#probably not our many Muslim students who come in regularly to pray

[clonerightsagenda]

Tis the season for me to get into arguments about whether Christmas trees are secular

[muneerahwrites]

The Rain in Spain

[I was trying to be clever but there was no actual rain - rain meaning my tears LEL. I want to share contents of the lessons too inshaAllah but this will come slowly and surely. Bc there was really A LOT. This post is dedicated to my unsorted-out feelings – an attempt to rationalize and understand why I felt what I felt and to attempt to move forward with clarity of heart.]

Came back to SG from Granada to find myself plunged into deadlines and unfinished work. Grappling with jet lag, acne, a worn out yet, invigorated soul, and an unsettled mind, I dragged my body to work for the past 4 days trying to refocus and get myself into my comfortable SG work routine.

I haven’t had the time to reflect properly on my Ramadan and then, the 2 weeks Critical Muslim Studies – on what I’ve learnt and about myself. Why was I crying so much everyday? I mean, I cry occasionally but Spain was something else. I felt like I was ALWAYS crying lol. I couldn’t speak without tears bubbling beneath the surface. The garden behind the school became a regular witness to my tears (and on one occasion, the whole class but I’d rather bury that in the depths of my mind.)

I did not fully understand it at that time, but I concluded in Spain that it was probably for four reasons:

1.       PMS is real.

2.        I came to learn about decolonial theory and largely expected “head-work” about Critical Muslim Studies. Instead, there were discussions about dealing with the metaphysical catastrophe of coloniality, the counter to that being weeping and praying (Fanon), embracing other ways of being (the soul as a way of decolonising) and that I’ve been approaching the Qur’an or my faith (something I hold so dear to and I thought was the anchors of my always changing life) incompletely, maybe even self-indulgently. I realized that I usually leave my soul out the door when I enter “secular” spaces. Of course, I hold on to prayer and du’a but the reminder that the soul is there with your mind and body as a way of understanding and communicating was such as shock to my system. As I realise this, my body was so still but I felt so moved. Therefore, the tears.

 3.       I felt inadequate. What was I doing in this space? Neither activist, content producer nor scholar, I entered the space positioned as a student, only to be overwhelmed by everyone else. I felt that I was not fit to talk about decolonisation or liberation theologies. What limited struggles have I gone through as compared to everyone else in the space? I shut my mouth, I listen, I took in everyone’s pain. I felt so much guilt that I did not have my own pain (or I thought I didn’t). What have I done in my life? I have nothing to share that is important in this space. Bc of these negative thoughts, I brought up all my weaknesses as excuses not to engage. I am not critical enough, not eloquent enough, my heart beats too fast when speaking in front of many people. Anyway, everyone needed to speak so I shouldn’t, whether inside or outside class. I concluded that I shouldn’t be here. I felt even more guilty because it’s Allah’s will and plan that I was in Granada and I felt that His plan was wrong. I retreated. Therefore, the tears.

 4.       Another level of inadequacy was from the fact that I was from Singapore. I have nothing to contribute coming from Singapore. Who cares about Singapore anyway? Was I even Singaporean, being away from Singapore for 5 years of early adulthood. What does being Singaporean even mean?? *Existential crisis* Other experiences seemed more valid, more pressing, more outwardly violent. The need for social justice in other parts of the world was more pressing because people are constantly dehumanised and stripped of dignity. What is Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo to Singapore’s ISA and prisons? What is racism and white supremacy in the US and UK/Europe compared to racial politics in Singapore? Was my experience not important? Or was it relegated as unimportant? Did I do this myself or was this another power dynamic that is playing out? I was confused but also, I am not a personality who insists that my voice be heard. (WHY MOO? I need to examine this more?) I was frustrated. Therefore, the tears.

