The final post before migration

Hello readers, I hope everyone’s 2012 is off to great start!

Personally things are going well for me, but I’m in a holding pattern in a few major points of life. My fiancée Sasmita remains in India, I’m searching for a job in the field of development/ conflict resolution, and I’m looking for a new place to live with my eventual wife in the metro DC area.

Having so many decisions up in the air, results in decreased focus on my writing for this blog. Additionally, my computer contracted a virus during Thanksgiving, rendering it useless and I lost a few draft posts. With so much upheaval in my life, the motivation to re-write those posts is lacking.

So…this blog is moving again. No, I’m not talking about my physical location; that was last year.

I’m talking about where to find my writing on the web.

After much soul-searching and discussions with trusted friends, I have decided to join the blog Land of Gazillion Adoptees, here, as a principle contributor.

Kevin Ost-Vollmers; a very good friend of mine, currently residing in Minnesota, started LGA last year. Being a regular blogger will benefit both his blog and me personally in a few ways:

One, LGA does not have a regular voice from the Indian adult community and I would be able to change that. Two, the excellent LGA blog succeeds because it highlights many members of the adoption community and is a showcase for their stories and thoughts. I would be adding my voice to this larger endeavor. Three, this reduces pressure on me to constantly create new material, and lastly, blogging for LGA will expand my own audience of readers beyond you, my faithful family, friends, and occasional visitors.

I’m excited about where this collaboration will lead and humbled by the possibilities for the future. I’m joining some fantastic people with interesting experiences.

It’s been quite a 2.5 year run for this blog in its current form. The very name “world citizen’s blog” reflects my feelings that I am never fully at home, either in my birth culture of India, or in the culture of my adoption, America. That I and other adoptees are citizens of the whole world, not just one place.

Those feelings have not changed, especially after spending nearly half of 2011 in India. If anything the difficultly in reconciling the two has become greater.

I began blogging with great hesitation with this post around Father’s Day of 2009.

I shared some real emotion and vulnerabilities in this space and I have been richly rewarded for doing so. It has been great therapy for me to put some of these thoughts on paper and I appreciate you reading them.

I especially have enjoyed your comments and hashing out ideas with my readers.

I do hope that you will continue to follow my journey as an adoptee in my new “home.”

-adoptedkeralite

Cricket Unites and Caste Cleaves

India is a land that is really thousands of diverse countries under one flag. Different religions, varying tongues, a myriad of food options, dissimilar dressing styles, sundry climates, a plethora of political affiliations and parties etc… I could go on ad-nauseam. But there is one thing unites this vast nation unlike anything else — cricket.

American football, futbol, basketball, baseball and even hockey, popular in huge swaths across the globe have no substantial following there. The average one day cricket match lasts more than six hours. That’s realistically about the average workday for most people in the West.

Everywhere one ventures there are boys playing cricket in fields, in streets, along railroad tracks, in the affluent gated communities, in her fetid slums, it permeates the national psyche. The commercials show cricketers hawking products, the billboards gleam with the faces of the cricket gods, whom millions of Indians adore. In a land with thousands of deities, Sachin Tendulkar, and his cricketing mates feel like part of the religious pantheon.

I was fortunate enough to be in Delhi for India’s historic World Cup win over their nemesis Pakistan (emphasis on “their,” as don’t feel that way personally) and the celebrations which followed. It was an amazing sight, to hear and see fireworks in all directions for hours after the match ended.

Two days later the country erupted again in euphoria nearly incomprehensible to anyone born and bred in the US, as India won the Cricket World Cup. Perhaps such merry-making is equaled in the futbol heartlands of South America or Europe. But I am nearly certain it could never surpass the party which the nation plunged itself headlong into after beating Sri Lanka. Brazil may go insane after a World Cup victory, ditto France or Italy, but they don’t have 1 billion plus people, all of whom seem like they have gone crazy with elation together. The scale of national ecstasy was astounding.

One and all were celebrating. Religious, cultural, social, and economic differences were all set aside as India coroneted their cricketing kings. They joined in massive street parties, where seemingly everyone waved the tri-color, honked their car horns in jubilation and united around their love for team India. Young, old, rich and poor, men and women, the have and the have-not’s meeting together to share their love and pride in their team, the World Champions.

It was a marvelous event to witness.

But if cricket unifies this country in extraordinary ways, the Hindu caste system, even in 2011, is its opposite – splitting it apart like nothing else.

Before I go “there,” I realize this is a highly controversial topic that I will never fully understand. Since I’m writing a blog post, not a dissertation, I will bypass deep details about its origins or the ideology behind it. There are many books and articles written about caste by Indians and non-Indians alike that do so. Read them if you are looking for scholarly analysis.

The following were my observations after five months of living there.

I know that many Indians get very defensive when caste is mentioned by a foreigner, believing “we” have no business being involved in judging their way of life. That’s a valid point and I have considered it, but being an Indian myself, though not raised here, I will take the liberty to voice my feelings about it anyway.

Recently I was in a discussion with a woman who said that caste and class was the same thing. I would emphatically and respectfully disagree.

First of all, caste in India is dogmatically sanctioned by the religious majority, Hinduism. So for that very reason alone, caste is different. Class is not based on a religious doctrine, but rather one’s socio-economic status. Caste on the other hand largely determines one’s socio-economic status.

Secondly, the entire formulation of the caste system is based on inequality. The Brahmins are the elite by their birth, not by anything else. Similarly if you are born a low-caste Hindu, you have no recourse. There’s nothing you can do as an individual to overcome your poor station in life. If you are in one of the scheduled castes or tribes, that’s your destiny. You can never fully leave it. You may rise above it, but the stigma of your upbringing will not fully fade.

The entire Brahmanical system was put in place to keep millions of people from ever achieving power, influence, education, money, freedom and a host of other things. Brahmins historically alone made the decisions. Even today many Indians who are well-off are high caste.

Even use of Sanskrit in Hindu teaching allowed Brahmins to maintain their superiority. Sanskrit was not the common language of India, and the Brahmins had sole possession of the ability to read and speak it. This meant that they alone knew the scriptures and were seen as the keepers of holy texts, ensuring gravitas to make pronouncements about Hindu daily life and rituals.

Lastly, there is nothing in class that compares with the practice of “untouchability” and impurity that exists within the Hindu caste system.

