A Devotee’s Charge: Bhakti as a Catalyst for Hindu Reform

“O He who is the color of the oceans, 

once upon a time, 

You made the northern hills into Your churning staff,

and made Vasuki, the great serpent king, into Your cord,

and churned the very belly of the ocean.”

“That very same hand that did the churning,

was it not tied by Yasoda with a churning cord?

O He with the Lotus Navel,  

Is this Your Maya (illusion), for I am amazed.”

• Ilango Adigal, Silappatikaram

In one of the oldest Tamil epic poems, the Silappatikaram, this passage appears as a song sung by the herdswomen of Madurai as they performed their folk dances. It is rich in meaning as Ilango Adigal juxtaposes the “Hand of God,” which has the power to move mountains and churn oceans, with the hand of His incarnation, Krishna, which is tied by Yasoda as punishment for Krishna’s “misdeeds.” These “misdeeds” and the act of Yasoda’s disciplining are recurring themes in the divine play of Krishna: His Krishna Leela. 

For Hindus like me, the stories from the Krishna Leela of His childhood and misbehavior are cherished, and often retold during holidays and in prayers. Although Krishna’s naughtiness triggers the rebuke of his neighbors and family in the stories, it ultimately endears all the characters and all those who hear of the Leela, to Krishna. In many ways, Krishna’s smile, as portrayed in artwork, acts on the Hindu imagination the way Mona Lisa’s smile acts on the Western imagination: it is mischievous, mysterious, and ultimately alluring.  I wasn’t spared from being mesmerized by Krishna’s Leela.

In the same vein of thought that Krishna’s mischief has a deeper purpose, Yasoda’s punishments are not seen by Hindus as moments in which Krishna is reformed, but as allegorical tales. This is true because in the Hindu belief system, Krishna is seen as born with the knowledge of Dharma (righteousness), as He reveals later in the form of the Bhagavad Gita. These moments, instead, are seen by Hindus as when Yasoda is given the opportunity to express her faith. For being given this opportunity, Yasoda is often praised as the greatest devotee of all time. The Tamil composer, Papanasam Sivan, was moved by these stories of Yasoda’s chastising to compose one of his most famous compositions with the refrain: “Enna Thavam Seidhanai, Yasoda?,” or “What great austerities did you perform?” 

Therefore, these stories, and even this passage from the Silappatikaram, exist not just to retell occurrences from the life of Krishna, but to express complex concepts that cannot be easily defined. A key Hindu concept is central here: the power of Bhakti. Although the word Bhakti appears over and over throughout Hindu religious scriptures and has been, hence, translated into English by numerous scholars, Bhakti is difficult to directly translate, although “devotional love” is used in many English translations of Hindu scripture.

In the passage from the Silappatikaram, the herdswomen refer to the omnipotent “Hand of God,” tied and restrained by Yasoda to make two inferences. First, that Krishna was restrained by the churning cord because He willed it. And second, that the act could only be performed because of the greatness of Yasoda’s Bhakti. This is the great Maya or illusion. Krishna appeared in flesh and allowed himself to be overpowered by the strength of His follower’s devotion. From the beginning of His story to the end, He constantly submits to the faith of His devotees, whether it is as a lover of Radharani, or as the charioteer of Arjuna. Whether it is at the admonishing hand of His mother Yasoda, or the deadly arrow of the hunter Jara.

This divine play, in which the devotee scolds and performs the act of reforming Krishna, is in many ways a metaphor for how Hindus are instructed to treat their faith. Most of the religious texts themselves are not seen as infallible, but as malleable traditions that have been shaped by their followers over the centuries. Versions of Hindu texts, therefore, are numerous, and their interpretations, countless. Throughout history, Hindus have debated religious concepts peacefully, and in public forums called sanghams. Instead of toeing the line of conformity, Hindu leaders have often written scathing critiques of even commonly held beliefs. If the religion is the hands of Krishna, then we, the devotees, are constantly grasping it, molding it, reforming it, and ultimately, bettering it. All as Krishna willed it.

For this reason, I often react with great amusement when I deal with statements like this: “How could you claim to be Hindu, and so well-informed of our many scriptures, when you are a gay man?” In a faith that has so often steered away from orthodoxy, and has avoided conformity of belief, to demand why I could “choose to be a homosexual,” because I am Hindu, is antithetical.  To query someone why they would act in a manner that is in contradiction to what Hindu scripture requires is a contradiction itself. Hindu scriptures do not require.

