Challenging the NGOs: Women, Religion and Development in India (Tauris Academic Studies)

CHALLENGING THE NGOs

CHALLENGING THE NGOs Women, Religion and Western Dialogues in India

Tamsin Bradley

Tauris Academic Studies

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LONDON NEW YORK

Published in 2006 by Tauris Academic Studies, an imprint of I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd 6 Salem Road, London W2 4BU 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010 www.ibtauris.com In the United States of America and in Canada distributed by St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010 Copyright  Tamsin Bradley, 2006 The right of Tamsin Bradley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. International Library of Human Geography 10 ISBN 1 84511 152 4 EAN 978 1 84511 152 6 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record for this book is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Catalogue Number: available Typeset in Berkeley Oldstyle by Oxford Publishing Services, Oxford Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow, Cornwall From camera-ready copy edited and supplied by the author

For Ruth Bradley and Julia Leslie

Contents

Illustrations Acronyms and Abbreviations Glossary Acknowledgements Preface Introduction

ix x xi xv xvi xvii

1. The Development Discourse Deconstructing the hegemonic development discourse Why does this Western hegemony exist? Deconstructing the passive subject Relations between NGO workers and agents of development Reaching others in practice Conclusion

1 3 5 8 10 15 33

2. Feminist Politics Feminism discussed and deconstructed The feminism of Indian women Conclusion

35 37 53 63

3. Understanding the Image of Sita Valmiki’s Sita The oppressed Sita The Sita of urban Indian women Gandhi’s Sita The Sita of oral traditions The Sita of Rajasthani village women Reinterpreting cultural practices: purdah The positive identities of Rajasthani village women Mapping changes: the impact of the drought Masculinities in rural Rajasthan Conclusion

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65 66 69 75 76 78 84 91 94 101 104 112

CONTENTS

4. Revisiting the Development Discourse The emergence of gender and development (GAD) Challenging the idea of ‘Third World’ woman as victim Conclusion: the move towards self-reflexivity

116 117 124 137

5. Questioning Participation The empowerment of women through participation Critique of Oxfam’s GAD manual Training women as community health workers in rural Rajasthan: two case studies compared Conclusion

140 142 143

6. Violence in Rural Rajasthan Case study of the Rajasthan WDP The gang rape of Bhanweri Devi Why are men violent? Changing perspectives on violence Conclusion

168 169 175 180 182 185

Conclusion: The Meaning of Freedom The methodology Summary of contents

187 187 193

Notes References Index

195 210 227

viii

155 166

Illustrations

Photograph of young girls in rural Rajasthan. Picture by author, January 2001 Photograph of a Hindu family in rural Rajasthan, stood in front of their family shrine. The shrine includes images of Rama and Sita. Picture taken by author, January 2001 Women from a tribal area in the Jaipur District. Picture by author, March 2001 Body map drawn by one of the health workers, copy made with her permission August 1995

ix

ii

67 94 159

Acronyms and Abbreviations

AIWC BNA CBI DFID DWDA GAD IDARA IDS NGO PMS PRA PVO SOAS UN UNIFEM UNICEF USAID UPR WHO WIA WID WAD WDP

All India Women’s Conference basic needs approach Central Bureau of Investigations Department for International Development District Women’s Development Agency gender and development Information Development and Resource Agency Institute of Development Studies non-governmental organization pre-menstrual stress participatory rural appraisal private voluntary organization School of Oriental and African Studies United Nations United Nations Development Fund for Women United Nations Children’s Fund US Agency for International Development unconditioned positive regard World Health Organization Women’s Indian Association women in development women and development women’s development project

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Glossary

Absence denotes an awareness or sensitivity to those voices that are excluded from academic discourse. The term implies that in the production of a particular discourse focus is placed on a unified subject. Such emphasis on homogeneity cannot possibly include the diversity of experiences and identities that exist in reality. In the context of this book the term refers specifically to the denial of plurality and the extinguishing of the consciousnesses of women through the rigid use of the singular subject Woman. A focus on Absences opens up a text and makes those it silences and ignores more visible. Alterity is a term frequently used by the French feminist writer Luce Irigaray. Irigaray uses it to denote a deeply intimate space within the individual’s consciousness, an awareness of Self that cannot be brought to language through the rigid binary oppositions of the prevailing masculinist symbolic order. This space exists free from the repressive traps of subjectivity imposed by external forces that do not care for the individual’s freedom but exist to suppress violently the fluidity of the human soul. Androcentrism outlines how a singular concept of a ‘universal’ has functioned as a veiled representation and projection of a masculinity that takes itself as the unquestioned norm, the ideal representation. This norm cares little for those it represses. Women, the disabled, cultural and racial minorities, different classes and homosexuals are all reduced to the role of modifications or variations of the masculine ideal symbolism seen in the image of a white, youthful, heterosexual, middle-class human body. Authority is a declaration of power that demands the right to judge and determine the principles to which all others must consent. It is often described in this book in terms of a ‘claim to know’, a claim to greater insight that justifies positioning those possessing it in a place of power and control. Authority is a mere illusion in so far as knowledge and truth do not exist in a monolithic form.

xi

GLOSSARY

Deconstructionalism is a technique that allows for a critique of the hierarchical binary oppositions that have structured Western thought: mind/body, speech/writing, presence/absence, nature/ culture, form/meaning. To deconstruct a binary opposition is to show that it is not natural and inevitable as a construction but is produced by discourses that rely on it. Dialogue is communication between different parties grounded in a mutual commitment to listen to the experiences and feelings of each ‘other’. The dialogue referred to throughout this book is founded on the belief that communication between people should be structured around respect and an appreciation that each party will learn something from the ‘other’ and about the ‘other. Discourse is a system of ideas or ‘knowledge’ inscribed in a specific vocabulary (for example development discourse, anthropology, gender studies). Discourses can be used to legitimate the exercise of power over certain persons; for example, modernization theory has been used as a means for Western superpowers to exert power over the economies of the developing world. Equality is the notion that all human beings are of the same value. All beings deserve the same opportunities and respect. A society structured around equality is free from hierarchy and segregation that limits the mobility and life opportunities of some while enhancing those of others. Freedom is a social condition in which all beings are able to pursue the life they choose without restraint. Hegemony is a Gramscian term originally derived from the Greek hegemonia or hegemon, meaning leader or ruler. Gramsci developed it to denote how the privileging of a specific ideology results in domination of the cultural social aspects of life. Intersubjectivity is the individual’s response to experiences occurring in their consciousness. It does not refer to the articulation of experience through a one-way dissemination of knowledge, but rather describes the experiences generated through mutual communication and exchange between subjects. Logos. Divine word or authority. Often used to describe the word of God incarnate. Metanarrative or Grand Narrative is any narrative that presents itself as a fair and accurate representation of the truth and that claims to be founded on objective, scientific knowledge. In reality, xii

GLOSSARY

metanarratives merely reflect a particular manipulation of the truth and often represent little more than a myth. Misogyny is a social condition and state of mind that holds women to be inferior and seeks to maintain women in a marginalized and repressed position. Other is the term used to describe one side in a binary opposition with a Self (see below). The relationship is one of power and is hierarchical. The Other is always weaker and marginal to the Self. In this context the Other is always mythical, existing only in the mind of the Self who requires the existence of a weaker Other to justify its claim to authority. other is used to describe the social reality within which people exist. This ‘other’ relates to actual human beings and contrasts with the imaginary Other described above. Patriarchy is literally, the rule of the father – a social organization in which men are the heads of their families and descent and inheritance are reckoned in the male line. Feminism, in characterizing patriarchy more generally as officially sanctioned male dominance, sees it as the root of all evil. Reciprocity is a concept describing a process of mutual exchange in which both parties interact with each other out of a desire to know the other and to offer the other the opportunity to know them. The relationship is thought to bring benefits to both others, for such an encounter with difference creates a space within which the other can come to know her or himself more deeply. Self is the superior element in the binary opposition Self/Other. The Self symbolizes a mind that knows and has the strength and power to dominate the Other. Subaltern originated with Gramsci, who used it to describe a proletarian whose voice could not be heard, being structurally written out of the capitalist bourgeois narrative. In postcolonial terms the subaltern refers to all those who find themselves systematically written out and excluded from discourse. Subject/Subjectivity. The subject is seen to be that which acts and speaks as the ‘I’. The subject is the focus for research but is also the vehicle through which such work is articulated. Subjectivity introduces the idea that human reality is a construction. The ways we perceive ourselves, others and our relationships to them are the products of signifying activities or sign systems in the world. xiii

GLOSSARY

Symbolic Order is the representation of ideal subjectivities, values and meanings that serve to structure and maintain patriarchal laws that secure the transmission of androcentric perspectives that serves to marginalize those who fall short of the ideals of patriarchy. West is Europe and North America. Western is used to describe a set of ideas or a particular hegemony derived from the cultures and societies of the West. Woman denotes a singular female subject constructed by various discourses such as Western feminism to describe the injustices women experience at the hands of a patriarchal system. The term Woman excludes the personal experiences and identities of women through its homogenization of diversity. The term ‘Third World Woman’ is a mythical term used to denote the imaginary lives of women living in the geographic region termed the ‘Third World’.

xiv

Acknowledgements

T

his book is dedicated to two women. First, my mother Ruth Bradley whose strength, determination and creativity have acted as goal posts throughout my life. Her gentle and subtle planting of seeds led me to the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) and to this book, and without the self-discipline and endurance she injected into me through example I would never have managed to finish it. Second, I dedicate this book to Julia Leslie, who has been a strong presence in my life since I began my academic career at SOAS as an undergraduate. Seeing the world I live in through the lenses of gender finally gave me the tools and language with which to start to unravel the experiences of inequality that anger me. Even after her death her quiet guiding hand remains and continues to help me realize the importance of striving for perfection and remaining true to your beliefs. I acknowledge both my parents Colin and Ruth Bradley for their complete unswerving belief that I was capable of writing this book. As a teacher, I realize how precious a gift such high expectations are when given by those who care about you unconditionally. Cosimo Zene has been my supervisor. His ability to inject enthusiasm and confidence into his students is a rare and valuable quality and endless thanks go to him for his patience and concern. A million thanks also go to Brian Bocking, Richard Bartholomew, Sîan Hawthorne and Val Hughes who gave up so much of their precious time to copy-edit a draft of my book. Thanks go to the NGOs with which I have had the privilege to spend time. The dedication and commitment I have witnessed in these organizations has been inspirational. Finally to Poonam, Parvati and Devi whose kindness and generous curiosity in me opened my eyes to so many other ways of being. The impact they have had on my life will endure always. Thanks are not enough; I offer you all my lasting commitment to fighting for gender equality and freedom.

xv

Preface

W

riting this book has posed many ethical questions. The methodology for grass-root development practice that I outline throughout this volume has been possible because of the critical eye through which I have viewed various NGOs working in rural Rajasthan. I have struggled with the ethics of publishing criticisms directed at those who have dedicated a large part of their lives to helping others. However, I have decided that the risk of offending a few that my work carries is worth it. I believe with complete conviction that the arguments and practical way forward outlined in this text makes a significant contribution to enhancing the success of grass-roots development practice. However, to minimize the damage and offence my critical eye may cause, I have hidden, as far as possible, the identity of all organizations and individuals I have used in this research. I also pledge to remain a committed volunteer and donor of the UK NGO. In so doing I declare my long-term commitment to the work it does.

xvi

Introduction

I

n this book I consider the relationship between nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and the people they target. A broad definition of an NGO is an organization that works outside government departments, though it may receive government funding. NGOs target specific causes they feel would benefit from focused intervention.1 Although NGOs operate both inside and outside Western countries, I focus on NGOs that work within a specific discourse shaped by perceptions of the developing world. I adopt a multidisciplinary approach to explore the nature and effects of the interaction between NGOs and those they seek to help. Throughout this book I use the term ‘equality’ to denote what I believe the objective of development practice to be. Bound up in the concept of equality is the notion of freedom.2 Clarity over what constitutes freedom is sought as an integral part of researching and producing this book. This study is based on my experiences of travelling with and supporting a UK donor NGO that partially funds two Gandhian organizations working in rural Rajasthan. I will refer to these organizations as Gandhian NGO (1) and Gandhian organization (2).3 In particular, I draw from the time I spent with them in January 2001 visiting specific projects they fund in Rajasthan. Their projects raised certain concerns for me because I came to realize that the representatives from this charity had constructed an Other out of Rajasthani villagers. This Other was needy and destitute and became the focus for their compassion.4 I believe that emotions of overwhelming pity towards this Other blocked the full potential for clear minded, detailed discussions into the causes and implications of disempowerment. Images of starving and dying Rajasthani villagers motivated the representatives’ determination to return home and continue with their efforts to raise money. While I am not dismissing these responses and believe them to be rooted in real concern, I question the effectiveness of a dialogue in which the focus for action is the

xvii

INTRODUCTION

imagined sufferings of an Other positioned as such by those with money and therefore power, which was the situation of this Western donor agency. When a singular Other is constructed the complexities of the needs present in a community are rendered invisible. One image comes to represent the whole; the community is a homogenous entity with a shared identity (weak and needy). Differences between individuals are ignored and projects are subsequently based on misrepresentations of what those affected desire. I criticize the donor agency of two Gandhian NGOs for rooting their objectives in a permanent picture of a suffering Other. The Rajasthani villager as this Other never reaches a post-suffering state. All money is directed towards an image of a drought-ridden desert village frozen in time. Although rural life in Rajasthan has slowly improved in terms of better infrastructure and more secure water supplies, NGO workers still characterize the ‘Rajasthani villager’ as vulnerable and dependent on Western aid. The donor NGO uses a picture of an isolated and desolate young girl in much of its literature. This homogenized picture justifies the need for intervention. The writing beside the image constructs a pitiful picture of this woman’s social reality. It is the inaccuracy of this depiction that I contest throughout this book. A little girl, watching as her mother struggles to carry heavy pots of water home many miles from the well every day, even if she is ill, seeing her eat on only what is left over after the men of the family have eaten, struggling with tiredness and stress from anaemia and from bearing and looking after many children. She knows that the confinement of the house and the endless chores she helps with now will be her lot in the future. If she or her mother is ill there are no women doctors who can treat her in the remote village in which she lives. She has been conditioned since babyhood that she must not complain or answer back even if abused. She has little hope of ever learning to read or write. (This text was used in project literature April–June 2002) This image and the text beneath it are used to highlight how the xviii