The system is not only one of inequality, it is absolutely concrete in its declarations that castes cannot inter-marry and fraternize. For caste Hindus merely coming into contact with a lower caste, defiles their person and makes them unclean. Nothing in the idea of class even remotely resembles this.

A poor person outside of South East Asia can generally enter any religious sanctuary, eat in any restaurant, work a job that is not completely demeaning, attend school, own land, and have faith in the rule of law. Certain opportunities may be closed to them depending on how much money they actually have. But if you are low-caste and depending on how low-caste one is, you cannot do any of these things. Or if you do, the consequences for such actions can be torture, rape or even death.

I cannot think of a single religion besides Hinduism which advocates and establishes an entrenched hierarchy in one’s own religious beliefs that maintains strict separation of groups of people who believe in and worship many of the same gods.

Furthermore, caste distinctions are hereditary. If your grandfather was a leather worker, your father was a leather work and you will also be a leather worker. Class may be generational, but there are not laws or entrenched social systems which prevent everyone in a particular class from improving their station in life. Though this has changed in more modern times, the effects of the system resonate all throughout Indian society.

If a poor person in the West wants to better themselves, they have options. In India, those options are middling in the cities, but nearly non-existent in the villages. And most of India lives in the villages.

Caste discrimination was abolished by the Indian Constitution written shortly after Independence. Its stigma has been lessened in the cosmopolitan areas of India and medium-sized cities. However, in the rural areas caste distinction and discrimination remains a huge problem.

During my time in India I had at least three conversations with people who want to marry someone they love, but cannot do so because they are of differing castes. Pardon my ignorance, but at the end of the day, how does separation by caste help the society in any way?

I understand the idea of community and know that it’s the social currency there. Everything is based on community, but when one community feels they are inherently better than another, you have problems.

That type of mentality, and notions of Brahmin superiority does not assist society, it helps the elite.

Think about all the time, energy and money being spent on keeping castes separate and maintaining the current social system in India. For what? All the wasted force by the Brahmins and other high castes, to continue exerting their dominance over people whom they believe are inherently inferior.

Ponder all the unused potential of hundreds of millions of Indians who spend their lives either fighting daily battles against caste-ism or have resigned themselves to its injustices. Might it stand to reason that somehow those people could add value to India in some way?

The idea of “white privilege” is the ability to not even think about race, because one has white skin. There is the similar concept that can apply to Hinduism. Brahmins and caste Hindus do not have to think about how their actions affect hundreds of millions of their kinsmen, because they are inside the system. It is the ones outside of it who bear the brunt of caste designation.

The division of Indian society by caste has occurred for thousands of years. When the British were colonizing India, they had to win over the elites, and those were the Brahmins. As a result, Brahmanical culture was equated with Indian culture by the Imperialists and millions of India’s minority classes, Jain, Christian, Sikh, Buddhist, and Muslim and many others were considered not “pure” and “authentic” Indians.

Additionally, the British originally had a policy of non-interference in Indian societal affairs. Their refusal to speak out against practices like untouchability, sati (widow burning) and the sexual exploitation of low-caste women, among others, was viewed as tacit approval by high caste Hindus to continue shaping India according to the Brahmanical tradition. In time the British came to take a moral stand against those practices, but that happened only after a number of years.

According to the Constitution of India itself, India is a secular democracy. Being Hindu does not make one Indian, nor is being Hindu a prerequisite for being Indian. India is a great country because of, and despite its huge diversity. But it is not a Hindu nation and hopefully will never be. There is only one place on earth that called itself a “Hindu nation,” and that was Nepal. It lost that distinction in 2006 when its own parliament declared it a secular state.

Back from India, Now a Master

Hello everyone. I’m back. Or more accurately, this blog is back. It has been months since I updated, but I’m working on some new posts to be published in the following weeks.

I have been stateside (mostly adjusted by now) since mid-June, finished my MA degree in Conflict Resolution in August and now I’m in the process of bringing my unofficial fiancée Sasmita to the United States in 2012.

After returning from India I immediately dove into writing my substantial research paper for graduation from American University (SRP). The title of my project was “Conflict Management Techniques; Viewing the Dalit Experience as Protracted Social Conflict.”

I went to India to intern at Dalit Foundation and conduct research for my SRP. I began with the original goal of looking at how the Dalits were transforming their conflict with caste-Hindus into a new relationship. After being there for a while, I realized this was not really happening. Then I tried to look at how they were building peace with caste-Hindus. That unfortunately was not really occurring either.

Finally I recognized that the Dalits were “managing” their conflict with caste-Hindus, but that was the best they could do. My paper therefore was a mixture of a portrayal of the awful lives Dalits are subjected to by caste rules, observational research about Dalit Foundation’s work and structured interviews with Dalit leadership and activists.

I will try to explain protracted social conflict briefly. Essentially premised on a theory by Edward Azar, it’s based on four criteria which may be ingredients in protracted social conflict. 1) A highly communal society with one or two groups who feel their identities are more important than the rest. 2) A group or segment of the population that does not have its basic human needs met, both physical and developmental. 3) A state that is focused solely on one group at the expense of others and lastly, 4) a nation that has ties either economically or politically to another state which makes fulfilling basic needs of their marginalized populations difficult, if not impossible.

The first three were easy for me to relate to the Indian Dalit problem. The last was a bit of a stretch, but it think it works. The caste system separates everyone, and the state of India is concerned mostly with caste-Hindus, but not Dalits. Therefore, Dalit basic needs are being unmet in part because the Indian government favors caste-Hindus over Dalits. Finally because the Indian government spends an incredible amount of money on border security (Kashmir, Bangladesh, etc) Dalit problems are not being addressed.

My paper looked at how Dalits managed the conflict through three facets. One was teaching and education for them about human rights. A major problem is the Dalits do not know which laws protect them and awareness of their rights is crucial. A second way they manage the conflict is through attempts at bringing together separate castes in marriage, meals, cultural events or religious ceremonies. The absolute segregation between castes is one of the core tenets of Hinduism. Breaking those social taboos is critical for long-term structural change.

Lastly Dalits manage the conflict by pursuing justice against those who discriminate or violently act against them by monitoring the state and pushing the government to punish offenders. This is helped by “fact-finding” and gathering evidence of crimes and violations, because police investigations are either non-existent or severely lacking.

That’s a brief overview of my SRP. I apologize in advance if it seems confusing or too short. I will gladly send you the actual paper if you wish to read it.

