Indo-Trinidadians and Carnival: Assimilation, Adaptation, and Resistance

The streets are packed with glistening bodies bedecked in gauzy, flowing costumes and shimmering paint. Ears and wrists jingle, while bellies and noses sparkle with ornate jewelry. Groups of people are color-coordinated in bright red, iridescent green, gaudy gold, seductive pink, or loud purple dress. Flags and streamers of each color decorate the sky and the sounds of the steel pan drum fill the air. It’s Carnival Tuesday in Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago.

Alongside the familiar sights and sounds, this Carnival features women in dazzling saris and men in traditional Indian dhotis. Rickshaws grace the streets, propping up massive models of elephant heads adorned with glitter and jewels. When the results finally come in for masquerade (‘mas’) band of the year, this India-inspired band reigns supreme.

The triumph of the mas band "India: The Story of Boyie" left Trinidad stunned. Since
independence, African cultural forms have dominated Trinidadian culture and Carnival. In one of the country’s major newspapers, The Daily Express, bandleader Brian MacFarlane commented on the band’s victory. “It [the mas band] was the first ever portrayal of an entirely East Indian large band. [T]here were many skeptics around me who thought that we were destroying any chance of success with this presentation. There were many people who thought that it would offend, and was disrespectful,” he said. In a letter to the editor to The Daily Express, an Indo-Trinidadian woman expressed her gratitude and support to the band. “Thank you, Brian, for making me feel that I can participate in all aspects of our culture, especially Carnival, without being degraded or ridiculed.”

The story above is part of a broader narrative common to ethnically mixed countries, where groups typically clash over whose culture will define “national” culture. When Trinidad gained its independence in 1956, the population was roughly split between the descendants of African slaves and Indian indentured servants, each with their own cultural forms, religious establishments (Indo-Trinidadians: Hindu or Muslim, Afro-Trinidadians: Christian), economic industries (Indo-Trinidadians: sugarcane production, Afro-Trinidadians: oil production), regional strongholds (Indo-Trinidadians: rural South, Afro-Trinidadians: urban North), and political parties. Eric Williams, head of the largely black People’s National Movement (PNM), ascended to Prime Minister at independence, and poured resources into making Carnival and other Afro-Trinidadian cultural forms (such as the steelpan drum and calypso music) central to Trinidad’s new national identity. It worked. People worldwide routinely associate Trinidad with these art forms. Meanwhile, the only time Indo-Trinidadians and their cultural traditions were included in the public arena was for mockery and denigration by calypso singers.

For their part, Indo-Trinidadians did not attempt to assimilate into the new national culture, but opted to burrow deeper into Indian culture which had long given their lives meaning.* As indentured servants, Hindu or Muslim rituals, stories, and texts were among the few things that gave the Indian community dignity and purpose while suffering on sugar plantations thousands of miles away from their homeland. Even at the time of independence in the 1950s – more than 100 years after their arrival and 30 years after the abolition of indentured servitude – half of the Indo-Trinidadian population remained illiterate and largely confined to the sugar fields. Lacking an intelligentsia and locked out of the gates of government, the Indo-Trinidadian community could not immediately alter its state of political, economic, and cultural marginalization. With an emphasis on education, though, Indo-Trinidadians practically ran up the economic ladder, gaining parity with Afro-Trinidadians in business and professional fields after a mere 30 years.

Upward mobility has caused old divisions in geography and economic industry to whither away. In addition, inroads have been made politically; in 1996 and 2000, the Indo-Trinidadian dominated United National Congress (UNC) won nationwide elections. (The 2000 government, however, dissolved after a battle over leadership, pushing the Afro-Trinidadian PNM into power again). The dissolution of these various divisions has triggered new forms of Indo-Trinidadian adaptation and resistance in the realm of culture. During this year’s Carnival season, I have observed three forms of response to national culture: assimilation into national culture, establishment of parallel cultural forms, and reversal of cultural roles.

Assimilation into Dominant Culture
Assimilation refers to Indo-Trinidadians participating in national/Afro-Trinidadian cultural forms. The opening example of the India-themed masquerade band is one such example (though, notably, the band was led by a white man and appeared mostly comprised of Afro-Trinidadians). Indo-Trinidadians regularly attend Carnival fetes (parties) where they sing along to the latest soca (a musical form mixing elements of calypso, reggae, and hip-hop) hits with ease, though there are few, if any, Indo-Trinidadian soca artists. Small numbers of Indo-Trinidadians also participate in steelbands. On the whole, though, Carnival and mainstream culture remains dominantly Afro-Trinidadian.

Calypso remains the bastion of Afro-Trinidadians. It’s a musical form where artists engage in social commentary or narrative, oftentimes about politics and taboo subjects. Indo-Trinidadians have frequently been the target of calypsos. For example, lyrics have glorified the kidnapping of Indians as a novel form of “economic development.” Cro Cro, one of the most notorious anti-Indo-Trinidadian Calypso artists, earned first place in the 1996 Calypso Monarch competition at Carnival for his lyrics against the new Indo-Trinidadian led government. Among other things, his calypso [baselessly] charged the Indo-Trinidadian prime minister with being a rapist and asked black men how they could condone the election of someone who would now target their daughters.

Although few Indo-Trinidadian artists have attempted to (or wanted to) assimilate into the calypso scene there are some notable exceptions. Jagdeo Phagoo, for example, placed highly in a competition for his calypso on Trinidadian unity. The greatest stir this calypso season, however, was caused by “Bodyguard” (Roger Mohammed) with his calypso “Ungrateful Pastor” aimed at Prime Minister Patrick Manning’s alleged disregard for the country’s poor (ex. “Ah went to the book store ah nearly cry / Mih children school books I can’t even buy.”) and Manning’s image as a born-again Christian (“If the church calling you / Pastor just say so / Take up your Bible and then leave the Whitehall and go”). Bodyguard won several Calypso competitions with the piece and most expected him to compete in the Calypso Monarch Finals during the week of Carnival. However, he initially failed to make it even to the semifinals, though he placed much higher than some of the 48 semifinalists in previous competitions. Bodyguard took the matter to court, and when one competitor dropped out, he was offered to replace him. At the performance, he won the crowd over but failed to convince the judges as he was not among the 14 competitors or two reserves selected for the finals. Many observers that suspected political victimization played a role in Bodyguard’s judging. Perhaps most disappointing, in my mind, was that the final featured a terrible calypso by “Singing Sandra.” She alleged that people do not need to go to Sudan to see genocide since Indian doctors were committing genocide in Trinidad against black women by tying their tubes (? – let’s just say “Singing Sandra” probably didn’t get an “A” in her college logic class). Apparently, it’s more offensive to criticize an Afro-Trinidadian prime minister’s economic policy than to level charges of genocide against Indo-Trinidadian doctors. Anyway, the success of the East India-themed mas band and the strong Indo-Trinidadian support for Bodyguard’s calypso during Carnival 2007 reveals a small, but increasing, trend toward greater assimilation with Afro-Trinidadian cultural forms.

Establishment of Parallel Cultural Forms
Indo-Trinidadians have also established a set of modified Indian cultural forms that parallel Afro-Trinidadian ones. For example, “fetes” (large parties) abound during Carnival and are sponsored by a wide range of organizations including the Water Authority and the People’s National Movement (PNM) political party (who’s voting base is dominantly Afro-Trinidadian). Soca music and pan drumming are dominant features at many fetes with traditionally Indian cultural forms rarely seen. This year, for the first time, the United National Congress (UNC) political party (the PNM’s rival, who’s voter base is dominantly Indo-Trinidadian) held its own fete. This “one dollar fete” [named for its extremely low entrance fee] included Indian forms as much as African ones.

“Chutney” music stands as another parallel cultural form. Chutney fuses Indian folk traditions, Hindu devotional songs, and Bollywood film music with Caribbean calypso, soca, and rap. Since it emerged on the local music scene in the late 1980s, chutney has enjoyed great success across Trinidad. During Carnival I attended a couple of chutney events, including the 2007 Soca Chutney Monarch Competition held at Skinner Park in San Fernando, Trinidad. Indo-Trinidadians comprised the vast majority of those attending. There were a surprising number of families and middle-aged people in the bleachers, though raucous, bandana-waving college students dominated the lawn in front of the stage. Making it closer to soca than calypso, the chutney artists mostly sang narrations about lighter topics of life like partying, drinking rum, and dating. The performances were impressive not just for the singing, but also the elaborate stage design and massive dance troupes that accompanied each singer. The dance troupes featured Indo-Trinidadian women in flashy dress that borrowed from Indian clothing but, like the chutney lyrics, also pushed against the culture’s traditional conservatism.

