In 2002, we were talking about Gujurat as a ghastly communal massacre, the worst in 20 years. 3000-5000 dead, 100,000 homeless, and an irreparable scar right through Gandhi's home state...
It still is that. But now the trial phase -- or what the miserable idealists of the world still vainly call "the demand for justice" -- is threatening to turn into a complete farce.
Zaheera Sheikh had initially gone to a police station and precisely identified 21 people who she said participated in a massacre of 14 people at a place called Best Bakery. This made her a key witness for the prosecution of communal atrocities in the only "fast-tracked" trial dealing with the Gujurat violence (the rest of the cases, presumably, will be handled in the usual "slow-track," lesiurely/incompetent manner of the Indian courts). But she turned hostile at the key moment in the trial in 2003, leading to the acquittal of the Best Bakery 21. Afterwards, her mother came out and said they had been threatened to change their testimony.
It looked like like yet another case of "thousands dead, but no saw anything."
But then a retrial was ordered, and under full police protection, Zaheera testified against the 21 accused in court. But then recently, and almost unbelievably, she changed her mind again! Guess she didn't see anything after all.
Wrong, of course. Today, the news-magazine Tehelka held a press conference, where it showed footage of a conversation with an MLA (Member of Legislative Assembly) named Madhu Srivastav -- of the BJP. Srivastav is quoted on the video saying he and his brother paid Zaheera Sheikh 1,800,000 Rupees ($40,000 USD) to change her testimony. Initially, it seemed they were talking about her most recent volte-face. But a report in Indian Express quotes Srivastava (who has now seen the tape) saying that the bribe was given to her last year. It wasn't a threat, but a bribe, that tainted Zaheera's original testimony.
Solace for my BJP-supporting readers: it's pretty clear this is not just another 'bad Hindu, good Muslim' expose. No matter how you slice it, Zaheera Sheikh and her family come off as profoundly corrupt in this case. They should probably be jailed alongside the Best Bakery 21.
Srivastav, Sheikh, and the BJP deny the charges. Hilariously, NDA President George Fernandes has also chimed in his denunciations and denials. Oh well, guess he's not a fan of Tehelka: the last time they were playing with video cameras, they caught several NDA/BJP officials taking bribes to influence a fictional arms deal. It was a scandal that cost Fernandes his job (though he later got it back).
It looks bad for Srivastav and the Gujurat BJP party apparatus. Well sort of. Though it seems highly likely that these allegations are true, I'm not quite so confident that they are actually provable. Even if provable, is anything likely to happen to them anytime soon? The footage, I gather isn't quite as good this time around -- no hard evidence. It will only work if the police do their job, and find the stacks of Rupees in question.
Moreover, why is the Best Bakery case the centerpiece of the movement for justice for the victims of the Gujrat violence? What about all the other people who were killed and raped, and whose businesses and homes were destroyed? I gather some other trials have been in the works; perhaps it is time to 'fast track' them as well, so we're not still discussing this trial 10 years from now.
The real hybrids (the scientific kind, that is)
Did you hear the one about the lonely whale, wandering the oceans for the past 12 years, singing its unique song at 52 Hz?
Mark Liberman at Language Log (which I've been reading quite a bit lately) has an informative summary of a precedent for the lonely whale -- scientists presume it's a hybrid -- the hybrid songs of hybrid Gibbons. Did you know that of the Hominids, only Gibbons and human beings have pair bonding and singing?
Mark Liberman at Language Log (which I've been reading quite a bit lately) has an informative summary of a precedent for the lonely whale -- scientists presume it's a hybrid -- the hybrid songs of hybrid Gibbons. Did you know that of the Hominids, only Gibbons and human beings have pair bonding and singing?
Bobby Friction and Nihal
While we're still mourning the mess in Birmingham, not all the Brit-Asian news is bad. For instance, there's Bobby Friction and Nihal, kicking it in Prime Time every week on BBC1. Bobby Friction is kind of preppy/slick. Nihal used to be geeky/cool (goatee and glasses), but now he has gone straight up Snoop Dogg gangsta.
You can listen to their show here. This week they were live in Mumbai/Bombay.
[Via Desiblog]
You can listen to their show here. This week they were live in Mumbai/Bombay.
[Via Desiblog]
Bollywood for Dummies
A new site at UC Berkeley, with downloadable MP3s (from movies like Dil Se, DDLJ, KKKG, Taal, as well as some old movies). There is also a nice little Hindi glossary. To all my non-desi friends: Have a dekho! (And see if you can figure out what that means)
Of course, the content of this site pales in comparison to big Hindi MP3 sites. I'm linking strictly in the interest of being Bollywood's Cultural Ambassador to the Blogosphere.
[Via Boing Boing]
Of course, the content of this site pales in comparison to big Hindi MP3 sites. I'm linking strictly in the interest of being Bollywood's Cultural Ambassador to the Blogosphere.