As the classes come to an end plus the long trip back home, I realised that I was crying because of all those reasons and then some. I was mainly crying because I was so uncomfortable. I realised through the classes, my reflections, my interactions with the other participants and with my interaction with Granada as a place, that I am still colonised. It’s not just a theory I use in my research or studies. My self, my being and thoughts are so unchecked and it’s suddenly being called out in Granada. The process of decolonisation of the self, that the summer school was pushing me to do, was/is an extremely uncomfortable one. Therefore, the tears.

Colonial domination is often understood as a historical process that has ended with independence of nation states. It is easy to recognise that there are legacies in our political, education, economic systems but I don’t think I understood the far-reaching creeping fingers of coloniality – it is in the domination of mind, body and spirit. But coloniality didn’t end in 1963, when the British left. It is not just concerns of “unfortunate Third Worlders” and diasporic communities in distant lands, battling corruption and poverty because they lacked the vision and the statecraft of a Lee Kuan Yew. The logics, practices and legacies of colonialism disrupted our local/faith/indigenous epistemologies (ways of seeing, being and understanding), our social orders and norms and forms of knowledge.

Singapore was colonised but emerged as “crown colony”. Someone from Guardian even wrote a whole article about how we “benefited” from colonialism LOL: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/jan/04/colonialism-work-singapore-postcolonial-british-empire We’re so good at being a “modern nation-state” with our policies based on race and hierarchies created by meritocracy – but always framed as having the promise or intention of equality. We (or rather, I will say I myself, Idk about other people) just internalised coloniality (the colonial mindset) so much that we became model global citizens. White masks, yellow, brown, black skins. Wanting to be “modern”, to imitate. But as someone who has multiple levels of otherness (global south, woman, muslim, brown, introverted etc), when I imitate, I never feel enough or belonging to anywhere.

Discussions came up about how we should not to compare issues, but to be relative. And that’s when I realised: The logic of coloniality remains the same – whether we are talking about clear individual acts of Islamophobia in the UK or the state control of our asatizah in Singapore. No matter how it is being framed.

So returning back to discomfort in decolonising the self. The solution was not to retreat to the soul or to some pristine, native state of being. I was called to recognise the narrowness of my “broadened” mind: whose standards are you trying to meet? Whose questions are you answering? What are your own questions? What are the standards and values decreed by Allah? Why did I think or feel my personality, skills and socialisation not enough? Why do I think that I could not offer anything when everyone else could (especially those from the West?) How was I reproducing coloniality even in the way I was thinking about myself in relation to others? I was called to take my sensing and knowing beyond dominant ideas of what was natural, true and good.

Also, I don’t think my highly introverted self was ready for how short of a time, intensely close and intimate spaces (physical, mind and heart) I would share with so many diverse women (mostly Muslim WOC from everywhere). Everyone was so loving, embracing, warm, spiritual but at the same time, brave, strong, eloquent, unafraid of their thoughts and femininity, critical and aware of power and power dynamics and so quick to call out BS and violence when they saw it. They are honestly so aspirational and I have so many conversations/advice embedded so deeply in my mind (or heart? Allahu ‘alam). So honoured and grateful to have met every single one. Farid Esack (an absolute legend) advised us: “our interactions with other people are sacred. No matter how you differ, do not pee [desacrilise] on this sacred space.” Jasmin Zine (or was it Amina Teslima?) also read this hadith at the start of class which explains why some souls feel inexplicably drawn to other souls:  The Prophet (pbuh) said: "The souls are (like) an army joined (in the world of spirits) whichever souls knew each other (in that world) are attracted towards each other (in this world) and whichever remained distant and indifferent (there) are disinterested to each other (in this world)" (Saheeh al-Bukhaari)