Some are not pleased by this challenge to conventional norms. For example, Narsaloo Ramaya, an expert on Indian classical music and cultural identity, describes Chutney as “a wild frenzy of pelvic gyrations in which the people have thrown modesty and self-respect to the winds, with mass dancing of unrestrained vulgarity, a spectacle that can be fittingly described as cultural demolition.” Ramaya and groups like the Hindu Maha Sabha condemn the music as a corruption of sacred traditions that have sustained the Indian community since it arrived in Trinidad. Especially irking to the religious groups is the appropriation of Hindu elements within chutney. For instance, the dance troupes are named things like the “Shiv Shakti Dancers” – “Shiv” being a primary Hindu deity and “Shakti” a concept of female strength and power associated with Hindu goddesses.

In addition, chutney music has sparked controversy because of its antecedents in a pre-wedding Hindu ritual for Indian women called mathkor. At this celebration, the bride, and her female friends and family members engage in song and dance that employ the instrumentation associated with chutney: the dholak, the dhantal, and the harmonium. The song and dance is often overtly sexual in nature, theoretically introducing the female to her sexuality and regulating it within the confines of Hinduism. According to its critics, Chutney music has taken this private female religious ritual and perverted it into a risqué public spectacle.

I ultimately disagree with this sentiment. Chutney does not need to be minimized for mathkor, in all its purity, to be performed before weddings. Chutney is the product of individual imaginativeness, an innovative form of entertainment that is simply fun. Fun in the same way that Elvis Presley was to a previous generation and hip-hop is to young people today. It also represents the indigenous and ingenious product of countries like Trinidad and Guyana, where plural populations have fused desirable elements from different traditions to create a new and valuable whole.

Role Reversal
For Afro-Trinidadians, Carnival originated as a social ritual where traditional power relations and roles were reversed. Until emancipation from slavery, the role reversals were one-sided with male slaveowners parading in costumes mocking field slaves and their wives wearing costumes mocking house maids. After emancipation, Afro-Trinidadians made the ritual their own, donning costumes to mock and subvert the white aristocratic society. Afro-Trinidadians masqueraded as the voluptuous “Dame Lorraine” character to ridicule ruling class women; as colonial militias and military bands to jeer at the forces supposedly maintaining order; and as pirates and robbers to express their support for those threatening chaos. Calypso tents (where artists practice for Carnival performances) were erected as musicians heaped scorn onto the ruling regime in lyrical form.

Carnival continued in this vein for many, many years. But, with independence a century later, the original impetus for the festival was lost. The descendants of slaves were handed the government and the first prime minister, Eric Williams, etched their traditions in the national consciousness. In sum, the former slaves were now the masters of Trinidadian society and had no superiors to mock during Carnival. Carnival became a ritual for the sake of ritual. It invoked the past in elaborate masquerade bands (and traditional characters like “Dame Lorraine”) but lacked the same iconoclastic spirit of reversing conventional power relations and social roles.

In Trinidad, I discovered the spirit of old-time Afro-Trinidadian Carnival in perhaps the unlikeliest of places: the celebrations of a Hindu ritual, Holi (locally known as Phagwa). In India and in the Diaspora, Holi, much like Carnival, has long been considered a ritual of reversal. According to Religious Studies academic John Kelly, the ritual’s mythological roots lie in the story of Prahlad, “a virtuous devotee of Vishnu [a principal Hindu deity] whose devotion saved him from death and brought the destruction of an evil king, after which all played in the ashes of the dead king and demonstrated their equality.” It is also related, Kelly notes, to Krishna, a manifestation of Vishnu, who in his early days was known for destroying demons in a forest, dancing rowdily, and playing with local cowgirls (known as gopis). The mythology adds up to a day where “participants seek god through negation and reversal, through a shedding of human social statuses and relations.”

I experienced this shedding of conventional social roles first-hand in Trinidad, joining members of the University of West Indies Hindu Students Council for the festivities. Instead of playing in ashes (like Prahlad) to show the equality of devotees under Hinduism, we doused each other in bright red, orange, green, pink, and purple powders. We also sprayed each other with a mixture of water and the powder through pipe-like waterguns, known as pichakaarees. After we were done, we packed into the back of trucks and vans with the Hindu students singing Hindu hymns at the top of their lungs until we arrived at a Hindu elementary school. There, the second we stepped out of the vehicles, swarms of children threw powder and sprayed pichakaarees at us, and we, naturally, responded in kind. After a few more schools, we arrived at Diwali Nagar, a Hindu temple and concert ground where hundreds more were celebrating Phagwa. The spectacle of hundreds of Hindus – from all corners of Trinidad and all drenched in colored powder– descending upon the site in central Trinidad is certainly extraordinary for the diverse communities in Trinidad and can be viewed in itself as a way for Hindus to lay claim to the physical space of the nation.

At Diwali Nagar, the spirit of reversal and negation found in the original Trinidadian Carnival and mythology of Holi assumed an even greater intensity as a concert began. For the musical competition, also known as Pichakaaree, artists use the traditional instrumentation of the Indo-Trinidadian community, namely the dholak (Indian hand drum) dhantal, and harmonium, mixed with modern instruments such as a synthesizer. The lyrics and sound can accurately be described as “Indian calypso” since the performers, in a true reversal from Trinidadian Carnival, belt out criticism against Afro-Trinidadian leaders and (occasionally) culture. Importantly, the political and social commentary is rooted in Hinduism with many allusions to gods and goddesses, theological concepts such as shakti and dharma, and ancient epics such as the Ramayana.** In an interview, spiritual leader Raviji of the Hindu-Trinidadian organization Kendra, which sponsors the event, explained why the competition is named after the pipe-like watergun used for spraying color during Phagwa. “Pichakaaree is about ingesting material from where it was located and now expressing it in the open by shooting it out at others in public. It leaves a signature and transforms the landscape, just like Indian people here by being brought transformed Trinidad’s landscape. It’s a metaphor for an Indian presence,” Raviji said.

At this year’s Pichakaaree, performers left their mark on a wide range of issues facing the country and the Indo-Trinidadian community. Among them:

• The exponential rise of kidnapping in recent years typically carried out by gangs targeting Indo-Trinidadians: “Like Rawan kidnap Sita, they gone and kidnap Vindra.” Note: Rawan is the demon in the epic of the Ramayana who kidnaps the protagonist, Ram’s, wife Sita. Vindra is a reference to a prominent Indo-Trinidadian businesswoman, Vindra Naipaul-Coleman, who was recently kidnapped.


• Environmental consequences of a proposed aluminum smelter plant: “Ma Dharti [Mother Earth] gone to Bhagavan Vishnu cryin’ / Aray! Smelter comin’ and smelter goin’ / In Amazon tree disappearin’, global warmin’ / Shiva abode [the Himalayas] meltin’, mahapralaya [final dissolution] comin’”


• The Afro-Trinidadian Prime Minister Patrick Manning’s political platform called “Vision 2020” to make Trinidad a developed country by 2020: “Now bend it on Born-again Preacherman / For a blind 20/20 vision.”


• The practice by the ruling government to give supporters housing in electoral districts where elections are competitive: “Just like Africans getting them houses / From the Housing Ministry / Voter padding rampant now.”
  Indo-Trinidadians who have joined the Afro-Trinidadian political party, the PNM: “Crack it on Indians in PNM Party / For betraying sweat and tears of we Jahajees”


• PM Manning becoming a regional power by giving assistance to other Caribbean countries: “Caribbeean ke swami, only giving charity / While people in yoh own country, begging for roti.”


• Consequences of a lewd popular culture: “Wineum jamum music on top / Aids spreadum nonstop / Value system gan down the drain / TV life take over.” Note: “Wineum jammum” is a reference to “wining” (a popular, provocative hip gyrating dance) and jamming (sexual relations).


• The political future of Indo-Trinidadian leader Basdeo Panday who is widely seen as corrupt: “With Bas, Indians politically dead / The man is a shraap on we collective head.” Calling for change in the upcoming elections: “Is nahi [not] equal place for a certain race / Who blood getting shed / Is written in red / … / When election call / Change the writing on the wall.”
  
  The winning Pichakaaree song came from the reigning champion, Jagdeo Phagoo, with his track “Rawan Ketchum Koorkutoo.” The song is a narrative from the perspective of the infamous demon Rawan and tells about how he joined forces with Eric Williams, Trinidad’s first Prime Minister, at independence to oppress Indo-Trinidadians but was fired by the current Prime Minister Patrick Manning because even Rawan wasn’t evil enough for him. The song is beautifully written and manages to weave a broad set of issues together without losing the narrative structure. The performance was striking as well with Phagoo dressed as Rawan and another character openly mocking the Afro-Trinidadian prime ministers.
  
  Like Calypso, Pichakaaree has a captivating sound with smart and cutting lyrics that sometimes crosses the line into the absurd (such as Phagoo’s lyric that compares Manning’s policies to the holocaust) and the incendiary (such as another song which invokes the Bhagavad Gita to call on Indo-Trinidadians to “fight fire with fire” and take up arms in self-defense). The fact that Indo-Trinidadians can and do cross the line in this new cultural space is yet further evidence that conventional cultural norms are reversed in the spirit of the original Carnival and mythology of Holi.
  