When I think back to discriminatory experiences I’ve had in my life; whether it was homophobia or casteism; whether it was a condemnation of my actions or my beliefs, I often think it would have been natural to drift away from my faith. It would have been very easy to leave Hinduism because of the voices that insist I have no space under Hinduism’s umbrella. Instead, however, I found myself often returning to it to seek refuge from criticism. Mirabai, a 16th century Rajasthani poet, also often spoke of seeking refuge from societal criticism in the shelter of Lord Krishna. Her poems abound with allusions of letting the veil of decency slip, running through the drenching rains of scolding words of impropriety, and seeking sanctuary in Krishna.

But returning and finding haven in Krishna is not only a radical act of defiance against those who use Hinduism to critique me-- it is also an oath to live, breath, and act the “Krishna Leela.” It is a promise to act with Bhakti, and there is truly no greater act of Bhakti than to walk in the footsteps of Yasoda. It is that promise that has driven me and continues to drive me to reform my religion: to be a Hindu Reformer.

Hindu reformers, especially those who want to mold the faith to accommodate liberal values, such as homosexuality, interfaith relationships, egalitarianism between the genders, and the dismantling of the caste system and untouchability, are often criticized as anti-Hindu, ironically by both Hindus and non-Hindus, and are outcast by liberal and conservative factions. There are some groups that find Hinduism to be irredeemable, and there are other groups that decry reform as they see the faith already perfected. We reformers find ourselves outside of both camps.

Hindu reform is a real movement with genuine and pure aspirations. It seeks to build a faith that does not discriminate, abominate, or differentiate. It builds on the work of our forefathers and foremothers by speaking up against those acts and beliefs that are counterintuitive to our conscience. There is much work to be done in this realm. Whether it is the latest news of caste-discrimination, or a Dalit lynching. Whether it’s the news of a corrective rape of an LGBTQIA person, or when hateful individuals like Sunita Singh Gaud instruct Hindus to rape Muslim women, there is much room for Hindu reformers to criticize, critique, and catalyze change.

Usually, listing atrocities committed by Hindus results in criticisms from the camps of the Hindutva right. They often claim that Hindu reformers disproportionately criticize Hinduism and its followers. Let me be clear in saying that religious reform is not a burden that rests solely on Hindu shoulders. A cursory glance at the religious landscape of the world, with widespread misogyny, homophobia, classism/casteism, and various other social ills, reveals that all of our religions require change. But reforming Hinduism, to me, is not only an act I do as a liberal; it is an act of Bhakti I perform as a Hindu.

From the other camp, the secular left, the supposedly obvious resolution to these social ills is to dismiss the religion in its entirety. For some, that is an acceptable solution. For me, however, it means to leave His Leela; to remove myself as a character from His divine play. It means to cease to be Arjuna, in awe of the Bhagavad Gita being taught to me. It means to cease to be a gopi, breathless from dancing the Raas in Vrindavan. It means to separate the lover from divine love. This, for me, is an impossible task, more arduous than churning an ocean with a mountain. It is unpalatable because, for me, the faith does not rain down its judgment on me; it is society. And it is in the shadow of His grace, in the shadow of the mountain lifted so easily by His little finger, do I seek refuge.

We Hindu reformers do not, therefore, find room in either of those two camps for our goals, our aspirations, and our needs. Instead, we find ourselves following in the footsteps of Yasoda. We find ourselves on the path of Bhakti, for we bind the hands of our faith and mold it, shaping it away from cruelty and towards divine love. Not for its sake, but for our own.

Where are the Hindu Victims?

This is a post that I've wanted to write for some time. I kept going back and forth whether it was something I should write...and whether it would offend some people. I have finally decided that if I have a grievance, it's better to express it, and to express it in the most professional way I can, than to let it simmer and fester.  As an American, a Hindu, and a citizen of the world, I have an obligation to not remain silent if I feel my identity is being represented in a poor light. Perhaps through this sort of expression, we can all learn to respect one another, and empathize with the suffering of others.

**********************************************************************************

Over this past holiday break, I visited my Appa back in my hometown of State College, Pennsylvania. The very first morning, I sauntered over to the kitchen where my father was making Dosa, a South Indian crepe often served for breakfast. My Appa turned around from the stove to serve me and I watched as his eyes glanced up towards my forehead. Confusion quickly flashed across his face.

"Yenna, Ippo Saami Kumbitiya? Did you pray this morning?" He asked.

I realized he was referring to the Tilakam, or sacred anointment, that I had applied to my forehead. He was surprised because I had only made it a habit of regularly applying a Tilakam to my forehead after I started graduate school.

"Yeah," I responded. "I always put it on in the morning nowadays. Even if I'm just going to class."