[Via Boing Boing]
The Student and the Priest: An Allegory
[Unable to precisely express my frustration at recent events in England, as well as the discussions that have followed in the press and on the Internet, I decided to write try my hand at a short story. It's inspired by the recent events, but it isn't necessarily about those events... It is a work in progress. I would welcome any comments or feedback by email.]
The Student and the Priest: An Allegory
“I want you to start speaking our language,” she said.
“But I don't know our language,” I said. “I only know this language.”
“Which language?”
“The one we're speaking right now.”
“But how can you not know the other language? How can you be who you are and not know it?”
“They don't speak it here.”
It was too early in the morning to be arguing this with her. I went back to my cereal, and then left breakfast early to go to University. On the way I saw signs pasted to telephone poles, and I saw protesters with posters shouting in the main square. There was a controversy over an Artist who had made a Statement.
On the way to class, I ran into Priest. Everyone calls him Priest -– he wants to be a Priest -– but really he isn't one. He had been rejected by the old Priests because of his voice. We talked before class.
“Are you going to the protest?” he asked me.
“What are they protesting?” I said.
“They're protesting the Statement made by the Artist. It was offensive.”
“But what did the Artist say?”
“She said we're intolerant.”
“Isn't it possible she's right?”
“It doesn't matter whether it's true, it's offensive. And we have a right to Protest her right to make Statements. It's Multiculturalism; it's the Law. She can't use that kind of language.”
Class started when the Professor started to talk. He was a kindly gentleman; he always wore sweaters, jeans, and running shoes. He said there would be a discussion of the Controversy in class today instead of the usual discussion. He started to speak passionately of the Controversy, of the need for tolerance for dissenting opinions. He talked about the Community, and the other Communities. He said he thought this Community was good, it was smart, and it knew how to adapt. It was the other Community that was full of ignorance and intolerance. He hoped this wasn't the beginning of a slide. He talked about liberalism, and freedom of speech, and how those people don't seem to know about these things: “They need to be taught the language of liberty.”
What did this mean? Class was over before discussion of this point could begin. We got up. No one said anything. The Professor mumbled some apology about time, and looked down at his notebook.
In the hallway, Priest said he was going to the protest. I told him I would tag along. I wanted to see.
The Protest was in the center of town, in the place where cars can't go. It was at night a desolate place, flooded garbage and men driving electric garbage-collecting mini-cars collecting up the debris. But in the daytime thousands of people walked there, people in business suits, with lots of money. When we reached we saw the senior priest standing with a megaphone. He was talking about multiculturalism, about racism, about the “politics of representation in an era of multinational capitalism.” He was using the kind of language they use in the University.
“There he is,” Priest said. “The man who rejected me.”
“Yes, what a damn hypocrite,” I said.
“He's not a hypocrite. I have great respect for him – in fact, he was right to reject me, after what I said at the Temple.” Priest was deeply ashamed of his failure at the Temple, even though by all accounts what happened wasn't his fault. And what he said now he didn't mean. His hands were shaking, and there was something a little scary in his voice. He still hated the Old Priest.
“Don't talk bollocks,” I said. But Priest was transfixed by the huge crowd in the Square, and by the thundering voice of the Old Priest.
“We don't want censorship, we want responsibility!” He shouted. The crowd cheered. “We are sick of the racist establishment's irresponsibility! This is a racist play by a racist Artist!”
“Wait a minute,” I whispered. “Did he say 'racism'? How could the Artist be racist?”
“What do you mean?” said Priest.
“The Artist can't be a racist because she is... one of us.”
“How can you say that? After what she said? After the language she used?”
The old Priest was yelling at the top of his lungs.
“The Artist has committed blasphemy! It the police won't arrest the Artist, then we will!” The crowd roared. The old Priest raised his arm high in the air. “We are the people! We are the majority! We reject the language that is used against us!”
Just then there was a beeping noise, and the pillars around the square began to drop down into the pavement, the way they do when the garbage mini-cars come through. But today there were police mini-cars, dozens of them, and as the old Priest spoke they slowly entered the square, lined up in a circle around us, and then stopped. The cars had dark reflective glass for windows, so all you could see when you looked at them was yourself. And dozens of police emerged from a gigantic police bus two blocks away, with clubs in hand and dark sunglasses.
Old Priest did not seem to have noticed the cops. He had even started speaking the other language, the one that was illegal. This drove some members in the crowd to a consenting fury. Others were a little confused; they, like me, didn't know the other language. Three helmeted policemen approached the place where Old Priest was standing.
