At the end of April, several of us will be flying out to Grand Rapids, Michigan to present at Calvin College’s Conference on Religion and Politics. That will effectively be my last deliverable for the directed study portion of our trip to India. However, despite the fact that it might be my last scholastic responsibility in regard to Gujarat, I am resolved not to let the presentation in Grand Rapids be the last time I share what I learned there.

I will never forget the stories of the people who spoke with us there, their pain, their suffering, their power and their bravery. To hear the testimonies that we did and not continually share them would be unfair.

As I’ll be graduating in May, I hope that in my future work I will have plenty of opportunities to share my insights about Gujarat and that I’ll have an opportunity to use all I’ve gained from the course in my future career.

Since I have been old enough to recall, most people have had a difficult time pin pointing my ethnic background. Especially, because I grew up in the whitest state in the union, Utah, I’ve been accused of being every race on the planet.  I’ve gotten everything from Polynesian or Mexican to Somali or Persian. There have been a few keen people who have combined my name with some of my facial characteristics and figured that I have to be some part Arab—which is true. But, no one has ever approached me and said “oh, you must be German, Dutch, Yemeni and Sudanese.” Given my proclivity to be mistaken for something I’m not or blending in (depending where I am), it was fun to see what people would guess my back ground is while we were in Gujarat.

In a two-week time period, I was mistaken for being Indian on countless occasions. In stores, the staff assumed I spoke Hindi or Gujarati. In our interviews, people would say “oh he must be Indian.” Several times we indulged them and asked where they thought I was from in India. The response was always “Himachal Pradesh!”

The hilarity of it all culminated in one of our last days in Gujarat. My friend Brian and I were sitting in our room getting ready for another day of interviews and research, when he turned to me as he read the paper and said “there’s a huge snow storm in your home state, it’s pretty bad. Did you hear about it?”  I responded “oh yeah, this time of year is pretty crazy in Utah.” Uncontrollably laughing, Brian responds “no, the storm is in Himachal Pradesh!” We had a good laugh.

Several weeks ago, some of us who traveled to Gujarat had the opportunity to present to the Indian American Muslim Council (IAMC) on our research findings. We drove up to Santa Clara to present at the Islamic community center there. When we arrived I was nervous, because these people really knew what they were talking about; IAMC was an organization that, in conjunction with others, successfully prevented Narendra Modi from obtaining a U.S. visa. This wasn’t a couple of interested MIIS student we were talking to; this was the real deal. Nonetheless they were interested in what we had to say and what we discovered during our time in Gujarat.

Our presentation went well. We focused on the politics of Modi and the BJP as it relates to each of our individual research topics. At the end, all of them were asking very thoughtful and well informed questions—as was to be expected. The questions ignited such a debate that we had to be cut off to move the conversation to the cafeteria for dinner. At dinner, I engaged in some of the most interesting and informative conversation about Gujarat since I had returned from there.

The IAMC will probably be the most well informed group to whom we will be presenting, in regards to Gujarat and the Hindu-Muslim relations within India. That being the case, as our group prepares for our presentation to the MIIS student body and as some of us prepare to present at the conference in Grand Rapids, I’m glad our first opportunity was a “baptism by fire” situation.

On our third day in Gujarat, we were in Kutch, and I became extremely sick. For the three days following, I couldn’t eat, I could barley drink and was spending more time in the bathroom than the toilet itself. I probably shouldn’t go into too much detail about my symptoms. Just trust that I wasn’t in good shape.

I drank lots of fluids and tried my best to eat what I could; but, I was still miserable. But, in Radhanpur a few days after I had gotten sick, we had the opportunity to stay in a Jesuit mission and school there. While walking around the campus—my stomach churning and gurgling—the crosses images reminded of my childhood catechism classes. Feeling the worst I had in a long time, I was later reminded of a particular verse:

“These twelve, Jesus sent forth, saying…heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils; freely ye have received, freely give.” –Matthew 10:5a,8

Since my time as a boy in the Lutheran church, I have grown to put very little weight in the words of the Christian bible, grown to lack faith in any religioun, and aged out of my respect for those that call themselves men (or women) of God. However, on the night we first arrived in Radhanpur, I gained a new respect for the words of that passage.