  Conclusion
  Whether considering the changes made within traditional Afro-Trinidadian cultural forms or the production of new Indo-Trinidadian forms such as chutney and pichakaaree, it’s clear that mixing between Trinidad’s divided communities has produced some intriguing and valuable results. In the long-run, the mutual exchange and trading of barbs is less likely to destabilize the country than to promote a richer cultural heritage and stronger sense of nationalism since everyone can lay claim to distinctly Trinidadian traditions.
  
  Footnotes
  *Pride in culture as a form of resistance was also a defining feature of Indo-Fijian identity as I explained in previous posts. In Fiji, indigenous Fijian traditions characterized Fijian national culture while Indo-Fijian traditions were mostly sidelined. In the country’s first coup in 1989, the head of the military, Sitveni Rabuka, even took things a step further by removing Indo-Fijian workers from the airport and tourist hotels since the face of Fiji was to be indigenous not Indian. Even today, tourists can go to Fiji for a week and fail to notice a single Indo-Fijian though they comprise 35-40 percent of the population.
  
  **At the same time as writing this blog post, I was reading an article in the New Yorker called “Homer in India: The oral epics of Rajasthan” by William Dalrymple. He made an interesting point about how, particularly in times of tragedy, Indians tend to draw on epics, while Americans draw on movies to make sense of the events around them. Here’s the section from the article:
  
  India's population may not be particularly literate-the literacy rate is sixty per cent-but it remains surprisingly erudite culturally, as Wendy Doniger, an American Sanskrit scholar, has pointed out. Anthony Lane noted in this magazine in 2001, in the aftermath of the attacks on the United States, that the people of New York again and again compared what had happened to them to films: "It was like 'Independence Day' "; "It was like 'Die Hard' "; "No, 'Die Hard 2.' " In contrast, when the tsunami struck at the end of 2004, Indians were able to reach for a more sustaining narrative than disaster movies: the catastrophic calamities and floods that fill the Mahabharata and the Hindu tradition in general. As Doniger puts it, "The myths pick up the pieces where philosophy throws up its hands. The great myths may help survivors to think through this unthinkable catastrophe, to make a kind of sense by analogy."
  
  Most Indians in the Diaspora that I have met have lost an understanding of most epics, but remain closely tied to the Ramayana. Particularly in terms of politics, the Ramayana was indirectly (and successfully) invoked by Mahendra Chaudhry in Fiji who was ousted by a coup in 2000. The parallels between his loss of power and the protagonist Ram’s exile in the Ramayana provoked many Indo-Fijians to draw the connection and feel an emotional tie to Chaudhry characterized by an almost unconditional devotion. During Diwali, which celebrates Ram’s return to India after exile, I was in Mauritius where the epic was appropriated by the Indo-Mauritian leader Navin Ramgoolam. In Trinidad, it has been invoked when considering who should succeed the long-time leader of the Indo-Trinidadian community, Basdeo Panday.

The Creation of Race, Ethnicity, and Caste in the U.S. and Mauritius

In the United States, we are raised to believe that “race” is real, biological, and even, primordial. In reality, it is socially constructed and imprecise. Americans are so distanced from the origins of “racial” identities that we take them for granted. For three months I lived in Mauritius, a country independent for less than 40 years. As a country still in its infancy, it was fascinating to experience “racial,” “ethnic,” and “caste” identities being created and negotiated on a daily basis.

“Race” is a human invention
Before I jump to Mauritius, I want to explain my general views on “race” … by quoting someone who can articulate it much better than me. In the words of Columbia University history professor Barbara Fields: “Anyone who continues to believe in race as a physical attribute of individuals, despite the now commonplace disclaimers of biologists and geneticists, might as well also believe that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy are real, and that the earth stands still while the sun moves.”

Conventionally, people like to think that “race” denotes a whole range of features such as skin color, body size, eye color, hair type, and shape of facial features. Also, most think that certain genetic features are uniquely held by certain “races” and have been held by them since antiquity. I routinely hear people – educated people – make statements like: “she has a black voice,” “he’s not hairy enough to be an Italian,” and “you don’t look Indian.” This widespread belief that people can be subdivided into separate categories based on sets of appearance-based traits rests on shaky biological evidence.

Legal scholar Sharona Hoffman summarizes the science:

Scientists estimate that human beings share 98.56 percent of their genes with chimpanzees. 148 Human beings have approximately 30,000 to 35,000 genes, 149 and 99.9 percent of genes are identical for all human beings. 150 While there is variation in the remaining one tenth of a percent, ninety to [*1117] ninety-five percent of variations, which are called alleles, 151 are found at equal rates in every population. 152 Consequently, only five to ten percent of all genetic variations (in the one-tenth of a percent of genes that actually vary) are distributed along geographical or continental lines. 153 Significantly, among the five to ten percent of variants in that tenth percent of variable genes that seem to be distributed differentially between geographical populations, there are no variants or alleles that are unique to one "race." 154 (emphasis added)

Importantly, in the lengthy quote above, Hoffman notes that there is a small geographical component to human genetic variation. Admittedly, over very large spans of time, one’s environment can provoke certain genes to be expressed. Thus, native sub-Saharan Africans have black skin because it’s advantageous in a hot and sunny climate. Also, because different environments may have different kinds of infectious organisms or bacteria, bodily functions such as digestion may slightly differ among people with different geographic origins. None of this is to say, however, that “race” is a coherent concept.

Hoffman’s last statement—that no variants or alleles are unique to one race— is crucial. Consider the concept of a “black race.” Does such a “race” include or exclude groups like New Guinea highlanders and Australian aborigines who share skin color, but little else, with those originally from sub-Saharan Africa? Does it include or exclude Ethiopians who also share the same skin color, but whose genetic structure (meaning whose five to ten percent of geographic difference in the tenth of a percent of genes that actually vary) bears greater similarity with Europeans than sub-Saharan Africans (according to a 2001 study by James F.Wilson printed in Nature Genetics)? Furthermore, although most associate heightened susceptibility to the disease sickle cell anemia with a “black race” or “African race,” black South Africans actually are not more susceptible to the disease (though, interestingly, individuals from Greece and Sicily are). Perhaps the most important question is: how does one classify those of mixed heritage?

Clearly, upon deeper investigation, “race” classification is a complex phenomenon that is largely a social construction. The Human Genome project supports such an assertion. It found that there is dramatically greater genetic variation between any two individuals within a “race” than there are between the genetic profiles of the “races” (the project created profiles of each “race” by averaging the genetic statistics for individuals who self-reported a “race” they belonged to). Thus, as Hoffman writes, “interest in an expressed-trait difference [between “races”] is a social decision rather than a biological structure.”

The Creation of “Race” in America
The precise historical origins of the term “race” are unknown though most speculate that it was not used as a term until the 17th or 18th Century. In America, according to historian Barbara Fields, “racial” ideology gained prominence among white elites as a response to issues they faced with the country’s independence movement. Before independence, these elites had no qualms about enslaving whites to achieve their money-making ends. However, with the emerging notion that all humans possessed “inalienable rights,” it became necessary for Euro-American profiteers to reconcile this ideology of liberty with slavery. The response was to end the slavery of whites, import more African and Afro West Indians slaves, and craft a “racial” ideology that declared blacks were a sub-human “race” and thus undeserving of the same rights as whites. The unfortunate solution worked for them, allowing their economic interests in slavery to coexist with the country’s lofty ideals.

As Hoffman has noted, interest in “race” theory spiked in Europe and America during this time. Harvard professor Louis Agassiz – believing that races formed distinct sub-species with some superior to others – urged fellow researchers to rank the races with biological evidence. A Philadelphia physician named Samuel Morton did precisely this, gathering more than 800 skulls from countries spanning the globe. He measured the skull size of each “race” and determined (surprise, surprise) that “caucasians” ranked highest and blacks lowest. Twentieth century scientists rebutted Morton’s findings, noting that he: 1) (either consciously or unconsciously) fudged the measurements to find what he sought, and 2) failed to show that there is a link between skull size and intelligence.

Throughout American history there were (and continue to be) problems with defining “race.” Assigning a “race” to those with mixed backgrounds became a perennial headache. In some states a person was legally black if one of his grandparents were black while in others a single drop of black blood would suffice. This meant that a person could magically change “races” by crossing imaginary state lines.

American courts were frequently implicated in deciding the “race” of individuals and, consequently, the rights they inherited. Since “race” is an incoherent concept, judges could not reference a reliable formula for determining it. Instead, they rendered decisions deemed favorable to society’s stability and needs. Hoffman cites three court cases that illustrate the absurdity of trying to definitively assign someone a “race.”

1) Hudgins v. Wright. A group of slaves argue that they have Native American descent and are entitled to freedom. The court ultimately sides with them but judges disagree on the role of appearance in defining one’s “race.” According to Hoffman, “Judge Tucker stated that even if one's color is in doubt because of ‘racial’ mingling, ‘a flat nose and woolly head of hair,’ which disappear ‘the last of all,’ can serve as reliable indicators of an individual's status as ‘African.’ On the other hand, Judge Roane asserted that when ‘races’ become mixed, ‘it is difficult, if not impossible, to say from inspection only, which race predominates in the offspring.’”