I expected my Appa, a devote Hindu himself, to react in the way he usually does.  Perhaps a smile. Maybe a look of pride.  However, instead he cocked his head to the side. Worry lines crisscrossed his forehead. He hesitated momentarily as he seemed to consider how to respond.

"Maybe...it's not good to bring attention to yourself like that," he suggested. "Maybe...that's not a good idea."

My father's concern about sticking out wasn't something that came about post-9/11 or after the election of Trump. He had moved to the United States in 1980 and had lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin; Charleston, South Carolina; and rural Central Pennsylvania. Although he had found significant Indian-American/Non-Resident Indian communities in all these places, they all were still largely ethnically homogeneous areas. And while he learned that certain characteristics, like our family's brown skin, his accent, or our predilection for spicy foods, were out of our control, it was best to assimilate and conform in the areas that we could control.

So, we "toned down our Hinduism." Although my family prayed twice a day, my Appa would never have Vibhuthi, or sacred ashes, on his forehead when he went to work.  My Amma always tucked her Thaali, or marriage necklace, under her outfits when she worked or when she was outside of the home. For my parents, the problems one might face from others due to speaking Spanish, wearing a Turban, or covering your hair with a Hijab, in public, did not begin with the 2016 election; Those problems have always been here.

But as my Appa worries about whether a Tilakam might incite hatred or anger among those around me, I would argue that according to what I see, hear, and read on the news: There are no Hindu victims.

What do I mean by that? Well, as we stand mere days from the murder of Srinivas Kuchibhotla, I have seen commentary, both from liberal-minded friends and from liberal news outlets, that doesn't follow the typical method of confronting a hate crime committed on a religious minority in the United States.

How do these groups of individuals and networks typically react to an attack on a religious minority?

I. Confront messages in the media that make that religion seem exotic, scary, dangerous, foreign, or un-American. For example, any equation of Islam with Jihadist movements. Instead, highlight the positive elements of the faith to show how, indeed, the faith is compatible with the American culture.

II. Assert the religious identity of the victims, whether or not the perpetrator of the crime had thought they were a member of that faith. For example, attacks on Sikh Americans who were mistakenly believed to be Muslim.  Make sure that other members of that faith know that they are not alone.

III. Oppose any attempt to "victim-shame," by relating the crime against this religious minority to actions other members of that religious group may have committed. Oppose any attempts to "justify the crime." Oppose any attempt to exaggerate the event by linking the crime to political or social decisions that other members of that religious group have made.

I am so sincerely disappointed in you, America.  You did none of these things for the Hindu American community.

This past week, CNN decided to highlight the Hindu faith with a documentary about the Aghori, a fringe Hindu group. Their tagline?

“Eating human corpses? How far would you go to prove your faith? Enter the world of the Aghori,” (See https://twitter.com/CNN/status/838558532005933056). That would seem to fail my Characteristic Category #1.

There was also the Reuters article detailing the killing. After linking the crime against Kuchibhotla with the rise of Trump, the article decided to include a passage about how "Many Indians initially welcomed Trump's election, seeing his calls to restrict Muslim immigration as support for their Hindu-majority country. India has been at odds for decades with Pakistan, its mainly Muslim neighbor." (See http://www.reuters.com/article/us-kansas-india-idUSKBN1630LZ).
That would seem to fail my Characteristic Category #3.

These aren't fringe media sources like Trend Network that insisted on publishing an article about the irony of Hindus supporting Trump and now facing the consequences (See https://trend.network/2017/02/25/srinivas-kuchibhotlas-murder-should-wake-up-trumps-nri-bhakts/X4eFJJ-yC7k).  This is Reuters. This is CNN.

And, of course, the complete silence about the religion of Kuchibhotla. News networks almost universally referred to him as the "Indian victim." Now, I'll be honest: That is entirely accurate.  Citing it as so, also encompasses the dangers that now non-Hindu people of Indian descent face in the United States.  I don't know Kuchibhotla personally, and I can only assume his religion by seeing the pictures of his father performing his last rites, and doing the Hindu rituals that typically are done the other way around...where a son performs them for his late-father. Kuchibhotla may have been a self-avowed atheist.

But even if Kuchibhotla wasn't Hindu, there are other instances where a Hindu has died in a hate crime, but their faith was for the most part overlooked by the media. Tarishi Jain, the University of California student who was killed in an upscale cafe in Dhaka, Bangladesh in 2016 was never referred to by her religion in any Western media articles.  Her faith was however mentioned in a Times of India Article in which her uncle mourned her death with the words,"We don't want her to be cremated in the land where she was brutally murdered. Terrorists killed her for being a Hindu."  A fair assessment, since eyewitnesses stated that religious tests of whether people could recite from the Quran were made before the terrorists decided who to torture. Or Sunando Sen, the man who was pushed in front of a subway in December of 2012. Erika Menendez, the woman who pushed him, even told police that she, "just wanted to hurt Muslims and Hindus" ever since September, 11th.  All these victims were overwhelmingly referred to as Indians or Indian-Americans.