I was brought into the area of the mission where the nuns of the mission taught the young girls, facilitated work programs for local women, and ran a medical clinic. They were kind enough to sit down with me; they asked about my symptoms and felt my forehead; they gave me a few pills to take and sent me on my way with a glass of water. That night I gained a new respect for the aforementioned verse from the book of Matthew not because I suddenly had an epiphany or a new found faith; but because those women, the nuns, had dedicated their lives to those words. They may not be literally “casting out devils” or “raising the dead,” but they were putting words into action. They practice what they preach, and that, I can respect.

Throughout our time in Gujarat we traveled to many cities and villages. But, many of our days were spent in Ahmedabad, the capital. During the days and night that we stayed in Ahmedabad we stayed in the Pride Hotel.

In my other experiences living in “developing” countries, I had always stayed with family or friends. So for me, the Pride Hotel was my first experience staying in a “five-star” hotel outside of the United States—if ever inside the U.S.

The Pride Hotel was an interesting experience. Despite the outside of the building being gated off from the rest of the world—as if it was the U.S.-held “Green Zone” in Baghdad—the facilities were great. The staff was friendly enough, and the spread for the continental breakfast hit the spot. In all, I really enjoyed the hotel and the nights we stayed there. However, I have one complaint: the freakin’ internet!

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t go to India expecting the world’s fastest internet, and outside of Ahmedabad, I was perfectly content without Wi-Fi—or any technology really. I generally try to be above “first-world problems” like a lack of internet, especially when surrounded by many people who have little to nothing—forget technology. But, the Pride Hotel really tested me. The problem wasn’t that the Pride Hotel didn’t have internet; the problem was that the process of connecting to the internet was like the battle between Indra and Vrta every time I needed it.

We are students of conflict resolution that had traveled to Gujarat to study a long-time conflict, in the hopes of learning how to become practitioners of conflict management and resolution. The irony of the internet situation was as such: we were there to study the negative results of violent conflict, and to do so we needed the internet, but I was constantly about another phone call away from taking my computer down to the lobby and throwing it at the front desk staff.

But, perhaps I should explain. We were told that our group would be given unlimited access to the hotel’s Wi-Fi which they generously offered to us—I’m sure after some strongly worded persuasion on the part of our professor. So, when I heard that we had been given that deal, I thought “that’s pretty cool at least we’ll have some internet when we’re staying here, so we can get some blogging done.” Oh, how naïve I was!

My roommate for the trip RJ Aycock and I were in a constant battle with the front desk to get internet. After a long day of meetings and interviews, one of our typical evenings in the Pride Hotel went as follows:

10:00pm: I attempt to log on to the internet…doesn’t work.

10:02pm: I turn to RJ.

Me: “Hey, is your internet working dude?”

RJ: “Yeah, mines working fine, did you try your last name and room number as the user name and password?”

Me: “yeah, it’s still not working.”

10:03pm: I call the front desk.

Staff member: “This is [insert male/female name here] at the front desk how may I assist you?”

Me: Hi, I’m unable to log on to the internet. I was wondering if I could have some help.

Staff member: Certainly, you’re in room 817 is that correct?

Me: Yes

Staff member: Ok, thank you Mr. Aycock ( which is certainly not my last name, but RJ’s) you just need to enter your room number as the username and your last name as the password. Ok? Enjoy your night, Sir.”

Me: “b..bu..”

Phone clicks….

Me: “[expletive deleted]!!!”

RJ chuckles…

10:05pm: I call the front desk again.

Staff member: “This is [insert male/female name—which is different from the first name—here] at the front desk how may I assist you?”