“Don't let them stop us!” He said. “Don't let them suppress our right to free speech!” The crowd, shocked at what was happening, surged and went for the police. But then the police mini-cars started to move in, packing the crowd in a tight circle. The windows of the mini-cars opened, and arms bearing clubs emerged. Some people began to panic. Others brought out cameras to film what was happening. But the police were able to isolate Old Priest, and get him into handcuffs. His megaphone fell to the ground. The crowd, blocked off and frustrated, began to throw things at the police. The police began to club protesters, handcuff them, and drag them to the large police van on the main street.
I was watching what was happening to Old Priest, so I didn't see when Priest left my side. But then I spotted him across the square. He had managed to get to where Old Priest had been standing. He was holding the megaphone. His eyes were closed. He was standing by himself, muttering something into the megaphone. At first he was inaudible. But then his voice began to rise, and I thought I heard him say:
“You won't allow me to say this! I'm not allowed to say this! I'm not allowed to say this!”
The members of the crowd who heard him thought he was speaking against the Old Priest, and some of them turned away from the cops and towards him. The police thought he speaking against the Law, and a car with open windows started to move towards him from the other side.
I myself wasn't quite sure what he meant, or if he had even said what I thought he'd said. Before I could hear it again, something from the crowd flew through the air and hit him on the side of his head. And my friend Priest fell, and was overtaken by the shouts, fists, and clubs, of the warring parties in the square.
The next time I saw Priest was in Prison. I had dropped out of the University, tired of listening to Professors lecture me on the meaning of my liberty. I was no longer interested in being a Student. Priest had, I noticed, shaved his head -- or perhaps it had been shaved for him? For a moment we sat staring at each other through the glass. Neither of us knew what to say; it seemed we had lost our language. But then he spoke: he said he could no longer think of being a priest after hearing Old Priest in the Square, using that language. He said he thought it was shameful, it was violent, it was against everything he believed. I told him he sounded like the Artist. He said no, "I'm not an artist, I'm not anything."
All he wanted to be was what he already was, namely, a person whose tongue was broken, by the weight of what he was forbidden to say.
The Student and the Priest: An Allegory
“I want you to start speaking our language,” she said.
“But I don't know our language,” I said. “I only know this language.”
“Which language?”
“The one we're speaking right now.”
“But how can you not know the other language? How can you be who you are and not know it?”
“They don't speak it here.”
It was too early in the morning to be arguing this with her. I went back to my cereal, and then left breakfast early to go to University. On the way I saw signs pasted to telephone poles, and I saw protesters with posters shouting in the main square. There was a controversy over an Artist who had made a Statement.
On the way to class, I ran into Priest. Everyone calls him Priest -– he wants to be a Priest -– but really he isn't one. He had been rejected by the old Priests because of his voice. We talked before class.
“Are you going to the protest?” he asked me.
“What are they protesting?” I said.
“They're protesting the Statement made by the Artist. It was offensive.”
“But what did the Artist say?”
“She said we're intolerant.”
“Isn't it possible she's right?”
“It doesn't matter whether it's true, it's offensive. And we have a right to Protest her right to make Statements. It's Multiculturalism; it's the Law. She can't use that kind of language.”
Class started when the Professor started to talk. He was a kindly gentleman; he always wore sweaters, jeans, and running shoes. He said there would be a discussion of the Controversy in class today instead of the usual discussion. He started to speak passionately of the Controversy, of the need for tolerance for dissenting opinions. He talked about the Community, and the other Communities. He said he thought this Community was good, it was smart, and it knew how to adapt. It was the other Community that was full of ignorance and intolerance. He hoped this wasn't the beginning of a slide. He talked about liberalism, and freedom of speech, and how those people don't seem to know about these things: “They need to be taught the language of liberty.”
What did this mean? Class was over before discussion of this point could begin. We got up. No one said anything. The Professor mumbled some apology about time, and looked down at his notebook.
In the hallway, Priest said he was going to the protest. I told him I would tag along. I wanted to see.
The Protest was in the center of town, in the place where cars can't go. It was at night a desolate place, flooded garbage and men driving electric garbage-collecting mini-cars collecting up the debris. But in the daytime thousands of people walked there, people in business suits, with lots of money. When we reached we saw the senior priest standing with a megaphone. He was talking about multiculturalism, about racism, about the “politics of representation in an era of multinational capitalism.” He was using the kind of language they use in the University.
“There he is,” Priest said. “The man who rejected me.”
“Yes, what a damn hypocrite,” I said.
“He's not a hypocrite. I have great respect for him – in fact, he was right to reject me, after what I said at the Temple.” Priest was deeply ashamed of his failure at the Temple, even though by all accounts what happened wasn't his fault. And what he said now he didn't mean. His hands were shaking, and there was something a little scary in his voice. He still hated the Old Priest.
“Don't talk bollocks,” I said. But Priest was transfixed by the huge crowd in the Square, and by the thundering voice of the Old Priest.
“We don't want censorship, we want responsibility!” He shouted. The crowd cheered. “We are sick of the racist establishment's irresponsibility! This is a racist play by a racist Artist!”