INTRODUCTION

suffering Rajasthani villager desperately requires the help of a group of white, middle-class British professionals. Failure to appreciate that this Rajasthani villager does not exist means that projects are not grounded in social reality and often fail to meet their intended objectives. In Chapter 5 I look at the impact of this narrow perception on specific development interventions.5 In this book I deconstruct the relationship between NGO workers who are the outsiders and the community or groups they target. I argue that Rajasthani village women must resist two levels of oppression. First, patriarchy or male oppression, and then a second layer added by the NGO that constrains them within an image of a suffering, vulnerable woman. The NGO on which I focus perceives Rajasthani women as the weakest and most disempowered members of these desert villages. Projects designed to empower them are made the priority. For most of this book I look at how this picture of Third World Woman as victim has come to characterize various discourses: Western feminist scholarship, gender and development and the activity of NGOs. I argue that while this continues any activism designed to increase women’s empowerment will achieve limited success. My critique considers what scholars who persist in their depiction of Third World Woman as victim gain in terms of the power they can exert over determining the direction of change in the lives of others. As long as this narrow image of Woman in the Third World exists her creators can maintain authority over her. This authority allows them to speak on behalf of all women in the developing world. In my book I apply a critique to various micro and macro aspects of development theory and practice. My critique is positioned at an interface between development studies, anthropology and religious studies. My critique highlights the need for even more consideration to be given to the tools and techniques used by development practitioners. I use this multidisciplinary approach to begin to put together a new methodology that forms the basis of a development practice that is better equipped to identify and respond to the diversity of needs in the developing world. Although anthropology is one of the subjects on which I draw, I do not present an ethnography but rather stress how ethnographic techniques could be used in a more transparent and inclusive approach to development practice. Religion plays a vital part in the methodology I explore. Scholars xix

INTRODUCTION

who have begun to focus on the link between religion and development have so far concentrated on the role religious groups have 6 played in the development process. The aspect of religion I explore in this book is very different. I consider religion as a personal, private and collective space within which individuals can express a variety of feelings, concerns, hopes and joy. I argue that it is within a religious space that the most intimate and powerful articulations of need can be seen and heard. I show how a focus on religious spaces can identify both subtle and significant shifts in the perceptions of individuals. Religious spaces also offer individuals the opportunity to unite with others in a display of solidarity. The cross-disciplinary perspective I adopt in my research combined with the methodology I present at the end of my book are original contributions to scholarship. Through each chapter I gradually build the methodology I believe represents a significant shift in focus for development practice. I argue in every chapter that this shift is vital if social development is to reverse its current failings. In the first chapter I highlight that social development has so far failed to deliver on its promises of social equality. I argue that NGOs operate within a world of mythical representations of Other people (Tendler 1982) because they are caught within a macro system of power that is not concerned with responding to real needs. In this chapter I consider the arguments made by scholars who are open in their criticisms of development. I then begin to explore the shift in approach I believe is needed to make others visible and audible to development practitioners. I explore how ethnographic techniques could be used to aid an outsider in the desire to listen to the needs of those whose lives are very different from their own. In Chapter 2 I explore the approach to feminist politics that I believe could make this vision of social justice possible. However, before I do this I begin with a similar critique to that presented in Chapter 1. I note how unhelpful the singular image some Western feminist scholars constructed of Third World Woman has been. Chandra Mohanty and Gaytri Spivak helped me understand how ‘Third World Woman’ becomes the Other to ‘Liberated Western practitioners’ in many instances of gender and development. I have already given an example of a mythical construction of a rural Rajasthani woman. In the second part of this chapter I explore the impact feminism has had on the lives of Indian women and consider xx

INTRODUCTION

approaches to development taken by Indian feminists and activists. I highlight a gap between the urban women who decide on the development agenda and the rural Indian women who are the passive recipients of aid. This material allows me to develop my methodology further by emphasizing the importance of face-to-face dialogue between development workers and the Indian women they seek to help. I stress the importance of listening to the experiences of Indian women and coordinating action using the alliances that already exist between them. In Chapter 3 I trace the origins of negative images of Indian women to notions of ideal womanhood in orthodox Hinduism. I focus on Sita as the widely acknowledged image of a perfect wife. I contrast ideal constructions of femininity against ideal projections of masculinity in rural Rajasthan. Through my own fieldwork and the work of anthropologists such as Ann Gold I look at how the worship of religious images, story telling and song are all mediums through which individuals express their own personal concerns and experiences. Sita is a symbol of courage and hope for many. My ethnographic case studies provide me with evidence to argue that through religious ritual deeply personal experiences are articulated. I monitor the religious lives of my informants over a period of five years and highlight changes in their religious expression that are linked to deterioration in their physical environment (the onset of a drought). I argue that shifts in a person’s status quo are reflected in altered patterns of religious behaviour. This makes religious rituals useful sources of information for development workers on human needs. In Chapter 4 I analyse the history of gender and development and argue that many practitioners in the field fail to apply a methodology that can adequately include all the voices of the women they target. I develop my methodology further by considering how a self-reflexive approach to development practice could allow for a more open and honest line of communication between the development worker and the recipient of development. In Chapter 5 I examine the participatory techniques that can help practitioners extract local knowledge and understand the views of a target community. Although I appreciate the contribution participatory techniques have made to development practice in terms of recognizing the need for local people to be included in the process of development planning, the xxi

INTRODUCTION

power relationship underpinning development remains intact in many of the exercises I present. In Chapter 6 I explore the complexity of understanding social inequality and seek to understand why violence is the main male response to the changes implemented by gender and development initiatives. I focus on some high profile cases of violent injustices against women in Rajasthan and ask the question: how can social equality be achieved when women’s freedom is blocked at every level? I argue that giving children a gender sensitive education is a possible solution to reversing the deeply embedded patterns that lead to the marginalization of so many women and men. My conclusion consolidates the methodology I have been outlining throughout this book. I state that an honest, open state of mind combined with specific ethnographic techniques could help forge a sensitive and inclusive approach to development practice. I identify ‘listening’ as the core skill required by development workers since the needs of others can only be responded to once they have been heard. The tools and techniques I outline are designed to aid the outsider in the quest to become a good listener. If listening to and being responsive to others become the core concerns of development practitioners the resulting initiatives will be wholly positive and human freedom can become a realistic goal. The importance of the methodology I am forging throughout my work struck home to me during one of my most poignant fieldwork experiences. While visiting a village a group of women asked me to walk with them on one of their twice-daily trips to gather water from a well. We had been discussing the water shortages in the village and the devastating effects of the recent drought. A group of four young wives, all of whom had small children, made the offer. As young daughters-in-law the task of collecting water fell to them. Since the village well had dried up in February (2001) it was they who bore the brunt of the problem and so had to solve it by walking seven kilometres twice a day to the nearest village that still had a functioning well. As our trip took us outside the village I noticed the mood changing among the women. They seemed to be experiencing a kind of release and they began to exchange conversation more eagerly than when we had been within the boundary of a homestead. Less attention was given to ensuring that their faces remained 7 covered. On the way to the well before they had heavy pots to carry, xxii

INTRODUCTION

the women sang and were physically very playful with each other. It occurred to me that this time spent collecting water represented a ‘private space’ for the women who shared it. They were free from the watchful eyes of senior members of their joint family and were together with women from other family units. I feel that this time must play an important part in their emotional lives. In this space they can convey stories of concerns and hardships and offer each 8 other much needed support. I wondered what effect the new tanka in their village would have on this space. Once the tanka is complete the women will spend less time collecting water. Although this will clearly be a good thing, what would they do with the time they saved? Would they be able to gather together in a different context and still maintain the frequency of these exchanges? Or would their time be taken up with other tasks that might constrain them within the home, limiting the contact they can have with women from other households? Not only does this account highlight the variety of contexts in which ‘private space’ can be found, but it also suggests that not all members of a community may experience developments like building a tanka in a wholly positive way. Experiences such as these have helped me appreciate the need for gender and development to move outside the rigid paradigms and models they use to implement projects and conduct research. Needs are expressed in the most unexpected places and cannot be manufactured to suit an outsider’s narrow perception. The tools required to access the experiences of others rely on the commitment of the practitioner really to listen to the voices of those who do not believe themselves to be free. My critique of development practice and the methodology I outline at the end involve explorations around various themes: subjectivity, dialogue, self-reflexivity, reciprocity and violence. From the beginning to the end of this book these themes weave together in various ways. I constantly challenge the false construction of a female subject in the developing world who is depicted as a helpless victim. Instead, I argue that the development relationship needs to be forged through sensitive open dialogue that allows each party to give something to the other. Reciprocity is the defining feature of the dialogue I advocate. Rather than perceiving aid as a one-way relationship the encounter with a very different life should be seen as an opportunity to reflect on personal beliefs and priorities. If selfxxiii

INTRODUCTION

reflexivity is acknowledged as an aspect of development practice the giver can also receive and vice versa. My concern has been to understand as deeply and comprehensively as possible the barriers to freedom Rajasthani village women experience. Violence is a recurring theme; it highlights the obstacles set in the way of those who wish to achieve gender equality and necessitates an examination of the social constructions of masculinities as well as femininities. Part of the self-reflexivity I advocate involves academics and practitioners being open about what motivates them to work in development. My love of India is a strong motivational force behind my work. My affection for India has grown through my experiences of observing and living with Rajasthani village women. My relationship with this region began in 1995 and has intensified over the years. I have learned much about myself because of the willingness of Poonam, Parvati and Devi and many others to let me 9 into their lives. My personal concerns are motivated by my strong feminist convictions. Despite the criticisms directed throughout this book at many scholars and activists who wish to help women in the developing world, I too share their vision that we want to live in a world in which we can all enjoy gender equality. In essence, this book represents a mirror throwing out different reflections of the developing world. When different eyes look into the same mirror different images are thrown back. Different perceptions of that image form and these, in turn, translate into different priorities, concerns and experiences. When a Rajasthani woman looks into the mirror she sees a very different life to that depicted by a facilitator from a Western NGO. For development projects to be effective these two images need to enter into a dialogue that is both empathetic and open. I propose a methodology through which this may be achieved.

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Chapter 1

The Development Discourse

I

begin this chapter with an overview of the criticisms of the development discourse by a number of scholars who argue that it is a discourse founded on a hierarchy of knowledge that privileges Western thought over other cultures. Such superiority is apparent through the term ‘underdeveloped’, which can only be understood through its oppositional relationship to the term ‘developed’. To be developed is to be enlightened; to be underdeveloped is to be ignorant. I then examine how this hierarchy is the product of a deeper and larger macro-power structure. By adopting a Foucauldian analysis of power I examine how NGOs are the vehicles by which a Western hegemony can be maintained over the course of change in the developing world. Bound up in Foucault’s analysis of power are the notions of repression (through discipline) and resistance. I then examine how this power limits human freedom and consider the possibilities by which individuals may reject its grasp. To consider how individuals resist I have identified the focus of repression in the construction of the human subject. The development discourse has constructed a static subject that becomes a controlled object. Following Foucault, the subject becomes passive through the ways in which he or she allows repressive practices to control or discipline his or her body. I then develop Foucault’s analysis by arguing that the female body has been subjected to extreme control, the extent of which feminist scholars are only just beginning to unravel. I argue that, despite discourses and repression, human subjectivity remains highly complex and in a constant state of flux. In contrast to Foucault’s passive subject, this dynamic subject can be characterized as having agency, a quality I argue that all humans possess to varying degrees. Human agency is a vital resource in true development, which I explore more fully in Chapters 3 and 4. In this chapter my