 Me: “Hi, this is OMAR… SALEM in room 817. I’ve been trying to connect to the internet for a while. I’ve entered my room number as the username and my last name as the password, and it’s still not working.”

Staff member: “Ok, try entering your last name in all capital letters and your room number as the user name. Ok? Goodnight, Sir.”

Phone Clicks…

Me: “wa..wait!”

10:07pm: I try entering my last name in all capitals. It doesn’t work.

10:08pm: I call the front desk once more.

Staff member: “This is…”

Me: “yeah, yeah, yeah Hi! I just tried entering my last name in all caps, and the network is still not letting me connect to the internet”

Staff member: “and you put your room number as the user name?”

10:09pm: I imagine ripping the phone out of the wall, going down to the lobby and whipping it around by the cord at them, like a medieval warrior with a mace.

Me: “Yes, I entered my room number as the username!”

Staff member: “Ok, I will get in touch with our IT department, and I will have them call you back shortly.”

10:20pm: I sit waiting for the call…

10:30pm: I sit waiting for the call…

10:31pm: I call the front desk. Talk to them and they inform me that the IT specialist is working on the problem and will call me with the solution shortly.

10:45pm: The phone rings, and I answer.

Me: “Hello?”

IT Specialist: “Hello, this is [insert Indian male name here] from the IT department. You are having trouble connecting to the internet?”

Me: “Yes…”

IT Specialist: “and you entered your room number as the username and your last name as the password?”

Me: “Yes…”

IT Specialist: “did you try entering your last name in all capitals?”

10:46pm: I begin to lose faith in all humanity…and my phone-mace idea begins to seem like an increasingly more attractive option to resolve the situation.

Me: deep exhale… “Yes, I tried that.”

IT Specialist: “Well, try entering the room number as the username and ‘Acock’ as the password, and that should work.”

Me: “Alright, I’m going to try this with you on the phone; don’t go anywhere…”

IT Specialist: “Ok, Sir”

10:47pm: I successfully gain internet access and thank the gentleman for his help.

10:50pm: RJ attempts to use the internet on his computer.

RJ: “Now my internet isn’t working; your computer is connected though right?”

Me: “ha ha ha yeah”

RJ: “[Explitive deleted]!!!”

10: 51pm: RJ picks up the phone with the look of a warrior preparing for battle.

 

A Panopticon is a building design first dreamt up by Jeremy Bentham in the late eighteenth century. Later, Michel Foucalt elaborated on the idea, discussing the powerful philosophical implications of Panopticism.

I’m not a particular fan of Foucalt, and I spent a very short time in Gujarat, but through my time there I couldn’t help but notice Gujarat’s uncanny resemblance to a Panopticon. The resemblance may not be as obvious to some; there is not a giant guard tower in Ahmedabad, and the state is not a perfectly-shaped circular structure. However, if interpreted metaphorically, one might mistake the writings of Foucalt in Discipline & Punishment (published in 1975) as premonitions of Gujarat’s political future:

“The major effect of the Panopticon: to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power. So to arrange things that the surveillance is permanent in its effects, even if it is discontinuous in its action; that the perfection of power should tend to render its actual exercise unnecessary; that this architectural apparatus should be a machine for creating and sustaining a power relation independent of the person who exercises it; in short, that the inmates should be caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers. To achieve this, it is at once too much and too little that the prisoner should be constantly observed by an inspector: too little, for what matters is that he knows himself to be observed; too much, because he has no need in fact of being so”(Michel Foucalt, Discipline &Punishment- Panopticism).

 

In the center of every Panopticon, there is a central tower, where the “inspector” may view each cell with full clarity and from where the occupants perceive constant observation. Although the social and political structures of Gujarat have been in place for some time, some of which are arguably inherent to Indian culture, the central observation tower of the Gujarati Panopticon is undoubtedly its chief minister, Narendra Modi.

