Oppression All The Way Down

For shame.jpg

Quick– read the following paragraph and tell me what you think:

The women legally arrived…in 2002; (their employers) then confiscated their passports and refused to let them leave their home, authorities said.

Domestic slavery? Nightmarish abuse of Sri Lankan maids, at the hands of Arab employers? That’s what I thought. I was only half right (Thanks, KXB).

Two Indonesian women were subjected to beatings and other abuse and forced by a couple to work in their home in a swank Long Island neighborhood without pay for several years, federal prosecutors said Tuesday.
Authorities said they uncovered the abuse after one of the women was found by police wandering outside a doughnut shop on Sunday morning, wearing only pants and a towel…[IHT]

Apparently, employees at the store thought the woman was homeless, until she started slapping herself and trying to utter the word “master”.

Varsha Mahender Sabhnani, 35, and her husband Mahender Murlidhar Sabhnani, 51, both from India, entered not guilty pleas at their arraignment in U.S. District Court and were ordered held pending a Thursday bail hearing. Their attorney did not immediately return a telephone call seeking comment. [IHT]

The women were only allowed outside of the house if they were taking out the garbage; when anyone visited, they were stashed in a 3×3′ closet. That’s pleasant compared to this:

The women were subjected to beatings, scalding water thrown on them, and forced to climb up and down stairs as punishment for misdeeds, prosecutors said. In one case, they said, one of the women was forced to eat 25 hot chili peppers at one time.
One of the women also told authorities she was cut behind her ears with a small pocket knife and both were forced to sleep on mats in the kitchen. They were fed so little, they claimed, that they were forced to steal food and hide it from their “captors.”[IHT]

It’s just so depressing. What quirk of destiny relegates one South Asian woman to endure the beatings of her Arab mistress while halfway around the world, her desi– albeit privileged– counterpart metes out similar viciousness to another brown human being? Sri Lankan and Fillipino maids get abused in the middle east, the Indonesian survivors from this cringe-inducing story were enslaved by people our parents might associate with, right here in the U.S and desperate, option-less women everywhere are exploited by those who should know better but don’t care. For shame. Continue reading

Caste defenders

Anna’s thought-provoking post on caste yesterday generated a few links to defenders of the institution which I found intriguing. One defender argues that caste is nothing but cultural pluralism:

… as a truly pluralistic society, the Hindu India allowed each ethnic group, regardless of how numerically small it was, to retain its identity…Caste is a result of this spirit of freedom and pluralism. It is something to be proud of… I pointed out that in the casteless Christian West, the minorities have been forced to abandon their identities and instead have been made to imitate the dominant group in every aspect of life [Link]

This is disingenuous because it entirely ignores the hierarchy and separation at the root of the caste system. What he’s trying to imply is that the caste system creates groups that are “separate but equal” except that he can’t even say that they’re even nominally equal (and we know how the whole “separate but equal” thing worked out).

Another author goes the opposite direction and embraces the idea that caste is all about inequality but says this is good:

… jati and varnam are merely a codification of the fact that all humans are not born equal in their endowments: some are tall, some are fat, some are musically talented, and so on. Caste is about the ruthless Bell Curve, and is about as inescapable as race. It is neither good nor bad; it just is (casteism, however, is reprehensible, just as racism is.) In fact, caste must be useful, which is why it has survived for so long… [Link]

Of course he doesn’t come out and say that it’s about groups being better than others, but when somebody says that “all humans are not born equal in their endowments” it’s hard not to conclude that they’re talking about a hierarchy. His social darwinism comes out loud and clear when he argues that the survival of caste as a social institution is evidence of its usefulness; he’s saying that caste must be a beneficial adaptation for it to have persisted.

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On Feeling *Extra* Brown This Morning

Baby Barron Trump.JPG

Every weekday morning as I make my way towards the looooooong escalators which lead to red lines, I smile at the man who is employed by the Washington Post to hand out their freebie paper The Express (a.k.a. WaPo Lite). It’s stapled and tabloid-sized which makes it convenient to manage but more importantly, it’s interesting enough to make the trip to work fly by; I especially like the back pages, where they choose pithy quotes from blogs, mention things like FREE Haagen-Dazs and update us metro-riding DCists on celebrity-related crap.