Why does it matter?  Isn't it good that they are referred to by their ethnicity and not their religion?

It's a fair point that by describing the victims of these crimes as Indian, you are including the many, many diverse religious groups that comprise the Indian-American community, who also are at risk for hate crimes. Indian-Americans come from many religious backgrounds, including Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, Jains, Buddhists, Zoroastrians, and even Jews. To an outsider, at first glance, we are the same, in the sense that we are all different from most Americans.

What bothers me is not the lack of references to the victims as Hindus, in itself.  I can even ignore and forgive the fact that there has been no effort to console the Hindu American community as it mourns the loss of one of its members.  I can overlook the fact that Hindu Americans now live in fear for the sake of their loved ones, and yet the media and my friends don't follow through on the three typical courses of actions they take when a member of another religious minority is killed in a hate crime. My concern is that victims are Indian, but offenders are Hindu.

What do I mean by victims being Indian but offenders being Hindu? Consider Priya-Alika Elias's Op-Ed about Kuchibhotla's murder, "Being a model minority will not protect you." (See https://theoutline.com/post/1187/being-a-model-minority-will-not-protect-you).

It begins with the following:

At a conference for Indian lawyers in New York two years ago, I remember an attendee who said that “America should let in more Indians … After all, we’re a model minority. We make positive contributions to this country, unlike some other criminal minorities.” It was shamefully obvious who he was referring to. His remarks were met with cheers by the (largely Hindu) audience. This did not surprise me. Upper-caste Hindus are far too invested in notions of class to believe that all Americans are created equal. But I was curious about what they attributed our “model minority” status to.

I won't even go into the number of assumptions made by her (Those Cheering -> Have to be Hindu -> Have to be Upper-Caste -> And because they are these things they don't believe in Social Equality).

What I found the most perplexing is that every time the victims were referred to, they were Indian. And every time there was discussion on a person, a cultural trait, or a political phenomenon that led to the rise of President Trump, who the writer of the article feels is the causative agent to the murder of Kuchibhotla...it was Hindu.

Is this an isolated phenomenon? Hardly. The aspects of Hinduism that people find undesirable somehow are intrinsically associated with Hinduism, while aspects of Hinduism that people might find favorable somehow have their connection with Hinduism mysteriously obscured.  Even though organizations like the All-India Muslim OBC Front and Pasmanda Muslim Mahaz (Marginalized Muslim Front) were specifically created to confront discrimination faced by lower-caste Muslims at the hands of higher-caste Muslims...and even though there are stories of how Catholics in the Tamil city of Tiruchirappali constructed a wall in their graveyard to separate the graves of untouchable Catholics from higher caste Catholics...the Caste System, is and always will be, solely associated with the Hindu religion, and not the Indian culture. Sati. Misogyny. And now with the CNN broadcast, cannibalism.  These things are Hindu.

But Yoga? The concepts of Karma and Dharma? The peaceful philosophy of Mahatma Gandhi? The greeting Namaste and all of its spiritual meaning?  These aspects of Hinduism are always treated as "Indian" or simply "Eastern" artifacts.

Nothing highlights this more than when David Bowie specifically requested in his will to be “cremated in accordance with the Buddhist rituals of Bali.”

Bali is 83.5% Hindu. It is 0.5% Buddhist, consisting mostly of an ethnic Chinese minority. Anyone with a basic understanding of Hinduism, Bali, or Indonesia, or access to the wikipedia articles for any of them, could tell you that. But if it's something beautiful, peaceful, and inspiring...like the island of Bali...can it be Hindu?

So what I mean to say by this is that it feels as if the "Victim : Indian :: Offender : Hindu" analogy seems to go deeper into a "Good : Indian or Eastern :: Bad : Hindu" analogy. And I really hope this is just all a figment of my overactive imagination. I hope that I am simply reading into things. I hope I am just overreacting or just somehow picking and choosing certain facts, media input, and Facebook posts to think that that is the narrative.  I hope that it is just a coincidence that the victim's religion is never mentioned when they are Hindu, but it is when they are ethnically South Asian or Middle Eastern but members of other religious groups. I really hope that it is unintentional that none of my Facebook friends have posted videos highlighting the positive aspects of Hinduism in the face of bigotry or intolerance. I hope that when I consistently see references to Hindus voting for Trump in articles about the deaths of the two Indian-Americans in the past few weeks, that they aren't somehow implying that Hindus are getting their comeuppance. I really hope that there isn't some sort of vestigial anti-Hindu sentiment in Western culture that is in the same vein as Winston Churchill's statements that Hindus are a "a beastly people with a beastly religion." I really hope that this is not the case.