The central tower is surrounded by cells, each cell contains an individual occupant, and “each individual, in his [or her] place, is securely confined to a cell from which he is seen from the front by the supervisor; but the side walls prevent him from coming into contact with his companions. He is seen, but he does not see; he is the object of information, never a subject in communication.” Similarly, the occupants of the Gujarati Panopticon are partitioned into cells: Hindus, Muslims, Brahmins, Dalits, Sunnis, Shiites, men, women, insiders, outsiders, and etcetera; they are partitioned and divided until each person has his or her own cell. The walls that separate them often prevent communication, but more importantly they prevent collective action. The occupants of Modi’s Panopticon are not just the people of Gujarat; journalists, activists, foreign governments and researchers all have their respective cells in the arrangement.

Each cell’s view is restricted only to the central tower, and the central tower prevents the cells from seeing each other. The 2002 violence in Gujarat put the finishing touches on Modi’s Panopticon, installing him as the central tower. There is an assortment of cells that surround him, supporters, victims, opponents, and the indifferent. Yet, they are all inhibited from being in view of each other; those who support Modi because they believe he is the key to a developed Gujarat are blind to Modi’s victims in the same way that those victims will never see true development because of Modi. The views of those seeking justice for the state-sponsored violence are obstructed by Modi from the very real desires of those who just want to forget, and vise versa. The list of those who’s view is obstructed is likely endless, partly because the central tower—Modi—is a very large obstruction and partly because Gujaraties are “caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers.” The culture and social structure of Gujarat often create this self-enforced power dynamic, however, these pre-existing constructs like religion and caste because the central power is “visible and unverifiable.” According to Bentham and Foucalt visible and unverifiable meant that “the inmate will constantly have before his eyes the tall outline of the central tower from which he is spied upon…[and] the inmate must never know whether he is being looked at at anyone moment; but he must be sure that he may always be so.” In Gujarat, the shadow of the central tower is certainly visible. Although Gujaraties aren’t literally being spied upon constantly—although I’m sure many are being spied upon—the uncertainty of peace and the tentative nature of the status quo is what constitutes the unverifiable nature of Modi’s power in Gujarat.

 

In a previous post “Singapore, a Means of Comparison.” (See “older posts”). I wrote about my short stay in Singapore—on my way to Gujarat—and the harmonious coexistence of Singapore’s varying religious communities, relative to the comparatively dystopian atmosphere surrounding the religious communities of Gujarat, India. Although I still stand by the core argument that Singapore and Gujarat stand in contrast to each other, in terms of religious coexistence—because they do—an experience in Gujarat made me rethink what I had written.

I claimed that maybe “fate had taken me to Singapore to witness religious coexistence and tolerance, to have a means of comparison.” One very short conversation had forever changed how I define, and think about that central word, “tolerance.”

In Ahmedabad city, our group had the pleasure of interviewing a group of women from various NGOs. Along with their insights and fascinating stories, several women had brought various pamphlets which outlined the work of their respective organization, their mission, their philosophy and the quotes that guide them. One such quote quickly caught my attention: “We don’t want tolerance. We want space.” I immediately thought to myself “why wouldn’t an organization fighting against gender and religious discrimination want more tolerance?”

Puzzled, I asked the woman from that particular organization what “we don’t want tolerance” meant. She replied by rhetorically asking what was wrong with her and her community that others needed to tolerate. I had an epiphany, at that moment. “Of course” I thought “you tolerate a bad smell, you tolerate a baby crying in a movie theater, you tolerate long lines, basically, one only tolerates bad or annoying things.” I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Suddenly, I was outraged about every time I had ever heard someone preaching about religious tolerance or tolerance in general.

Although I am personally very doubtful of the many claims that religion and religious institutions are beneficial to a community and/or an individual, I would never claim that there is something inherently wrong with the community or individual; hoping they’d do the same for me, I’d give them the space to be who they are. In that way, “we want space” resonated with me; because, sure, I have to tolerate—the annoying/bad kind of tolerate—the occasional door-to-door missionary or a friend who is convinced I need a savior, but I ultimately have the space to be who I am and believe—or not believe—whatever I want.