“Wait a minute,” I whispered. “Did he say 'racism'? How could the Artist be racist?”
“What do you mean?” said Priest.
“The Artist can't be a racist because she is... one of us.”
“How can you say that? After what she said? After the language she used?”
The old Priest was yelling at the top of his lungs.
“The Artist has committed blasphemy! It the police won't arrest the Artist, then we will!” The crowd roared. The old Priest raised his arm high in the air. “We are the people! We are the majority! We reject the language that is used against us!”
Just then there was a beeping noise, and the pillars around the square began to drop down into the pavement, the way they do when the garbage mini-cars come through. But today there were police mini-cars, dozens of them, and as the old Priest spoke they slowly entered the square, lined up in a circle around us, and then stopped. The cars had dark reflective glass for windows, so all you could see when you looked at them was yourself. And dozens of police emerged from a gigantic police bus two blocks away, with clubs in hand and dark sunglasses.
Old Priest did not seem to have noticed the cops. He had even started speaking the other language, the one that was illegal. This drove some members in the crowd to a consenting fury. Others were a little confused; they, like me, didn't know the other language. Three helmeted policemen approached the place where Old Priest was standing.
“Don't let them stop us!” He said. “Don't let them suppress our right to free speech!” The crowd, shocked at what was happening, surged and went for the police. But then the police mini-cars started to move in, packing the crowd in a tight circle. The windows of the mini-cars opened, and arms bearing clubs emerged. Some people began to panic. Others brought out cameras to film what was happening. But the police were able to isolate Old Priest, and get him into handcuffs. His megaphone fell to the ground. The crowd, blocked off and frustrated, began to throw things at the police. The police began to club protesters, handcuff them, and drag them to the large police van on the main street.
I was watching what was happening to Old Priest, so I didn't see when Priest left my side. But then I spotted him across the square. He had managed to get to where Old Priest had been standing. He was holding the megaphone. His eyes were closed. He was standing by himself, muttering something into the megaphone. At first he was inaudible. But then his voice began to rise, and I thought I heard him say:
“You won't allow me to say this! I'm not allowed to say this! I'm not allowed to say this!”
The members of the crowd who heard him thought he was speaking against the Old Priest, and some of them turned away from the cops and towards him. The police thought he speaking against the Law, and a car with open windows started to move towards him from the other side.
I myself wasn't quite sure what he meant, or if he had even said what I thought he'd said. Before I could hear it again, something from the crowd flew through the air and hit him on the side of his head. And my friend Priest fell, and was overtaken by the shouts, fists, and clubs, of the warring parties in the square.
The next time I saw Priest was in Prison. I had dropped out of the University, tired of listening to Professors lecture me on the meaning of my liberty. I was no longer interested in being a Student. Priest had, I noticed, shaved his head -- or perhaps it had been shaved for him? For a moment we sat staring at each other through the glass. Neither of us knew what to say; it seemed we had lost our language. But then he spoke: he said he could no longer think of being a priest after hearing Old Priest in the Square, using that language. He said he thought it was shameful, it was violent, it was against everything he believed. I told him he sounded like the Artist. He said no, "I'm not an artist, I'm not anything."
All he wanted to be was what he already was, namely, a person whose tongue was broken, by the weight of what he was forbidden to say.
Thugs Win the Day: Birmingham
The play Behzti (see previous posts) has been cancelled. Hopefully this is the last time I'll have to post on this. (I should be so lucky)
Even if we grant that this play was offensive, the harm it might have done is nothing compared to the harm that has been done by the Sikh leadership, and by the thuggish protesters who have vandalized the Birmingham Repertory Theatre, forcing the play to be shut down.
Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti's vision of "dishonour" has proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope she and her family are well-protected, and manage to stay safe until this ugliness subsides.
[Sigh]
Even if we grant that this play was offensive, the harm it might have done is nothing compared to the harm that has been done by the Sikh leadership, and by the thuggish protesters who have vandalized the Birmingham Repertory Theatre, forcing the play to be shut down.
Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti's vision of "dishonour" has proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope she and her family are well-protected, and manage to stay safe until this ugliness subsides.
[Sigh]
Behzti: The Plot Thickens (more links, and insider updates)
My Sikh friend in Birmingham sent me another missive, updating me on what's happening there regarding the protests at the Birmingham Rep. Needless to say, I support everything he's saying:
It sounds like things will get worse before they get better. A couple of other links:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2-1409626,00.html.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/west_midlands/4109255.stm
I am in Birmingham and have been talking to people who were at the protests on Saturday and I can tell you that the Khalistanis in Britain have scented blood and are not going to step down. They have been inciting people in Gurdwaras and on websites and Punjabi radio stations to come to Birmingham from all four corners of Britain to "protest" outside the theatre. It is the raising of a lynch mob, people are talking about thousands being there, and I can tell you, they have got it in their minds that this is their own personal struggle against the enemies of Sikhism, that they are facing down Aurengzeb, and making the last stand to protect the dharma and the Sikh roop. Having spoken to many of the youth who attended the protest a sense of exhiliration came through that they have the eyes of the world on them, and I asked them specific points about what they would be prepared to do.