But whether or not it is intentional, it is important to recognize that there is a concrete effect.  If we do not tell Hindu-Americans that they need not fear, then they will be afraid. Because at the end of the day, the hatred that seems to be all around us today is at its very essence, a fear and hatred of things that are different from the White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, English-Speaking, Heterosexual, Cis-gendered, America. And we Hindus are different.  And that difference is what makes Hindus afraid.

So I will give the benefit of the doubt to the media, my Facebook friends, and everyone, that it is my imagination that there is a possible anti-Hindu streak running rampant everywhere. But it doesn't change the fact that when my father considered the idea of me walking around Tampa all the time with a Tilakam on my forehead to proudly announce that I was a Hindu, all he could say was:

"Maybe...that's not a good idea."

We

Many of my Friday and Saturday nights when I was a kid were spent at the home of close family friends.  My father and my stepmother were incredibly close to another Tamil couple in our town and I was equally as close with their two sons.  The three of us would spend hours playing computer games, hanging out, and just having a great time.  However, as the evening progressed, at some point my dad would walk into the room.

The moment of truth.

Each time he would say in Tamil "We are leaving".  However, in that statement I would find out if I would have to leave or if I was allowed to sleep over with my friends.

Now for native English speakers this idea can be a bit confusing.  How can someone say the same sentence "We are leaving", but mean two different things depending on the scenario?  Does the listener depend on contextual clues?  Perhaps the tone of voice?  Actually it's a lot simpler than that.

In Tamil, there are two forms of the word we: "inclusive" and "exclusive". Depending on the word used, it either includes the listener or doesn't.  Confused? See below:

Leave it to Wikipedia to explain the difference a lot clearer than I ever could.   In Tamil, if one is including the addressee one uses the word "Naam".  If not, one uses the word "Nangal".  So basically if he used "Nangal" for the word "we" (as in referring to him and my stepmom, but excluding me), it meant that I would get a sleepover.  

If, he used "Naam" (as in referring to him, my stepmom, AND me), I'd complain that it wasn't late, and that he was being unfair, and then I would start crying like a two year old baby...

OK.  Maybe I didn't start crying.  The point is that at that young age, I learned that when said one used the term "We" in English, it could have multiple meanings.

As you'll see, inclusive and exclusive forms also existed for the Tamil word for "Our" as well.

One time my parents sponsored a prayer at the Hindu temple in Pittsburgh.  They invited the entire community and ordered mounds of fruits, flowers, and coconuts to make offerings.  I remember walking into my parents' bedroom as my Mom was adjusting her silk and gold sari.  That's when I asked: "Is Leena Aunty and Selvarajan Uncle going to be there?" Leena Aunty and Selvarajan Uncle were other close family friends.

Amma: Oh Harikannu, they don't come to our kovil(temple). They go to Church.  They are Christian.

I was utterly confused! An Indian that was...Christian?  I thought I understand how society worked: My non-Indian friends were Christian and my Indian friends were Hindu.  At the age of 5, I had already started categorizing people into specific categories with specific traits.

Me: (clearly upset) They don't like Krishna?

My mom must have heard the distress in my voice because she knelt down and carried me over to our family shrine.  Once there, she pointed to a picture of my late grandmother, my father's mother, my Ayah, and asked me to tell me who she was.

Me: Amma...that's Ayah.

Amma: Yes that's right.  And your Appa loved her very much.  And she loved him very much as well.  We do this out of reverence for her spirit as we believe that she is as close to God as she is to our hearts.  But do you think your friends have pictures of Ayah in their houses?

Me: <<laughing>> No Amma! She's our [Engalodiya - Exclusive] Ayah!  That's not their Grandma!

Amma: Even though your friends don't know your grandmother, they know that a grandmother's touch feels like the softest cotton.  They know that a grandmother's kiss still feels like the a spring rain.  They know that a grandmother's hug is warmer than a fireplace.

Me: <<confused>> Adha Naal?...So what?


Amma: So?  We all experience a grandmother's love in our  own way.  Regardless of what name we give the person who shared that with us, regardless of that person's color, creed, or path...they are all grandmothers.