However, for many in Gujarat, that kind of freedom is a luxury—if not non-existent. There is plenty of tolerance in Gujarat. But, minority religions, women, gays, lesbians, hijras, the lower castes are “tolerated,” until they’re not. That’s why Gujarat doesn’t need more tolerance; it needs more space.

In January of 2001, the western-most state of India, Gujarat, experienced an earthquake which reached magnitudes between 7.6 and 7.7 (RS). As the earthquake radiated from the city of Bhuj—the epicenter—wide-spread destruction followed. The district of Kutch was the most devastated; an estimated 70% of the buildings in the region were destroyed. For Kutch, the measurement of time is no longer BC-AD, BCE-CE, AH or any other abstract notion; the timeline for Kutch is now relative to before and after the earthquake.

Despite Gujarat’s reputation for being plagued by communal tensions and violence, Kutch is distinct from the rest of the state, it is known for having markedly less tension, and Kuthchies consider themselves to be above the type of communal violence that afflicts the rest of Gujarat. However, during the time we spent in Kutch and through the interviews we conducted there, I began to realize they were right: although there are communal tensions there, the latent tension has never been translated into violence. However, those who spoke to our group about the absence of violence in Kutch are only right, if they define violence as “direct violence,” that is the physical harm of others. Since 2001, however, Kutch has seen an undisputable increase in structural and cultural violence.

The onslaught of aid from within India and from abroad brought with it the seeds of fundamentalism. Along with international NGOs and IOs came right-wing Hindu and Wahabist Muslim groups which brought their own brand of assistance. In Kutch, we heard from Hindus and Muslims about the unfettered discrimination of these groups in both blocking and receiving aid. The assistance was conditional upon the given family or community to not sharing with their Muslim or Hindu neighbors. In the reconstruction phase of the post-disaster recovery, homes were built in homogeneous pockets, adding geographic distinction religious communities and literal separation. Villages where Hindus and Muslims once coexisted in heterogeneous communities became strictly Hindu or purely Muslim, creating an even deeper sense of the “other.” Moreover, the fundamentalist had succeeded not only in strengthening the structurally violent elements of society through ghettoization, but they had succeeded in infusing the population with their ideology, their brand of religion.  There were once community events where women of both religions could dance in celebration of shared traditions; now, Muslim women are not allowed to attend because of fundamentalist proclivities, making these types of inter-communal, celebratory events a dying tradition—if not dead. The replacement of tradition with fundamentalism is just one example we heard of an increase in cultural violence; the wearing of the Niqab and the imposition of exorbitant dowries are also increasing intra and inter-communal, cultural violence.

Although we did hear many stories of brave and compassionate neighbors, I couldn’t help but leave Kutch with a deep sense of sadness; I wonder if Kutch could have served as a glimmer of hope for the rest of Gujarat, with a push in the right direction. Yet 12 years later, Kutch seems as if it is becoming more and more like the rest of Gujarat.

On my way to conduct research in India, where I am now studying the Hindu-Muslim conflict, I had a 12-hour opportunity for adventure in the form of a layover in Singapore. With just a quick stamp in my passport, I emerged from Changi Airport into the beautiful warm city-state.  Cliché representations of South-East Asia often depict drunken Americans gallivanting around filthy streets and red-light districts or adventuring through dilapidated neighborhoods. However, if there is any rule about South-East Asia, Singapore is the exception. The clean streets and impeccable city-planning defy all generalization. Many Europeans have caught onto this fact, and Singapore has become a popular place for vacationers to spend their Euros. I’d personally rate Singapore higher than any American city I’ve visited—by any measure.