2) Ozawa v. United States. A Japanese man attempts to gain U.S. citizenship, which was restricted to “whites and persons of African nativity,” by claiming that he appears white. The Court denies his appeal because to be white was to belong to the “Caucasian race,” which he allegedly did not.

3) Thind v. United States. Just months after Ozawa, Thind, of Asian Indian ancestry, provided evidence that north Indians were conquered by members of the “Aryan” race in 2000 B.C.E. and, thus, were technically “Caucasian.” Flip flopping on its judgment in Ozawa, the Court denied Thind citizenship, declaring that to be white was not to be Caucasian after all, but to be whatever is “the understanding of the common man.”

Re-Casting "Race" for Rights and Recognition
While Ozawa and Thind failed in re-casting their “race” for rights and recognition, many in early America (as in the case of Hudgins) succeeded (sometimes by not merely recasting but inventing). In his fascinating 2007 law review “Crossing the Color Line: Racial Migration and the One-Drop Rule, 1600-1860,” Daniel Sharfstein details the history of individuals changing “races” to gain legal and social acceptance, particularly in the antebellum South.

In his opening example, Sharfstein cites from the writings of a native Scotsman, James Flint, who recounted an incident in Jefferson, Indiana where a black man and white woman asked a local official to marry them. They were politely rebuffed because, according to Flint, the law prevented “all sexual intercourse between white and coloured people, under a penalty for each offence.” The official, however, hinted at an alternative, noting “that if the woman could be qualified to swear that there was black blood in her, the law would not apply.” Flint went on: “…[T]he lancet was immediately applied to the Negro's arm. The loving bride drank the blood, made the necessary oath, and his honour joined their hands, to the great satisfaction of all parties."

The Scotsman Flint expressed his displeasure at the permeability of early American laws, writing that “equivocations of this sort have been so often noticed in the United States, that they must be looked on as notorious.” Although in the example the white woman became black by mixing, it was also possible for individuals to become white, a process that Sharfstein terms “racial migration.” He writes that “racial migration” was a widespread phenomenon, necessary for maintaining stability in Southern society and approved by, basically, a system of winks and nods:

“With an exponentially increasing number of people who were vulnerable to reclassification, the stability of Southern communities depended on what was in essence a massive grandfathering of white people with African ancestry. This racial amnesty was accomplished through court decisions that discouraged overzealous policing of the color line; 14 through scientific theories and popular beliefs that African ancestry would always be visible on people's bodies; and most importantly, through small-town Southern traditions of acceptance, secrecy, and denial.”

Even when those of mixed heritage could not be accepted as white, their options for “racial migration” did not end. From cases like Hudgins that I cited earlier, many got the cue that by becoming Native American or some other inbetween identity (like “Portuguese” or “Turk”), they could gain similar rights as whites. In other cases, individuals coupled their “racial migration” with a physical migration to other towns or states. Joshua Peavy was born a free person of color in early 19th Century North Carolina, but according to Sharfstein, was “born again as Methodist and ‘French’ by the time he reached Alabama.” Citing the account of locals, Sharfstein writes, ironically, that “ordained a minister, Peavy was known for ‘the alacrity with which he met heretics, and the zeal with which he engaged in driving away erroneous doctrines’ – and for his ‘very dark complexion.’”

In the years leading up to slavery’s demise, and certainly thereafter, Southern societies toughened their laws on “race.” Abolition threatened to accelerate mixing to unacceptable levels, so stricter lines needed to be drawn. Nevertheless, individuals (though certainly fewer) still found ways around the system in the South. Many more opted to move to the West or North and begin anew, including with an invented ancestry. Summarizing the experience, Sharfstein cites a Boston journalist who wrote the following in 1925: "Suffice it to say, that there are hundreds of ‘Portuguese' who were once just plain Jack Johnsons and Mary Browns... . There are scores of ‘Armenians' and ‘Greeks' and a few ‘Italians' who came to this great center of culture and liberty from Shoe Button, Mississippi; Hop Toad, Georgia; and Corn Pone, Arkansas.”

Seeing the Creation of “Race,” “Ethnicity,” and “Caste” First-Hand in Mauritius
Every human confronts the chaos of meaninglessness. While animals inherit a set of comprehensive instincts that program their lives until death, humans must construct order from a world of infinite possibility. Group identities (such as “race,” “ethnicity,” and religion) tend to place social mores and values onto individuals, giving them a set of constraints that permit life to no longer be a formless void, but one of bounded order. Out of this order, life gains meaning and purpose. While such identities (and associated beliefs, values, and rituals) are typically created at a particular moment in time and adapt to changing circumstances, people (as I have shown with the case of contemporary Americans and “race”) tend to think of them as part of objective reality. Living in Mauritius, I had the unique opportunity to see various groups of society struggling to create a workable identity.

As I stated in a previous post, nearly 70 percent of the population is of Indian ancestry with Creoles (who are of mixed African and European or Asian ancestry) comprising roughly 27 percent. Small populations with Chinese ancestry and European ancestry make up the rest. Since independence there has been the development, consolidation, and redevelopment of group identities, particularly within the Indo-Mauritian population. During the drafting of the Mauritian constitution, Indo-Mauritian Muslims feared marginalization under a general Indo-Mauritian category and were able to gain a separate category for themselves. The final Mauritian constitution recognized (and still recognizes) four groups: Hindus, Muslims, Chinese, and General Population. This constitutional language filtered down to the level of daily conversation as the word “Indo-Mauritian” has largely disappeared. When I asked people “are you Indian?” I don’t recall anyone saying “yes” as many would often respond “I am Hindu.”

Meanwhile, Muslims have distanced themselves from their Indian heritage and seen many aspects of their culture become “Arabized.” In his Ethnology journal article “Islamic revivalism and political opposition among minority Muslims in Mauritius,” Oddvar Hollup writes that this trend “is an expression of a need for a separate identity, but also a response to Hindu-Muslim antagonism and an expression of opposition to the political dominance of the Hindus.”

Arab Islamic culture has altered several aspects of Muslim Mauritian identity. A once popular Muslim festival known as “Muharram” (still widely practiced in Trinidad, known here as “Hosay”) which borrows some features from Hindu rituals is now virtually non-existent. Other Indian elements have been purged in favor of more orthodox Arab Sunni practices. Muslim women rarely donned a veil or burqa in the past, but now most do. Perhaps most interesting, increasing numbers of Muslims in census data claim Urdu or even Arabic as their ancestral language (though no Arab Muslims are present in Mauritius and the Indo-Mauritian Muslims’ forefathers spoke Gujarati or Bhojpuri). In Mauritian madrassas (Islamic schools that are largely financed by Saudi Arabia and Libya), children are taught to read and write in Urdu and Arabic. Additional Arab cultural influences are evident in the architecture of new mosques and their domes and in the intimate greeting among Muslim men (embracing and shaking hands) at religious events. Finally, in recent years large numbers of Muslims have abandoned their affiliation with the socialist political party and joined a fundamentalist Islamic party known as “Hisbullah.”

Unlike in any other country in the Diaspora that I have visited or will visit, the caste system is at least partially operational in Mauritius among Hindus. In each country I have visited the caste system vanished when the Hindus, regardless of previous standing or caste, were forced to do the same degrading work on sugar plantations. Mauritius, initially, was no exception. With the first wave of indentured servants, many customs disappeared under a period of dissolution. A scarcity of Indian women in the initial wave compelled Indian men to reproduce with black ex-slaves, thereby breaking previous custom requiring marriage and reproduction within one’s religion and caste (and producing the large numbers of Mauritian “Creoles” who many mistakenly believe are primarily from mixed African-European ancestry). With the arrival of large numbers of Indian village women generations later, the caste system (or at least a primitive replica) became reconstituted. Groups of Hindus were somewhat arbitrarily assigned to different groups. The arbitrariness is perhaps most evident in the prominence of the “Vaish” or merchant caste. Most Hindu Mauritians claim to be Vaish, though their ancestors were brought to Mauritius as extremely poor laborers not merchants. Nevertheless, the caste system today operates in the Mauritian consciousness as if it were directly imported from India.

Perhaps the most interesting people under the Mauritian caste system are the “Rajputs” or members of a warrior caste. A group that was classified as a lower caste upon the system’s reconstitution did not appreciate its low standing and proceeded to simply reinvent its caste and ancestry decades later. This group has claimed to be Rajputs, a famed warrior caste who are also the descendants of maharajas in the north Indian state of Rajasthan. The fact that no laborers were brought from Rajasthan has not stopped these “Rajputs” from building Rajput Hindu temples throughout Mauritius and bringing dance groups from Rajasthan for cultural events to celebrate their “shared” heritage. While some learned and older people recognize that the Rajput identity is purely invented, most others (including the government who has provided grants to the group) have no idea and accept it as fact.