1

CHALLENGING THE NGOs

concern is to highlight how the development discourse has, through its symbolic construction of an underdeveloped subject, suppressed this agency. In contrast, I present the possibility of exploring subjectivity and identity through open dialogue between others. All parties involved in dialogue should be concerned with aiding others in the quest for personal growth and understanding. Such a relationship eradicates the mythical Other because it is grounded in physical face-to-face communication. This relationship must be founded on mutual respect and trust. NGO workers whose honest intention is to respond to poverty and suffering can challenge the mythical representations of the underdeveloped created by the development discourse through forging real dialogue and interactions with those they seek to help. The practical implementation of this relationship requires ethnographic techniques that are designed to enable human interaction to take place rather than to impose the will of an Other. Such ethnographic techniques must, however, take into consideration the current critiques of anthropology, which charge that it is rooted in a claim to authority rather than a real desire to ‘know’ others. I will examine the work of anthropologists who have attempted to present their field work in a more open and transparent way so as to overcome the criticisms made by scholars who assert that the discipline is primarily concerned with preserving the anthropologist as the one who ‘knows’ about Others. I conclude that a form of development practice rooted in the social reality of others is only possible if practitioners are willing to reflect on their own actions and to ask themselves if they are motivated by the desire to ‘know’ and to respond to the needs of others. The activity of helping others could in fact result in positive gain for both the NGO worker and local people. Aid could be more than an act of giving; it could be a reciprocal gift that brings benefits to all who interact with it. If development workers were to reflect on their motivations and concerns they could learn about themselves and change in response to what they discover. This level of self-reflexivity would be sparked by the reactions and responses of local people whose perceptions of the Other (NGO worker) may differ from the self perceptions held by the development practitioner. The relationship between development workers and local people could in fact represent a space in which all occupants gain something. 2

THE DEVELOPMENT DISCOURSE

Deconstructing the hegemonic development discourse Privileging Western knowledge In An Anthropological Critique of Development Hobart (1993) explores the relationship between scientific and local knowledge in the practice of development.1 He describes how a hierarchy of knowledge has been established that privileges scientific rational thought; those that do not possess such knowledge (developing world) are deemed ignorant. The term ‘underdeveloped’2 is used to denote those whom the West sees as in need of enlightenment (Esteva 1993). According to Hobart, development practice is in reality a strategy for the maintenance of Western sovereignty through transforming the underdeveloped so as to fit them into a vision that reflects the way the dominant powers (West) would like the world to be (Chambers 1997; Escobar 1988 and 1995; Sachs 1992). Gramsci (1971) anticipates this argument when he describes how modernization theory sees society or culture as the obstacle and the element that must be changed if hegemonic values are to be imposed and Western power assert its control. Through this process of transformation the underdeveloped is encouraged to strive for the status of a developed person ‘the knowledges of the peoples being developed are ignored or treated as mere obstacles to rational progress’ (Hobart 1993: 2). In fact, the individuals who are supposed to be the recipients of improved lives are rendered passive. Agency is identified only with changes in the economic or political structures of a country, and Western knowledge, through the process of development, consequently embeds itself in the political culture of underdeveloped countries. Pottier (1993) highlights the extent to which the development discourse assumes that macro economic, political and social changes can be achieved through framing particular projects. Aid is tied to certain prerequisites that the developing country must meet before it is handed over. The West requires proof that the developing country is competent in the task of changing itself in line with the Western model of modernization. The ‘trust’ of the Western aid organization or government must be won by staging democratic elections and implementing free market principles.3 Those placed in the category of underdeveloped are considered ignorant and in need of the continued presence of Western NGOs. If a project fails, development practitioners often blame the local community’s lack of appropriate knowledge (Mamdani 1972).4 The 3

CHALLENGING THE NGOs

development discourse thus impoverishes local knowledge (Richards 1993). Those targeted to receive aid are not involved in the decisionmaking (Black 1991); instead Western constructions of knowledge determine who is qualified to know and act and who is not. The discourse creates the development ‘expert’ (typically white, middle/ upper-class and educated), the only one who possesses the wisdom to effect positive and lasting change (Parpart 1999). This expert designs the development policies, which, through their micro focus, hide a macro-level political agenda that is detached from the daily realities of the poor. Tucker (1999) states that the whole development discourse is little more than a myth: he argues that this myth must be critically examined and the question posed: what purpose does it serve? The rhetoric of development practice (explored here in detail in Chapter 5) depends on the projection of this fictitious underdeveloped Other. This Other symbolically represents the supposed needs of the developing world, but because the development discourse has constructed this Other it blocks access to real people and real needs. The huge budgets that development agencies command, contrasted with the limited success their interventions achieve, clearly suggests that something is going wrong. De Sousa Santos (1999: 30) states: ‘Suffice it to recall how the great promises of modernity remain unfulfilled or how their fulfilment has turned out to have perverse effects.’ She lists statistics that reveal an everwidening gap between rich and poor.5 Further evidence to support the claim that development is failing to deliver on its promise of global equality can be found in numerous analyses of failed development projects (Crewe and Harrison 2000; Gardner and Lewis 1996; Hobart 1993; Marchand and Parpart 1999; Mosse 1994 and 2005). Authors of case studies often identify a main reason for a project’s lack of success as inadequate consultation with members of the target community (Chapter 6). NGOs’ actions suggest that they believe that consultation between NGO workers and the recipients of aid is not needed because NGOs believe they already ‘know’ the focus of their compassion. However, if they really knew what their recipients needed then surely the success rate would be higher? The effects of NGOs will continue to be limiting for as long as they are focused on this symbolic Other rather than the lived realities of others. Escobar (1988), Esteva (1993: 90), Hayter (1971), Hobart (1993), Mosely (1987: 21) and Sobhan (1989) all describe how the overarching 4

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discourse of development functions to prevent reality from emerging through its repressive homogenization of whole populations into this image of a poverty stricken Subject (or Other). In Chapter 4 I show that this process of homogenization occurs particularly within the gender and development discourse. Despite the objective of a gendered approach to development that recognizes differences between members of a community, the aim of allowing those who have been marginalized to be heard (mainly women) is not achieved because the gender and development discourse relies on a singular notion of Woman. De Groot describes how women in this discourse are understood to be seen as ‘exotic specimens, as oppressed victims, as sex objects or as the most ignorant and backward members of “backward” societies’ (De Groot 1991: 115). Women are portrayed as a weak Other contrasted against the strong liberated women of the West. All that has been achieved is the creation of a new Other (Woman) to exist within the already existing Other of the developing world. The result is the double repression of women in the developing world by patriarchy and then by liberal Western feminists (a recurring theme I will consider throughout this book). Why does this Western hegemony exist? Manzo, under Derrida’s influence, argues that the ‘pervasiveness of logocentric thinking in the field of development studies explains why subversive counter-discourses are not taken more seriously’ (Manzo 1991: 8). In other words, Manzo uses the term logocentrism to explain why development critiques have had so little impact on the nature of interventions. Manzo links the notion of Western development to the concept of truth. He argues that the universal concept of progress, which underlies the development discourse, is considered the only worthy goal for which to aim and remains uncontested. The development discourse believes that there is only one path for human progression, which involves the transformation from ‘underdeveloped’ to ‘developed’. The boundary used to mark this change represents ‘a standard ostensibly above politics’ (Manzo 1991: 205). The claim that this truth is beyond the realm of politics may also explain the lack of negotiation and mediation between different discourses of progress. The development discourse, to its practitioners, represents a truth that is beyond reproach. However, Manzo shows that, in reality, this truth relies on a symbolic construction of a 5

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needy, underdeveloped subject that is the product of a particular historical narrative written by white, heterosexual European males. This narrative was originally produced to protect and justify the Western colonial presence. In turn, the motivation for European men to conquer and invade can be linked to a notion of hegemonic masculinity that relies on aggression and authority for its construction. The roots of this colonial, masculine hegemony lie within the binary opposition Self (white, heterosexual, European male)/Other (rest of the world). The white European male is symbolic of the Self that ‘knows’. The geographic location of those who ‘know’ accounts for the symbolic separation of space between North and South (Marcus and Fischer 1986), which results in the uneven distribution of power in the world today. This symbolic order is generated and sustained at the macro level. A Foucauldian analysis of power reveals how the effects of this hegemony extend beyond the visible structures of the state. The Foucauldian concept of power is heterogeneous; some power may be hierarchically organized while other forms are socially dispersed. Power is in reality everywhere and those in dominant positions can deploy it to fulfil their objectives. Foucault distinguishes between domination and power. Domination refers to those asymmetrical relationships of power in which subordinated people have little room for manoeuvre because a few who dominate control their mobility. The state is an institutional structure that fulfils the programme of government, and it is the government that dominates, operating through a set of instruments that allow its programmes to be implemented. The modern state is founded on reason, or specifically on rational principles that are intrinsic to it; these are grounded in logos,6 singular universal truths that are taken to be beyond reproach or doubt. This rationality is primarily concerned with maintaining sovereignty rather than meeting the needs of its populace. This analysis of power, I argue, is directly applicable to the way NGOs exercise power.7 The NGO operates as a government institution and exercises its might by marginalizing the developing world into a homogenous population of poverty stricken people (the created Other). Power is exercised through money, and those who want donor aid must conform to the dominant rationality of the ‘giving’ institution (Hulme and Edwards 1997). According to Hulme and Edwards (1997) and Edwards and Hulme (1992) NGO workers insist 6

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on certain conditions (which larger donor agencies have often set) that determine the specific nature of the projects implemented. These conditions remove the possibility of dialogue through which projects can be constructed in partnership with local communities. Individuals within target communities are therefore treated as passive subjects and are denied the agency to shape their own futures. This imposed subjectivity contradicts the stated objectives of development practice because it serves to limit rather than increase human freedom. Escobar (1995) and Sachs (1992) go so far as to describe it as violent. This oppression is hidden within development because of the objective of alleviating suffering. It is not the stated desire to rid the developing world of poverty that is the problem but rather the way in which this suffering is symbolized within the boundary of a subject projected as the ‘underdeveloped Other’. This symbol acts as a camouflage, and as long as this suffering subject exists it requires a second subject who presents itself as possessing the potential to liberate. However, rather than liberate, the Western masculine Self exerts discipline or control over the Other, maintaining it within the bounds of its suffering. This explains, and is supported by, the evidence of increased levels of poverty and global inequality. For Foucault individual happiness cannot occur while a passive subject or Other is used to constrain the potential of others. He stresses the need to counteract the aggression of the controlling principle (Western Self) with the beauty of the arts. Foucault describes an ‘aesthetic principle’ inherent in each individual, which, according to him, is the source of freedom because it holds the possibility of allowing creativity to spark the subject’s evolution in accordance with her or his innate, internal nature. Through this process the body is freed from the confines of its imposed subjectivity. Applying this Foucauldian solution to development practice would involve NGOs respecting the rights of individuals in the developing world to make their own life choices. Foucault’s work can contribute to critiques of development with this description of the human subject as an agent who possesses the potential to resist repressive practices. Foucault challenges assertions that lived existence is only possible through compliance with an imposed subjectivity. However, it is important to be wary of a shift towards a privileging of individuality. It is this process of individuation that allows power to be exerted in the first place. In the next 7

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three chapters I will show that collective action is the most effective way of challenging repressive power structures. Fagan (1999) argues that local people should be perceived as agents of development rather than as passive recipients. Therefore, communication between NGO workers and agents of development must replace the repressive binary opposition of the current hegemony. Foucault argues that if we look after ourselves (by pursuing the aesthetic principle) we can look after others, but he misses out the extent to which overarching structures limit the potential of individuals to take care of themselves (particularly abused women) (Braidotti 1989; McNay 1992). Also, taking care of one’s self may involve exerting power over others. Deconstructing the passive subject The answer to overcoming this hegemony is not the withdrawal of Western assistance from the developing world. It is unacceptable for NGOs just to disappear from the lives of others for fear of being accused of dominating and suppressing them (as Bloch 1983; Escobar 1995; Hayter 1971; Hobart 1993; and Sobhan 1989 seem to suggest). Di Leonardo (1991: 24) rejects such an outcome, arguing that ‘post-modern cultural relativism falls into politicized irresponsibility’. Theory falling in the category of ‘post development’ (Parfitt 2002) can certainly be accused of this. Fagan (1999: 180) similarly argues that ‘adopting the privilege of being antidevelopment is not in my view politically or morally viable when sitting in an “overdeveloped” social and individual location.’ Instead, the challenge to the macro-level power structure must come from the grass roots; the lived experiences and agency of those this symbolic order wishes to maintain as passive subjects. Benhabib (1986) offers two models for the human subject around whom she claims all traditional philosophical perspectives structure their thought. First, Hegel’s ‘thinking cognitive’ Self and second, the ‘active’ Marxist Self that is capable of appropriating and transforming nature. Both models predicate the shaping of consciousness in terms of either a unified Self that cognates on an object (Hegel), or an active Self that shapes the world (Marx). Whichever model is used, relations between selves are viewed in terms of the interactions of consciousness, which are placed in opposition to each Other. In these models the Self precedes the interaction with other Selves. The subject enters consciousness as a static complete entity, individu8