However, perhaps because I was on my way to Gujarat to study its long history of inter-communal, religious violence, I noticed the religious and ethnic diversity of Singapore and the relative harmony in which Singaporeans exist. In the downtown area, the spires of an Anglican, church, built by the British, shape the skyline and accent the cityscape. Around the corner from the white Victorian church rest a Buddhist temple, a Hindu temple and a Mosque, each adding its unique architectural signature to the Singaporean atmosphere.  But, more importantly, these places of worship are testaments to the Chinese, Indian, Malay and Indonesian religious contributions to the city-state. The juxtaposition of these structures stood out to me—likely because I had been preparing myself for the disharmony of Gujarat’s religious communities.

To my knowledge, Singapore has never faced inter-communal violence based on religion. Perhaps, fate had taken me to Singapore to witness religious coexistence and tolerance to have a means of comparison.

Now after hearing first-hand accounts of systematic religious discrimination in Gujarat, I’m realizing that—for the most part—harmony and coexistence are antonyms of the reality in Gujarat. For a nation that prides itself on secularism and that has a constitution that asserts religious coexistence, India has countless divisions which the populace uses to discriminate against one another—chiefly religion. These divisions are what I’ve come here to study, but I’m learning that coexistence is not easily achieved.

Perhaps, I should thank the powers-that-be at Singapore Airlines for arranging a second, ten-hour layover in Singapore, to remind myself that coexistence isn’t just something you write in a constitution; it’s a continual practice.

My anticipation for the up-coming trip to Gujarat, India is palpable. I have been doing a lot of reading and research in preparation for our two-week stay there. Although my research questions revolve largely around the effect that natural disasters may have on deeply divided societies and how those divisions may hinder effective disaster relief, my preparation and research have been all encompassing. Reading about the Hindutua ideologyand researching Gandhi’s advocacy of secularism and non-violence have piqued my interest in the political culture of Gujarat. My research into the riots which have long plagued Gujarat, although very depressing at times, has strengthened my resolve to observe and share the stories of those affected by the violence. Although I have thoroughly enjoyed doing preliminary research on the situation in Gujarat, I’m choosing to write about my more light-hearted research and something very dear to me: food!

Despite the many religious, ethnic and socio-economic divisions in Indian society, my cursory observations have led me to conclude that stronger than any shared sense of secular nationalism is India’s common love of really good food. Whether the dish is entirely vegan, vegetarian or something more carnivore-friendly, Indian food is all about the blissful melding of herbs and spices. Garlic, turmeric, coriander, cumin, cinnamon and curry are only a sliver of the myriad of ingredients which culminate into the pungent aromas and delicious flavors that are Indian food. Cooking Indian food fills the air with mouth-watering smells and fills the stomach with utter satisfaction; so, this New Year’s Eve, I decided to end 2012 by preparing an Indian themed dinner for my friends.

When it comes to cooking Indian food, I’m a rookie—at best. But I wanted to give it a shot anyway. I used a few recipes from a book my friend gave me to cook an entirely vegan dinner, with a few of my own twists:

We began the meal with Indian Style Coleslaw. This yummy salad includes fresh, chopped cabbage, cilantro, parsley, celery, fennel bulb, red bell pepper (my twist) and sultanas (white raisins), topped with lemon, a touch of honey (my twist) and olive oil. This mix was a refreshing way to start the meal.

Next, we dug into some Madras-Style Eggplant, an awesome medley of sautéed eggplant, tomatoes and onions with a kick of chili, turmeric and black mustard seeds.

The second side dish I prepared for the evening—and my personal favorite—was a spicy okra dish; it combined ginger, garlic, onions, sautéed okra and a blend of spices in a way that electrified the taste buds.

For the main dish I prepared a Butternut Squash Curry. Served over rice, this sweet and savory blend was a huge success. Roasted butternut squash (my twist), coconut milk, curry leaves and a blend of spices (including a hint of cinnamon) came together to create the biggest hit of the night—I say biggest hit, because the four of us ate the entire pot and still wanted more, despite being insanely full).

As we finished off the meal with fresh, tropical fruits and champagne in anticipation of the New Year, I couldn’t help but think upon the amazing food and flavors that awaited me in Gujarat in 2013. While there, I look forward to learning more about my favorite part of the Indian culture, the food.