A mourner grieves for her relative, missing and presumed dead, at the scene of the April 24 Rana Plaza garment building collapse. Photo: Getty
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Matalan have bowed to pressure over Rana Plaza, but the campaign goes on

The campaign to aid victims hit by the collapse of the Rana Plaza clothing factory last year has produced results, but decent working conditions for all is still a long way off.

When Rana Plaza collapsed, Mossammat Rebecca Khatun was inside. It was two more days before she was rescued. She survived but paid a heavy price. Her injuries robbed her of her right foot and her left leg. But the collapse of the cramped eight-storey building took far more. She lost five members of her family under the rouble; her mother's body was never found.

What happened that day was first and foremost a tragedy for all those affected. More than 1,100 lost their lives. More than two and a half thousand were injured. Lives destroyed, families ripped apart, entire communities bereaved.

But the collapse of Rana Plaza had a powerful meaning beyond those it directly affected. What happened at Rana Plaza was a brutal message to the world.

The disaster exposed to the world the appalling and unsafe conditions in which many Bangladeshi garment sector workers are employed.

A stark reminder that in the second decade of this century workers around the world are exploited every day. From Qatar to Cambodia, Bangladesh to the South China Sea, 21 million live in modern day slavery; millions more, like those at Rana Plaza, work for pennies a day in conditions that wouldn't meet the most basic health and safety conditions. And the garments they produce are the mainstay of many clothes shops on our own high streets.

Decent work for decent pay under decent conditions should be a right for all. But in Bangladesh more than 1,000 workers went to their deaths in a building that many of them feared was dangerous and knew to be creaking.

More than a year on, the survivors of this tragedy must rebuild their lives - but they can't do it alone.

That's why the UN's International Labour Organisation (ILO) has established a Trust Fund to cover payments to Rana Plaza victims and their families. The ILO initiative is largely funded through donations from international garment manufacturers, and the funding deadline for the Trust Fund is today.

Labour has been calling on all companies to play their part.

After initially refusing to contribute to the fund, overnight Matalan, the last major UK garment retailer with links to Rana Plaza not to contribute finally bowed to pressure - including petitioners from 38 degrees and a direct letter from the Shadow DFID team - and announced a donation to the fund.

Matalan should never have dragged their feet before paying into the Fund, but now we need full transparency.

Matalan - and other companies that profited from Rana Plaza - have a moral responsibility to pay their fair share. But as things stand, the Fund is significantly short of its target, meaning that the compensation payments will be more limited than it should be: in short it means the victims of this terrible tragedy will be wronged again.

British shoppers want to buy their clothes without fear that companies are unresponsive to worries about risks in their supply chain.

We also need co-ordination action in the future to see safer workplaces for all, no matter where they happen to live.

On coming to power, one of the first steps of the Tory-led government was to end UK financial support to the International Labour Organisation. As well as being wrong-headed, this move detracts from any moral authority to urge retailers to support the ILO-backed fund.

Equally importantly, it means Britain has abdicated its place in the vital work the ILO and others are doing to prevent a re-occurrence of a tragedy like Rana Plaza, through the Accord on Fire and Building Safety in Bangladesh.

This is a landmark agreement between retailers and trade unions to require safety inspections of Bangladeshi factories and to contribute financially towards repairs that are identified as necessary, as well as committing retailers to withdrawing contracts from factories that refuse to provide safe working conditions.

The remarkable power of consumer pressure, unleashed in the wake of Rana Plaza, has led to the majority of major UK fashion retailers signing up, but significant exceptions remain, including Gap.

To call for better conditions for workers worldwide is not an attack on cheap clothes on our high street - faced with stagnant wages here in Britain, hikes in clothes prices are the last thing our constituents need; nor is it a denigration of the role employment in the garment sector can play in developing countries like Bangladesh, providing reliable wages and lifting many out of poverty.

There is no reason why safe working conditions and decent wages cannot sit alongside good value clothes for British customers. The majority of retailers have recognised this and are taking action. Government and consumers need to be united in encouraging those few who drag their feet to change their course.

Modern slavery, forced labour and simple exploitation of vulnerable workers is nothing new. But what is new is an ever increasing power for the international community to do something about it. That's why international workers' rights will be a core component of DFID under Labour.

The global response to Rana Plaza must be much more than simply saying 'never again'. It should be real action to protect workers around the world; to insist on a decent day's work for decent pay, under decent conditions - everywhere.

Labour MP Jim Murphy is shadow Secretary of State for International Development and Labour MP Alison McGovern is a shadow minister in the department.

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Britain's diversity crisis starts with its writers. Here's why

What happens on the casting couch draws the headline, but the problem starts on the page, says James Graham. 

I’m a playwright and screenwriter, which – pertinent to the issues we’ll be discussing in this enquiry – still feels weird to say. I get embarrassed, still, saying that, in a taxi or hairdressers. I don’t know why I still carry that insecurity about saying I’m a writer, but I do, because it sounds like I’m lying, even in my own head.

Obviously I’m completely biased, and probably overstating the influence and importance of my own profession, but I think so many of the problems surrounding lack of representation in the performing arts start with writers.

