The memories of what you left behind

I left my Asian home country 38 years ago but, still, I can see and hear the images and sounds of what I had. It happens most often in my half-awake, half-asleep state. In the early hours of the morning my mind is transported back. I am no longer living in a white man's country. My skin colour doesn't count.

Last night I heard my father coming home from work. His children, my siblings and I, ran  to greet him. Despite the cold chill of the winter's night I felt the warmth of my home country. My mother and sibling's voices filtered through my ears and brain. My heart leapt at the familiarity of hearing us all talk about our day at school and asking my parents about theirs.

I may have moved thousands of miles away, formed new roots, created new alliances and forged new bonds and loyalties but one's beginnings will always remain in one's heart and mind and soul.

The Catholic Church and the Indian nuns of the #metoo movement

Does the Catholic Church have a strange predilection for sex related misdemeanours and scandals? If not why does it remain silent apart from occasional apologetic proclamations from the Pope? If it does want to be on the right side of religious justice then the time for speaking up is running short in a case in India involving 5 nuns and rape allegations at the ‘Missionaries of Jesus’ Convent in Kerala, India.

A Mother Superior at the Convent made a police report in June 2018 alleging that Bishop Franco Mulakkal, Bishop of Jalandhar, raped her 13 times between 2014 and 2016. The Bishop was arrested, three months later, in September and granted bail. He is awaiting trial. 

Franco Mulakkal is the first bishop in Indian Catholic history to be arrested over accusations of rape. Some accolade!

Five nuns who supported the alleged victim’s testimony staged a sit-in in protest at the police delay in taking action. As a result, these nuns now claim that they are being ‘punished’ for their actions. They have been asked to leave and have been assigned to other Convents but are resisting orders to do so. They are accusing the church of “taking vengeance for their public protests”.

On 3 January, Superior General Regina Kadamthottu of the Missionaries of Jesus Order wrote to one of the sisters, “You have chosen in your own individual capacity to support and pursue the legal battle in Crime no 746/2018 in Kuravilaangad police station. Our congregation does not want to make any sort of intervention in the due process of law and you shall be free to carry on the judicial process as and when required. You are urged not to make your legal obligation an alibi to compromise our affirmed religious vows and principles of community life,”.

Another nun was accused by the order of acting “against the principles of religious life” because she published poems, bought a car and took part in a protest against the alleged rapist, Franco Mulakkal, actions termed as ‘grave violations’. She was issued a notice to explain her behaviour at a hearing scheduled for 9 January but refused to appear, saying that she was busy.

In further twists, a key witnesses in the case, Father Kattuthara, was found dead in Jalandhar under mysterious circumstances in November. The Convenor of ‘Save Our Sisters’, the movement supporting the protesting nuns, has been removed from his post.

The Catholic Church has always been accused of taking the path of least resistance and it is beyond my understanding as a practising Christian Feminist as to why it hasn’t intervened in this case.

When a Nun is accused of a deeper religious violation for buying a car and writing poetry over protesting against the heinous crime of rape then there really is something gravely wrong with the way the Catholic Church views women, whistleblowing and gender justice.

In the meantime the Church Patriarchy continues to be supported to demand subservience and silence from the women while protecting the men. In a resolute fight back these nuns are showing that the #metoo movement is prepared to smash any cultural or religious barrier.

The patriarchy may seek ways to assert itself by relying on traditional structures of organised and respectable power, like religion, but feminists are prepared to meet them anywhere.

"Where are you from"?

A long time ago Lenny Henry, the British comic artist, made a comedy sketch about being asked where he was from. Lenny answered the question by proceeding to give an account of having lived in Brixton for x number of years, before that he lived in Y and you get the picture.

His answer consisted of his living arrangements and transfers around London suburbs going back a number of years. Of course, what the questioner really meant was, 'What is the country of your ethnic origin?' 

Lenny's answers were a clear evasion of the meaning of the question and an attempt to portray himself as a true Brit.

Don't you just hate this question? Whenever I am confronted with this question I pause for a few seconds trying to work out whether I should say Asia or Southeast London. The time it takes me to decide is enough for the other person to lose interest. This is a great deflection method which I have discovered by default. Contrary to the self-help industry which labels 'prevarication' as a negative trait, it works for me in awkward race related situations.

I once dined with a group of people from all walks of life. After the introductions I was tempted to ask them where they were from despite the fact that they all lived in London. The horrible realisation that I had internalised the question of one's origins made me clench my fists in silence for want of thumping myself.

The question has almost become a caricature one. Where we come from has taken primary importance over what we have made of our lives or who we are as people. We are 'bestowed' with certain essentialisms such as that we couldn't possibly have been born in the Western country where we live, that we are 'other' by virtue of our colour even if we speak with local accents and that our origin is a precursor to getting to know us as people.