<<raising her hands in prayer>>

Adhu pol...Like that...the Lord of all lords, the Creator of all creations, the Spirit that moves all spirits is one being. He is that which humbles all of us. <<smiles to me>>  Aunty and Uncle love that same spirit that we pray to in Pittsburgh.

Me: But they don't pray to our God?

Amma: They worship our [Nanmodiya - Inclusive] God. There is no "Engalodiya" in God.  He is not yours, mine, or someone else's.  He is God  for us all.

I never forgot that.  It reminded me how much significance is carried in the words "We" and "Our".  I was reminded of that conversation years later while watching a TV segment.  In the show, a man interviewed random people on the street and asked them what was the first sentence of the Constitution.

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Most people, got "We the People".   After that, it was pretty much chaos.  People started reciting the Declaration of Independence, the Emancipation Proclamation....there were even several who included pieces of Martin Luther King, Jr's "I Dreamed A Dream" speech.

Although the idea of the show was to show how unaware the American public was of their own laws, I think the show missed the fact that most people remembered (at least to me) the most important part...We the people.

This reminds us that when we speak of the laws of this nation, we speak as a unified group of people.  There is no "We" against "Them".  We the people...is basically the inclusive form of "We" in Tamil.

The Constitution was written in an era that was  burdened with masochism, slavery, and intolerance.  However, the document has withstood the test of time because it is based on the values of acceptance and commonality.  For me, "We the People" is as inclusive as one can get.  It carries the same fervency as my mother's words when she insisted that we all believe in the same God, regardless of our faith.

To appreciate this commonality is a core concept that is important for governments, faiths, and even for every individual to live a good life.  It's when we stratify society and categorize people based on birth, attributes, and backgrounds, that the seeds of intolerance are sown.

In the dramatized version of the Hindu epic "Lakshmi Sabadham", the story of Lakshmi, there is a scene where a milkmaid is brought to speak before a group of intellectuals and to join in their debates.  The priests and scholars immediately scoff and mock her and are incredulous that someone of her status could join in an intellectual debate.  The milkmaid then spoke:

"The Lord Almighty, Narayana, was born of the cow-herders...my heritage.  The Lord Narayana is the father of the spirit of creation (Brahma).  From creation, all of the spiritual knowledge and the scholars that bear them came into existence.  So are we not all of the same clan?  If birth, and not merit, determine our status, are we not all born as cow-herders and as equals?

By saying that we should all be seen as equals does not mean that I do not support individuality.  Tamil has an exclusive form of "we" and "our" because it recognizes that we are possess a diverse range of traits.  To say that we have characteristics that others do not is something worth celebrating.  That we all have unique qualities is a thing of beauty.

But the inclusive form of "we" has merit because it reminds us that there are core truths that unify us. That regardless of our faith, our culture, or our beliefs, "We the people" are deserving of certain dignities.  To know the inclusive form of the word shapes our humanity from our individuality.  It creates commonality from our differences.

So the next time some person talks about "our faith" versus "their faith", you may want to consider the significance of that word "our".   When a politician spews hate-filled statements against people who do not follow in the footsteps of our founding fathers, you may want to consider what "We the People" meant to our founding fathers.  When you see someone being defaced due to their economic, social, racial, or cultural background, you may want to consider what it means to be "us".

Even when you speak, you may want to consider what you actually mean when you state:

This is OUR land.
These are OUR values.
These are OUR rights.
This is what WE deserve.
I personally can't imagine a situation where any of those statements would use the exclusive form.

Righteous

The time period that I was in High School was a politically turbulent time in the US.  The events of 9/11 occurred during my sophomore year.  I was in French class when the announcement was made that planes had hit the twin towers.  It was a surreal day.  First, there were the phone calls to my relatives/close family friends that worked in and around the World Trade Center.  After discovering that they were safe, the numbness still didn't fade.

It was later that afternoon that the reality finally sunk in.





I was watching TV and I remember a Latin American woman standing in front of the TV with pictures of her brother.  Even though it was early afternoon, the dust in the sky from fallen buildings left the entire setting dark as night.  Her interview only lasted several seconds and was merely among a whole slew of people speaking about their missing loved ones.  However, this specific interview stuck in my memory.  I remember her saying at one point: "He may have amnesia if something hit him on the head.  If he's forgotten most things, he may respond to our nickname for him."  And at that moment, she said a Spanish word and burst into tears.  All the tears I had withheld until that moment, were released.

It's amazing how quickly that unified sense of remorse our nation felt dissolved into antagonistic groups immersed in either hatred or forgiveness.  Prior to the War in Iraq, I remember that students at our school held peace protests near the flag pole. I also remember the counter-protesters with their own slogan.  While I can barely remember anything that occurred at the peace protest, I remember being fixated on the crowd of youth waving a banner with the words "Bomb Iraq."