For the future look out for posts about the trip to the hospital where I was born, how an adoptee experienced the Indian monsoon, my views on caste versus class and a general overview of how “Indian” I feel now that I’ve returned.

As always please let me know your thoughts in the comments and keep reading!

A Whole Other World–My Dalit Village Visit.

The plastic glass of water teetered precariously on a simple metal tray. An unknown amount of eyes were glued on me, riveted to my every movement. The water before me was mixed with lemon; I could see the seeds floating in the water, along with pieces of pulp. No doubt, it would clench my thirst. It was around 90 degrees, with the sun’s rays beating down mercilessly. But the decision had to be made in hundredths of a second.

To paraphrase the Bard: to drink or not to drink, that is the question.

Adam and I knew we could not refuse to drink the water in front of us. We also knew it was non-purified and could make us very ill. It was definitely not safe to drink. But, we had no choice.

To decline would have been a serious affront to Dalit hospitality and to the very idea of eradicating discrimination and untouchability that Dalit Foundation stridently tries to end.
—-
So began my visit to a Dalit village located about 50 kilometers outside of the Indian city of Lucknow, in the largest state in the country, Uttar Pradesh.

After a three-day workshop with Dalit activists, Adam and I, along with our guide Naheed who works in this particular village, visited for a few hours. I had yearned to visit a Dalit village since I began work with DF to view the situations and people that DF works with.

Some people would say that rural India is the “real,” India, but I would not agree. There are many different “India’s.” Posh, South Delhi is just as Indian as the village I visited in the middle of nowhere. Likewise, the majesty of the Taj Mahal is just as “Indian” as the never-ending traffic in Mumbai. There are many facets to this country although it’s true that the majority of the population lives in villages and small communities and not her mega cities. As I mentioned here, poverty and extravagant wealth live side by side in this country. There are rarely lines of demarcation between the two extremes.

I will betray my naivety when I say I was overwhelmed by the poverty of the village. I cannot ever remember being in a more desperate social situation. But in the midst of soul-crushing pitiful conditions, the people I met, especially the kids, were full of life and joy.

Before I go along further, I will say to my detractors who think I was taking some sort of “sightseeing tour” of this village, that I was emphatically not doing that. This was no slum tour of Dharavi in Mumbai, but rather a site visit organized by a woman that DF funds, with personal relationships in this particular place. I was invited to join her and meet people she cares very deeply for and helps in a variety of ways.

After we drank a few precious sips of the water, we begged off the rest of it saying we had just finished one liter of water each on the way, which was partially true. Then we were given cold peas with spices garnished with sliced red onions. We ate it quickly, as it was tasteless and incredibly dry. We didn’t want to have to resort to drinking more water.

After taking some food with the Dalits, Naheed said she would translate any words we had for the villagers. I told them I was born in India, but had lived in the US for 30 years of my life. I also thanked them for their hospitality and said it was an honor to be a guest among them. Since my Hindi is still very poor, I was not sure that Naheed translated correctly, but everyone was beaming smiles when she finished.

After the brief introductions we went on a village tour. One thing immediately struck me, there was no electricity anywhere. We passed hut after hut made out of mud. The only water came from hand pumps set up strategically around clusters of huts. Water buffaloes were milling all around, tied up to fences outside each dwelling. Women who looked to be about ten years younger than myself, huddled with children inside dark doorways, watching us attentively and smiling. Most of the men walked with us.

The young men of the village were extremely proud of their corn oil machine. So they wanted to be sure I saw it, as it was in a closed shed. I pulled out my mobile, used its light function and some of them did the same, in order to see it. It resembled something out of the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution. I’m sure the accident rate when using it is alarmingly high.

Our entourage was nearly 50 people. The kids were fascinated by us, the foreigners, even though I looked just like them. They were especially interested in my camera. As I was taking snaps, that unfortunately weren’t coming out because the sun was going down, I kept saying “ not good” or “good.” A group of boys picked up the two words in my accent and repeated them incessantly as they ran around me the rest of my time there.

Even now days after walking through that village, I’m still at a loss for words. I was overwhelmed by two things:

One was the massive poverty in which these people lived and comparing just the basic things like running water, electricity that works when I flip a switch, not having to worry about where my next meal is coming from, etc…But at the same time, they cannot miss what they don’t know about.

Are they happy and content with their lives? I don’t know and I cannot judge. Who am I to say that my life is “better” than theirs because it has material possessions? For example, if they don’t value money and “stuff” as more important than community, in their eyes, I’m poorer than them, because the US is one of the least community oriented societies I know.

When I first arrived here in India I felt guilty and a sense of shame about being so wealthy in comparison to the poor I saw here. But after a bit of time, I realized, my life circumstances are different. I have no reason to feel bad about all that has been given me, but rather realize that I have been blessed in more ways than I can count. I am aware of how my privileged upbringing compares to the majority of the world, that’s the important thing for me. And knowing that makes me want to use my education, passion and material resources to help others attain a base level of development both socially and economically.

I’ve heard some people get really angry with NGOs in developing countries and claim that “you’re just pushing your Western values on them.” This is my response. I believe in human dignity and the right to have a choice for your future. If a group can help a farming community in a more sustainable way, get their crops in a more efficient manner, but at the same time not destroy the fabric of that village, what is the harm?

Similarly, if “imposing” Western culture is ensuring that women are not marginalized, but instead are free from the horrors of sexual violence in a patriarchal society, is that “imposing” a Western mentality?

There’s a slippery slope that us “outsiders” go down when we begin to accuse one another of “imposing” It’s one thing to want to make a group of people like us, it’s quite another to believe in their dignity and self-worth and fund initiatives which help make that possible. At the end of the day we are all human beings. We need to remember that. But back to my internal thought process…

Two, I was thinking about the futures of the myriad children who surrounded me. What would become of these cute, curious youngsters in the next 10-15 years of their lives? I knew the answer for the majority of them would be to work in the fields like their parents and never leave the village. Perhaps they would marry someone from a nearby community. But their lives would remain essentially the same, mired in poverty, without the opportunities which material wealth provides.

After the village tour we rendezvoused at the temple steps, where our visit began. By this time, darkness had completely descended. One of the villagers found a light bulb, attached some wires to it and connected it to a car battery. It also marked the first time since being in India that I have seen the stars here.