It was truly a blessed group to be around. I regularly got advice and reminders that were so on point and poignant, I wish I had just took out a notebook to write all of it down. One of the ladies shared Audre Lorde’s concept of self-love as a radical act. I found the quote: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” A few other girls too had a discussion over salty seafood paella haha that self-love requires us to accept our flaws and understand that as Muslim women, Allah is there to forgive us and complete us for anything lacking. Our flaws aren’t meant to be overcome or pushed away, its meant to remind us of our humanity, how everyone is flawed. We can use what we think as “flaws” as strengths. When our life isn’t in alignment or we aren’t what we expect ourselves to be, we shouldn’t blame ourselves. Rather, it is an opportunity to grow and learn, make a change. Listen to yourself, how do you feel. How is your body responding? How is your heart? I need to learn how to cherish my authenticity and forgive the times I forgot my strengths and my power. Rather than treat myself as a blank sheet that can constantly be recreated everyday to be my ‘best self’, I must realise that I have a history, experiences, pains and triumphs that make me complex and valuable, if not to society, then, to God. “Make your voice the clearest and centred in this creative space”, another wise lady told me during the trip.

[Ok I will conclude for now]: Being in St Andrews as someone from “the rest” (from Southeast Asia, Muslim and woman) in a distinctly white space, I never felt fully “integrated”. In a way, I am grateful I didn’t. My sanctuary and solace was being with women of colour after uni and during Fridays. SOAS was interesting for me to dip my feet and see what using post-colonial and decolonial theory looks like in academia. But I think, if I am deciphering my thoughts and feelings correctly, Granada was a proper introduction for me into what a decolonial/liberation/social justice space looked like, it is not only a space for pain to be shared but also one of empowering resistance, love for each other and self-love. It also taught me that decolonising the self as well as histories, faith traditions, etc is going to be a long and uncomfortable process, with a lot of learning, praxis as well as reflection.

what about this theory.

the fear of not being enough,

and the fear of being ‘too much’

are exactly the same fear. 

the fear of being you. (@nayyirahwaheed)

[wionews]

The garland on Anantapur's Ambedkar statue

A new garland adorns Dr Ambedkar’s statue in Anantapur nearly every day. At around 8:30 a.m., A. Subhan, a flower seller, climbs up the steps to the gold-painted statue with a garland of red roses or lilies woven by his family. Either Subhan or his 17-year-old nephew Bablu make sure this is done regularly.

The ritual started around 2010, after an old statue of Dr Ambedkar, apparently in the way of traffic, was demolished and the present one came up. The statue is located around a kilometre south of the clock tower in the central part of Anantapur town in Andhra Pradesh, within walking distance of Subhan’s flower stall. 

Other statues close by are rather less fortunate. The first after the clock tower, on the same stretch of road, is of Indira Gandhi. It is covered in jute cloth now but has seen better days when the Congress was in power in Andhra Pradesh (from 2004 to 2014). In 2013, an earlier version of the statue was smashed and burned down by protesters opposing the bifurcation of Andhra Pradesh into Telangana. A new statue was later installed, but it continues to be shrouded. A statue of Rajiv Gandhi on this stretch is also covered. Perhaps these reflect the Congress party’s subdued fortunes in the state.

The numerous statues of historical figures and politicians in Anantapur town seem to be forgotten after commemorative events, but Dr Ambedkar is remembered every day (Others)

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Several other statues stand on that road – Potti Sreeramulu (who died in 1952 fasting for a separate Telugu state of Andhra Pradesh), Abdul Kalam Azad, Y.S. Rajashekhar Reddy, Bal Gangadhar Tilak, Babu Jagjivan Ram, Kanshi Ram and Mother Teresa. Occasionally, these too are garlanded. But their flowers soon start decaying, and the leaders seem to be forgotten after commemorative events.

Subhan, whose flower shop is not far from the statue, says, 'We do it because we admire Ambedkar' (Others)

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Babasaheb Ambedkar’s statue though is remembered every day. A. Mallesh, a cashier at an Andhra Bank branch near the clock tower, pays Subhan at the beginning of every month for the garlands. “He pays me 1,000 rupees,” 36-year-old Subhan, a Muslim, says. “We don’t make any profit, but we do it because we admire Ambedkar.” A garland in Subhan’s shop costs Rs. 60 to 130, depending on the flowers used. 