People said repeatedly that they would not mind if Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti was killed or at least hospitalised because of this, and when I asked them that if they play was not stopped, would you be prepared to burn the theatre down to the ground and they said yes.
This has been headline national news on every television and radio station in Britain. Needless to say, it has made Sikhs look like fascists and taliban like in their outlook, a disastrous result for a community that has been previously thought of as hardworking, industrious and creative.
This is a good editorial on the whole thing:
http://www.asiansinmedia.org/news/article.php/theatre/746
Taking a historical view:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,3604,1377244,00.html
Just a word about the theatre in question. The Birmingham Repertory has an excellent reputation and is the main cultural centre for the city of Birmingham. There is an immense symbolism in the assault against it. It is not only looked as an assault on this particular play but an attack on a venerable and excellent institution that is a key component in the civic pride of the city. The violence that took place has cast Sikhs in the light of cultural vandals. Unfair, I know, but reflective of what we look like now. We basically lost the high moral ground. The Sikh community leaders speak with a forked tongue. Out of one side of their mouth they are saying they condemn the violence, out of the other they have been preaching hellfire and stoking the flames.
Basically, this whole episode has been, and is being, an absolute disaster for the Sikh community in Britain, making us appear to be a people of taliban sensibilities and attackers and vandals.
So far this morning neither the Sikh leadership nor the theare have compromised and the play is going ahead tonight. I know for a fact that there are going to be an even larger crowd there. They have been stoked up around the country for days by Khalistani activists and I really fear that the violence is going to escalate out of control. I fear for the safety of the theatre, the playwright, and the reputation of Sikhs in Britain, which will not be able to survive a repetition of Saturday night. I am saddedned beyond description by this, and frightened by the smiles on the faces of the young Sikhs I talked to about this, who seemed oblivious to the consequences of their actions and see this as a fulfilment of their personal and collective faith.
I pray that I am wrong. But I am anticipating further trouble. I will keep you updated.
It sounds like things will get worse before they get better. A couple of other links:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2-1409626,00.html.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/west_midlands/4109255.stm
Behzti: Sikh Community in Birmingham, UK in Uproar
A play about corruption in the Sikh community in England has caused an uproar, peaking Saturday night when some members of a group of Sikh protestors outside of the Birmingham Repertory Theatre attempted to storm it. See the BBC report. Apparently, only two of the protesters attempted to enter the theater, but the headline is still, effectively, "Sikh mob storms theater."
Five police were hurt trying to control the mob.
My first reaction to this is pretty simple: folks, please leave off with the censorious hysteria. People are on the streets protesting "negative representations," but in doing it in this way the Sikh community comes off looking considerably worse ("fatwa mentality"). No matter how offensive a work of art is, it's much better to just say your piece about it and walk away than to start a 'movement.'
I should also say that I'm a little hesitant to let loose on the Sikh community partly because it is already so vulnerable -- and so poorly understood. Despite my disappointment at how this is playing out, I do think there are many positive things about the community and its history. So if you're new to it, start here, not with the mess below.
But a few things need to be said. To begin with, a reader in England sent me an email a couple of days ago (before this latest "protest"). Here is a link to a review he sent me, and here is some basic information about the play.
The play is called Behzti (Dishonour), and it is written by a Sikh woman named Gurpreet Bhatti. Here is a two-sentence description of it:
All rightie, then; clearly not a barrel of laughs. But is the mere reference to dirty laundry a reason to protest (or even, storm a theater)?
For a moment, let's take the complaints by the protestors seriously:
Yes, the president of the SGPC is a woman, Bibi Jagir Kaur. Did we forget to mention that she was indicted for murdering her own daughter in an honor killing? The SGPC is not exactly a pillar of credibility these days -- or feminism. And the bit about gender equality is quite deliberately phrased. Women do have free access to religious institutions, but the institutions are dominated by men to a tee. Let's continue:
Well, no. To stage a play about the mistreatment of women in a Sikh religious institution is merely to talk about a real problem in Indian/Punjabi patriarchal culture.
Still, notice the sophisticated language here. Even though everyone involved with the production of this play is Indian, they still find a way to levy the "racism" charge. It sounds heavy, but it has nothing to do with anything. (Abuses like this make me particularly hesitant to casually throw around the word "racist"...)