Mauritius is also the only country in the Diaspora (that I have visited) where several Indian state identities are becoming more entrenched. Thus, Marathis (from the Indian state of Maharastra), Tamils (from contemporary Tamil Nadu), and Telegus (from Andhra Pradesh) all claim distinct identities from what locals call the “Hindu” group (more descriptively Hindus that descends from the north Indian states of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh). These state identities, too, are modified and consolidated at a dizzying pace. For example, each community now has its own government-funded cultural centers where individuals can learn their original state language, music, and dance. A drive along any Mauritius thoroughfare will reveal the construction of massive ornate Tamil temples. The Tamil community felt that their temples did not look sufficiently distinctive so they have brought in architects from Tamil Nadu, India to design and build temples that are visibly “more Tamil.” In addition, Tamils and Marathis each have their own governmentally recognized holy festivals. Since their arrival in Mauritius, Tamils have observed a festival known as “Cavadee.” Marathis, however, only recently began taking a deeper pride in their identity, celebrating their own festival of “Ganesh Chaturthi Utsav” on a very large-scale. Feeling left out, Telegus have collapsed a festival dedicated to the Hindu Lord Vishnu (that traditionally spans several days) into a single day, hoping to also gain government recognition.

Interestingly, the dominant “Hindu” group has distanced itself from its state origins and adopted a more Hindu nationalist identity. Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, where these individuals hail from, are considered two of the poorest and most corrupt states in India so the distancing is understandable. Although people from these areas traditionally speak “Bhojpuri,” the “Hindu” group often claims “Hindi” (a national language of India) as its ancestral language and is interchangeably known as the “Hindi-speaking” group. Hindus also have a strong institutional base. Large mainstream organizations include Hindu House and Sanatan Dharam Temples Federation. Highlighting the differences among communities in Mauritius, a recent report by the Indian government on People’s of Indian Origin (PIOs) were shocked to find out from Hindu House that “Tamils are not really Hindu” when they inquired about the presence of non North Indians in the organization.
A critical part of Hindu identity in Mauritius is the massive celebrations of the Hindu holy day Shivaratri. Shivaratri celebrations enable Mauritian Hindus to reaffirm their close bond to India and place in Indian sacred mythology. On Shivaratri, roughly a quarter of Mauritius’ 1.2 million people make a pilgrimage (by foot) to a mountain lake in the southwest corner of the island known popularly as Grand Bassin or to Hindus as Ganga Talao (Ganges pond). Several local myths explain how water from the Ganges in India was brought to Grand Bassin, thereby conferring it equally sacred status. According to one myth, the goddess Ganga shed a tear when she saw Indians leaving for Mauritius and that tear was carried to the site by Vayu, the god of the winds. The main rituals at the pilgrimage site consist of taking water from Ganga Talao and pouring it on Shiva lingam, a large stone representing the Lord Shiva, brought from India.

In his journal article “Temporalities of Community: Ancestral Language, Pilgrimage, and Diasporic Belonging in Mauritius,” Patrick Eisenlohr describes how Ganga Talao has been deliberately constructed to assume “a sacred geography resembling that of the Hindu pilgrimage sites on the sacred river Ganges in North India.” He cites several examples of sacred geographic imitation, including:

· The steps leading down to the lake closely resembling a bathing ghat common to Hindu pilgrimage sites in India where devotees perform rituals and gather holy water.

· The architecture of four temples overlooking the ghat at the site which resemble typical Indian temples.

· The two Shiva temples, in particular, project this aura of authenticity and are complete with Shiva lingams brought from India. One of these temples is even named after the renowned Kashi Vishvanath Mandir of the holy city Banaras on the Ganges.

· The location of a Hanuman Temple on top of a hill overlooking Ganga Talao. This is popularly known to reference a scene in the holy text the Ramayana where the monkey god Hanuman lifts an entire mountain.

All of these elements, along with the impressive natural beauty of the site itself, evoke the sense that Ganga Talao is a holy site on par with the Ganges. By making the annual pilgrimage to the site, Mauritian Hindus claim a distinct place in the sacred traditions of Hindu mythology.

Conclusion
As the examples of the United States and Mauritius show, group identities are incredibly powerful and incredibly fluid. While they can give people meaning and purpose, they also pose the threat of distorting reality and depriving people of their common humanity. As societies throughout the globe continue to struggle with sectarian conflict, a solid step forward may be merely recognizing the contingent nature of group identities.

A Coup (maybe)

All signs show that Fiji is preparing for another coup. Under the direction of Commodore Frank Bainimarama, Fiji’s military has seized all of the police force’s weapons and blockaded the capital city of Suva. If Bainimarama does follow through on his threats, this will be Fiji’s fourth coup in less than 20 years. This coup, however, is very different from the other three. While the previous coups played on fears of a takeover from the country’s Indian (or, more accurately, Indo-Fijian) population, this coup is in defense of the Indo-Fijian minority. Make no mistake, a coup would be devastating to Fiji’s economy and overall democratic future – I merely want to clarify the context of this coup.

The two coups in 1987 were also orchestrated by the military, but for different reasons than Bainimarama is giving now. Then, the military found the government to be too friendly to the country’s Indo-Fijian minority, (allegedly) threatening the interests of the country’s indigenous Fijian population. At least that was the card that military leader Sitiveni Rabuka played to drum up mass support for his seizures of power.

Rabuka ruled through 90s, but, under pressure from the international community, oversaw the drafting of a democratic constitution and the return of elections. In May 1999, elections were held, and to the surprise of many, the Indian-dominated Fiji Labour Party won. Mahendra Chaudhry became Fiji’s first Indo-Fijian prime minister. In less than a year, Chaudhry ushered in several necessary reforms that moved the country forward (but earned the ire of some elites and radical indigenous Fijian nationalists). On his one-year anniversary he was the victim of a coup led by failed businessman and indigenous Fijian nationalist George Speight.

Two elections have followed since the 2000 coup, both pitting Chaudhry against the current prime minister Laisenia Qarase. In the most recent election (this last May), Qarase used race-baiting to defeat Chaudhry, charging that the country was not ready for an Indian prime minister. He added that if Chaudhry were elected, another coup would surely ensue. Furthermore, Qarase touted a “national reconciliation” bill, which would grant amnesty to the perpetrators of the 2000 coup, and promoted legislation that would allow land leases for Indian farmers (some of who’s families had lived on the farms for several generations) to expire and be seized by indigenous Fijian landowners.

The current head of the military, Bainimarama, publicly denounced Qarase’s statements and vowed that a coup against an Indian leader would not happen under his watch. In addition, he warned Qarase that the military would not stand idly by if he followed through on discriminatory legislation.

Qarase was (barely) elected and his administration looked promising. He invited the opposition party to join his cabinet and many Fiji Labour officials accepted. Trouble was looming, however, as Qarase prepared to introduce the controversial legislation he promised in the campaign. Bainimarama became outraged that Qarase would challenge him and promote the discriminatory legislation. After several heated public exchanges and failed negotiations, Fiji finds itself on the brink of another coup.

Although I have sympathies with Bainimarama’s position (given the history of discrimination against Fiji’s Indians), a military coup is not a path to progress. The discriminatory legislation could and should be defeated through democratic mechanisms. For good reason, democracies are country’s of laws, not of men. Even if Bainimarama has the right motives, who’s to say that the next military leader will? Furthermore, after a coup, Fiji will surely lose funding and resources from countries like Australia, New Zealand, and the United States. It’s main industry, tourism, will at least be temporarily crushed.

Ideally, a last minute agreement would be worked out where Bainimarama relented and Qarase withdrew his discriminatory legislation. Let’s hope that it’s not too late.

God Bless Mauritius

A month and a half back, I moved from Fiji to Mauritius, an island off of the southeastern coast of Africa. Geographically, Mauritius is the size of Rhode Island. With 1.2 million people, it is one of the most densely populated countries in the world. Nearly 70 percent of the population is of Indian ancestry, though Muslims, Marathis (from the Indian state of Maharastra), Tamils (from contemporary Tamil Nadu), and Telegus (from Andhra Pradesh) all claim distinct identities from the dominant Indian group that descends from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. Creoles, who are of mixed African and European or Asian ancestry, are the largest non-Indian minority, comprising 27 percent of the population. Chinese (at three percent of the population) and Europeans (at two percent) make up the rest.

While the vast majority of ethnically heterogeneous nations have struggled to form successful democracies, Mauritius has not. Since independence in the late 1960s, Mauritius has held eight free elections, including four that resulted in a peaceful transfer of power. Mauritius is easily the most established and successful democracy in Africa. As the political scientist Henry Srebrnik stated after the 2000 Mauritian election, “Mauritians have once again proved that democracy can work in Africa and that its people need not resign themselves to military dictatorship, kleptocracy, or one-party rule.”