We sat down and the cultural performance segment of our visit commenced. For the next hour we were serenaded with traditional Hindi songs by men of the village. A blind man brought some instruments to add to the festivities as well. So we had a tabla, cymbals and bells which accompanied the singing. By the last song, all the people were singing heartily along, while Adam and me, clueless to the Hindi words, clapped our hands, caught up in the enjoyment.

At one point they even asked us to sing. Again, we didn’t have another option, and haphazardly sang an awful version of “Ring of Fire,” by Johnny Cash , since that was the only song we could both think of that both of us knew all the words to. I will stop embarrassing myself, but we absolutely butchered the iconic song from the “Man in Black.” However, given his own views on re-humanizing downtrodden folks, I’d like to think he would have been proud of us.

The last song was sung by nearly everyone, including the children. It was such a beautiful experience. To see the children’s faces full of joy as they clapped and sang their hearts out was a wonderful testament to the strength of the human spirit. Following the song, the youngsters were all shuttered off to bed, as a long chorus of “good nights,” followed us as we made our way to the dinner table.

After a simple meal of roti, rice, potatoes and hot pickle, we regrettably said goodbye and effusively thanked our hosts for the wonderful visit, and for sharing a bit of their lives with us.

We went back to our reality, one in which light came from a simple flick of a switch, the water flowed plentifully, and more importantly, was safe for everyone to drink.

My India Internship

Through interacting with a number of adopted friends over the years, it is clear that many of us are involved in social work or have social justice passions and I don’t believe it’s a coincidence. I think that for some of us what we experienced growing up, feeling “different,” and not “fitting in” gave us a real insight into those in our society who suffer in the same manner and are in pain. I know I feel that way.

I feel a special bond or understanding with people who maybe are not the popular ones, or those that everyone alienates or makes fun of. I know their feelings of rejection and of worthlessness.

I would never compare my treatment as an adoptee, to the systematic discrimination of the Dalit people, but in a very, very small way, I understand Dalit’s alienation.

With that mindset, I decided to come back to India and work with the Dalit people. Obviously my adoption here and my love of India was also a big part of that decision. But as I planned my return trip for years, I always had in mind working with the local community and one which was discriminated against. So when I had a chance to work with the Dalit population here in India, I jumped at the opportunity.

The plight of the Dalits and other sub-castes in India remains an ugly stain on the world’s largest democracy. Lost amid the glitter of a booming India, millions of Dalits are marginalized and alienated from society and effectively cut off from the burgeoning development of the nation. They represent the poorest sector of India’s population, and suffer from a lack of education. In addition to the lack of sustainable livelihood opportunities, they remain under the yoke of the caste system and its specter of untouchability.

As most of you know, I’m interning for an NGO in South Delhi called Dalit Foundation. First of all, luckily for me, all my office work is in English. When I come across Hindi or another language, I use my colleagues for help in translation.

People ask me what I do on a daily basis here at Dalit Foundation. It’s a mixture of a bunch of different projects. Because I work at a very small NGO, there are only four full-time staff, and one other intern named Adam. Money is always an issue. That being the case, I spend much of my week, when not in the field or in workshops, developing proposals and writing grant applications for funding from both Indian and international foundations.

I’ve also been working on a best practices framework to share with NGO’s in Europe that work with the Roma (gypsy) people, detailing how DF works to tackle Dalit alienation, discrimination, and empowerment issues. I’m looking at the idea of conflict transformation through Dalit awareness and knowledge of Indian human rights laws, based on India’s constitution and how European NGO’s can do the same. Eventually DF will submit a grant proposal for funding for this type of initiative, but for now I’m just laying the groundwork for the eventual collaboration.

I’m compiling a list of the biggest companies in India who have robust and active Corporate Social Responsibility arms, and writing exploratory letters about partnerships with them. So far Tata Capital’s CSR foundation, one of India’s largest companies has responded positively to our overtures. We’ve hosted some of their staff at my office and DF has gone to theirs in downtown Delhi. They are interested in partnering with us in some form, later this year.

Our field partners submit reports on a frequent basis and since English is not their native language, I edit them. I also do this with minutes from our workshops. Myself and the other intern here created templates and organized systems to streamline the reporting process and make them easier to read and access by our donors. I’ve been helping plan the workshops which Dalits attend. Adam and I developed exercises where we evaluated Dalit leadership and graded their ability to work in a team.

I’m helping write our Annual Report and quarterly newsletters, which are sent to our partners and donors all over India and the world. I conduct interviews in person, or via the phone, using a translator to speak with extraordinary Dalit leaders who DF believes are going above and beyond in their communities. Usually I’m just trying to find out where they came from, what event or change motivated their interest in empowering the Dalit community and to get a sense of their accomplishments and struggles on a daily basis.

One of the most memorable women I interviewed has nine children, a house that has been nearly destroyed by dominant caste villagers because of her empowerment work and yet still finds the time and energy to organize mass demonstrations against Dalit atrocities, start women’s self-help groups, and teach village children about the dangers of “untouchability,” and its genesis. Talk about a busy life!

Beyond my personal interaction with Dalit activists, I read daily about caste-ism,”untouchability,” Hindu ideology, human rights reports of Indian states by think tanks and other NGOs and other publications about peace building and Dalits in India and South East Asia. I’m trying to understand the issues which are at the heart of the work which DF is doing here.

I’m also conducting my own research for my Substantial Research Paper here by looking at local peace-building efforts through the lens of human rights awareness. I’ve realized over time that caste conflict is not necessarily being transformed in relations between high caste and low-caste, but rather between sub castes.

That’s a good summation of my own work since I’ve been here. But now I’ll transition into what Dalit Foundation actually does.

The work that Dalit Foundation does here is pretty incredible stuff. They fund grassroots Dalit leaders, particularly women and their endeavors in villages. DF gives these people a small amount of money and they begin localized projects in their communities.

Last week I attended a workshop of Dalit activists from seven states in North India. For three days I listened to Dalit leaders share their lives and the reality of being a marginalized population throughout history. Their stories were inspiring and the discrimination which they face on a daily is staggering to even imagine.

But while their stories are tragic and awful, they are full of life, passionate about their work and exude a strength that is nearly visceral. I was in the presence of really tough people, who had weathered and continued to endure abominable actions of fellow human beings on a daily basis. Their resolve was inspiring. They were not going to live lives of marginalization and discrimination if they had any say. They were building a new existence for themselves and bettering their communities in the process.