It's pretty easy to tear apart the case of the protestors here -- there are other weaknesses in their statement -- even without having actually seen the play. But there is one place where they might have some rhetorical high-ground, though they don't directly exploit it as far as I can tell. Behzti is a play about corruption (and presumably, pedophilia) amongst senior management in a Sikh temple (Gurdwara). It would help defenders of the play if they could argue that these representations are based in an actual historical event. Can they?
[Discussion of the protests and censorship at Crooked Timber]
Five police were hurt trying to control the mob.
My first reaction to this is pretty simple: folks, please leave off with the censorious hysteria. People are on the streets protesting "negative representations," but in doing it in this way the Sikh community comes off looking considerably worse ("fatwa mentality"). No matter how offensive a work of art is, it's much better to just say your piece about it and walk away than to start a 'movement.'
I should also say that I'm a little hesitant to let loose on the Sikh community partly because it is already so vulnerable -- and so poorly understood. Despite my disappointment at how this is playing out, I do think there are many positive things about the community and its history. So if you're new to it, start here, not with the mess below.
But a few things need to be said. To begin with, a reader in England sent me an email a couple of days ago (before this latest "protest"). Here is a link to a review he sent me, and here is some basic information about the play.
The play is called Behzti (Dishonour), and it is written by a Sikh woman named Gurpreet Bhatti. Here is a two-sentence description of it:
Behzti is currently showing at the Birmingham Rep theatre and is set in a Sikh Gurdwara (Temple). It tackles a variety of issues from corruption, drug abuse, domestic violence, rape, murder, mixed race relationships and paedophilia.
All rightie, then; clearly not a barrel of laughs. But is the mere reference to dirty laundry a reason to protest (or even, storm a theater)?
For a moment, let's take the complaints by the protestors seriously:
This is because there is a well established principle of equality in Sikh religion (even if not always practiced in the private family sphere) and women have always had equal and free access to religious institutions. Indeed the current president of the most powerful Sikh religious body in India is a woman. It is to guard the free access of women to religious institutions that the Sikh religious community takes abrupt action against any degrading treatment of women in a religious institution.
Yes, the president of the SGPC is a woman, Bibi Jagir Kaur. Did we forget to mention that she was indicted for murdering her own daughter in an honor killing? The SGPC is not exactly a pillar of credibility these days -- or feminism. And the bit about gender equality is quite deliberately phrased. Women do have free access to religious institutions, but the institutions are dominated by men to a tee. Let's continue:
To stage a play around such a feature [meaning, sexism] in a Sikh religious institution not only shows ignorance of the community, but a deliberate attempt to be offensive and sensationalist for the sake of it. It is a theme imported from a different culture and a different life experience, desperately and dysfunctionally exploited in a play to seek approval from the white arts establishment which subtly imposes its racism in the name of ‘artistic licence’ with the funds of the public
Well, no. To stage a play about the mistreatment of women in a Sikh religious institution is merely to talk about a real problem in Indian/Punjabi patriarchal culture.
Still, notice the sophisticated language here. Even though everyone involved with the production of this play is Indian, they still find a way to levy the "racism" charge. It sounds heavy, but it has nothing to do with anything. (Abuses like this make me particularly hesitant to casually throw around the word "racist"...)
It's pretty easy to tear apart the case of the protestors here -- there are other weaknesses in their statement -- even without having actually seen the play. But there is one place where they might have some rhetorical high-ground, though they don't directly exploit it as far as I can tell. Behzti is a play about corruption (and presumably, pedophilia) amongst senior management in a Sikh temple (Gurdwara). It would help defenders of the play if they could argue that these representations are based in an actual historical event. Can they?
[Discussion of the protests and censorship at Crooked Timber]
The Right to Die in India (and everywhere)
A man named K. Venkatesh recently died in a hospital in India. He was severely ill with muscular distrophy, and had requested an assisted suicide. He was denied, but this past week he died anyway from his disease.
The case has sparked a debate about the Right to Die in India -- the first time I can remember that the issue has gotten such national attention there. As a left-leaning youngster in the U.S., I remember similar debates that occurred here, particularly the trial of a 'Doctor Death' -- I've forgotten his real name -- who was tried for homicide for providing euthanasia.
Here is an editorial from The Times of India, which uses what I find to be rather vague, sentimental arguments to support the Right to Die.
I don't find these arguments especially compelling. And the part about karma and the wheel of life, well... are they serious? It may be true, but it has nothing to do with rights. The very same arguments could actually be used against the right to die -- people should be required to live out the natural course of their lives.