I don’t read Trent or Perez because I’m not THAT interested in whether Britney is wearing knickers (Shamita Shame Shame on the other hand…) but I don’t mind learning enough to keep me clued in to what might be considered conversational fair-game. That’s why I skimmed the following blurb about Junior Combover and his spouse, while waiting for the next train:

Donald Trump became a grandfather over the weekend, 14 months after he became a dad all over again. The baby girl, Kai Madison, was born to Donald Trump Jr. and his wife, Vanessa, both 29, on Saturday in New York, according to published reports. She weighed 6 pounds, 14 ounces. Trump Jr. said the girl’s name comes from her maternal grandfather, a Danish musician. Kai will grow up alongside her uncle Barron, born to Trump and his third wife, Melania, in 2006.

Fine, fine…but what caught my attention was the title:

Family Tree Irrevocably Mangled by Trump Scion

I was so perplexed by this, I didn’t hustle like a normal person and I almost missed my opportunity to evade Sliding Doors. Seriously? Wasn’t “mangled” a bit much? I know, the writers at Express are delightfully snarky, but this immediately and consummately reminded me of all the times when I was younger and my classmates were weirded out by my byzantine family tree: Continue reading

"Welcome to America and the real world of Virginia"

It’s kind of a famous line now, uttered by former Virginia Senator George Allen to a young political staffer named S.R. Sidarth. Many of us think it was probably responsible for bringing down the former Senator and shifting the Senate to the Democrats in the 2006 elections. It turns out that Allen’s statement would have been MUCH more appropriate if he had uttered it just under 400 years ago. On today, the 400-year-anniversary of the founding of Jamestown and the birth of what would one day become America, Francis Assisi and his fellow reporters at Indolink bring us this news culled from historical research of the last several years:

The best evidence suggests that the people from India arrived in colonial America in one of two ways. They were taken aboard as lascars or helpers aboard the trading ships of the British East India Company from Indian ports, and, on reaching England, succumbed to the promises of agents who were taking indentured workers to the New World. Or else they were taken as servants by the British “Nabobs” who amassed their fortunes in India and subsequently returned home to England and thence to the newly established colony in America – where they took their servants with them as a sign of their status.

A 2003 study prepared by Martha W. McCartney, a project historian for the National Park Service’s Jamestown Archaeological Assessment reveals that Captain George Menefie, who was assigned 1200 acres of land in Jamestown in 1624 used “Tony, an East Indian,” as a headright. This is further confirmed in a 2006 report from the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation which identifies Menefie as a wealthy English merchant who arrived in Virginia in 1622, and obtained legal right to the land by paying passage for 24 immigrants, including an East Indian.

At the heart of the early migration to colonial America was the headright system designed to encourage immigration. Every Englishman who “imported” a laborer or servant to the colony received a fifty-acre land grant.

What the evidence from Jamestown/Williamsburg suggests is that the first East Indians were brought to Virginia within less than a generation of the arrival of European settlers in Virginia – and within a decade after the Mayflower landed in Plymouth. [Link]

Of course, as we know from history, Jamestown began to flounder and descended into chaos until they started profiting from growing John Rolfe’s tobacco, harvested by the first slaves in North America. After the first batch of African slaves, East Indians soon followed:

Social historian Thomas Brown, a faculty member at Lamar University, Beaumont, Texas has corroborated this in a 2004 research paper. Brown explains that many East Indians were imported to the American colonies by way of England, arriving already Christianized and fluent in English. Others arrived as slaves who had been captured and sold. “It is impossible to confidently estimate the size of the South Asian population in the Western Shore counties, but “East Indians” outnumber “Indians” in the extant colonial records after 1710 or so,” acknowledges Brown.

Furthermore, he claims: ‘In 18th century Chesapeake, South Asians stood out from sub-Saharan slaves both in culture and appearance. Since South Asians were a minority among the slave population, the community’s perception of their distinctiveness persisted for a longer period of time.’ And most surprisingly, Brown adds: ‘there was a significant contingent of “East Indian” slaves in the colonial Chesapeake.’ [Link]

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It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp (UPDATED w/ outcome)

You might not believe this, but we’re not really a vain bunch here at the mutiny. There’s barely a single full length mirror in the entire bunker, and it’s hard for me to move Rajni the monkey (who loves to watch herself preen) away when I need to tie my turban in the morning. We’re quite bashful really, and say awwww shucks a lot, as befits people of our rank and station in life.

This would explain why blogger Vinod failed to tell the rest of us about his latest honor (Thanks Manish!). Vinod was nominated for “The Bay Area’s Most Eligible Bachelor Contest” !!!!

We’re not asking for your votes, Sanjaya fans, they closed the polls on Friday. Instead, we’re asking you to collectively hold your breath until the winner is announced at some point tomorrow. If he wins, our very own man meat mutineer will receive an invitation to participate in the Guardsmen Bachelor Auction on May 17. That’s right … if we’re lucky, Vinod could be auctioned off to the highest bidder, thus demonstrating his strong belief in the efficiency of the market.