DF funds these dynamic change-agents for one year at a time, and then reviews their progress and accomplishments in workshops held strategically over India. For the first day and a half, I heard each activist tell about their accomplishments, and their challenges in the past year.

If the work is judged to have been useful, successful, and they can quantify achievements, DF funds them for another year. The maximum amount of time that a Dalit professional can receive monies is three years. DF is committed to sustainable indigenous leadership, not hand-holding for an indeterminate amount of time. They believe and I agree, the long-term sustainable change can only happen from the ground. It cannot be done from afar and through merely the sending of money.

To put in perspective the kinds of work being done by these activists, here’s a little list:

•Formation of women’s empowerment groups, to teach women their rights under Indian law.
•Eradicating untouchability in specific villages
•Organizing inter-caste community meals. Traditionally Dalits and other sub-castes are not allowed to use utensils or drink from the same glass as other castes.
•Filing atrocity cases when Dalits are victims of violence. There are many laws in India about Dalit rights, but the Dalits themselves don’t know them.
•Re-enrolling children who dropped out of school to become manual laborers back into educational facilities
•Getting land pattas (deeds) for Dalits. There were literally hundreds of these cases that I heard about. *Traditionally Dalits have been denied ownership of land and nearly 60 percent of them are land-less.
•Finding job cards and creating alternative livelihoods for Dalits who were snake charmers, or manual scavengers.

That’s just a taste of all which I witnessed in Lucknow. The people are regaining their dignity and self-worth. They are realizing that the world in which they live does not have to continue that way for them. DF is creating leadership to help the Dalit and other sub-castes communities achieve their potential and re-humanizing their existence.

I believe Dalit Foundation assistance on the community level is transforming Dalit lives. Though efforts like my NGO, Dalit children are attending schools for the first time, or going back after working. They are expanding their knowledge of the world and becoming aware of how they fit into it. Dalits are being educated about “untouchability,” and that its many forms are forbidden under the law. Landless Dalits are receiving land, and with it, renewing their dignity and self-worth. The widowed and the elderly are getting money from the government provided to them by various schemes. Dalit Foundation’s work is touching nearly every facet of Dalit village life.

My work has been an eye-opening experience for me. I’m proud of the work that DF is doing here and know there are many others are working to eradicate the effects of the caste system and allow ALL Indians to prosper, not just the elite.

Still an Outsider-but that’s OK

Hello from Delhi,

In puzzling over what my first post from India should say, I decided to be more philosophical, real and shy away from the day to day narrative of my life here. Perhaps that will come later. This post, however, is more of a reflection on my evolution of thought, as an Indian adoptee.

Long have I yearned to be living here, back among “my people,” hoping, praying, wishing that actually spending significant amounts of time on India’s soil, I would be more “Indian.” But what does that mean? India is after all many people, thousands of places, languages galore. Not one characteristic can describe all of India, except for maybe, “crowded.” But for me, India conjured up visions of acceptance, familiarity, the sense of being an insider and one of the crowd. That is not the reality here at all.

I don’t feel any more Indian today than I did three weeks ago, eating dinner, anxiously awaiting my plane while sitting in my parents’ dining room. Did something go wrong? Am I unhappy with my choice you ask? Surely this is not AJ (Adam) who for the last ten years of his life constantly reminded us that “I’m moving to India, at some point,” and waxed poetically about how great that experience would be?

But alas, it is. I am the same person, who glowingly spoke of the wondrous opportunity it would be to live in my birth country again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m immensely grateful that I can live here. I’m proud to be of Indian heritage and I’m very thrilled with the opportunity to experience India for an extended period of time. But…

I tried to tell myself I had no expectations coming here; that wasn’t the case. I did think that finally being here, living among Indians, working with them, navigating their roads, buying in their markets, trying to discern their language, etc., would somehow make me feel more legitimately Indian.

However, I feel as much as an outsider back in the land of my birth than I did outside of it. I’ve referenced these feelings here and again in this post. There are a few reasons for this, and I’ll look into each of them briefly.

• I just don’t fit. I’m brown skinned, yet pretty clueless about cultural India, communication mores and societal norms. I’m not Hindu. My parents are not Indian. My world view is decidedly Western. When I go somewhere to buy practically anything that doesn’t have a price tag on it, I immediately feel like a school-aged child in my helpless comprehension of all that is happening around me. I’m constantly processing, and in doing so, all my actions are delayed. Over time, I’m confident the processing will accelerate, but the first sentences remain truth.

• I don’t speak the language. And though everyone supposedly speaks English here, it’s not the prevalent tongue that I hear daily on the streets. When I begin to speak in English one of two things happens. They either stare at me in amusement/wonderment, curious as to why I don’t know the language, since I’m clearly brown. Or they completely ignore me and pretend not to hear as I ask them for translation help. Neither situation is ideal. And when/if I explain that I don’t know the language, the disapproving looks are for my assumed Indian parents, who neglected to raise me properly with the language.

• Community, family ties, and your lineage–all of those concepts are enormous here. Much, much more than anywhere I’ve ever lived and certainly more than in the U.S. So I’m a relative “zero,” to them. They don’t know where I came from, they don’t know if my family has a good reputation, I have no standing in their world, and am without any credentials.

There’s nothing I can do about this. Everywhere I sign formal papers–the lease to my apartment, the agreement to my mobile, my Wi-Fi contract, etc–there are always two words which are, I assume, extremely rare in American contracts of similar ilk: “son of.” So I write down “son of David Bryant,” as if penning my father’s name down ascribes status to my contractual documents. I chuckle to myself, if they could see Mr. David Bryant, I wonder what they’d say.

Those are just three reasons why India has been difficult for me so far.

Sometimes I’ll be taking an auto-rickshaw back to my flat late at night, and say to myself aloud. “I’m really living here, in India, this is crazy.”

Most of my daily life isn’t all that much different from the life I left behind in DC on some levels. I wake up, making sure I do so a half hour early, in order for my water to heat. Then scarf down oats, milk and sugar as my usual breakfast and walk four minutes to work.

Actually when I leave my flat in the morning, I remember I’m in India again. Usually I’m nearly run off the road, because I’m still getting the traffic rules down here. Traffic rules, actually that’s a misnomer. The main roads have actual laws; neighborhoods exist in some form of organized chaos. You just have to move out of the way when people honk at you, which they do constantly. As you do so, you hope that your sidestepping doesn’t land you in a puddle of what may or may not be water, or in the path of another car, rickshaw, motorcycle, bicycle or animal.