So let me reframe the question. Like many people, I've always vaguely supported the right to die, but why? Mainly on the principle that Individual Rights trumps the state's interest in keeping you alive against your wishes -- for the Greater Common Good. But the Individual Rights argument, euthanasia is the same as suicide; really what is championed is the legalization of suicide. (Which many liberals and libertarians do support)
And on that subject, I'm not so sure. It seems to me that suicide probably ought to remain illegal, because many people who attempt it (especially young people) are either a) not fully in charge of their faculties, b) treatable patients with one or another form of mental illness, and c) would probably thank us later for resisting their attempt. These aren't strong arguments (it can still be argued that suicide "doesn't hurt anyone but the doer"), but they are good enough for me. The state should do everything it can to discourage people from committing suicide. On the other hand, it shouldn't penalize people who attempt it and fail. If the 'crime' of suicide is punished, you run the risk of the old totalitarian joke: he tried to commit suicide, and failed, so they executed him.
So perhaps suicide should remain generally illegal (but not punishable), and there should just be an exception granted to people who are terminally ill and in excruciating pain (like L. Venkatesh). But doctors often disagree on what defines terminal illness. And while there will certainly be some cases where death is inevitable, there will be many cases where death is fairly far off in the future, and there is some hope, however small. Moreover, critics can object that there is always the possibility of a medical miracle -- that 1 in 10,000 chance that a patient will recover -- so isn't it worth keeping the patient alive in case that happens? Opening up the Right to Die as an exception in the law against suicide would only work if the likelihood of death were overwhelmingly high, and if the "miracle cure" argument were thrown out on a cost/benefit basis.
Thus, it seems like a viable argument to say that Euthanasia should remain genrally illegal because of the confusion that could ensue if it were legalized. This is the status quo, and the suffering of people like Venkatesh is unfortunate, but perhaps justified because it does serve the greater common good.
On the other hand, if I could be convinced that doctors could specify the cases where euthanasia is the best option with upwards of 99% certainty (this would require a classification of terminal illnesses and probably the statistical ascertainment of survivability), I could be persuaded otherwise.
The case has sparked a debate about the Right to Die in India -- the first time I can remember that the issue has gotten such national attention there. As a left-leaning youngster in the U.S., I remember similar debates that occurred here, particularly the trial of a 'Doctor Death' -- I've forgotten his real name -- who was tried for homicide for providing euthanasia.
Here is an editorial from The Times of India, which uses what I find to be rather vague, sentimental arguments to support the Right to Die.
Venkatesh, a 25-year-old muscular dystrophia patient, wanted to be granted the right to die. He sought to enforce the right so that he could donate organs before they were affected by his illness. The plea was rejected a day before his death by the Andhra Pradesh high court. The court ruled that the petition sought to violate the Transplantation of Human Organs Act, 1995, which had no provisions that allowed individuals to donate organs before they were brain dead. The court's caution in this case is understandable considering the implications of easing restrictions in organ transplant. However, the order indirectly reiterated the stated legal position that an individual had no right to end his life voluntarily. Our Constitution guarantees the right to life. The right to life is incomplete without the right to death. The karma of life is a wheel that is completed only when birth is complemented by death. The right to die is built into the right to live. The state has every obligation to legally ensure the protection of life; protection in this case limited to prevention of homicide. However, the Indian state has expanded its territory to be the arbiter even in cases of suicide and euthanasia. Section 309 of the Indian Penal Code holds suicide a criminal act while euthanasia or mercy killing has been left open for debate.(link)
I don't find these arguments especially compelling. And the part about karma and the wheel of life, well... are they serious? It may be true, but it has nothing to do with rights. The very same arguments could actually be used against the right to die -- people should be required to live out the natural course of their lives.
So let me reframe the question. Like many people, I've always vaguely supported the right to die, but why? Mainly on the principle that Individual Rights trumps the state's interest in keeping you alive against your wishes -- for the Greater Common Good. But the Individual Rights argument, euthanasia is the same as suicide; really what is championed is the legalization of suicide. (Which many liberals and libertarians do support)
And on that subject, I'm not so sure. It seems to me that suicide probably ought to remain illegal, because many people who attempt it (especially young people) are either a) not fully in charge of their faculties, b) treatable patients with one or another form of mental illness, and c) would probably thank us later for resisting their attempt. These aren't strong arguments (it can still be argued that suicide "doesn't hurt anyone but the doer"), but they are good enough for me. The state should do everything it can to discourage people from committing suicide. On the other hand, it shouldn't penalize people who attempt it and fail. If the 'crime' of suicide is punished, you run the risk of the old totalitarian joke: he tried to commit suicide, and failed, so they executed him.
So perhaps suicide should remain generally illegal (but not punishable), and there should just be an exception granted to people who are terminally ill and in excruciating pain (like L. Venkatesh). But doctors often disagree on what defines terminal illness. And while there will certainly be some cases where death is inevitable, there will be many cases where death is fairly far off in the future, and there is some hope, however small. Moreover, critics can object that there is always the possibility of a medical miracle -- that 1 in 10,000 chance that a patient will recover -- so isn't it worth keeping the patient alive in case that happens? Opening up the Right to Die as an exception in the law against suicide would only work if the likelihood of death were overwhelmingly high, and if the "miracle cure" argument were thrown out on a cost/benefit basis.