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ation preceding socialization. Derrida (1976) describes a third, contrasting, model. His subject is dynamic and is constructed through linguistic interaction with others.8 It is constantly transforming itself as it is reshaped by other beings. In the models offered by Marx and Hegel, the subject is placed in opposition to objects (Others). This binary split sets the ground for a pervasive power relationship that assumes the superiority of the subject who seeks to impose its will on the Objects of its gaze. The Subject (Self) is defined by its possession of knowledge, which thus positions it in authority. The Self is characterized as the supreme all-knowing being. This concept of a dominant subject relies on an Other, which is diametrically opposite – rather than being assertive it is passive. As we have seen above, this allows the subject to impose authority, translating clearly into the binary opposition that separates ‘knowers’ from those who ‘do not know’. The subject is therefore dependent on the Other’s continued disempowerment; without it, over whom could it claim power? Apart from Benhabib and Derrida, scholars who critique the traditional binary construction of the subject include Habermas (1996), who describes the philosophy of the subject as taking an ‘observer perspective’ in which the observer Self (who is dominant) looks down on passive Objects. These objects are denied agency and are characterized negatively through their lack of resistance. To be able to express their own subjectivity individuals must be free to speak from their unique subject position. It must be recognized that it is the interaction between selves that shapes an individual’s awareness of her or his own unique subjectivity. Acquiring consciousness of subjectivity requires the individual to realize his or her difference from others. This appreciation of difference is the fundamental challenge to homogenous constructions of the subject as Other. Habermas is advocating a notion of intersubjectivity that recognizes the constant shifts and changes that each subject will undergo as a result of dialogue with others. Intersubjectivity should be substituted for the objectifying perspective of the observing Self. This change in philosophical perspective allows human beings to be defined by their own agency. The possibility for transformation is also a crucial feature; as each subject interacts with others, change is expected to happen within each party (intersubjectivity). Change must be embraced rather than feared as an indication of loss of control.9 Habermas thus replaces Foucault’s notion of a self-contained 9

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subject with an understanding of social relations as a series of constantly mediated communicative exchanges between a Self and an other. The other is not an object (Other) but an irreducible subject (other). The ‘knowing subject’ is no longer privileged because of its authoritative objectifying lens. Resistance is expressed through coordinated action between selves (other/other) rather than being a process limited to the isolated subject as Foucault suggested. Throughout this book I use this dynamic notion of subjectivity to challenge the construction of a passive Other in various discourses that claim to be founded on a wish to help others (development, gender and development (GAD) and Western liberal feminism). For example, the Rajasthani women I write about in Chapter 3 express a sense of their own personhood, rather than being objects that require assistance, which motivates them to devise strategies of resistance. Relations between NGO workers and agents of development To be more successful development practice must deconstruct the hierarchy of development practitioner (Self) over the focus of his or her action (‘underdeveloped Other’). This process is more complex than merely acknowledging that any social reality consists not of a homogenous Other who represents the object of intervention but of a plurality of voices and subjectivities possessing a variety of needs. Realization that the Other is in fact others has so far only succeeded in altering the target of development aid; for example, the young newly married low caste woman replaces the high caste male elder as recipient. The power structure remains unchallenged because the development practitioner is still the all-knowing expert. Acquiring an appreciation and respect for difference must begin with a person’s acknowledgement of his or her individual positioning within a system structured around this binary opposition. I ask how can a position be achieved where recognition of identities and subjectivities is not reduced to the binary opposition of Self over Other? Acknowledging others The relationship between others or specifically between NGO workers and agents of development must be founded on respect of others and a desire to understand their differences. Luce Irigaray’s work is useful in understanding the qualities that must be present in a relationship that is free from power. Irigaray (2000) states that the space

10

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between subjects must be transformed from one in which power is contested to one shaped by peace and tranquillity. As a psychoanalyst she believes that the relationship between patient and therapist could be a useful starting point in trying to shape new positive human interactions. It may seem a contradiction to assume that a relationship founded on the authority of a therapist can offer a model for more equable human relationships. However, Irigaray is suggesting that both parties take on the responsibility of aiding the other to personal fulfilment. In such a relationship no one side takes ultimate control. Irigaray is projecting a notion of reciprocity through the interactions she describes. In applying this therapist/patient model to everyday relationships, Irigaray suggests that each party could switch from being therapist to patient, thus allowing each person to share the responsibility of helping the other. Each party would exist to enable the other to greater fulfilment and happiness. In doing this the power relationship embedded in therapy is dissolved. As a feminist Irigaray is particularly concerned to use this type of dialogue to challenge and eradicate gender inequality. In such a space, listening to the other does not involve the destruction of the other through the projection of patriarchal images of power and control. At present the differences between men and women have become areas of contestation. Aspects of masculinity and femininity are in competition for supremacy and ultimate control (currently still men). Irigaray believes that love is the emotion that allows individuals to experience a sense of unbounded equality with each other. When love is experienced and transferred between subjects neither is aware of the space between them; there are neither areas of friction nor boundaries determining the nature of their interaction.10 Irigaray (2000: 23) writes: ‘Let us invent together that which allows us to live in and go on building the world, beginning with this world that is each of us.’ She believes that love must exist in human relationships if power and authority are to be removed. Irigaray stresses that understanding our Self involves acknowledging differences in relation to an other. She claims that it is through this relationship with an other that you come to know yourself. There is a reflexive dimension in the dialogue with the other. ‘As I know you I let you see what I know of you; in return you allow me insight into what you know of me’ (Irigaray 2000: 32). This dialogue relies on the determination of each party to know the other and, in 11

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doing so, facilitate the other in their own personal development. Love is the key because feeling love removes the drive to control, possess and conquer an object of lust. The purpose of a loving relationship is to facilitate the other’s self-exploration and, in doing so, aid your own. A truly loving relationship preserves an internal space in each other to allow them to grow and become themselves, awaken to who they are free from external constraints of conformity. Irigaray describes a relationship based on a perfectly reciprocal dialogue in which both beings reflect what they have learnt of each other. Silence is a vital component in this discourse between men and women; without it reflection is not possible. Without silence the voice of the other cannot be heard. Silence will emerge out of a deep respect generated through this relationship between genders. ‘Silence allows each self to be preserved within its own alterity’ (Irigaray 2000: 62).11 She goes on to say; ‘I must be quiet to be attentive to the difference of the other, so the relationship can grow’ (Irigaray 2000: 65). A path of sharing that such a relationship involves would reduce any conflict between the genders because the emphasis is placed on preserving the silence of the relationship rather than competing for supremacy. According to Irigaray, if such relationships comprised society, then the arms of the state would operate to preserve and respect individuality rather than master it and acquire supremacy. If development practice were founded on such a dialogue, it would disrupt the present Western hegemony. NGO workers must acknowledge their position in the binary opposition developed/underdeveloped and move towards a reciprocal relationship as outlined above. However, if reciprocity is to be achieved then NGO workers must be open to the possibility of changing as a result of interacting with agents of development. If change is accepted as a benefit of such a relationship the power imbalance caused by the presence of donor money can be reduced. Although the agent of development will not give money back to the NGO workers it can at least give them the chance to see themselves in a new way. If aid were to be conceived of in terms of a reciprocal gift from which all parties benefit, the power embedded in the term ‘aid’ could be replaced with a sense of equality. Stirrat and Henkel state that, as it currently stands, there is nothing reciprocal about the act of giving in development. ‘Here, the act of receiving is hedged with conditionality at best, while at worst the gift may become a form of 12

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patronage and a means of control’ (Stirrat and Henkel 1997: 72). Aid is a vehicle through which the giver attains dominance over an Other. Stirrat and Henkel go on to say that development operates in a similar manner to missionary organizations in that both NGOs and missionaries require the receiver of their aid to conform to certain predetermined conditions. The traditional missionary requires the Other to convert to a particular form of Christianity,12 while the development worker insists on the Other conforming to its orthodoxy embedded in techniques of participation (Chapter 5) designed to aid the transformation of the Other to the state of a liberated person.13 The process of conversion to the will of the Other remains the same in both examples. Stirrat and Henkel claim that within development this transformation of the Other is possible because the gift of aid is pure in that it does not require anything material in return.14 This places the receivers of gifts in a position of indebtedness and they become pliable to the will of the developed Other. This process of giving is not concerned with what the receiver actually desires. As these scholars point out, there is a contradiction between the NGO agenda that wants people to recognize that the West has got it right, and the desires of local people for material goods. Local people are not overcome by the desire to participate and transform themselves into someone Other than who they innately are. It is realistic to assume that local people want to increase their material standard of living and may be willing to comply with the will of the Other to achieve it. As Parry (cited by Henkel and Stirrat 1997) writes, the link between the free gift and salvation is purely a preoccupation of the Western NGO. However, the concept of ‘gift’ could be reciprocal if givers could let go the desire to transform the Other and realize the potential for their own growth through dialogue with others. To be open to what the other can give, driven by a wish to express love and respect, holds powerful potential to restructure the relationship between NGO workers and agents of development. Responding to others For NGO workers to centre themselves in a way that would assure their openness to personal change they must undergo some personal exploration prior to entering into a dialogue with agents of development. For NGO workers to regard others (agents of development) without judgement or preconception, they must be able to listen to 13

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the experiences of others. Listening is therefore crucial to development practice and can only occur within the context of silence. But this process is more complex than NGO workers merely keeping quiet to hear the words of others (agents of development). Listening is a complex process. In trying to understand it more fully the work of the psychotherapist Rogers (1967) is useful. According to Rogers the ‘listener’ must receive what is being given to them by the ‘listened to’ from a place of ‘unconditioned positive regard’. Unconditioned positive regard (UPR) is a term used in person-centred counselling to denote an attitude unconstrained by prior judgement or value-laden interpretations, a ‘positive affective attitude’. Rogers first formulated UPR in the 1960s. Fundamental to UPR is the listener’s ability to confront and overcome her or his own issues. Rogers describes how individuals create a façade through which to present themselves to the world. He argues that no constructive relationship can be formed through such a front. The starting point has to involve individuals listening to their Self, acknowledging their true feelings at any given moment. Acknowledgement of feelings allows a person to be authentic. Rogers (1967: 17) highlights a certain paradox ‘when I accept myself as I am, then I change.’ It is impossible for individuals to listen to an other until they have first accepted who they are. However, bound up in this very process of discovering inner feelings that provoke personal responses is the notion of change. As soon as people see with clarity who they are, they transform. Rogers describes how attitudes form the substance of personhood, so it is these the individual must search for and articulate. Giving voice to personal beliefs and assumptions sounds easy, but in practice individuals approach this venture hesitantly. Rogers claims it is because the process is risky and fear emerges as a powerful response. Change is frightening and remains the biggest barrier to an individual’s ability to understanding first him or her self and then others. According to Rogers the role of listener is rewarding but can only be entered into once the individual has undergone extensive selfreflection. ‘We can only build bridges to other islands if [she] he is first of all willing to be [her] him self and permitted to be [her] him self’15 (Rogers 1967: 21). Rogers believes that once individuals open up to the realities of being them they become less eager to change and control others. The process involved in acquiring this relationship of contentment with an other is fundamental to therapy. Rogers 14

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is describing the personal development necessary for potential counsellors or psychotherapists if they are to position themselves in a place of UPR and treat others through the facilitation of this process of self-discovery.16 This concept of UPR is also important for development practice. The power relationship between practitioner and target group will only be deconstructed once the outsider can accept and respect the differences of those they claim to want to help. The words ‘develop’, ‘improve’, even ‘empower’ must be replaced by the notion of respect grounded in a sense of UPR. Development practitioners must acknowledge that they are entering into a dialogue, a relationship with others (equal beings) and the experience of interacting with them will involve change within their intersubjectivity. Reaching others in practice Deconstructing the other in anthropology The relationship between ‘listener’ and ‘listened to’ previously outlined cannot be transferred cross-culturally without the help of a specific methodology consisting of skills and tools. The process of trying to understand and relate to others whose lives are completely different is not simple. The observation and representation of others are the concerns of ethnographers. Pottier et al. (2003) observe that ethnography, in its attempt to get close to the everyday lives of people through field research, has much to contribute to the practice of development. However, ethnography is part of a discipline that postmodern scholars have heavily criticized. As with development, the relationship between ethnographer and research subject is based on a binary opposition in which the ‘outsider’ is still best qualified to ‘know’ what is going on in a community that is not theirs (Spencer 1989). Ethnography is in fact the ‘textualization of the Other’ (Zene 1999: 107). As Zene (2002) points out, the Other of anthropological field work is read as an open text and can only be partially described in the final ethnographic product. Ethnography can never be assumed to be a true definition of the Other. By applying a participatory/observer technique to collecting ethnographic data, Geertz (1975) tries to deconstruct the power relationship inherent in anthropological field work. He believes that such an approach can overcome the authoritarianism of anthropologists like Malinowski (1992) and Radcliffe-Brown (1954) who, through their field research, expressed their claim to superior insight. Their 15

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functionalist approach allowed them to produce homogenous images of their communities.17 Their ethnographies were presented as depictions of real life and ensured them the authoritative position as those who ‘know’ what happens there. The main criticism of many early anthropologists was their tendency to assume that a community existed as an ahistoric phenomenon unaffected by change. Marcus and Fischer (1986) criticize anthropologists for producing ethnographies that present communities as isolated, unchanged by external forces such as the market or the state. This can be seen in the work of Levi-Strauss (1963) who developed the structuralist approach,18 which claimed that binary oppositions underlay all human culture. Evans-Pritchard (1971) produced a monograph of his community, which, although it attempted to take an historical perspective, failed to account for diversity.19 Geertz (1975) talks of the need for ethnographers to recognize their place as outsiders and thus their exclusion from the community in which their research is focused. As outsiders they must be wary of the limitations such positioning brings to bear on their research in terms of the materials to which they have access. Geertz believes that you can only really see what happens inside a community if you are willing to attempt to overcome your status as an outsider and step inside the community (as far as possible), hence the stress on participation. Researchers must take part in the activities they record in their field notes if they are to acquire some acceptance by community members. As a result of this participation an ethnographer may become a regular feature of the community and more possibilities to participate will open up, thus enriching the final ethnographic product. Geertz stresses that the anthropologist will never be a fully-fledged member of the community and will always retain a degree of ‘outsideness’. In reality, by virtue of their mission to produce ethnographies, anthropologists will always be observers on the periphery of their informants’ lives. Anthropology was applied to the role of supporting and developing colonial relations (Asad 1973). Sponsel (1992) argues that in the colonial period anthropologists spoke about rather than to Others. Colonial regimes employed anthropologists to gather information to work out how best to rule local people. At this time anthropologists were more interested in conveying a specific image of local people (often of an uncivilized Other) to colonial officials than engaging in dialogues with them. Anthropologists became authorities on local 16