No it wasn't "Bring Terrorists to Justice".  Or "End Tyranny in Iraq". Or "Bring Peace to the Middle East."

Bomb Iraq. Bomb Iraq. Bomb Iraq.  Their voices echoed in my head for nights after the war erupted.  If kids in high school, in a progressive community like State College, could believe that positive resolution to a conflict is to bomb, kill, and even decimate an entire population...are the actions of September 11th, although definitely horrific, really that unimaginable?

In other words:  If kids raised in a white-collared suburban college-town community in Central Pennsylvania feel that blindly decimating an entire country's population with no regard as to whether the individuals they bomb are young, old, women, men, disabled, sick, etc. resolves the problems of evil and tyranny, then...

...what exactly goes through a kid's mind raised in a war-torn country?

That very night I remember hearing these words from our President, ""States like these and their terrorist allies constitute an axis of evil, arming to threaten the peace of the world."

Have you ever heard of the British Overseas Indian Territory? No? It is an archipelago of islands located halfway between Africa and Indonesia. In this territory were the former Chagos Islands.  The islands were well known by Indians, Mauritians, and the Maldivians. Until the 1960s, the Islands were inhabited by a group of individuals known as the Chagossians or the Ilois (French for "Islanders").  The people were simple islanders that depended on fishing and agriculture for sustenance.  They were of mostly African heritage, with some mixed Malay and South Indian backgrounds.  Their language was a French creole. Their faith was Catholic.

1965:  A year after M.L.K. received the Nobel Prize for Peace for defending the civil liberties of his people, the Chagossians' simple lives were changed in a political stroke by powers that existed hundreds and thousands of miles from them.  In exchange for the independence of the nation of Mauritius, the islands were split off to form a separate British Territory.  Throughout this entire process, no referendum was held.  No consultation was made with the Chagossians.  The newly formed constitution was not democratic in nature, for it began a process of forced depopulation of the islands.

There are many testimonies online that discuss decreasing food supplies, violence, and threats to force the Chagossians to move.  But I think the basic summary of the actions came on April 16th, 1971, less than 2 years after the Stonewall riots.  The United Kingdom issued "British Island Overseas Territory Ordinance Number 1".  It made it a criminal offence for any non-military personnel to live on the islands.

One can not even claim that this depopulation was the result of poor administration efforts. No.  There was a malicious effort to deny Chagossians of any territorial claims. Eleanor Emery, the head of the territory issued the following message:   

..."Apart from our overall strategic and defense interests, we are also concerned at present not to have to elaborate on the administrative implications for the present population of Diego Garcia [The largest island of the Chagos Islands] of the establishment of any base there.

We would not wish it to become general knowledge that some of the inhabitants have lived on Diego Garcia for several generations and could, therefore, be regarded as 'belongers'.

We shall advise ministers in handling supplementary questions to say that there is only a small number of contract workers from the Seychelles and Mauritius, engaged to work on the copra plantations."

And in a dry, official document, the natives were disenfranchised.

The compensation that was provided per head was 6,000 Pounds per head.  6,000 Pounds to relocate, find home, learn a new language, learn a new trade, and survive.  The British government "kindly" offered additional money in 1979...but only to those who would relinquish any right to return to the Islands.

Even as an American, I feel my hands are not clean.  Because the military located there, is a combined British and US armed force.  The depopulation of the islands was done by both British and US military personnel.

But beyond a feeling of shame, I can't help but feel a strong feeling...the harsher and bitter feeling of irony being played here.

In 1962, the President of United States, John F. Kennedy said, in regards to the creation of the state of Israel:

"This nation, from the time of President Woodrow Wilson, has established and continued a tradition of friendship with Israel because we are committed to all free societies that seek a path to peace and honor individual right."

This blog entry isn't about imparting knowledge or wisdom.  Because at this time I am at a loss. I can not even say that the "Trail of Tears" existed over a century ago.  Less than a decade before my birth, another forgotten Trail of Tears occurred.  But their woes have been forgotten...like tears in the salty ocean they crossed to their new homes.

Because in my mind, I'm still a kid in high school watching a group of kids.  They are laughing, talking, and kicking around a soccer ball.  But as I watch them, their faces darken, not only the sun, but under years of hardship.  Their features may have changed, but that ferocity remains.  Their signs change from "Bomb Iraq" to "Bomb UK" or "Bomb USA".  And the same way I feared my own peers, I find myself fearful of these Chagossians.