I live in quite an affluent neighborhood. It’s not uncommon to see Mercedes Benzes and BMWs, along with other European luxury cars in driveways. But again, I’m in India, so while I see conspicuous wealth, I’ll also see giant cows lazily sleeping on driveways, aggressive monkeys jumping towards people with food, and stray dogs all over the place.

India is a land of contrasts.

I had forgotten just how much of one. In the West, particularly the US, poor folks live in one section of town, rich in another. Rarely do both sides co-exist together. But in India, there’s no choice in the matter. Insane wealth lives side by side with grinding, gritty poverty. It’s the reality.

At night when I’m walking home, I pass the guards, giving security to the gorgeous houses of my neighborhoods and they’re huddled outside, usually with the fellow guards, around an open fire, chattering away. I don’t know where the guards sleep for the other houses, but I know the guard that works at my house doesn’t live on the property.

Everyone has a maid. Though I work for a group that seeks to end caste discrimination and advocates for the marginalized classes of India, my office has a maid. It’s a perplexing and yet at the same time, simple concept. Do I get one because “everyone,” else has one? Let’s be honest, when is the next time in my life that I would be able to get someone to clean my floors, do my laundry, etc? Not anytime soon, especially not with a degree in peace and conflict resolution. We’re not known as the money-makers.

But then part of me says, but if I hire a maid, aren’t I just perpetuating the idea which is so anathema to me: that inherently some people are better than others? I’m torn. Another argument is that because I’m an American and wealthy by standards here, I could pay/tip them extremely generously and therefore make some small difference in their life. Lastly, some say, they are already doing the job, you asking a current one to add another house to her list isn’t going to change anything at all. But unlike the world in which I live at home, I see domestic servant hood as being the final stage here.

Let me elaborate on that idea. There’s finality to one’s station in life here. Meaning what people are doing, in the lower classes is “just what they do,” they aren’t going to do something different. If you’re educated, the world is your oyster. But if you are say a sweeper, or a maid or a fruit seller, I never get the impression that you will be anything more in life. That’s not the case in the Western world, certainly not the US, where we preach that education and hard work will lead to better opportunities and then see that lived out daily. In India I see people who are permanently “stuck.” They probably have no prospects for education, they aren’t going to suddenly learn a new skill, what they do in their 20s is going to be what they do until they die.

In the states, people hit hard times, they may take a job that is less becoming of their education or how they view themselves, but it’s only for a little while, while they save up for something better again. Or just to keep food on the table while times are rough. But usually it’s just a stop-gap measure until their finances improve. I don’t see that mindset here. If you were born with nothing here, then you remain with nothing, generally.

And yet, there doesn’t seem to be a backlash by them or by anyone else against this. In fact because of the importance of saving face and reputation here, people are afraid to ever speak up, to say something smarter than their superiors, to make it look in anyway as though they aren’t completely thrilled with the way their lives have turned out. It’s such a different concept from the Protestant work ethic that the US was founded upon.

Perhaps I’m totally wrong about this all. I do live in the city, where these generalities can look more valid. I will let you know as I travel around India, if I feel the same way. One of the reasons for the lack of upward mobility surely has to do with India’s population, which is way too big for it’s land size. There are just way too many people here– it’s totally unsustainable, but it’s the reality. Certainly another reason must be the caste system and its hierarchy, but that’s not for this post. I’ll share some thoughts on that later on. We’re not opening that can of worms yet.

So those are my initial thoughts as a returning adoptee in the land of my birth. I know I was naive when I came here, but don’t read the previous paragraphs and feel bad about my disillusionment. I’m actually happy that I can just live here, and try to soak it all in, instead of trying to make India “do something for me or create something in me.”

There’s plenty of learning I’ll be doing here, about India and about myself. This is just the first month. India totally overwhelms one’s senses. I’ve tried to wrap my head around the underlying things I witness on a daily basis here and share them with you.

I’d love to know your thoughts and comments.

Returning to my Roots

I hope everyone’s 2011 is off to a fantastic start.

It’s been forever since I last posted, but that is about to change. The last few months were packed with finishing up my graduate course work and planning the news I’m about to share with you. I will start writing on a much more frequent basis starting this month.

The reason…at the end of January, I’m temporarily moving to India.

I’ve referred to this desire to go back to India here and here. Returning has been a dream and passion of mine for the last ten years. To say that I’m excited is a severe understatement; I’ve thought nearly about jumping off the nearest cliff to see if I can fly rather than wait for my scheduled plane!

I’m going to volunteer at the Dalit Foundation and will be living in South Delhi. Delhi will be my home from February to mid-June, as I do my graduate school internship and conduct research in order to pen my Substantial Research Paper and complete my MA degree.

My project will look at the idea of conflict transformation and the experiences of Dalits (untouchables) in Indian society. Dalits, which means, “the broken,” or the “oppressed” in Sanskrit are the bottom of the Hindu caste system, but in actuality are not even counted as people. They are considered “polluters” and must be separated from the rest of society. There are an estimated 170 million of them.

This list will give you a quick snap-shot their myriad indignities.

The Dalit Foundation funds grassroots NGO’s and others who are working to restore the humanity of the Dalit people, advocate for their human rights and create capacity for leadership within their own community. They focus particularly on social justice, and place a major emphasis on the empowerment and education of women, especially young girls.

I’ll be helping the DF with their monthly newsletter and other publications, evaluating their programs, interviewing activists in the field, assisting in fund raising and advocacy endeavors. All of this will help me to understand their experience and receive a personal view of their reality.

I am humbled to be given this wonderful opportunity.

Conflict transformation for those of you who are not peace and conflict nerds as I am, is the concept that conflict can be eliminated with the transformation of hearts, minds, attitudes and mindsets of individuals. Through those changes conflict disappears, not necessarily by the resolving of differences, but by seeing the “other” in a new way. Conflict transformation is about reconstructing relationships and interactions between people. Through new relationships, the parties can attempt to work towards justice, reconciliation and building a peaceful society.

For a better idea of what CT is all about, this will provide a more detailed explanation.

My research will look at Dalit Foundation’s programs to see if/how they relate to the concepts of conflict transformation.