What has been the key to Mauritius’ success? One word: Mauritianness. The country’s varied ethnic and religious groups are united by a common sense of nationhood that supercedes communal interests and emphasizes tolerance and compromise. A comparison between Mauritius and Fiji is useful in highlighting the important role nationalism plays in everyday Mauritian life

In Fiji, there are two ethnic communities that tell different myths of origin, practice different rituals, and profess different values with little bringing the groups together. In Mauritius, distinct communal narratives, rituals, and values still exist, but they stand alongside a powerful set of national narratives, symbols, and values that all Mauritians can draw from. While in Fiji the only visible flags are red Hindu flags, Mauritians fly the national flag in their neighborhoods, outside of their supermarkets, and all around their places of worship. In Fiji, indigenous Fijians are “Fijians” while those of Indian descent are simply “Indians.” In Mauritius, the descendants of African, Chinese, and Indian slaves/laborers are all “Mauritians.” Fiji has no universally revered leaders. Mauritius, however, has the late Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam – a labor leader who spearheaded the fight for independence and is universally heralded as the “father of the nation.” His statue is prominently displayed at one of Mauritius’ main tourist attraction, the Port Louis Waterfront Complex. He is on the one rupee, five rupee, and ten rupee coins. Just about everything in the country is named after him, too. Sir Seewoosagur National Botanical Gardens. Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam Medical College. Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam Avenue. Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam Street. My city, Quatre Bornes, just opened up a new art exhibit. Its name? Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam Art Exhibit.

I personally experienced the power of Mauritian nationalism on November 2nd, a Mauritian national holiday that commemorates the arrival of the first indentured laborers from India to Mauritius. This November 2nd was particularly important for the country as the port where Indians first arrived was declared a United Nations World Heritage site. The site, Aapravasi Ghat (“where the water meets land”), is the only UN Heritage site in Mauritius and the only in the world that concerns the migration of Indian indentured laborers.

The occasion could have easily degenerated into Indo-Mauritians celebrating their success as an ethnic community or discussing the superiority of Indian culture. Instead, the event was one for drawing strength in the country’s status as a nation of immigrants (“Nation of immigrants” holds a special meaning in Mauritius since there is no native population (aside from the now-extinct dodo bird), and only became settled in the 1700s.) At the prayer that opened the ceremony, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, and Christian leaders each gave a prayer that appealed to their respective communities. Furthermore, a religious leader also read a “Multi-Faith and Universal Prayer” that praised all of Mauritians’ laboring forebears and called on Mauritians today to “work hard and to dedicate ourselves to the cause of the Mauritian nation.”

Speaker after speaker at the commemoration ceremony spoke generally of the spirit and values that all migrants (Indian, African, or Chinese) had contributed to the country rather than speaking only of what Indians had given. Particularly impressive was the insistence by speakers that a fight now be waged to include Le Morne Brabant (a mountain that is an important site in the history of Afro-Mauritian slavery) on the list of heritage sites.

The event ended with the Mahatma Gandhi Institute – a well-funded and expansive educational organization designed to promote Indian culture – putting on a dance drama entitled “Ghat of Destiny.” Through song, dance, and story, “Ghat of Destiny” narrated the oppression Mauritians’ African slaves and Chinese and Indian laborers endured under colonial rule. It ended on a positive note, calling on citizens to appreciate the country’s diversity and celebrate its unity.*

Mauritian nationalism, as evidenced on Indian Arrival Day, serves several crucial functions for Mauritian society. First, it gives the Mauritian people a sense of national purpose, motivating citizens by making them believe they have a special role to play in the world. For example, the speakers and the dance drama reminded Mauritians of who they are and what they believe by narrating how Mauritius was built by migrants. “We are all gathered here today to pay a special tribute to our ancestors whose feet have blessed the Mauritian soil and whose toil, sweat and deep-rooted culture have transformed this small island socially, economically and culturally and have made it a jewel of the Indian Ocean,” Mahendra Gowressoo, the minister of Arts and Culture said. In addition, several speakers, such as the President of the Republic, Anerood Jugnauth, frequently invoked the phrase “model Mauritius” to describe how Mauritius had become the ideal country for African and island countries to follow. It is the job of succeeding generations, the speakers and the drama continued, to carry on this rich legacy by working equally hard and taking pride in the same values.

Second, nationalism works to integrate all Mauritians under a common set of values, leading to a high degree of social cohesion in a country that might otherwise be fractured by its cultural differences. Gowressoo clearly laid out these common Mauritian values, stating “We owe much to our forefathers who have taught us universal values such as responsibility, determination, respect for self and respect for others, mutual sharing, and tolerance and most importantly, the courage to fight against all odds.”

Third, Mauritian nationalism sets a benchmark for praiseworthy values and actions so that whenever the country strays from its foundational beliefs, reforming leaders can appeal to nationalism and call the community back to its higher ideals. Critics of nationalism often assume that it amounts to worship of the state and prevents change. To the contrary, nationalism in a democratic context often sets a high standard for leaders to meet; when they don’t, they must change course or face defeat at the polls. Mauritius is no exception. I have been surprised at the frequency and openness with which Mauritians criticize the ruling government and lament their current economic situation. The current Prime Minister Navin Ramgoolam may be the son of Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam, but unless he starts living up to Mauritian values, he will no longer be considered the heir to his national legacy.

Footnotes:

* For example, two verses from the final song of “Ghat of Destiny”:
Every Dipavali of yours will bring light to my life
My soul together with the candles on your altar will melt
Flowers will shower in my garden at the dawn of every Spring Festival
When on the night of Eid I embrace you, the moon will shed its rays on us
Thus together we will rewrite our history as one people
Let us therefore be merry, let us sing, come, let us dance

Different foods, clothes, songs and rituals will a beautiful ‘Rangoli’ create
In unison we will utter the same words of unity in different languages
With prayers of all faiths, we will create our own paradise
We will move forward together, towards the same destination
Let the flag of unity be raised, let us all join hands
Let us therefore be merry, let us sing, come, let us dance.

Religious Ritual as Political Protest

In late 19th Century India, the Maharastrian leader Bal Gangadhar Tilak devised a public Hindu festival to resist the British Empire. The ritual – Ganpati Chaturthi Utsav – celebrated the birth of Lord Siva’s elephant-headed son, Ganpati (or Ganesh), and had been observed privately for centuries in Maharastra. However, under Tilak’s direction, the festival assumed an entirely different tenor by publicly flaunting Hindu unity and defiance of colonial rule.

Ganpati Chaturthi became a 10-day festival, where Hindus worshiped massive, elaborately decorated clay idols of Ganpati in temples. On the final day, millions of Indians poured into the streets to carry Ganpati from the temples to the sea, where he would be immersed. The procession was flashy and noisy. After its start in Maharastra in 1893, the festival quickly spread throughout India, becoming the country’s central public ritual.

Tilak intended for the festival to restore pride in India’s age-old cultural traditions and to renew the country’s commitment to Hinduism. As a pioneer of the Hindu nationalist movement, Tilak was worried by the spread of Islam in India and the influence of Christianity on Hindu reformers. The festival was, firstly, a way of generating zeal for India’s and Hinduism’s traditions. From Tilak’s perspective, this would help resist the alleged poisonous influence of "outside" forces.

Secondly, the ritual weakened the British’s grip over India. In order to justify their presence, British colonizers often claimed that India was a society rife with division, wholly incapable of governing itself. The British frequently pointed to the caste system as an example of the tensions dividing India. Ganpati Utsav became a celebration where Hindus – regardless of caste – came together to celebrate their heritage and defy British rule. "By encouraging Hindus of all communities to join in a common quasi-political festival," Richard Cashman writes in The Myth of Lokmanya, "Tilak was challenging the British thesis that Hindu society was divided and that the elite Brahmins were out of step with society." Although Tilak wanted to project a sense of Hindu unity, it’s notable that he still viewed Brahmins as the guardians of Hindu traditions and believed that they should play the biggest role in planning the Ganesh celebrations. In addition to exhibiting indirect resistance, some reports have suggested that the festival was a time for explicit political organizing and education about Indian independence.

The similarities between the contexts of the festivals in India and Fiji are striking. Much like 18th Century Indian Hindus, 21st Century Indo-Fijian Hindus feel threatened under the rule of another community (in this case indigenous Fijians rather than British colonizers). These Indo-Fijians typically speak of the following concerns: Fiji’s history of indigenous nationalism and coups against Indo-Fijian-led governments, sharp increases in temple desecrations, spikes in street crimes against Indo-Fijians, the expiration of land leases and subsequent loss of land for many Indo-Fijian sugarcane farmers, the pervasive influence of Fiji’s ultra-conservative Methodist Church* on government policy, and the government’s promotion of a "reconciliation" bill affirming the paramountcy of indigenous rights and granting clemency to the perpetrators of the 2000 coup. In the face of these various forms of discrimination and intimidation, Indo-Fijians take pride in their cultural and religious traditions as a method of defiance. As Ashok, a Hindu participating in Ganpati Utsav told me, "No matter what they do to make us leave, we will stay here and never lose belief in our Hindu religion." For Fiji’s Hindus, Ganpati Utsav is one of the largest, and most public, traditional celebrations.