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people and advised colonial officials on how best to civilize the uncivilized aspects of local culture. Benedict (1934) highlights the unethical and dubious nature of this relationship when he asks: what right do anthropologists have to speak for others?20 Anthropology has had to confront this history and consider how to shape a methodology that can give voice to others and reduce the tendency for anthropologists to represent the subjects of field research through singular representations. Gramsci (Germino 1990: 12) states that a politics of including the excluded is only possible if first there is a transformation of consciousness in those who hold power. The spark for this change must, Gramsci claims, come from the marginalized. Those in power must become ‘organic leaders’ for those at the periphery. Applying this idea to development practice would involve NGO workers responding to the needs of others rather than projecting their own objectives onto a fictitious image of the Other. Levinas and Kearney (1986) also argue that a change of consciousness is required in those who hold power. Similarities can be seen in the works of Levinas and Irigaray. They describe a reciprocal relationship founded on love (an ethic of the passions). As Levinas and Kearney (1986: 22) put it: ‘The very value of love is the impossibility of reducing the Other to myself of coinciding into sameness’. Difference must be embraced rather than feared. In a relationship founded on love it becomes impossible for either party to speak on behalf of an Other because the concern is to understand each other. Levinas does not, however, refer to a dialogue in the same way as Irigaray does. Instead, he describes an encounter in which we come face to face with each other. In such an encounter each Other would be forced to acknowledge that the Other is present only in her or his imagination. The realization that the Other is fictitious creates a possibility that the others existing in social reality can replace this created Other. The ethics missing from ethnographic practice could be found in such a reciprocal relationship in which respect for human differences is the driving motivation. Ethnographers become those who witness others, rather than reduce them to objects of their singular gaze. Such an ethical approach to research would reject the objectification of subjects. A subject could no longer be created in which the scholar assumed power to speak on his or her behalf. For Fabian this does not mean that anthropologists should stop writing about the Other, for ‘to stop writing about the Other will not 17

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bring liberation’ (Fabian 1990: 265). The Other is still needed in the context of development practice. NGO workers need to understand the needs of an Other in order to respond to them. This Other must be a representation of a collective of others. It is impossible for NGO workers to respond to people individually. The length of time this would require would make such a system practically unworkable. Fabian argues that this would not bring liberation from inequality as other inequalities would emerge, not least in deciding who should be responded to first. In addition, as I show in Chapters 3 and 4, needs are negotiated naturally through collective networks and alliances. People are likely to become aware of needs as a result of interactions with others. A process that is overly individualistic may in fact be counterproductive to the objectives of grass-root development. Fabian advocates transforming ethnography into a process that allows the other to be present rather than one through which ‘differences are annihilated’ (Zene 1999: 94). Fabian (1990) is clear; the function of an ethnography is not to represent an Other but to make others present. This concern should be the primary principle of development practice. Cornwall and Lindisfarne (1994) neatly describe the methodology that is needed as a politics of location in which they say no one has the right to speak on behalf of others; instead, anthropologists should seek to give legitimacy to authentic voices through their work. In the same manner a development worker should seek to reach the opinions of those they wish to help. This dialogic approach requires a change in perception, which Habermas (1996) outlined in terms of seeing the ‘Other as another Self’. Rather than participating in it, as Geertz would like, the anthropologist must witness the dialogues occurring around her or him. Anthropology is not about acquiring knowledge of an Other but about a constant dialogue with others who possess both unique and shared perceptions of their own subjectivity and the environment in which they live. As Zene is careful to point out, ‘a discourse on ethical dialogue can never be concluded for it must remain attentive to new voices that can intervene and carry on the dialogue’ (Zene 1999: 118). In adopting this methodology NGO workers must be prepared to make a long-term commitment to those with whom they enter into dialogue. Central to this is recognition that needs change as individuals change. Development as a process is never over. Successful dialogue with an other can be measured by the extent to 18

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which researchers allow the process to transform them: ‘we do not remain what we are’ (Gadamer 1975: 341). It is logical that the research process should spark self-transformation. I have already described how the subject in the works of both Habermas and Derrida is never static. The researcher or NGO worker must be open to this natural process of change and recognize that she or he can learn from others. Self-transformation may be an uncomfortable experience for some ethnographers. Zene writes: ‘This becomes for the anthropologist an ongoing process which destabilizes his certainties and decontextualizes his foreignness (or exteriority)’ (Zene 1999: 86). This perhaps explains the tendency for anthropologists to do much of the interpretation of their data after they return from the ‘the field’. In the comfort of her or his home the researcher is able to incorporate new experiences within well-established conceptual frameworks, thus maintaining an acceptable comfort zone. Appadurai (1988: 16– 17) states that observations in the field acquire meaning only when ‘validated by a dialogue at home in terms of the ruling trends of thought’. Appadurai goes on to describe how the ethnographer sets off to the field with a head full of social theories and research techniques. Even when observations contradict expectations they are fitted neatly within adaptable social theories. Asad (1986) talks about an internal dialogue that is present within the anthropologist as she or he goes about the business of field work in which a constant communication is maintained with the ‘near Other’ (Western academia) about the ‘distant Other’ (research subjects).21 I believe that the concept of reciprocity is a central part of an ethical approach to field work that holds the potential to allow researchers to accept self-reflexivity as a positive and vital element of the experience. Ethnographers’ encounters with their own alterity and the opportunity to delve into the deep corners of their consciousness should be seen as benefits of conducting field work rather than something to be feared. However, in avoiding a confrontation with her or his intersubjectivity the researcher is denying herself or himself full consciousness and perpetuating a destructive power relationship that prevents others from existing on paper. Bakhtin (Todorov 1984) reinforces much of what Irigaray outlines. He stresses that individual consciousness is only possible through a relationship with an other to whom we open ourselves and who mirrors ourselves in order for us to appreciate what constitutes our 19

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being. ‘I achieve self-consciousness; I become myself only by revealing myself to another, through another and with an Other’s help’ (Bakhtin quoted in Todorov 1984: 96). The encounter with others inherent in field work could provoke such an internal dialogue as described above.22 This dialogue is likely to continue after the period of field work is over. Self-reflexivity in the research process Recognition of personal development as a benefit of this reciprocal dialogue (advocated by Bakhtin and Irigaray) needs further consideration. Ethnographic research by anthropologists concerned to recognize and challenge the power relationship of researcher/researched suggests that a more honest and open approach to writing and recording field work may at least give ethnographers a chance to externalize their presuppositions. However, work that takes a more personalized approach has been criticized as anecdotal and overly confessional; in short, it is not academic. It simply does not stand up to the dictates of what the academy deems scholarly. Stoller neatly sums up the anthropologist’s dilemma in these contemporary times when he writes: ‘It is simply not appropriate to expose to our colleagues the texture of our hearts or the uncertainties of our “gaze”.’ Yet, quite rightly, he states, ‘I am a character in the text; it is an account of my experiences’ (Stoller and Oakes 1987: xi). No matter how much I may pretend that my research on the religious experiences of Rajasthani village women is solely about my case studies (Chapter 3), the reality is that my ethnography represents my own perceptions of the others I seek to know. I hope my perceptions are accurate. Each time I go back they alter as my relationship with my research subjects changes, but more significantly as I change and my ‘gaze’ fixes on a different space. My interpretations of what I saw and continue to see become more sophisticated and detailed as time goes on, as I spend longer in the company of my subjects and as I absorb more literature and theory to aid my engagement with my material. What I write on paper about others reflects changes within my Self. The widening of my conceptual framework reflects a growing ability to take in more and more experiences that force me to confront different ways of being. I have to recognize my own growth in this process as a parallel achievement of my research in addition to the data and theorizing I produce. 20

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Stoller’s conviction that ‘he’ must be at the centre of his ethnography motivated his journal style ethnography that followed his own personal journey through his field work.23 What I found interesting in reading his ethnography on witchcraft and sorcery was the extent to which his character was asserted throughout the text. Stoller decides, after some debate over compromising his objectivity, to become a sorcerer’s apprentice. He did so because: ‘They were proud, bound by codes of honour and hospitality, and they were hard. These qualities lived me deeper into the Songhay world, for they were traits that I admired, traits that I wanted to emulate, traits? (sic) which would make me a forceful person’ (Stoller and Oakes 1987: 46) After completing a 240-kilometre trip to a fabled village to which most Songhay were afraid to travel, he felt he gained respect from the villagers. It was ‘as though my trip to Wanzerbe had demonstrated my fortitude, my hardness, my perseverance. I liked that a lot’ (Stoller and Oakes 1987: 49). A picture develops of a man who wants those around him to deem him powerful and strong. One wonders whether his quest to become a sorcerer is about trying to understand what living with that role entails or if it is about acquiring social prestige and authority in a community that adopted him as an outsider. Stoller chooses to recall the instruction he received from his teacher: ‘The incantations I teach you, my son, are full of power. Do not think of them lightly. Be careful of yourself and hide your strength from other people’ (Stoller and Oakes 1987: 125). On reading this ethnography I did not feel he knew his subjects. His account lacked emotion; there was no mention of his personal development. I got the sense he was trying to prove things to himself. He wanted to be seen as powerful, strong, hard – but why? I wondered if his need to project these characteristics reflected his insecurities. If so, I argue that the experience of conducting field work, the isolation from those who know you, could have given him the space to reflect on his subjectivity and face those feelings. The ethnography ends with Stoller overcome with guilt and he runs away. After completing the bulk of his training he had been asked to make a Frenchman ill in revenge for his bad treatment of the villagers. Stoller heard that after his interventions the Frenchman’s sister had died. Villagers came to him and said ‘you are a hard man with much violence deep in your heart’ (Stoller and Oakes 1987: 119), to which he reacted by saying, ‘I was frightened of this power 21

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as well as of the notion that sorcery was real’ (Stoller and Oakes 1987: 123). Two things are revealed here: first, rather than being happy when he receives confirmation that he is now powerful, he becomes terrified; second, his surprise that his actions as a sorcerer actually worked shows that he did not enter his training believing in the knowledge he was being given. He therefore acted dishonestly towards his teacher who offered his skills to him out of respect. Finally, Stoller left, suddenly overwhelmed by the dread of what he had done and unable to face the consequences of his actions. Presenting ethnographic material as a journal does little to challenge the Self/Other opposition inherent in research. Stoller emerges as an outsider intent on making the most of the opportunities presented to him. The absence of any emotional content until perhaps the end when we read of his fear, removes the possibility of a selfreflexive space, which I believe is vital if researchers are to confront their positioning as the all-powerful researcher. Clarification is needed on what exactly constitutes self-reflexivity in research. Stoller’s writing successfully highlights the centrality of the anthropologist in the final product, but it is not self-reflexive. To be selfreflexive requires something more. Anthropologists must stand back and assess critically the impact of their actions and the effect their interactions with others have on the representations of otherness they depict in their final work. In Reflections on Fieldwork in Morocco, Rabinow sets out to do just this. He states at the start of his book that ‘anthropology is founded on the experiential and reflective however such elements have been suppressed by the discipline, rejected as anecdotal. Yet anthropology claims to study humanity and should therefore question on ethical grounds the nature of its relationship with other humans’ (Rabinow 1977: 5). He presents his field work as a set of encounters. He documents his experiences of otherness and is aware of his own otherness in his informants’ eyes. In one passage Rabinow reflects on his relationship with his research assistant. ‘Basically I had been conceiving of him as a friend because of the seeming personal relationship we had established. But Ibrahim, a lot less confusedly, has basically conceptualized me as a resource’ (Rabinow 1977: 29). This diametric reflection allowed Rabinow to appreciate the extent to which other people present themselves as they wish an Other to see them. If the anthropologist wants to piece together an accurate picture of the identity of an other he or she 22