This adventure will be full of surprises, and since it’s India, many frustrations as well. But I’ve wanted to return to India, and live for an extended period of time, for many years. That time has finally arrived! Plus, since I’ll be going back to the land where I was born, this will be an emotional journey as well.

I will delve into my Indian-ness like never before and this endeavor will churn up a huge set of emotions. I think I’m ready for that, but honestly, I don’t know that I am. I’m just going to hop on that plane and see what happens.

I invite you to join me, as I explore my project, my relationship with India, and share my thoughts with you, as an adoptee returning to his roots.

Two Contrasting Experiences

Over the course of the past three weeks I’ve had two interactions with people regarding international adoption. Both were curious to know my thoughts on the topic because I was adopted. But their reasons for talking about the subject were vastly different.

The first was an email from a couple beginning the international adoption process. A friend referred them to me. The hopeful mother wrote me a few paragraphs listing all their plans to keep their future child in touch with their birth culture, and raise their son with a solid understanding of their cultural heritage. These included steps like, serving international fare at their house, frequently traveling overseas, including the country’s culture in their home and celebrating its traditions.

She ended the note by saying according to “advice” lists she’d found on the web, she and her husband would not be able to meet specific suggestions. The two points were, having their child attend a diverse school and having an ethnically or racially varied set of friends. But given all the other ways they were going to keep their future son engaged with his birth culture, she asked me, is that “enough?”

I wrote back after a few days of thinking about her message and said, “I’m not qualified to say whether or not you have done enough. Really, I’m no expert on this.” I can tell you what I think makes sense as a person of color who was adopted. But ultimately how much you help your child to stay in touch with their birth culture and heritage is a family decision. I think it’s an important decision because it will have consequences for the child as they grow up. For me, being able to provide your child with positive enforcement of their birth culture is extremely important as they age. Helping them recognize and cultivate pride in the culture and traditions from their homeland might make exploring their identity an easier task.

I was just really excited that they have thought this through as much as she relayed to me in the email. It’s wonderful to have expectant adoptive parents grappling with the ramifications of and exploring ways to raise their trans-racially adopted child. I applaud their efforts and all other parents who have done or are doing the same thing. This is what I’m talking about when I say and believe that “love is not the whole story.” This couple clearly is thinking ahead and understands the big picture.

The second experience was not nearly as pleasant, but I share it because it’s important. In fact it’s the opposite of the inquisitive couple. I met someone at a party and in conversation I told him I was adopted. I told him I wrote a blog about it, was active in the adoptee advocacy/awareness community and it was a huge passion of mine. He immediately said, “What makes you qualified to talk about international adoption?”

I was taken aback, and trying not to get too defensive replied, “I’m not qualified (whatever that means) but since I’m adopted I know what it’s like and I’m an expert on my own adoption story.” He continued by asking me if I had studied social work in college or graduate school, or if I had ever actually worked in the adoption field. The answer to both questions was and is no. I’m not necessarily interested in studying adoption academically, or working for an agency.

I bring this story up, because it’s part of a larger problem that I’ve discussed here before. I don’t claim to be qualified, or an expert in the field, or to have the ability to explain in some high minded intellectual level the world of international adoption. I have no desire to do that. What I do know is that I was adopted, I’m a relatively thoughtful guy and being adopted is an integral part of my general identity. That makes me “qualified” enough. I don’t need degrees or schooling or job experience to write about how I feel, how others make me feel or to give voice to other adoptees out there in the world. I don’t claim to speak for them, nor do I represent all of them. I’m just one guy trying to explore what it means and writing about it.

But what irks me is this is how adoptees are treated. People go to “experts,” in the field to hear about adoption. They read books by social workers who study adopted people and expect them to have answers. The academic and social work communities have huge conferences about the ethics and morality of international adoption with professional panels, but including actual adoptees happens rarely and in small numbers. They want to talk about us, probe us, question us, but they rarely invite us to speak or to share what we think.

I just don’t understand it. Don’t adopted people themselves have some value to add to the conversation? How can a person who is adopted not add benefits to the overall dialogue about this social phenomenon? If you are not an adopted person, there is only so much you can actually know about being adopted. There’s no other way around it. Unless you were adopted, the ability one has to talk about it on a level beyond intellectualization, which includes feelings, has a ceiling because it’s not your life.

Don’t give me excuses like finding adopted people willing to talk about their experience is hard to find. That may have been true 20 or 30 years ago, but that is not the case anymore. There are a growing number of us who want to reclaim our voice and add it to the adoption arena. All you need to do is look on the internet and we can be found. I’ll be more than willing to share my thoughts and you won’t even have to pay me. I don’t have a problem if you insist, but…

Seriously, invite us to the conversation. Don’t treat us like we exist in some sort of alternate reality -one in which you can discuss adoption, our “issues,” but never actually talk to us. We’re not exotic, elusive people, sans feelings or opinions. I don’t speak for everyone, but I know that some adoptees are frustrated by their marginalization.

I don’t need to be examined, I’m examining myself.

I write as much to explore my own evolving thoughts on the journey to unlock the adoption box, as I write to give voice to other adopted people and educate all who are interested. I don’t claim to know any answers, but I hope to gain from what I’ve experienced and learn from what other’s have gone through. I know my own family story and I’m an expert in that. I’ll be as real and honest in revealing what it’s like to be adopted, as I feel comfortable being. But don’t question my “qualifications” on the topic.

There’s a beautiful tapestry that can be woven from the stories of adoptees, entwined with the academics and scholars in the field, one of increased understanding, mutual acknowledgement, and creativity in how to explore this act called international adoption. But that tapestry requires different colored threads and if the adoptee thread is absent, the pattern lacks cohesion and its richness suffers as a result.

Does Transnational Adoption=Cultural Genocide?

Recently I’ve heard people discuss international adoption and those who decry the practice say it’s a form of “cultural genocide.” Really?! It was referenced here as a reason some people are against international adoption.” I have a real problem calling international adoption “cultural genocide.”

In 1994, the National Association of Black Social Workers (NABSW) called for the banning of all interracial adoption of black children by white parents declaring is “cultural genocide.” According to the NABSW;

“We are opposed to trans-racial adoption as a solution to permanent placement for black children. We have an ethic, moral, and professional obligation to oppose trans-racial adoption. We are therefore legally justified in our efforts to protect the rights of black children, black families, and the black community. It is a blatant form of racial and cultural genocide”.