Mallesh’s reverence for Dr Ambedkar is rooted in his own experience of caste discrimination. “There was no food, no water, no oil for the head, no books to read, no slate to write on [in my village],” he says. “Now the god has provided us with everything – god meaning Ambedkar.” Mallesh is a Madiga Dalit from Atmakur village of Anantapur district. “In our village, there was only one well for drinking water,” he recalls. “We were only allowed to take water when the [land-owning] farmers came to draw water. Otherwise, there was no water. Madigas couldn’t touch [the well].”

At school in Anantapur town, Mallesh and other children from Dalit and tribal communities had to sit in a corner of the classroom, while the upper caste students sat in the front. “We had to carry mud from outside [and spread it on the floor] for writing. We didn’t have slates,” he remembers. “If someone said ‘Hey Madiga! Take the mud out’ we had to throw it out.”  The teacher too often insulted the Dalits by referring to their caste and would beat them with palm canes. 

Mallesh, now 59, had to drop out of the school after Class 7 to support his mother when his father, an agricultural labourer, died. He worked as a helper at a government hostel in Anantapur and started applying for government jobs. In 1982, he found work as an attendant at Andhra Bank for a monthly salary of Rs. 500. By 1985, after an interview at the bank, he got a better-paid post as a clerical assistant.

In 2010, while working as a clerical assistant at the bank, A. Mallesh decided 'just like that' to garland Dr Ambedkar for as long as he could (Others)

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Mallesh has also worked in various Dalit unions and organisations and was until recently the zone-wide president of the SC & ST Employees Welfare Association at his bank. He has participated in various protests against caste discrimination. Around 1995, he recalls, he went on a 10-kilometre march from Anantapur to Alamur with left parties and other activists to protest an instance of caste discrimination. Mallesh was also the president of Dandora, a Dalit group formed in the 1990s, but moved out of it by the 2000s due to political differences.

Around 1996, Mallesh prepared for and passed his Class 10 exams. Eventually, this helped him move up from his clerical assistant’s post to his present job as a cashier in 2013 – which now pays him a salary many times more than his initial Rs. 500. 

In 2010, while still a clerical assistant, Mallesh decided “just like that” to garland Dr Ambedkar for as long as he could. He remembers a small informal meeting of bank employees and others from Dalit communities, where they volunteered to pool donations for the garlands. But Mallesh didn’t want to chase people for money every month, so he and M. Gopal, an attendant at another branch of Andhra Bank, decided to share the cost. Gopal stopped contributing last year and now only Mallesh pays for the garlands.

While Subhan garlands the Ambedkar statue early every morning (left), the statue of Indira Gandhi (right) has for long remained wrapped in jute cloth (Others)

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Mallesh doesn’t like reading or being lectured about Ambedkar. He says he learnt about Ambedkar by just living the life of a Dalit: “I can imagine the kind of hardships he would have faced, based on the hardships I experienced. We can learn just by looking at what he has done for us. Isn’t he the one who wrote our Constitution?”

On weekends or festival days Mallesh sometimes garlands the statue himself. He is planning to petition the district administration to install a shade to protect it from sunlight, wind and bird droppings. “First we will try to get it for Ambedkar," he says, "then we will ask the same for Jagjivan Ram and then for Kanshi Ram.” 

Although the flowers on Dr  Ambedkar’s statue might not be noticed by many in Anantapur, the sweepers who clean the roads in the early mornings know about it. “Someone, probably someone big, garlands the statue every day. I don’t know who does it,” says G. Ramalakshmi, a Dalit woman employed by the town’s municipal corporation to clean the streets. As she says this, she touches her fingers to either side of her chin, in a gesture of devotion, “When I see the statue with the garland I think that the god [Ambedkar] is doing well. We pray to him while coming to work every day.”

This article was originally published on 17/ 10/2017 on the People's Archive of Rural India.

Photo Credit: Rahul M.

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