After 10 days of lengthy worship sessions for Ganesh at the Latchmi Naryan temple in Suva, Fiji, men, women, and children piled onto flatbed trucks for the procession to the sea. Adherents loaded a large clay idol of Ganesh onto one of the trucks along with a speaker system blaring dramatic drum beats. Soon after, other temples’ floats united, including the Sevashram Sangha who showcased a massive white Ganesh idol holding two gold-colored trishurs and wearing necklaces covered with flowers and apples.

Characteristic of weather in Suva, rain started pouring before the procession. Nevertheless, the trucks started their engines and began their protracted trek through town. Rather than taking a direct route to the sea – heading west and then north on main streets, the procession started east and slowly weaved its way through downtown, passing several important landmarks. I was fortunate enough to secure a spot right next to the Latchmi Naryan temple’s head pandit (priest) on a main float, gaining amazing access to the feel of the ritual. As a sidenote, the priests and chief organizers of the ritual were Gujaratis, the Brahmins of Fiji.**

From the start, adherents on the truck chanted "Ganpati Bappa Moraya!" (the Hindu equivalent of "Praise the Lord!"). They wore orange headbands and waved orange flags to show their Hindu pride, while others jogging alongside the float threw bright red dye onto everyone. The music and chanting became progressively louder as the devotees struggled to contain their emotion. Soon many were dancing. Onlookers of all kind braved the rain and lined the streets, trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion. Those riding in the procession threw tropical fruits and Indian sweets to the crowds.

The emotional fervor and air of defiance seemed to reach new heights every time the procession passed another important landmark such as the city’s largest mosque, several Methodist churches (including the largest church in the country), the National Land Trust Board (which arbitrates land disputes), the national government’s set of administrative buildings, and the parliament building (the sight of the 2000 coup).

Probably not by coincidence the procession stopped on an area of coastline directly across from a Methodist church (Peceliema Vou Methodist Church) in an indigenous Fijian neighborhood. In front of the church, a small group of indigenous Fijians looked on in amazement as final rituals such as aarti (the waving of a small camphor lamp in front of the deity) were performed to the sounds of drums pounding and bells ringing. Finally, a group of men carried the idols to the sea until they were fully immersed.

Although more than a hundred years and thousands of miles separate Fiji’s Ganpati Chaturthi Utsav from India’s original festival, both possessed the same defiant spirit and served similar political purposes. In India, colonialism prevented Indians from ruling their country, while in Fiji coups and the politics of hate have achieved the same end. In both cases, Hindus boisterously and publicly celebrated their religious rituals to show that their communities would not be intimidated.

*As a lifelong Methodist and the son and grandson of Methodist ministers, I feel obliged to clarify the role of the Methodist Church in Fiji. Methodist missionaries such as Hannah Dudley in the early 20th century were instrumental in meeting the needs of Indian laborers and forcing the British to abolish the horrendous practice of indentured servitude. Today, the Methodist Church constitutes the largest Christian denomination in Fiji. Many churches, particularly those under the Indian division, continue to do good. The leadership in the church, however, has been led astray and become a tool for radical indigenous nationalists to advance their agenda of creating a Fiji exclusively for indigenous Fijians. We can only pray that they find their way.

**Although most divisions within the Indian community in Fiji disappeared long ago, differences between Gujaratis and other Indians are visible even today. Gujaratis came as free migrant merchants after the Indian indentured servants. Early on, the Indian laborers resented the Gujaratis for allegedly raising prices to unfair levels and charging exorbitant fees for lending money. They also, however, admired Gujarati leaders such as A.D. Patel who used Gandhian methods to fight for labor rights, Indo-Fijian representation in decisionmaking, and Fiji's independence. Today, the Gujarati community continues to be both respected and resented. Gujaratis still own many of Fiji's businesses including large corporations like Motibhai and Punjas. They are respected for their business skill and financial contributions to the community. They are resented, however, for purportedly betraying the political interests of other Indo-Fijians. For example, there are widespread rumors in the Indo-Fijian community that Punjas financed the 2000 coup (notably, the police have cleared Punjas of any wrongdoing). I would argue that the Ganesh Chaturthi is a way for the Gujarati community to reclaim its status as leaders, not opponents, of the Indo-Fijian community.

Firewalking, Ganesh, and Indian Identity

In the last few weeks I’ve watched an eight year old walk on fire and a 15 foot tall clay idol of the Hindu elephant god Ganesh dissolve in the ocean. Firewalking and Ganpati (Ganesh) Utsav are two of the largest Hindu festivals celebrated in Fiji and reveal important facets of Indo-Fijian culture.

Firewalking was observed during the last week of August at South Indian temples throughout Fiji. For the ritual, a group of devotees—of all ages and both sexes—isolate themselves in a temple for 10 days, abstaining from eating meat, having sex, and thinking impure things. They wear yellow shirts and sarongs with red sashes on their waists – all of which denotes their purity. For the devotees, days are packed with worship and meditation to the Hindu goddess Maha Devi (and her manifestations as Durga and the feared Kali) under the direction of a priest.

Walking on fire (actually hot ash) is the culmination of the 10-day ritual. For the final two days (a Saturday and Sunday), I traveled from cosmopolitan Suva to the northern sugar-farming village of Raki Raki. On Saturday evening, there was a prayer session, climaxing with devotees and observers circling the temple three times to gain the blessing of the goddesss and to ward off evil forces. One male devotee "became" the goddess Kali for the circumambulation, donning her black and blue costume and perfecting her movements.

In the evening, a comedic drama was staged to show villagers the story of Maha Devi’s triumph over evil. The drama went from 10 p.m-6 a.m. The following day at 3 p.m., devotees marched to the sea where they asked for a final blessing from the goddess. At the sea, the priest pierced the tongue and cheeks of devotees with trishurs (three-pronged needles that look like miniature pitchforks). Devotees felt no pain after conditioning their bodies and souls for 10 days. In a trance-like state, and to the beat of drums and flutes, they danced from the sea to the temple for the firewalking.

For nearly a day, heaps of wood burned in the strip of land designated for the firewalking. The heat emanating from the ash was easy to feel and see. One by one, the devotees slowly and calmly walked over the ash, dipping their feet briefly in water only at the end. The event ended with the priest lightly whipping devotees and volunteers from the crowd with a long piece of rope. Those who were whipped bowed and touched the priest’s feet to show respect.

The firewalking ritual serves three vital functions to the Indo-Fijian Hindu community. First, it strengthens ties to community. Regardless of class, gender, or other markers, members of the Raki Raki Hindu community unite to observe the events together. The ritual is a status leveler—everyone observes the same rituals in the same way, placing everyone equally under Hinduism’s sacred canopy. This reinforces the spirit of egalitarianism that pervades Hinduism in Fiji, where caste distinctions have disappeared since the period of indenture.
The ritual also reminds the community where it came from. The temple is surrounded by sugarcane and set in an open field. A tractor is firmly placed near the entrance. The temple setting invokes the community’s background in sugarcane farming. Thus, rituals at the temple help bind Raki Raki’s local story with the broader story of Hinduism.

Second, it solidifies familial bonds. Extended families celebrate the rituals as one – together they circumambulate the temple, stay up late to watch the Maha Devi drama, pray for loved ones who walk on fire, and share stories over grog when it’s all over Sunday evening. For Hindu families, experiencing the ritual – with its powerful sights, sounds, and spiritual symbols— year after year creates a profound emotional and sentimental bond.

I personally experienced the centrality of family to the ritual’s significance. When taking pictures of the event, the family I was staying with urged me to go inside the area marked off for the devotees to get better shots. I hesitated, but eventually did go with one member of the family. After the ritual ended, a devotee approached me and told me that only those who had prepared for 10 days were allowed in the area. Members of the family I was with – who also happened to be prominent elders at the temple – scolded the man for being rude to a guest and he backed off his claim. Although in terms of the ritual’s religious correctness this devotee may have been right, he conceded because family considerations trumped his objection.

Third, the ritual strongly links adherents back to India. The priest’s mantras are recited in Tamil; though most adherents only speak and understand Hindi, the Tamil recitations lend an aura of South Indian authenticity to the event. Female observers are dressed in Indian saris, while male observers don Indian cut tops. People play traditional Indian instruments such as the dholak (Indian drum) and shenai (Indian flute) throughout, while others sing Hindu devotional songs in Hindi. The ritual is an eruption of "Indianness." It connects observers and adherents to the generations of Indian families who have completed the ritual in Fiji and India. The zeal with which Fiji Hindus complete the ritual and connect back to their Indian heritage is particularly intriguing since the ritual has died out in India.

GANPATI UTSAV UPDATE COMING SOON!

Transcending Polarization

A few weeks back, the Hindu American Foundation released a report detailing the persecution of Hindus across the Diaspora, focusing on the countries of Bangladesh, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Fiji. While it was barely noticed in the U.S., the report has sparked controversy in Fiji.

Upon the report’s release, it instantly became a top headline on Fiji’s national evening news program. The Hindu American Foundation asserted that Fiji’s Hindus were systematic targets of hate speech and hate crimes and charged the government with doing little to curb the trend. Among other things, the foundation documented a disturbing number of temple desecrations in recent years.