And I find myself confused. Who is the axis of Evil our President spoke of?  Who is the axis of Good?  And most importantly...who is righteous?

Beasts

When I was a kid, I loved reading the Amar Chitra Katha books.  The Amar Chitra Katha books were a series of illustrated comic books that depicted stories from Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain religions.  I loved the characters in those stories.  Those characters, as Pi said in Life of Pi:

"...were my superheroes growing up. Hanuman, the monkey god, lifting an entire mountain to save his friend Lakshman. Ganesh the elephant headed, risking his life to save the honor of his mother Pārvati. Vishnu, the Supreme Soul. The Soul of all things. Vishnu sleeps, floating on the shoreless cosmic ocean, and we are the stuff of his dreams."

 But you see, it was always easy to tell who the heroes and the villains were in those stories.  Even as they were being introduced, the good characters would have halos around their face, like a miniature moon acting as their personal shadow.  And the villains would have horns and tusks.  Even those who would later become traitors would have their eyes heavily shadowed with kohl, so as to reveal their dark intentions through their soft appearances.


This is not a technique that is limited to Indian illustrations.  Do not all of our Western heroes/heroines and villains follow similar archetypes?  The blonde-haired maiden pursued by a dark-haired villain?  The tall and handsome prince?  The crooked back scientist that creates a monster?  And of course, the beloved Wicked Witch from the Land of Oz wore black all the time because...

...black makes you look more slender?


But characters in history have proven to not follow these archetypes.

I remember when I was in middle school, as we were discussing the Holocaust, the thought behind everyone's mind was "How could people not spot the villains and call out 'wolf'?  Why did noone do anything to stop these atrocities!"

There are two parts to the answer to these questions.  First, it's not easy to tell evil even if it stands before you.  The problem is that Hitlers' can be charming. Stalins' can be sweet.  Columbuses' can give you the last 20 cents you needed for your coffee when you were out of change.  People don't have the same archetypes that the villains from our childhood stories have.  Even the archetypes can blend together.  For Hitler's mustache was actually of British origin and was popularized by the innocent comedian Charlie Chaplin.

Sometimes these archetypes can get in the way of even determining who is a friend and who is an enemy.  When I was young, I remember being at the temple in Srirangam.  Srirangam is a beautiful Vaishnavite temple in South India. It is huge.  The outer walls have a circumference of 6 miles. It is 156 acres in size, about 1.5 times larger than Vatican City (109 acres).

I remember being overwhelmed with the crowds of people and the tall gopurams towering over 200 feet.  And suddenly in the masses, I was lost.

Not spiritually lost, but literally lost.  I had no idea where my family was.  I tried seeking help from those around me.  These was one girl who came up to me and asked me if I was lost.  I was about to speak when her mother grabbed her hand and pulled her away:

"Yain andha karuppaana passanngal koodu paysera? Yarro pethu pitchakarranga..." Translation: "Why are you talking with those dark-skinned kids? They are probably just beggars!"


And in that moment I was the black sheep.  I always knew that that I was darker than most people in my family, but I never knew that that carried any influence on how I may be perceived in public.  I had forgotten that in the Amar Chitra Katha stories, the heroes were always shaded in pink while the villains were shaded in black or dark grey. I found my family within the next few minutes, but the moment deeply scarred me.



But it also opened my eyes to reality.  It's not as easy to spot good people in a crowd.  And it's similarly not easy to spot the beasts.   The beasts in this world may appear with charming faces, sweet expressions, and kind gestures. Also, probably most frightening, they may even possess positions of power.

In the Mahabharatha, there is a story of where the evil Kauravas, after winning a game of dice, bring out the Princess Draupadi to be stripped before the entire court and thereby humiliated.

In an extremely moving scene, she defiantly looks at all the lords of the court and spits in their face.  She states "where righteousness and justice do not exist, it ceases to be a court; it is a gang of robbers".


For me, this scene was moving for many reasons.  Draupadi was in a handicapped state where even those who knew how unfair the situation was, did not come to her rescue.  The "beasts" in her situation were all princes and lords of the court with the power to execute her.  However, she was defiant and spoke in favor of righteousness, even though a plea for mercy might have been more helpful for her plight.  And that's the second part of the answer to why the Holocaust occurred.  People were too afraid to stand up and face the beasts since the beasts were in positions of power.


What I've learned in my life is to always be alert.  There are beasts that prowl around us all the time.  We have two duties: (1) To not let appearances, traits, and other characteristics be the determining factor of who is righteous and who is not, and (2) when confronted by one of these beasts, to step forward in the name of righteousness, instead of cowering, even if we are not in a position of power.