We overly romanticize drinking tea, don't we? I also used to do the same. My family had a certain mindset where tea was the answer to everything, and I too was sure it was a cure-all remedy for life. Anything from a headache to the standard entertainment of guests needed a cup of tea.
My grandmother used to say, "If the house caught on fire, we would at least sit down for a cup of tea before evacuating." That was the level of tea obsession I grew up with. I always thought of tea as my lifeline, and I have relied on it for creative energy and comfort. But over time, I have started to question this romanticized relationship.
Can you imagine a world without tea? Such a world is frankly a really scary idea for any Bengali with the imagination to think of such a thing. Very scary. No more tong er cha, no more steaming cups shared over heated adda sessions, no more pausing life’s chaos for that one sacred sip. The thought that I might lose the experience of relishing a cup of tea and having a good talk with someone is genuinely disturbing. But there's a deeper question: How often do we stop to consider the hands that pick those delicate tea leaves?
In Bangladesh tea is a lot more than just a drink. It's a cultural sign that transcends through time, and it also acts as one of the most successful exports of our country. But this success is built on the backs of marginalized workers. These labourers, the children of those brought in during the colonial era, now suffer in conditions that could send Karl Marx to the point of his blood boiling.
They make such little money that they are practically starving. They are grossly underpaid, overworked, and forgotten; living in a reality that feels far removed from the wealth their labour produces.
At the core of this issue is a contradiction. In colonial times, tea was a tool of imperial rule and the subjugation of our labour. Today, it has become a part of our culture, but even still, the people who produce it remain marginalized and far removed from both the goods and the wealth it generates. These labourers are trapped in a system that exploits them, which is a perfect example of what Marx called “alienation” -- where the workers are alienated from the results of their labour, and their humanity is reduced to mere numbers in profit margins.
The statistics are alarming. The tea industry in Bangladesh is a fast-growing sector contributing millions of dollars to the economy. However, the daily wage of a tea picker is only Tk170 (approximately $2). For that measly fee, labourers are required to obtain up to 24kg of tea leaves a day. If they fail to do so, their already low pay will be cut even further, cause it will have cost the company.
In Bangladesh tea is a lot more than just a drink. It's a cultural sign that transcends through time, and it also acts as one of the most successful exports of our country
This logic only shows how integral and valuable their work is -- their consistency is what keeps these brands going. But the luxury tea brands are doing well in the world, while the workers who toil in the fields remain mired in poverty.
It is at this point that the idea of the "culture industry," so aptly put forth by the Frankfurt School’s Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer, becomes relevant. Just the tea sector, like the commodities of our everyday life, has been marketed to such a degree that we forget the original source of our consumption.
Tea, which at one time was a symbol of calm and culture for many, has now become just one of the many products that can be ordered and conveniently packed, thereby covering up the reality of its production. The hard work that goes into your morning cup of tea is visible to us, and is instead covered up by a faux glamorous marketing strategy that makes tea out to be a simple, everyday treat.
In fact, the entire experience is part of a mass-produced illusion. We sip our tea, feeling a connection to tradition, unaware of the capitalist system that commodifies not just the product, but the very people who create it. This is the essence of the "culture industry" -- it pacifies us, dulling our senses to the exploitation happening just behind the scenes. We participate in the system without ever questioning it.
But the workers in Bangladesh do not have the luxury of ignoring their reality. They know, all too well, the cost of their labour. Their lives are governed by the demands of an industry that treats them as disposable resources.
And it’s not just the tea industry. The sad debacle of Rana Plaza in 2013, which took in excess of a thousand lives, is another painful reminder of how workers in Bangladesh are ill-treated, be it in garment factories or most major labour forces. In both cases of tea and garments, the workers are instrumental in creating massive profit for companies, but only get a small fraction of the profits. To the companies, life is expendable in the ceaseless quest for profit.
Even government efforts to support the tea industry have been skewed in favour of plantation owners. Financial aid flows to the companies, while workers continue to struggle for basic necessities like food and shelter. Their demands for fair wages are often ignored, and any progress that is made is usually the result of worker protests, not government intervention.
At the end of the day, the tea industry in Bangladesh is a perfect representation of the disparity between capitalists and labourers, abundant resources and the rise of poverty. While savouring our tea, it is not only the taste that we should think about, but also the actual cost of the workers that have made it possible. The next time you reach for that cup, ask yourself: are you tasting the tea or the bitter brew of capitalist repression?