Thus, it seems like a viable argument to say that Euthanasia should remain genrally illegal because of the confusion that could ensue if it were legalized. This is the status quo, and the suffering of people like Venkatesh is unfortunate, but perhaps justified because it does serve the greater common good.
On the other hand, if I could be convinced that doctors could specify the cases where euthanasia is the best option with upwards of 99% certainty (this would require a classification of terminal illnesses and probably the statistical ascertainment of survivability), I could be persuaded otherwise.
You like it?
It's the new banner headline. That's a slice of the view from the window of my apartment at night.
I'm not sure if I like the typeface. Maybe it's a little too tweaked? And maybe blue is the wrong color given the yellow/brown palette of the rest of the image.
I'm not sure if I like the typeface. Maybe it's a little too tweaked? And maybe blue is the wrong color given the yellow/brown palette of the rest of the image.
Phrase-lator: Perfect metaphor for America vs. World
Many of you have probably heard that American soldiers are walking around Iraq with a little device that spits out automatic Arabic translations whenever certain English phrases are said by its user. But I just learned that it only works one way:
Isn't that just fitting?
Its creators at the Pentagon-financed company VoxTec admit that even the new model, the P2, has a drawback: it is still just a ''one-way'' translation device. In other words, it phraselates perfectly well from English into Arabic (or any of the 59 other ''target languages'' it has mastered so far), but the device is no better at understanding foreign languages than the Americans who are wielding it. So the Phraselator allows occupiers to issue commands, but it does not help them comprehend any of what the occupied may have to say in response. (New York Times)
Isn't that just fitting?
Ursula Le Guin washes her hands of it
Ursula K. Le Guin's famous Legend of Earthsea has been adapted to a miniseries for the SciFi channel, and she thinks it's not very good. Besides the cheap "McMagic" look of the series, she's angry that the Entertainment industry interpreted the multi-ethnic characters of her books via an all-white cast.
I'm certainly not complaining about her choices here -- I remember these books quite fondly (though as a 5th grader, I don't think I even noticed the ethnic markers she was using...).
But isn't the way she's talking about race here a little heavy-handed? It's one thing to have your characters look different, but is it just about looks? What about cultural differences, language, differences in attitude?
Most of the characters in my fantasy and far-future science fiction books are not white. They're mixed; they're rainbow. In my first big science fiction novel, The Left Hand of Darkness, the only person from Earth is a black man, and everybody else in the book is Inuit (or Tibetan) brown. In the two fantasy novels the miniseries is "based on," everybody is brown or copper-red or black, except the Kargish people in the East and their descendants in the Archipelago, who are white, with fair or dark hair. The central character Tenar, a Karg, is a white brunette. Ged, an Archipelagan, is red-brown. His friend, Vetch, is black. In the miniseries, Tenar is played by Smallville's Kristin Kreuk, the only person in the miniseries who looks at all Asian. Ged and Vetch are white.
My color scheme was conscious and deliberate from the start. I didn't see why everybody in science fiction had to be a honky named Bob or Joe or Bill. I didn't see why everybody in heroic fantasy had to be white (and why all the leading women had "violet eyes"). It didn't even make sense. Whites are a minority on Earth now—why wouldn't they still be either a minority, or just swallowed up in the larger colored gene pool, in the future?
I'm certainly not complaining about her choices here -- I remember these books quite fondly (though as a 5th grader, I don't think I even noticed the ethnic markers she was using...).
But isn't the way she's talking about race here a little heavy-handed? It's one thing to have your characters look different, but is it just about looks? What about cultural differences, language, differences in attitude?
The Battle for Falluja
You've got to be kidding me:
Huh, no kidding.
Hollywood has joined the war. Universal Pictures announced yesterday that it is to make The Battle for Falluja. To prove it is serious, it has enlisted Indiana Jones himself, actor Harrison Ford, to help defeat the insurgency.
The film - Hollywood's first foray into the second Iraq conflict - is due to go into production next year and will be based on a yet-to-be-finished book, No True Glory: The Battle for Falluja by Bing West, a former marine, politician and now war correspondent.
The movie and book take as their starting point the killing of four civilian contractors in Falluja and the ensuing decision to order an assault on the city by US marines. That first assault, which was abruptly stopped by the White House, was led by General Jim Mattis, who will be played by Ford.
Six months later, shortly after the US presidential election, the marines attacked Falluja for a second time, successfully occupying the city. Almost 80 US marines were killed in the two assaults, while some sources have estimated that 800 Iraqis and insurgents died in the April assault on the city and a further 1,000 in November.
The film promises to depict the story from the point of view of US soldiers and politicians; it seems unlikely that the plight of the Iraqis will figure too prominently in Hollywood's take on the subject. (From The Guardian)
Huh, no kidding.
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