If we aren’t encouraging and generating writers from certain communities, classes or backgrounds to tell their stories, to write those roles, then there’s not going to be a demand for actors from those communities to play them. For casting agents or drama schools to prioritise getting diverse actors on stage. We need to create those plays and TV dramas –like the ones that I grew up with. I didn’t have any access to much theatre until I was fifteen, but I did have Boys From the Black Stuff, and I did have Cracker, and I did have Band of Gold. I think the loss of those regional producing bodies – Central, Granada – now all completely centralised into London, means that we just tell less of those stories. I remember a TV show called Boon – anyone? – which was set in Nottingham, and I would see on the TV streets I’d walked down, and think, Oh my God, that actor is walking down a street I’ve walked down. That sounds like it’s insignificant. If you’re from a town that is deprived, that feels ignored, it isn’t.

I was very lucky that at my school (which was, at the time, the largest comprehensive school in the country), from the headmaster down to the drama teachers, everyone just believed that working class kids should do plays. Be in plays, read plays, perform plays to the community. Both inside the curriculum of the school day, and outside it – drama teachers dedicating their time to staying behind. Our head of drama identified a group of us who clearly had a passion for it. We weren’t likely thesps. One lad’s entire family were made unemployed when the pit closed. Many lived on the big council estate. My parents and step-parents worked respectively in warehouses, the local council, or as the local window cleaner (incidentally, my first real job. Which I was terrible at).

Our drama teacher was encouraged and determined enough to launch the first ever Drama A-Level in our school. Based on that, about 10 or 12 of us got the confidence – or arrogance – to take our own show to the Edinburgh Festival. We were 16 or 17, and the first people in our community to ever go to visit the festival. We did a play up there, and after that, a psychological unlocking happened, where I thought: maybe I could do a degree in drama (it was the first time I had ever thought to do so) at university (the first in my family to go. Well, joint-first. My twin sister went on the same day, but I walked into my digs first).

I enrolled in drama at Hull University. A high proportion of my peers were middle class. A higher proportion from London or the South East. They talked often about institutions I had never heard of. They were talking about the National Theatre: I didn’t know we had a national theatre that my parents had been paying tax for that I had never been to. Many had performed with the (again, apparently) ‘National’ Youth Theatre, also in London. Paul Roseby, also on this panel, has made such leaps forward in getting the NYT producing in regional venues, and making auditions possible for people across the UK, but unfortunately, at the time, that wasn’t the case for me – and I was the ideal candidate to be in the National Youth Theatre.

I started writing because I had the confidence after I read texts by people like Jim Cartwright, Alan Bennett, John Godber, Alan Ayckbourn: Northern writers, working class writers that made me think it wasn’t just something that other people do.

After returning home, and working at local theatres, I moved down to London. I had to. The major new writing producers are there. All the TV companies are there. The agents are there. I was lucky to find support in a pub fringe theatre – though the economics meant there was no money to commission, so I wrote plays for free for about four years, that would get produced, and reviewed in the national press, while I worked various jobs in the day and slept for a time on a mate's floor. The first person to ever pay to commission me to write a play was Paul Roseby of the National Youth Theatre. I’m now very lucky to be earning a living doing something I love. In a way, compared to actors, or directors, it’s easier for writers who don’t come from a background that can sustain them, financially, in those early years. Your hours can be more flexible. Yes, it was annoying to miss rehearsals because I had a shift in a call centre, but it was still possible to do it. If you’re an actor or director, you’re fully committed. And if you’re doing that for nothing, there starts to be cut-off point for those from backgrounds who can’t.

I’m sure that local and regional theatres are the key to drawing in talent from less privileged backgrounds. But the range of national arts journalism that cover work outside London has been so significantly reduced. In our little echo chamber a few weeks ago, we theatre types talked about Lyn Gardner at the Guardian. Her coverage has been cut, which is very directly going to affect her ability to cover theatre shows outside of London – and so the self-fulfilling cycle of artists leaving their communities to work exclusively in London takes another, inevitable, turn.

I am culpable in this cycle. I have never done a play at the Nottingham Playhouse, my local producing house growing up – why? Because I’ve never submitted one, because I know that it will get less national press attention. So I just open it in London instead. That’s terrible of me. And I should just bite the bullet and say it doesn’t matter about the attention it gets, I should just go and do a story for my community. And if I, and others, started doing that more, maybe they will come.

I also want to blame myself for not contributing back to the state schools that I come from. I really really enjoy going to do writing workshops with kids in schools, but I would say 90 per cent of those that I get invited to are private schools, or boarding schools, or in the South of England. Either because they’re the ones that ask me, because they’re the ones who come and see my shows in London and see me afterwards backstage, or because they have the confidence to email my agent, or they have the budget to pay for my train ticket. Either way, I should do more. It would have helped the younger me so much to meet a real person, from my background, doing what I wanted to do.

I don’t know how to facilitate that. I take inspiration from Act for Change, creating a grassroots organisation. I know that there is a wealth of industry professionals like me who would, if there was a joined-up structure in place that got us out there into less privileged communities, we would on a regular basis go to schools who don’t get to meet industry professionals and don’t unlock that cultural and psychological block that working class kids have that says, that is not for me, that is something that other people do, I would dedicate so much of my time to it. That’s just one idea of hopefully better ones from other people that might come out of this enquiry.

James Graham is a playwright and screenwriter. This piece is adapted from evidence given by James Graham at an inquiry, Acting Up – Breaking the Class Ceiling in the Performing Arts, looking into the problem of a lack of diversity and a class divide in acting in the UK, led by MPs Gloria De Piero and Tracy Brabin.