There may be situations where it's, of course, human curiosity that prompts the question. I have not learnt how to distinguish between these types and the other types. If you have then please leave a comment below. Embarrassingly, I have also been caught out by giving an answer about my ancestral origins only to be asked again about where I live in London. One can't win either way.

What is most important in all this is how the question makes you feel as a person of colour? If it drains you off the will to live over being asked the question yet again then a long winded Lenny Henry type answer which invokes humour and deprecation may assist. Otherwise, you could actually take the opportunity to come up with a whole new fake identity which posits you as some sort of Bollywood actress and, let's face it, this would absolutely delight White people about 100 times more who simply love Bollywood than they would be interested in your real identity. Don't believe me? Why is Priyanka Chopra so famous globally then?

How I Became A Feminist In A Western Country After Having My Daughter

Pictured with my daughter, Maelo

Feminism was not even on the radar of my vocabulary when I was growing up in Asia. Come to think of it, the concept of equality was not even an atom of a thought in my everyday life.

Girls were taught to obey men from a young age by watching their mothers serve their fathers. At family gatherings the children were served first, then the men would take their places after the children had vacated the dining table and, lastly, the women would eat what was left. The men had the lion’s share of the food as the children were rationed in what they were served so as to leave enough for the men.

Girls and boys were able to play together freely until the girls started their periods. A ceremony referred to as ‘attending age’ was held to announce to the community that the girl had become a woman and, thereby, had to play by different rules in contrast to the carefree playtimes pre-attending age.

I was a rebel of sorts, not always being able to get my own way but I did win the battle over not wanting to have an ‘attending age’ ceremony. I found it hideous and embarrassing that people should know that you were bleeding between your legs. For the amount of rules about being modest as an Indian female I did think it was immodest to have your ‘attending age’ announced to everyone (which no doubt is done with such fanfare because it signifies that you are ready to make babies now).

Alas, inverse logic did not stop the ‘aunties’ from showing their utter disappointment in my behaviour. When I wore shorts the relatives would comment on how wearing such attire would lead to ‘loose behaviour’. Oh my goodness, it was endless.

Wearing a dress above the knees was also considered as ‘loose behaviour’. I thought I had it hard till one day I got talking to a Sikh girl at school who told me that her mother was giving her sister-in-law grief for wearing panties instead of shorts as underwear. The former was considered as irreligious and provocative.

As a teenager, my life was a swirl of negotiating my independence away from my culture that was suffocating me. That I had ‘become Westernised’ was a common slight. ‘Becoming Westernised’, as all Indian feminists know, translates into you being assertive of your rights as a female which is a big no-no in our culture. The premise is that no man will want to marry an independent woman. The end goal, of course, is for every daughter is to get her married off before she loses her virginity pre-marriage.

I remember hearing about the ‘bra-burners’ and occasionally hearing names of Western feminists such as Gloria Steinem. It all seemed a far away occurrence though and a world away from the way I was living. Looking back now I realise that I saw feminism as a white woman’s privilege. It never dawned on me that I could become a feminist, and that I could choose that path freely.

Things started to change for me when my daughter was born 17 years ago. Even though I had been living in Britain for about 20 years before she was born I had never bothered to ponder on feminism. Something changed as my daughter was growing up. My maternal instinct was to let her be herself and to explore life without stifling her with cultural rules.

Soon I was challenging my own upbringing and was beginning to see how cultural thinking had shaped my own life without me realising it. Feminism, on the contrary, gave me the power to makes changes to my life. I began to read books by feminist but these were mainly written by White feminists. I wanted something, a brand of intersectional feminism, to help me shape my own views.

I felt very isolated and spent hours on the internet looking for like minded mothers. I found a website called The Motherhood Initiative for Research and Community Involvement(MIRCI) from which I learnt that my style of mothering with all the aspirations and hopes attached had a name: “feminist mothering”.  Journals published by MIRCI include ones on Indian feminism and mothering; and experiences of women of colour living in Western countries.

Having the words to describe what I was feeling and wanting for my daughter propelled me from being ignorant about feminism to becoming a feminist mother.  It was an exhilarating feeling because I did not have to consider what other people thought. I was free to make and unmake the rules of my life which served as the platform from which I practised feminist mothering.

Since then I have become extremely interested in Indian feminism and intersectional feminism because my daughter is mixed race – half White and half Indian. The fact that there are millions of Indian feminists existing around the world is a fact that I celebrate. This is why I so badly wanted to write for ‘Feminism In India’ which is where this blog post was originally published. 

Being an Indian feminist in a Western country is not an easy existence. It can be a lonely experience. Apart from sexism there is racism to contend with so I am sometimes fighting on two fronts. I despise the stereotypical images that English people have of Indian women, the most irritating one being that we are subservient by nature. I also get fed up being asked whether I can dance well. I am not a Bollywood actress. I am not a dancing, docile woman. There is still much work to be done to get intersectional feminism recognised and I will carry on fighting.