest for prostitutes. But the weaker people in general get much better protection in the UK then in DXB. The story of the raped kid in DXB facing possible prison is surely/hopefully an incident but also a perfect case to illustrate this.

It is scaring that posters like Tower Ranger sort of condone it by using the argumentation of a 4 year old, that's it is ok, if it happens in other countries. It becomes pathetic the moment you realise that it simply isn't true.
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Old 20th Apr 2009, 01:04
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just more of the same


Over 100 Filipino bus drivers stranded in Dubai | Sun.Star Network Online
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Old 20th Apr 2009, 02:50
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Most, if not all, the Poles etc. who work in UK have their passports taken from them by the gangmasters. They are charged for their meagre and sometimes condemned accomodation, charged for transport to and from the fields they work in and have 'deductions' made to pay for NI, health insurance etc. Often, these charges are far greater than they need to be, the extra going in the pockets of the gangmasters. They have no contract that would be any use in a court.
This has been going on for years, since the 50s and is only now beginning to be stamped out, but it will take years.
Freedom to choose is not an option when you have no money, no passport and no hope of any realistic help from the authorities.
The UK is probably the worst of all in the EU for this practice.
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Old 20th Apr 2009, 10:44
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LLuke
I think the thing that should scare you even more should either be your apparent inability to read or your ability to ignore what is written. I am not gonna waste time retyping what i have already written word for word but I in no way condone what goes on here and noboby posting on this forum does. What you seem uable to admit is that Dubai is not the only place in the world where employee abuse is taking place and that is what makes your attitude seem so strange. It appears that you only care about abuse and social problems that are not in your own back yard.

The vast majority of Philipino`s that I know are happy to be here although as I said earlier I have been involved with helping one escape from a scumbag employer, but then you wouldn`t have read that.
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Old 20th Apr 2009, 11:37
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Now you're doing it again; this strange way of reasoning. Your also suggesting I don't care about social issues outside DXB and am not willing to look at my own back yard. Both not true, both irrelevant to this thread.

"I said earlier I have been involved with helping one escape from a scumbag employer, but then you wouldn`t have read that."

Indeed I didn't see this, actually can't find it at all, but I would like to say I do admire this
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Old 20th Apr 2009, 16:21
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Tower Ranger, the dark side of PPRuNe is within us. Your post has indeed been deleted. One has to ask why? I seem to recall it was a personal account of a problem experienced by a maid of your knowledge.
I wonder why that warrants dismissal?
Was it because the word maid could be misconstrued?
Were you implying some illegal liaison I wonder?
Was the MOD simply being random?
We would love to know!
Wouldn't we?

Ah forget it, this is PPRuNe, run for the benefit of the mods, not the posters.

I give this post about 25 minutes.
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