Then again in 1998, The National Association of Black Social Workers restated their position saying;

“Transracial adoption should only be considered after documented evidence of unsuccessful same-race placements have been reviewed and supported by appropriate representatives of the African-American community.”

To their credit, they have significantly softened their stance on the adoption as “cultural genocide,” but still maintain that their strong preference is to have African American parents, adopting African American kids.

Where shall I begin in unpacking this?

First of all, genocide is a strong term and should only be reserved for instances where the gravity of the situation demands it. Detractors of adoption like the power of the word “genocide,” because the word conjures an intense emotional response. However, in the last twenty years we’ve seen the international community believe merely labeling something ”genocide,” takes away their moral imperative to actually do something about one. The case of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide comes to mind.

Recently, we have diminished the meaning of the word and it’s lost the power to shock. Slate’s Ron Rosenbaum wrote a thought-provoking article about this “A problem from heck”. But this post is not about physical genocide, I’m here to write about how inane the idea is that international adoption is “cultural genocide.”

The term cultural genocide is really disturbing to me. I’ll be honest; I did not know exactly what its definition was, so I did in a quick Google search. My initial repulsion focused on calling international adoption any type of genocide. In looking up “cultural genocide,” I found a lot of crack websites, which I am not going to give the satisfaction of linking to here. I did find this one, which details “physical, biological genocide” and then tries to explain “cultural genocide” as well.

I’ll take a few of his points and examine them in the context of overseas adoption. According to the UN Declaration of Human Rights, cultural genocide includes “abolition of a group’s language, restriction of its traditional practices and ways, destruction of clergy, and attacks on academics and intellectuals.” Ask yourself this, is international adoption really doing any of these things? I cannot come to any conclusion other than a resounding “no.”

It seems to me that calling adoption “cultural genocide,” is a severe bastardization of the term.

It is interesting to note that in the 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide, the controversy was about any linkage between physical genocide and cultural. In the final document, cultural genocide was left out of the proclamation in all forms, except one, “the forcible removal of children.” I’ll get into that shortly.

Ah ha, you say. So international adoption IS cultural genocide! But it’s not that simple.

To say that international adoption is some type of cultural genocide makes a few assumptions. One is that a child taken out of a country had the potential to be some sort of great leader, famous scientist, world-renowned artist, etc. They would have added greatly to their original birth culture and might have been able to impact that country in a singular way. The argument continues that because the child was adopted they can no longer be that transformative figure in the land of their birth.

But to label that “cultural genocide,” is a misnomer, because that child’s culture is not being eradicated. An adopted child is not being removed from the earth. Their lives do not end prematurely, nor is their overall culture being eliminated. They are merely removed from their country of birth. They could still go on to greatness elsewhere.

Being adopted does not preclude any child from a future. It just means they won’t have a future where they were born. There’s a stark difference.

Does international adoption take a child from a frequently impoverished place and move them elsewhere? Yes. Will that result in bringing the country closer to failure? I don’t think so. If millions of children were adopted from one single country, then maybe one could have a case. But that is not the situation. Since 1958 the largest number of adoptees from one single country has been South Korea. And while it’s a large number 160,000 plus according to some, it’s not overwhelming, and hardly detrimental to South Korea’s development, nor does it signal the end of Korean culture.

Calling international adoption a form of cultural genocide ignores that fact that so many of the kids in orphanages, or wards of the state, have no hope. It’s no stretch to say the vast majority of internationally adopted children come from severely impoverished upbringings, with little chance for education or upward mobility. Adopted girls have escaped especially socially pernicious circumstances. Some of the girls are not wanted by their own societies. To believe that bringing children from lives they once lived before they were adopted as some sort of genocide seems to dismiss the children’s reality. They are adopted, because they are not wanted, could not be cared for, or were a burden on their birth mother/father/family or society in general.

I’ve talked about the egregious cultural genocide basics, but the one criterion which the convention in 1948, finally settled on was “the forcible transfer of children.”

Expounding on the “forcible transfer idea; Article 2 of the Genocide Treaty in 1948 declared that the forcible transfer of children from a protected group to another group is cultural genocide if “it is conducted with intent to destroy the group,” in whole or in part. It in important to mention that the treaty and addition of the statute about “forcible removal of children,” was done with not only the Nazi Holocaust fresh in the framer’s minds, but the attempt by Nazi leader Heinrich Himmler to “forcibly transfer” thousands of Europe’s children back to the German Reich.

Forcible transfer could be considered “genocide,” only when it was it was carried out against a human group, and did not include just a small number of individuals from that group. In other words, for my adoption to count as “cultural genocide of Indian children,” there would have to be a systematic forcible transfer (both against my wishes and using either physical threats or actual force) attempt of all Indian children to be brought to another country. Just writing that explanatory sentence out, seems so outlandish to me, that I think anyone who really believes international adoption is some sort of cultural genocide is crazy.

Another big component of whether or not “forcible transfer of children,” can be considered “genocide,” is the transfer’s intent. There has to be clear and documented evidence in which the group doing the transferring is actively trying to destroy the transferee’s culture. One would be hard pressed to find anyone who adopts wishing to “destroy,” the culture from which the child originated.

If you disagree with an adopted child being removed from their country of birth and then raised without access to or knowledge of their native land, I understand. That is a separate issue in my opinion.

But please don’t call it “cultural genocide,” because it’s nothing of the sort. Calling international adoption any sort of genocide cheapens actual acts of genocide and dishonors its real victims.

Blog’s First Birthday

Last week was my one year anniversary of beginning this blog. That is hard for me to believe.

To begin with I’d like to say thank you to everyone who has read my scribbling on this page. It thrills me to know that people are reading and commenting on what I have written. I have enjoyed your thought-provoking words and being challenged by you all. That is why I wrote this blog. I don’t claim to have answers. I merely write from my own experience. Thanks for allowing me to explore the “adoption box,” with you in a public forum.

It’s been wonderful to hear some of your stories. Thanks for sharing them. It’s has been enlightening for me to read thoughts from adoptive mothers and fellow adoptees, as well as those who are merely interested in the adoption arena. Whether by remarks on this site, in person or through email, I’m grateful for your interest in the topic, and that what I’m writing has caused you contemplation.

Please keep reading and commenting. I’m working on some new posts and appreciate each of my readers who make this blog a success.

-AJ