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must look beyond what is immediately presented into the multi layers that comprise any individual’s identity.24 Despite his insightful style of writing and desire to achieve selfreflexivity Rabinow fails to assess critically the impact of his actions. He recounts a sexual encounter with a prostitute (Rabinow 1977: 68– 9) and afterwards indicates that this event proved the extent to which he had managed to become absorbed into Moroccan society. He describes how prostitutes wear veils, yet fails to consider its significance (they must hide their faces because they are associated with shame).25 His analysis fails to make the link between symbols of honour and shame and tight male control of female sexuality within Moroccan family life. When a man sleeps with a prostitute he is seen as displaying his sexual prowess, while the prostitute is regarded as a loose woman without morals (the opposite of the desired chaste, pure wife). Rabinow fails to recognize that he is replicating the desired behaviour of certain hegemonic masculinities in Morocco. His actions clearly align him with a certain group and exclude him from understanding the experiences of others. For this reason sleeping with a prostitute does not award him full membership of Moroccan society. His attempt to be open in his documentation of his field work lacks any real self-reflexivity because he does not consider what type of Moroccan man he is seeking to be and the implications of his choice. Rabinow is clearly concerned that anthropologists reflect more rigorously on their positioning: Whenever an anthropologist enters a culture, he trains people to objectify their life-world for him … but this explicit selfconscious translation into an external medium is rare. The anthropologist creates a doubling of consciousnesses. Therefore, anthropological analysis must incorporate two facts: first, that we ourselves are historically situated through the questions we ask and the manner in which we seek to understand and experience the world; and second, that what we receive from our informants are interpretations, equally mediated by history and culture. Consequently, the data we collect is doubly mediated, first by our own presence and then by the second-order self-reflection we demand from our informants. (Rabinow 1977: 119)

23

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His ethnography, however, displays little evidence of this. In the ethnographies of both Rabinow and Stoller there seems to be a reluctance to delve too deeply.26 The reflections they allow on paper are rather superficial and lack any self-conscious explorations. Neither anthropologist talks about how he has changed as a result of his interactions. While most scholars ignore the link between personal experiences and the final academic product, Knott (1995) states that her personal development was an integral part of her fieldwork experience. Yet she felt that there was no place for her to record this personal element in writing up her academic material. Despite this, Knott asserts that researchers should keep a field-work journal, similar to the journal trainee counsellors are encouraged to keep and in which they record their emotional responses to situations.27 Knott asks why it is so unacceptable for us to talk about our emotions in academia. I strongly believe that my own attempts to examine my positioning as a researcher can only occur in an environment of transparency in which I am forced to document my feelings and concerns. However, adopting a methodology that is selfreflexive in a real sense means that the scholar risks showing her or his emotional vulnerability, not least because their audience is the harsh, unforgiving academy. My personal journal is a vital space in which I can give voice to my concerns and apprehensions, which undoubtedly affect my perceptions, and which in turn determine what is included or excluded from the academic narrative I construct. Rabinow (1986) talks about how anthropologists often disclose what really happened during their field work in whispered conversations conducted behind closed doors. According to him, these moments of personal revelation must find their way into the final ethnography if anthropological research is to acquire the ethical transparency it needs. For many years, anthropologists informally discussed fieldwork experiences among themselves. Gossip about an anthropologist’s field experiences was an important component of that person’s reputation. But such matters were not, until recently, written about ‘seriously’. It remains in the corridors and faculty clubs. But what cannot be publicly discussed cannot be analysed or rebutted. Those domains that cannot be analysed or refuted, and yet are directly central to hierarchy, 24

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should not be regarded as innocent or irrelevant. We know that one of the most common tactics of an elite group is to refuse to discuss – to label as vulgar or uninteresting – issues that are uncomfortable for them. When corridor talk about field work becomes discourse, we learn a good deal. Moving the conditions of production of anthropological knowledge out of the domain of gossip – where it remains the property of those around to hear it – into that of knowledge would be a step in the right direction. (Rabinow 1986: 253)28 In recent years some more personal accounts of field work have been published (Caldwell 1999; Shostak 2000). Malinowski’s personal journal, A Diary in the Strict Sense of the Term, which was published after his death, shows a very different picture from the world he described in his field work. In his diary he talks about his loneliness; he said he ‘felt sick, lonely and in despair’ (Malinowski 1967: 40). He often resented his research subjects and used derogatory words such as ‘primitive’ to describe them (Malinowski 1967: 64). He makes clear that as far as he is concerned the locals are uncivilized (Malinowski 1967: 151). Throughout his diary are references to his lustful urges towards various local women (Malinowski 1967: 16, 27–8, 37, 40, 64). If parts of this account had found their way into his monograph one wonders if it would have received such acclaim. The most poignant acknowledgement I made during my most recent field-work trip centred on the recognition of my preoccupation with my research objectives. In 2001 I returned to a village where I had spent time during my first research trip in 1995. I had watched a group of women in this village perform a ritual to Sita. This ritual has greatly influenced all my subsequent research. On my return I was anxious to record this ritual again. Revisiting some of the women whom I had watched carry out this ritual, I was shocked to hear that they no longer performed it. Panic swept over me as I regarded the inclusion of this ritual as a vital part of my whole book. Once I got some distance from my anxiety I began to realize how deeply selfish my motives were. I believed that I had established a friendship with one of the women in particular, a woman called Poonam with whom I had spent most time and whom I had 25

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continued to contact in my absence by sending her photos and messages. However, I am forced to admit (uncomfortably) that she remains one of my main ethnographic subjects. It is through her that I not only learnt about the Sita ritual but also met many other women who opened my perceptions of religious experiences and the social identities of Rajasthani village women. My intrusion into Poonam’s life has been huge, not least since she has been the focus of various seminar papers. Her presence in my life is undoubtedly secured by the insight she injects into my research. I was confronted with the barrier such a relationship between researcher and researched constructs the moment I asked her if she would do a special performance of the Sita ritual so that I could note down more detail for my ethnography. Reciprocity is a complex relationship to develop with a person whose life holds such academic fascination as Poonam’s does for me. I attempted to show her my life through photos and objects. Realistically, I will never be able to expose her to what living my life entails, so any efforts I make fall short of true reciprocity. However, I endorse Fabian’s view that, despite this unavoidable power relationship, ethnographic research is still worth pursuing. It is only through ethnography that hegemonic constructions of Other can be challenged. In other words, it is only through field work that researchers may be able to forge some understanding of the lives of others. The emphasis on knowing others, however limiting the process, can at least serve to curb the tendency to mythologize about Others. One solution may lie in adopting a style of writing that makes the various narratives embedded in the final ethnography more visible. Gold, in her ethnography (Gold and Gujar 2002), develops a methodology that seeks to record as many narratives and dialogues as possible. The research focus was to document the experiences of the subjects (rather than rulers) in Rajasthan during the period 1930–50. The aim was to focus, through memories that exist today of that time, on the histories of people previously ignored. Personal narratives through stories, oral traditions, ritual and the symbolism of the environment are all presented in an attempt to convey the complex manner in which dialogue is generated and transmitted. Included in the work are the personal reflections of both Gold and her research partner Gujar.29 Gold states in her introduction that she is not concerned to produce a definitive record of community life during this period of history, but to highlight the complexity 26

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involved in recording history. In particular, she argues that focusing on one voice has the effect of excluding and silencing the voices of others. By making the gaps between various narratives obvious and in particular by including her personal reflections on the research process, a degree of transparency is built into the final ethnography. The reader can stand back and assess whose voices she has included and who she has left out. Although this may make it easy for critics to find weaknesses in her scholarship, such a methodology is grounded in a desire to give an honest and open response to the material and personal memories accessed. This style of research paves the way for a more ethically minded approach to field work. The presentation of findings through a web of interlocking narratives and voices does not claim a single authoritative voice but seeks to document spaces previously ignored by the dominating homogeneity of the ethnographic text. Reciprocity and respect for difference The issue of reciprocity is one that all outsiders must face, be they development practitioners or anthropologists. What is really being given must be constantly questioned. Development practitioners perhaps feel that they need not ask this question because ‘giving’ is the foundation of what they do; however, arguments have already been presented that expose the reality of the power relationship in development intervention, which forcefully suggests that this question is crucial. Research projects like those of Raheja and Gold (1994) and Obeyesekere (1981) highlight the need to appreciate the importance of relating to research subjects on a personal level. Reciprocity is closely bound to the notion of friendship. Integral to friendship are the actions of giving and receiving, the balance of which determines the quality and depth of one’s relationship with this other person. Obeyesekere talks about how vital it is to spend time prior to conducting any actual research in building friendships with those who will form the focus of any ethnography. The time he devotes to friendship building is limitless in that he does not allocate a specific period but acknowledges that trust and respect cannot be earned quickly and must unfold naturally (if at all). He claims that researchers who fail to spend time establishing these bonds will find that their research material turns out to be inaccurate. He describes how answers to questions posed prior to his becoming friends with 27

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his informants (female ascetics in South India) differed from answers given to the same questions years later.30 The quality of an anthropologist’s field work closely relates to the strength of the friendships forged. This not only involves time being set aside for friendship building: once researchers have earned trust and respect they should expect to return year after year to visit their informants. Trust and respect can only be won if ethnographers allow their informants an equally intimate look into their lives. Obeyesekere’s work is useful because he acknowledges the importance of friendship building (verbally at least) in the production of ethnographies. However, he assumes that the dialogue with his informants constructed through formal interviews constitutes a reliable way of accessing the personal feelings of his case studies. In reality, any individual enters into a variety of dialogues that often conflict. The most personal responses are unlikely to be recalled through structured interviews. In addition, Obeyesekere seeks answers to questions such as ‘have you ever experienced an orgasm during sexual intercourse with your husband?’ The ethics of intruding into such deeply personal territory through structured interviews is questionable. If he and his informants were close friends they would have been likely to have invited him into the subject matter. This is the only way in which such intimate information can be gathered ethically and in a manner that preserves honest dialogue. In their work Raheja and Gold were able to record sexually explicit material because the women with whom they lived chose to let them witness interactions in which intimate feelings were relayed. This enabled them to acquire some insight into the emotions Rajasthani women attach to sex. The objective of their field work was not to extract personal information by asking direct questions but to let their experiences of living in a Rajasthani village lead them to whatever material their experiences allowed. Raheja and Gold use the introduction to their book Listen to the Heron’s Words (1994) to explore their approach to conducting field work. They describe how they began their field work with very different expectations of what they thought they would find. As they formed friendships with the women with whom they interacted, they began to gain fascinating insights into how these women expressed their identities, in particular the complexity of articulating emotional experiences. They observed how the women in these communities not only com28

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municate using different methods in different areas of their lives but that they also articulate at times very different sets of emotions and feelings dependent on with whom and where they communicate. It is worth considering in some detail the observations Raheja and Gold were able to make through these friendships. First, through uncovering and recording the vast and subtle differences in expression found among Rajasthani village women, they present a plurality of positive and energetic identities that contradict the gloomy veiled Other used by the NGO I cited in my introduction to describe women in this region. In addition, their work has had a profound influence on my own approach to field work and has allowed me to realize that development practitioners working in this area have removed agency from Rajasthani women. A key observation made by Raheja and Gold (1994: xxiv) was ‘that a woman might conform to certain cultural expectations not out of inner conviction of her own inferiority but out of concern for the feelings and honour of others’. Although women may conform to maintain peace and family honour this does not mean that they view their own identity in terms of the passive silent Woman depicted through ethnographies that record only the activities of the dominant group. In fact, it is possible to see how women resist patriarchal ideology in a variety of subtle ways. ‘A woman may voice an ironic critique of a cultural practice while at the same time embracing that practice and much that it implies to uphold her own honour and that of her family’ (Raheja and Gold 1994: xxiii). Raheja began to focus on articulations of resistance. After completing the genealogy of the village, she noted several elements that did not tie together. For example, there was inconsistency in veiling and the calling of different names. ‘Women were consistently redefining patrilineal relationships in their husbands’ village and gaining allies for themselves in the process. Women were able to shift, ever so slightly, the lines of authority and power in their conjugal village’ (Raheja and Gold 1994: xxiv). Raheja is clear that these contradictions should not be interpreted as defiant deviations; instead, they should be understood as indications that women are aware of their agency and regularly use it to their advantage. Raheja and Gold have been crucial in shattering the image of Rajasthani women as passive, silent recipients of male-defined roles and duties. Also, they emphasized the importance of recognizing the 29

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plurality of female voices that exist in a given community. Through their observations of subtle deviations from the ‘normal’ expected behaviour, outsiders can get closer than ever to understanding the self-perceptions and self-awareness of Rajasthani village women. The images of female identities that emerge from this material are positive and hold optimistic visions for the future. Most significantly for my book, material such as this forces the deconstruction of a weak, passive Other projected through development practice. It is no longer acceptable for outsiders to impose their agency on those who possess the ability to speak for themselves. Ethnographic techniques allow one to identify the spaces in which individuals express themselves, making it possible for development practitioners to listen and respond to the needs of others.31 The question is how to go about finding and entering these spaces. As a young female researcher working alone in a community the challenges were great. In particular, I found my status as an unmarried woman travelling alone without the company of my father caused confusion and concern to many. Often, the community members’ preoccupation with a researcher’s status and background can block access to desired information. Such problems may tempt researchers to lie about their status in an attempt to avoid wasting time trying to explain what, in the informants’ eyes, are thought to be abnormalities. The ethical implications of lying are obvious, not least because if reciprocal relationships are to be formed they must be based on honesty.32 The need to maintain honest responses is something that Knott (1995) stresses in her article on the methodology of conducting field work. She comments that researchers who are also mothers and who are studying women may find it easier to achieve acceptance by a community because their marital status and motherhood will be a point of commonality between them and other women. During her research into the role of women in Hindu communities in Britain, she found that motherhood was accorded importance by the community as a whole and brought with it a level of respect. Researchers like me, who have no such role on which to draw, must work harder to find connections with Rajasthani village women. Time constraints must be minimized from the research process so that it does not matter how long it takes to deal with issues of concern; indeed, such discussions form an important part of friendship building. I decided not to lie and found myself engaged many 30