I expected Fiji’s Hindu community to embrace the report’s findings and call for immediate reform. Instead, top community leaders denounced the report as inflammatory. Kamlesh Arya – the leader of the Hindu sect Arya Samaj and a former Labour party member of Parliament – was cited by the online publication Fijilive as saying that the report only hurt nation building and reconciliation.

To get a better understanding of Arya’s position, I spoke with him on Wednesday. When I asked why he publicly criticized the report, Arya responded as follows:

We viewed the tone of the report as overstating the problem. The tone was really
accusatory – we disagree, we’re on the ground, and we know. The foundation never consulted with us. To make such pronounced statements, which are now available to people worldwide on the Internet, they should have consulted us. Every Hindu group in Fiji found it unacceptable.

We are trying to reconcile and harmonize people, and the content of the report did the opposite. In any environment where there is racial tension which also has a religious bearing then people are required to build bridges of understanding and not point fingers.

Arya has been a leader in combating the desecration of temples. During his time in Parliament (from 2000-2005), he sponsored a motion to curb such acts, which was eventually approved by the ruling government. According to Arya, this was the only motion put forward by the opposition that was approved by the government last session.

I found Arya’s denunciation of the Hindu American Foundation admirable and wise. He very easily could have built on the report’s fiery rhetoric and lashed out against the government for its perceived intolerance. By criticizing it, however, he has now built credibility with the ruling government, which he can use to promote long-term change and unity.

The move shows Arya’s commitment to effectiveness over glory, which is something most Americans could learn from. In America’s polarized political climate, the goal of most politicians, pundits, and non-profits is to pounce on an opponent at every opportunity rather than seek ways to actually get things done. (That said, I’m keeping up my last partisan post because, well, old habits die hard).

Fiji, too, has struggled to transcend the politics of division. Arya’s recent remarks, however, reveal a growing weariness with polarization. Most people are tired of indigenous Fijian and Indo-Fijian leaders (and dittohead followers) butting heads over every issue and would prefer to have a unified government that fosters stability and economic growth. Thus, it was with much fanfare that current Prime Minister Laisenia Qarase invited several members of the opposition into his cabinet.

As I noted in my first post, overcoming ethnic and political polarization will take a steady commitment since differences permeate Fiji’s everyday culture. It’s noteworthy, though, that Fiji’s reconciliation process can be aided by aspects that often characterize local island culture. In “island life,” there’s an affinity for casual living. It’s a nonchalant approach to the world where you don’t take yourself and your work so seriously and where getting along with your neighbor truly matters.

Grog epitomizes Fiji’s island culture. Grog, also called kava or yaqoona, is a local drink that looks like muddy water (and unfortunately kind of tastes like it, too). It’s prepared by wrapping kava roots in a piece of cloth, adding water, and squeezing the mixture into a container. Drinking grog is one of the few national pastimes that transcend ethnic, class, regional, religious and (sometimes) gender differences. It takes place at many social gatherings and day-to-day to pass time. On my first day of research, I visited a secondary school. The principal immediately invited me into his office and asked his assistant to prepare grog. Teachers and other school workers were gathered and we talked about random topics over grog without regard for time or workload (I’m fairly certain that the teachers present had free periods).

The lack of constant stress, intensity, and drama (which is not lacking in the States) and the fondness for laid back living are a few factors that can help Fiji transition to a less polarized political atmosphere.

Republican Racism

Although this is unrelated to my project, I just wanted to express my outrage at the comments of Republican Senator, and 2008 presidential hopeful, George Allen. At a campaign event, Allen made racist comments about S.R. Sidarth, an Indian-American who was tracking Allen's campaign for his senate opponent. Speaking to an all-white audience (aside from Sidarth), he said the following:

''This fellow over here with the yellow shirt -- Macaca [a genus of monkey] or whatever his name is -- he's with my opponent,'' Allen said. ''He's following us around everywhere.''

''Let's give a welcome to Macaca here. Welcome to America and the real world of Virginia.''

S.R. Sidarth was born and raised in Virginia.

Given Senator Allen's past sympathies with the Southern Confederacy (he wore a Confederate flage lapel pin in his high school yearbook photo), I think it's time to question his American credentials.

Musings after a Month

Four weeks ago, I walked across the Fiji airport’s runway to the sounds of guitars from four indigenous Fijians wishing Bula (cheers) to passengers. In baggage claim, an assortment of travel agents lurked about, hawking their travel literature splashed with Fiji’s beautiful beaches and grand palm trees. I have yet to step foot on sand, but over the past few weeks I have experienced the real Fiji, the Fiji with a diverse population that struggles to live in harmony.

I’m based in Fiji’s capital of Suva, a bustling city of 350,000 people. A little more than six years ago in Suva, Mahendra Chaudhry celebrated his one-year anniversary as Fiji’s first Indo-Fijian prime minister. The same day his elected government was overthrown. A group of armed rebels, led by failed businessman George Speight, stormed parliament, taking Chaudhry and others hostage. Soon after, the Speight Team declared that Fiji’s 1997 Constitution was void, and that future governments would favor indigenous rights and be ruled by indigenous Fijians. Chaos ensued as Suva was engulfed with widespread looting and violence targeted at Indo-Fijians. Unfortunately, the country has become all too familiar with this scenario. In 1987, groups advocating for indigenous rights staged two coups, ousting governments perceived as overly influenced by Indo-Fijians.

With the perpetrators of the 2000 coup in prison, and Fiji’s voters electing two governments since the coup, a degree of stability has surfaced in the capital. Indigenous Fijians and Indo-Fijians may ride to work in the same buses and watch the same evening news program, but tensions and differences between the groups continue to run deep. Indigenous Fijians, who make up the majority of the population, own 90 percent of the land, dominate the military and police forces, and run the government. Indo Fijians, who are a sizable minority at roughly 40 percent of the population, control the country’s commercial wealth, dominate the professional fields, and pervade academia. The relative parity of resources between the groups (which has been documented by others such as the U.S. Ambassador David Lyon) has bred mutual resentment and accompanying stereotypes of the Other. The tension between communities has also generated deep pride in their respective cultural traditions, giving both sides a way to gain meaning through self-definition.

Since my arrival, I have immersed myself in Fiji’s multifaceted Indian culture. Among other things, I have watched women from the Indian Cultural Center perform traditional Bharata Natyam and contemporary Bhangra dances, learned (but failed to remember) how to cook traditional Indo-Fijian dishes such as chicken and fish curries, attended daily Hindu worship and observed larger rituals such as the Nakul Navmi (a Gujarati Hindu ritual praising mongooses) and helped serve food and put up decorations at a Muslim wedding.

From my varied experiences, I have observed a few key differences that distinguish Indo-Fijian culture from Indian-American culture. For instance, Indo-Fijians are bound together by a common narrative. They tell a story about the coercion of their families into indentured servitude, the suffering they endured under this new form of slavery, the struggle to obtain political rights and economic self-sufficiency after indenture, the resentment they harbor after independence as targets of a nativist backlash by indigenous Fijians, and finally, the community’s economic and educational success against all odds. This story gives Indo-Fijians a common identity – they each came from the same beginning and have the same sense of purpose to carry on the community’s rich legacy.

In the U.S., Indian-Americans do not have a common story to tell. To the extent that one can be assembled, it is not nearly as compelling as the Indo-Fijian. Most Indian-Americans immigrated as well-educated professionals seeking better opportunities for themselves and their children. As a result, a small set of cultural factors bind the community together – observing Hindu holy days such as Diwali and Holi, watching Bollywood movies, being familiar with various kinds of Indian food, and dressing in saris and sherwanis at social functions. While these are elements of Indian culture in Fiji as well, “Indianness” is more richly textured.

For example, there are Hindu temples that cater specifically to South Indians, North Indians, and Gujaratis, complete with gods/goddesses (e.g. the South Indian temple, Mariamma Temple, is dedicated to goddesses such as Durga and Kali, who are especially popular in South India), lengthy worship sessions, and elaborate rituals tailored to each sub-community’s historical and contemporary identity. There are two major sects Islam (the Sunnis and the Ahmadis), a sizable Sikh community with an ornate gurdwara, and an Indian Methodist Church. The Indian community splits off in many different directions, but there is unity in the diversity. They have a common narrative independent of religion and region, and, consequently, are equally Indian even if they have distinct ways of showing it. This is less the case in the U.S. where Indian culture tends to have a Hindu tint as many Muslims identify with Arab Islamic culture, and many Indian Christians assimilate into the majority Christian population.

Another key difference between Indian-Americans and Indo-Fijians concerns national culture. Indian-Americans see themselves as both Indian and American, though not necessarily completely belonging in either category. Indo-Fijian is a term that I have somewhat imposed since popular vernacular categorizes the population as “Indian,” while indigenous Fijians are simply “Fijian.” The popular terminology illustrates the lack of a unifying national culture in Fiji – the “Indians” have their culture and traditions and the “Fijians” have their own. There is little blending of the two and few common national traditions to coalesce around.