Just one complaint, yaaar. Whoever pimped you out used this photo when I think that this photo shows your good side. And if you win, remember, I’ve got dibs on one of the two VIP tickets and the pimp costume. A man has to look his best …

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Why Does Caste Matter to US?

I think I found this after reading an email sent out on the ASATA listserv; it asked for participants for a survey on caste and Sikhism. Since I’m interested in both, I decided to take a quick look. The first notes wafted tentatively through my iBook’s wee speakers and I smiled: Van Halen. I knew exactly what kind of video this would be. We used to make ones just like it for JSA‘s Fall and Spring “State”, usually to open the conference. Well, it was either that or we’d blare Public Enemy‘s “Fight the Power“…

After watching it, I was moved, because I felt like so much of it was applicable to all of us, not just Sikhs. Someone Malayalee needs to make one of these, stat, I muttered…and then I realized that they didn’t. Maybe they should just watch this, I thought and that’s when I knew it belonged here, in a space where it would get the attention it rightly deserves.

Ravidasia // Khatri // Jatt // Tarkhan…The labels that divide us are endless. Caste, gender, class, and power tear apart our Qaum, our Gurdwaras, and our Pariwars. How do we overcome? How do we forge unity without silencing voices? [Jakara]

My closest friend in college was a Sikh girl from Fremont, who happened to be Tarkhan. My boyfriend from Freshman through Junior year was Jatt. So were all of his friends. They made fun of her when she wasn’t around and ignored her when she was. This baffled coconut-flavored me. “Why are you so mean to her?” I’d ask him, over and over. “She’s nice.”

“Because she’s…Tarkhan. They’re lower class. And so backwards– didn’t you say her parents tried to get her married when she was 17, that they didn’t even want to send her to college? Who the hell does that?”
“That’s not her fault, why are you taking it out on her?”
“Look, it’s a Sikh thing…it’s probably difficult to understand. Don’t you have a sorority thing to go to?”

::

I’m amazed at how often caste shows up on our comment threads, among second gen kids who should know better. Then I am humbled as I remember that I’m complicit in this too, when I tease my best friend about doing TamBrahm stuff or when I embroider stories from bygone UC Davis days with an extra adjective which probably isn’t necessary:

“Well a lot of students were from the Central Valley or Yuba City…so a good number of the desis I befriended were Jatt Sikh.”

It’s so insidious, the way this need to inform others of where we are in some dated hierarchy persists. Right now, we need to ask ourselves…why? Continue reading

HOUSTON meet-up, Sat May 19th

I’m a little nervous about hosting my first meet-up solo. So far every meet-up I’ve attended has been co-hosted by Anna or Taz (who are far better organizers and bring name tags). I think my fear is that at the meet-up I will be expected to give a speech like William Wallace did right before he yelled FREEDOM! I can’t be expected to sound mutinous on demand. In truth, we don’t really talk much about Sepia Mutiny at meet-ups. We do share good eats, merry drinks, and take scandalous pictures (none of which shall ever see the light of day) with good peoples. All bloggers, commenters, and lurkers (and friends of the three-aforementioned groups) are welcome. The meet-up details have finally solidified and it is time for Texas to represent.

Where: Hobbit Cafe

When: Sat, May 19th @ 6.p.m.

PLEASE RSVP BY THURSDAY SO I CAN MAKE ACCURATE RESERVATIONS:

abhi [at] sepiamutiny dot com

The reason for meeting relatively early in the evening is so those that want to (count me in) can move on to a second venue to continue the good times in a less “Shire-like” environment. Perhaps something more like the dive bar at the “Inn of the Prancing Pony.”

Now, the real question is have I scared people away by all my Lord of the Rings allusions?

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Blood and Tears

This is insane.

I’m sitting in front of the television, one eye on the screen, the other on my laptop, feeling like a hysterical drama-queen because despite everything that I’ve grown up with in Karachi across the years, I don’t know if I can handle this. karachiriots2.jpgAnd I feel a bit stupid for being so affected by it—I’ve seen and lived through worse, and I’m fortunate enough to live in a part of town that will (most likely) not be affected by what is happening, but I can’t help it.

Karachi seems to have gone completely mental. Dozens of cars on fire. Even more people dead and/or injured. And no one knows why.