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times in conversations (often very similar) in which I explained my unmarried, childless and independent status as openly as I could. I gradually found that the women with whom I was living had assigned me a role or position in their daily lives. This seemed necessary for both them and for me. If any kind of friendship were to be forged I had to be transformed from an object of concern and curiosity into a person with whom they were happy to share at least some parts of their lives.33 In general, it is sensible to assume that the roles that are assigned to field workers and their ability to conform to them govern their access to a community. The roles field workers accept determine the proximity between them and members of the community. For example, as a sister a young female researcher will spend most of her time in the company of other young female family members. Her relationship with them is likely to be closer than that between her and the male elders. Researchers’ experiences and perceptions of a community as a whole will reflect the lives of their closest informants. In addition, it is likely that a researcher will be assigned multiple roles that shift as she or he moves between different spaces – for example from helping a daughter-in-law cook dinner to representing a Western NGO at a public meeting. These different roles determine the particular gaze through which the researcher views the community. It was only once I returned from my first field-work trip (June– August 1995) that I realized the roles that had been assigned to me. I was daughter to the male elder in whose company I spent much time because of my work for the Gandhian NGO (1). While in his company I was expected to remain silent unless asked to voice an opinion. When visiting a family I would only be awarded special status as a foreign guest if he permitted it to occur. Often he would precede my entrance by introducing me as his daughter, although I was always treated as an oddity and my presence so far from home always confusing. By adopting and conforming to the role of Deepak’s daughter I was quickly assigned other roles which allowed me to access detailed insights into the lives of particular women in the community. I subsequently became a sister to other women in the community. Out of respect, it is important to try and conform as far a possible to the place your informants award you and this means adopting the appropriate behaviour relating to it. The honour of your research 31

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family is at stake. Raheja describes how she observed some elements of purdah, not because she actually felt she was in an inferior position, but out of respect for her hosts and an acute concern not to let them down publicly.34 I too altered my behaviour. Although in my own family I do not sit silently and listen to my father without challenging him when I disagree, I did so in the presence of Deepak because I had a deep respect for him and wanted to articulate this through my behaviour. In addition, when Poonam, Parvati and Devi took me out on many trips I allowed them to dress me appropriately because I did not want to embarrass them in public or in front of their friends.35 The extent to which researchers are able to conform to the appropriate behaviour for the roles assigned to them determines the quality and extent of the relationships they are able to form and in turn may allow them to witness events and expressions of opinion that would otherwise have remained closed to them. Also, I was able to gain an insight (although limited) into why women choose to accept the strict codes of behaviour placed on them. I believe they do so for the same reasons I did: it is not because they actually feel the great weight of their own inferiority but because they have a deeprooted sense of loyalty and respect for those around them. They express this through conforming and maintaining family honour and dignity (publicly at least). In choosing to focus my research on Rajasthani women, and specifically on younger married women, the spaces other community members occupied became closed to me.36 Once I had been seen spending time with Poonam, Parvati and Devi I could no longer take my place next to Deepak at public meetings. To do so would have alienated me from my friendship with those women who went out of their way to make me feel welcome and at ease. To take a role in public life from which they are excluded would have maintained a barrier between us even beyond the constant gap my ‘foreignness’ ensured. My research therefore reflects my experiences of witnessing their spaces and does not in any way represent a comprehensive understanding of the whole community. Development practitioners often enter a community having already assigned themselves a role. They are the ‘expert’. As the possessor of superior knowledge, the NGO worker assumes that because they have something to give that the community needs, it is the community that must reflect on its behaviour. There is an expectation that the community will behave in a certain way to receive them and their 32

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expertise. Public meetings and tours of village projects and sites of extreme poverty often determine the movements of a group of NGO workers as they visit a community.37 Little thought is given to how a community perceives them. Do all community members in fact view NGOs in the way they think they are presenting themselves? In other words, do all sections of a village perceive development workers as experts? The invasive nature of development work and the shortterm consultation process that often only amounts to a few days or weeks at the most (Gardner and Lewis 1996) must shape a negative impression of NGO workers in the eyes of community members. As Burghart (1993) points out, it would be naïve for any outsider to assume that community members had not positioned them according to their perceptions of this intrusive Other. This perception of Otherness constructed by locals could in fact be a significant factor in accounting for the low success levels of many development interventions. Local communities will be resistant to working with NGOs they do not believe know and care about them. The incorporation of a more reflexive approach to project planning and an emphasis on a dialogic relationship with agents of development is therefore vital in addressing the current failings of the development discourse to deliver on its promises of poverty alleviation. Conclusion The resistance that may be experienced over the idea of developing a more self-reflexive style of development practice could, according to Mumford, be down to ‘the internal upheaval involved in taking the Other seriously, which is perhaps too high a cost to be faced’ (Mumford 1989: 11). However, if development workers are concerned to modify their practice into a model founded on reciprocity, then the practice of development must become more sensitive and open to others. If NGO workers were to adopt a modern anthropological approach, this openness would become possible. Through the application of ethnographic techniques, marginalized others can be made both visible and audible to NGOs. Once clearly revealed, the sufferings of others become the responsibility of the NGO. As it currently stands, an ethical approach to development practice is impossible because of the value placed on the material element of development work. One party in the relationship between NGO worker and agent of development will always possess more in 33

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monetary terms. However, the approach I have outlined in this chapter paves the way for a better style of intervention. Fabian (1990) points out that a shift to dialogue does not signal an ethical attitude in the researcher but can at least open a space for reflection into the nature of anthropological field work. In the same manner, I hope that by using ethnographic techniques to make the voices of others audible to NGO practitioners, greater empathy with the real experiences of others becomes possible. A dialogue emerges between the NGO worker and others. The mythical construction of the underdeveloped Other is dissolved and replaced by an awareness of power rather than an impulse to exert it over Others. Others are therefore made present in the work of NGOs. This relationship will force the outsider (NGO worker) to consider the impact of his or her actions. The relative value (or not) of interventions become harder to ignore when those targeted to receive the benefits are given the space to respond in a free and open manner: others are given the space to articulate dissatisfaction as well as gratitude. As described in greater detail in Chapters 3, 4 and 5, a focus on dialogues involves an acknowledgement that individuals express their thoughts and feelings in a variety of spaces, most of which do not fall within the public sphere. Identifying these spaces is crucial if others are to be given the freedom to articulate their specific development needs. Outsiders will only be able to access these spaces once they have gained the trust and respect of those they target. Therefore, before a development project is implemented the outsider must accept responsibility to the community and be prepared to make a long-term commitment through sustained dialogue (Pottier 1993). In addition, needs constantly change as individuals transform. Development practitioners should only enter into a relationship with other people if they are willing to remain present and responsive to changes that occur (considered further in Chapter 6). Caring for others must not be premised on them behaving in a certain (Western) way; it should be unconditional. By forging a relationship founded on a desire to know the other, space is created that is characterized by a silence that allows others to speak. Development practitioners become those who listen and respond to the material needs of others. In addition, it is possible they can get something back from this process – a greater awareness of themselves.

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Chapter 2

Feminist Politics

I

n this chapter I seek to understand how various discourses within feminism and gender studies have constructed a category of Woman that symbolically represents the subjectivities of all women. Women in the developing world find their personhood lost within this category and the unique identities and experiences of women cross-culturally are hidden by the hegemony of this term. This chapter is divided into two parts. The first is a review of the various approaches taken by feminist scholars who are concerned to highlight and challenge the patriarchal structures that limit the freedom of women. However, it is argued that in seeking to address the imbalances that constrain women many of these feminist academics and activists have in fact perpetuated the hegemonic power structure outlined in the last chapter. The singular political objective held by these scholars (to free women from the grasps of patriarchy) enables them to position themselves as those who ‘know’ and ‘understand’ the oppression all women suffer. The Western feminist, typically white, well educated and upper or middle class, is the expert whose self-imposed role has become that of liberator. Scholars within feminist postmodernism have challenged and deconstructed the hegemony of this kind of feminism. Their efforts to replace the homogenous category of Woman with a notion of difference are reviewed in this chapter, with the implications of their critiques for a purposeful feminist scholarship considered in detail. Further critiques can be found in postcolonial studies, which have forged an approach to scholarship that possesses both a means of deconstructing the hegemony embedded in many academic narratives while also offering approaches to recording the voices of others. Scholars who position themselves in postcolonial studies are concerned to examine the roots of this binary opposition that divides ‘Third World’ women as Other from ‘Western Liberated’ women. Postcolonial scholars who adopt a gendered perspective in their 35

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research believe that the concern expressed by liberal feminist scholars towards women in the ‘Third World’ is patronizing. Western scholars who represent non-Western women as victims have written many of the descriptions of ‘Third World’ women (as opposed to women in the ‘First World’). This depiction undermines both the agency and personhood of women in the developing world. In this chapter I discuss this point through the work of some black feminist scholars who show that the projection of Woman as victim prevents a comprehensive understanding of the complexity of oppression. Black feminist scholars seek to document the particular experiences of black women and argue that their encounters with injustice lie not just at the level of gender, but are also shaped by their ethnicity. It is therefore vital that academics give black women enough space to express their cultural and racial identities, which in turn shape their specific needs. I end the first half of this chapter with the question: what are the implications of difference for the possibility of a coherent feminist politics? To understand how differences between women may be respected while keeping intact a coherent challenge to patriarchy, I look to the work of scholars who stress the need for alliance building. Women momentarily generate and share collective agency to achieve a specific goal. Such temporary solidarity does not compromise the unique identity each woman possesses. In addition, consideration is given to the implementation of a methodology that is open and reflexive, thus allowing the scholar to examine her or his objectives and relationship to power as an inherent part of the writing process. I argue that a focus on recognizing the exclusion of certain voices holds the potential for a style of research that is concerned to make as many subjectivities present in writing as possible, in a way that is more valuable than a ‘definitive’ text on the life and experiences of a homogenous Other. My particular focus in this book is on the impact of gender and development projects on the lives of Rajasthani village women and in the second part of this chapter I examine the Indian feminist movement’s influence in challenging patriarchy. My analysis of the workings of the Indian feminist movement reveals just how pervasive this Western feminist concept of Woman has been in shaping a universal approach to liberal feminist politics. I argue that many Indian feminists, like their Western liberal counterparts, 36

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make the assumption that they understand the experiences of all Indian women. The focus for their concern is a symbolic picture of a poor rural Indian Woman. Such assertions are unhelpful in the quest to destabilize patriarchy because they ignore the complexities of inequality (which are discussed in detail in Chapter 6). Throughout this section I refer to the work of Madhu Kishwar. As an activist and academic Kishwar constantly wrestles with the difficulties of bridging theory and practice. She stresses the importance of rooting research and development interventions in the lived, day-today realities of Indian women. Kishwar is clear: those who wish to help women who are experiencing intolerable abuse need to learn to respond to their demands rather than assume they ‘know’ what Indian women need. Discussions about the style of activism Kishwar has evolved help draw this chapter to a conclusion by linking the theoretical discussions in the first half with consideration of how academic concerns to account for difference may translate into a practical feminist politics. Feminism discussed and deconstructed An overview of Western feminist discourses Challenging liberal feminism: The theory that made this universal category of Woman possible was biological determinism. Biological determinism grounds an understanding of female inequality in women’s biological roles as procreators, which limits them to the reproductive sphere. Simone de Beauvoir (1988) emphasized how the activities of women have been limited because of sexual difference. Patriarchy has used biology to define women’s roles and thus limit their activities. However, this perspective has a narrow understanding of sexual inequality. It is founded on essentialist conceptions of man and woman that fail to take cross-cultural differences into account. In reality, although a woman’s physiology may function similarly cross-culturally, different cultures attribute different values and meanings to these functions. For example, in many African societies, childbirth without the use of pain relief is a woman’s opportunity to display her courage and strength. In Western cultures this experience is controlled by drugs and often leaves the doctor rather than the mother-to-be in control (MacCormack and Strathern 1980).1 African constructions of ‘motherhood’ differ from Western concepts. Chodorow (1978), writing on the Western ideal of 37

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mothering, gives no independent meaning to motherhood. Instead, she conflates the conception of motherhood with that of wife. Oyewumi (1997), by contrast, states that in African societies there are many mothers, many wives and many fathers. There is no conflation of the roles; each is separate and represents important aspects of an individual’s social identity. Motherhood is a powerful role and the process of becoming a mother is an important rite of passage in African cultures, more so, she suggests, than in the West. To preserve this central aspect of an African woman’s social identity she must have absolute control over the birthing experience. To essentialize the experiences of women based on their common biology misses such subtle but significant differences. A liberal approach to feminism, which emerged from Enlightenment thinking, aims to improve the status of women from within the structures of Western thought and society rather than by launching a challenge to restructure them. Marxist feminists fight for women’s increased contribution to the market through control over the means of economic production, and argue that postmodernism has fragmented the factors of sex, race and class. Walby (1983 and 1986) states that only by considering these elements together can a comprehensive picture of women’s inequality be gained. She is concerned that postmodernism denies the monolithic effect of overarching power structures of patriarchy, racism and capitalism. Standpoint feminists, such as Harding (1987 and 1992), Brodribb (1992) and Smith (1990), focus on women’s lived experiences and believe that they should form the basis of feminist knowledge. They believe that a focus on women’s experiences will allow one to expose and understand the full extent of female inequality. Standpoint and Marxist feminists rely on descriptions of women’s experiences of oppression to launch their critique of male hegemony. These experiences of women’s oppression are derived from collecting sociological, economic and political data. Although such information successfully stresses the extent of women’s marginalization it does not record women’s direct experiences. The voices of those about whom these scholars write remain silent. Without at least an attempt to record the women’s actual voices, the image of female subjectivity that emerges is static. The descriptions of women’s experiences of oppression lack an appreciation of the numerous ways in which women exercise their agency in order to resist the repression they clearly suffer. 38