There are about a hundred different conspiracy theories flying around about what has prompted this day-long blood-bath in Karachi, but from what I’ve managed to glean, the basic story goes something like this: the (fired) Chief Justice of Pakistan was supposed to come to Karachi this morning to address his supporters and the MQM, a political party that has historically controlled Karachi since inception decades ago, and is more of a cult than anything else, decided to hold “rallies” to counter his speeches. The current opposition parties, held rallies in the city to welcome the ousted CJP, and not to be outdone, the MQM decided to support the government.

How they’re managing to support the government by gunning down strangers on the streets, setting fire to vehicles, firing at apartment buildings in which defenceless mothers with six-month-old children cower, and threatening to storm private television channels—well, that’s beyond me. There are over fifty people dead—I have friends who work in the hospitals where people have been taken; the gunmen have fired on ambulances carrying injured people to the hospital and riddled them with bullets; there are snipers atop apartment buildings and lurking in junctions leading off of Shahrah-e-Faisal, which is effectively a transport artery for Karachi and a route that is almost impossible to avoid using if crossing any significant distance in the city, and all through it, the mother-fucking police are lying on benches taking naps, their shoes off, socks rolled down, moving their cars out of the area, and frog-marching unarmed men into the hands of these violent SOBs, standing there and watching as they beat the shit out of some poor guy with the butts of their rifles, and not doing a damn’ thing to stop it. Continue reading

Shamita Shetty Showed her Shame Shame!

Shamita goes Commando.jpg

Say THAT five times fast. Anyway, am I the only one who had a terribly silly Auntie refer to her kids’ naughty bits as their “shame shame”? Thankfully, my parents always said, “that…you know…” while vaguely nodding in my midsection’s general direction or “kundi“, which is optimal compared to what Silly-Auntie called it. Way to instill healthy feelings about one’s body, there. Obviously anything labeled “shame” is going to be thought of positively. Oh, wait. We’re desi. My bad.

Aside: At one of the best Kahani workshops ever hosted in DC, somehow one of the writing exercises (d)evolved in to a brief discussion of what one was taught to call their “shame shame”, after Turbanhead’s adorable youngest sibling read aloud her draft, which mentioned how she referred to that area as…wait for it…wait for it…

…her happy-no-no place.

Ah, I love wannabe fiction writers and their fantastically fecund minds. 😀

I swear I had a point…but it’s Friday and I’ve missed happy hour…what…was…I…OH YES! Shamita. Dear sweet Shamita. Shamita whom I had never heard of before yesterday, who is younger sister to the woman whose effigy was still a top-seller, as of last week. I’m referring to Big Brother star and Richard Gere-magnet Shilpa Shetty, of course.

Well, Shamita pulled a Britney, though in my day, it was called a Basic Instinct. She showed up somewhere all of two of you care about in a mini-dress without her chuddies on (Thanks, UberDesi). That’s the big deal. Hahaha. Now you know. Yo slick, blow.

While you do that, I’m going to ponder whatever happened to Bel, Biv and DeVoe and whether one should trust a big butt and a smile (I’m inclined to say yes, but I’m biased). Happy Weekend, y’all. Continue reading

55Friday: The “Something to Talk About” Edition

It’s Friday, which means another work week is over and it is time for some flash fiction-fabricating.

Between the last post I wrote, the edifying discussion on hair which spontaneously occurred when we failed to identify a brown model, AGAIN (Sorry, Sree) and the most precious Gmail I’ve received in weeks (which contained this query-via-wideo from a four-year-old) well, The Papaya, he is playing on my mind. One of you messaged me regarding your surprise that I hadn’t voted for Sanjaya, a secret I revealed here, but American Idol has nothing to do with my passion for papaya. I sweat him because he’s so kind and ingenuous, because of his sweet nature.

I’m thinking in particular about Papaya’s last performance (available in the video above), which took him from tears to a tiny bit of triumph when he customized the chorus of Bonnie Raitt’s “Something to Talk About” to “other than haaaaaaaair”. That was the moment when my affection for him became solid, when I realized that it wasn’t just idle amusement; he had put up with so much and he was still smiling in his typical, good-natured way. I was amazed, mostly because I’ve never been a fan of this song, but also because he seemed so poised for a teenager. “My hero,” I thought. All those detractors piling on him in addition to the biggest hater of them all—Simon–plus the blatantly racist slant to much of the criticism he received (uh…where were the anti-Italian comments?) equaled humility and niceness, not bitterness or resentment. When I grow up, I want to be a papaya.

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This week, write about gossip, the blues, papaya, fanjayas or continue the week’s trend and 55 away about hair, ‘pooed, oiled or otherwise. If none of this tickles your knickers, pick your own plot to flash some fiction with, but please play along anyway. I’m sure you have something to talk about, how about packaging it in a mere fifty-five words? Continue reading