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French postmodern feminists like Cixous (1991), Irigaray (1985a and 1985b) and Kristeva (1991) agree that the hegemonic male discourse that underlies social, political and economic relations has denied women their own subject position. Kristeva traces the roots of this discourse to the academy, which she believes is responsible for generating and sustaining a misogynistic and androcentric perspective of human existence through the privileging of male experiences.2 The pervasive nature of patriarchy in determining human relations through the exclusion of women is proof that the Western social structure protects male authority. Kristeva and Irigaray, however, go on to argue that the solution is not to construct a category of Woman that comes to represent the oppression suffered by all women. This category does not allow women the space to construct their own individual subjectivity through which to speak about uniquely feminine experiences. Instead, it is founded on the fictitious imaginings of a group of feminist scholars. In addition, this homogenous category fails to expose the fundamental positioning of woman as Other in the male philosopher’s gaze. In other words, the oppressive processes of androcentrism, misogyny and patriarchy, which are founded on containing and marginalizing the female body, are left intact; before a successful assault on male dominance can be launched the roots of female oppression must be revealed. Jantzen (1998) seeks to forge a methodology within feminist philosophy of religion that focuses on making the misogynistic roots of female disempowerment visible. She begins by deconstructing the notion of subjectivity in traditional religious and philosophical traditions in which the human subject is conceived of as a ready-made soul. This soul originates from God, but God is symbolized in a male image described through masculinalized language.3 This concept of a male subject symbolically represents the subjectivity of all human beings (men and women). The rational principles that govern souls once they reach subjectivity are also rooted in a notion of divine truth that originates in the concept of God. It is clear then that Western philosophical traditions deny women their own subjectivity, and Jantzen is keen to consider how women can claim their own subjectivities. She turns first to Lacan and Freud, who as psychoanalysts challenge this preordained concept of subjectivity by claiming that the acquisition of subjectivity is not a wholly natural process. Lacan (1994) states that people consist neither of ready-made souls that God has inserted into their 39

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bodies nor do they possess a mind that exists independently of their physical history. Rather, human personhood has to be achieved and at considerable cost. Lacan outlines how a human baby begins life as a mass of conflicting desires. To become a unified subject, some of these desires have to be repressed. This repression of desires is the formation of the unconscious; and from the unconscious, repressed desires may always threaten to erupt. Therefore, strategies have to be in place to control thought, feeling and behaviour. Without them the subject will disintegrate into a void of psychotic illness and cease to exist as a coherent being.4 According to Jantzen (1998), traditionally religion has been the source of some of the most effective of these strategies of control. She goes on to describe how the unification of the subject, if it is to bring about successful entry into society, will have to take place according to the norms of that society, which in the case of Western modernity are heavily masculinist and heterosexual.5 Jantzen founds her methodology on the work of Irigaray. Irigaray (1985a and 1985b) in her response to Lacan and Freud states that both premise their work solely on a male subject. In her own work Irigaray considers how women can forge their own subject position and ultimately speak as women from their own experiences. Lacan is an important influence in the work of both Kristeva and Irigaray because he is able to locate and describe the process through which a phallocentric symbolic order comes to structure the lives of both men and women. Lacan described how boys repress their desire for their mothers through entrance into language and civilization and the social world of their fathers, which Lacan refers to as the ‘symbolic’. The symbolic includes all language as well as non-linguistic forms such as art and ritual and can also be used to designate broad conceptual patterns of civilization. Lacan claimed that it is responsible for the creation of all discourses, including law, politics, economics and religion.6 Kristeva (1980, 1982) holds that the primary symbol of the phallus defines this symbolic order; the dominance of the phallus in structuring all discourses accounts for the systematic exclusion of women from central areas of existence. The phallus is representative of the male subject and male experiences and thus operates to exclude female voices. The primary concern of Irigaray and Kristeva is to replace this phallocentric symbolic order with female experiences. The issue of female subjectivity is one that concerns all feminists, but 40

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what is clear from the work of Irigaray, Kristeva and Jantzen is that this subjectivity cannot be imposed by another hegemonic discourse, even if it does claim to want to liberate women. Women must be free to construct their own subjectivity through which they can express their own personhood rather than conforming to a subject position imposed from outside their own experience. Challenging feminist postmodernism: The feminist postmodern discourse involves decentering the Western feminist notion of Woman to make way for a plurality of female subjectivities. Central to this venture is the realization that feminists do not possess a universal truth about women and the repression they suffer. Feminism must loosen its grasp on the category of Woman that founds its claims to truth. However, such a perspective makes political organization difficult. Feminists who are politically motivated have expressed a reluctance to take on board the challenges it presents. Di Stefano (1984) states that the removal of the category of Woman entails the destruction of feminism: she believes that some form of feminist politics remains necessary for as long as women experience oppression. Hardstock (1983) is worried that the process of deconstructing the category of Woman will deter a comprehensive challenge to macro power structures that marginalize women. She believes that some stopping points are necessary because without any categories, including gender, we are left with endless differences. The problem with a methodology such as that Irigaray and Kristeva propose is that it is individualistic, stressing the need for each individual woman to construct her own subjectivity. Unless commonalities are preserved political organization becomes impossible. Women cannot challenge the overarching structures that constrain them as individuals alone. Haraway (1990) warns that postmodernism allows Woman to be deconstructed into a void of meaningless differences, irrelevant because no unifying political voice can be located. She argues that such an approach leads womankind down a path of self-destruction, and does nothing to put an end to injustices against women. Hawkesworth (1989) also discusses the political fragmentation and diminished feminist consciousness that results from postmodernism. Without common ground, a transformative agenda cannot be constructed or implemented (Hutcheon 1989); after all, what can we demand in the name of women if women do not exist (Alcott 1988)? 41

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Bordo supports this view when she writes: ‘Reality itself may be relentlessly plural and heterogeneous, but human understanding and interest cannot be’ (Bordo 1986: 443). Hardstock goes further by saying: ‘Somehow it seems highly suspicious that it is at the precise moment when so many groups have been engaged in “nationalisms” which involve redefinitions of the marginalized others that suspicions emerge about the nature of the subject and about the possibilities for a general theory which can describe the work about historical progress’ (Hardstock 1983: 218). This statement questions if coherent politics and theory are possible from within postmodernism. Hardstock argues that it is so difficult for feminism to exist within postmodernism that there are grounds to argue that postmodernism itself is a new form of patriarchy, designed to hamper the advancement of women at just the point in time when most progress is being made. Many scholars proceed with scepticism and hold back from fully embracing this deconstructionalist discourse (Canning 1994; Chow 1992; Fraser and Nicholson 1990). Some scholars (Butler and Scott 1992; Flax 1992; Hekman 1990) see no conflict between postmodernism and feminist politics. They believe that it is possible to acknowledge and respect the differences between women while maintaining a commitment to ending female oppression. Jantzen (1998) emphasizes the importance of a female community that could become the space within which women explore both their differences and shared concerns. A female community founded on mutual respect for difference is vital to feminist politics to combat the nihilistic dangers postmodernism presents to activism. Jayawardena believes a common acknowledgement should be preserved that propounds without question that injustices against women exist and must be challenged. She writes ‘I advocate a perspective that combines universal discourse with the recognition of difference’ (Jayawardena 1995: 10). By accepting that Other is in reality others, a new form of feminist politics becomes possible. Despite the problem postmodernism poses for activism, Haraway (1992) argues that it has forced politics to extend its agenda beyond Chodorow’s (1978) singular understanding of women as mothers. Instead, what emerges is a politics based on the recognition of Otherness, which allows feminism to respect the differences between women through more specific female identities such as ‘women of colour’. However, to make a political agenda possible, Yeatman 42

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(1984) believes that, alongside a respect for difference, there must come a reduction in the plurality of values held by women into a standardized norm that can allow for the creation of a political platform. This approach is problematic; the power to decide which values will be represented through this norm is likely to be appropriated by a few women who set themselves up as an elite, allknowing authority. Difference should be embraced. Reductionism can only succeed in denying others their subjectivities – exactly the same effect as patriarchy. Feminist scholars must be careful not to position themselves as those who write about the lives of Other less advantaged women. In writing about rather than documenting the experiences of women, feminists can in fact add another layer of repression onto the lives of women. Writing about an Other requires a singular subject, which, as the object of research, becomes characterized by an inability to speak autonomously. Women who find themselves the objects of research are homogenized into a mythical creation of Woman. The prevailing masculine discourse and the feminist narrative that writes about them have both stifled their individuality. Feminists who produce a singular representation of Woman in the Third World in their work do so to assert authority over those living women whom they identify as this Other. Lyotard (1984) draws our attention to how particular meta-narratives come to dominate scholarship and are positioned as the ‘truth’ that is beyond reproach. Mohanty (1994) argues that, within feminist scholarship, a small group of white, Western, middle-class academics have positioned themselves as the possessors of truth; as a result they ignore the complexities of gender identities and produce their own grand narrative that reflects their personal political agenda. Butler (1990) highlights the extent to which this narrative excludes any female subjectivity that is not white, middle-class and heterosexual. According to her, homosexual women become the Other because heterosexuality, which marginalizes lesbian sexuality, dominates the controlling discourse. The question that recurs throughout this book is why hierarchies of knowledge and thus power still persist despite radical critiques such as those presented in Chapter 1. Butler (1990) offers a methodology that forces scholars to accept the role they play in reinforcing certain gender identities, and pushes academics to examine the complexities of an individual’s subjectivity. She describes how individuals 43

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experience and understand life through a material and discursive framework. The language/discourse in particular helps us explain the reality around us. However, the language available to us to express our experiences limits our ability to articulate precisely what we feel. In addition, the Self is a reflection not simply of experience but also of historical factors. Butler is careful not to depict human identity as a static creation of a particular discourse; she does not deny the individual agency but calls for the deconstruction of how language and meaning are formulated. The postcolonial critique of liberal feminist literature The postcolonial mission to deconstruct the meta-narrative present in Western liberal feminism, combined with calls to uncover women’s lost voices (Harding 1987), often complicate the problem further. Even though other narratives may be identified, the supremacy of the Western academy is left intact since it is there that these other alternative narratives are created. The subalterns that academics write about remain silent, reliant on an Other’s (Western scholar’s) pen for their public (or international) consciousness. Supporting the arguments presented here and in Chapter 1, King states that we should be wary of claims that we have reached a postcolonial era where domination of the ‘rest by the West’ (King 1999: 187) has ceased.7 The reality is that postcolonial regimes have replaced colonial power regimes. Has the power structure really shifted? Postcolonial writers like Mohanty (1994) and Jayawardena (1995) argue that white, Western, middle-class feminists have produced a meta-narrative founded in a category of ‘Third World Woman’, which is the subject of their writing. ‘Third World Women’ are placed in opposition to them as ‘Western Women’ and thus become the Other. This binary opposition denies women in the developing world their subjectivities. The feminist literature referred to by Mohanty enforces an additional layer of suppression onto women in the developing world (in addition to patriarchy). Western feminist writers construct a role for themselves that is conveyed through their meta-narrative. They become the enlightened ‘knowing’ voice that uncovers the weaknesses and vulnerability of women whom they perceive as being trapped within patriarchy. Mohanty describes how much of the literature written by Western feminists displays a quest 44

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to ‘liberate Third World women’. The book Mother India written by Katherine Mayo (1927) is an example of such writing. Jayawardena (1995) cites Mayo’s work as an example of white racism. The passage below, taken from Mayo’s book, clearly indicates why her work provoked such outrage inside and outside India. In the great orthodox Hindu majority, the girl looks for motherhood nine months after reaching puberty – or anywhere between the ages of fourteen and eight. The latter age is extreme, although in some sections not exceptional; the former is well above the average. Because of her years and upbringing and because countless generations behind her have been bred even as she, she is frail of her body. She is also completely unlettered, her stock of knowledge comprising only the ritual worship of the household idols, the rites of placation of the wrath of deities and evil spirits, and the detailed ceremony of the service of her husband, who is ritualistically her personal God. … The little mother goes through a destructive pregnancy, ending in a confinement whose peculiar fortunes will not be imagined unless in detail explained. The infant that survives the birth – strain – a feeble creature at best, bankrupt in bore-stuff and vitality, often venerably poisoned, always predisposed to any malady that may be afloat – must look to his child–mother for care. Ignorant of the laws of hygiene, guided only by the most primitive superstitions, she has no helpers in her task other than the older women of the household, whose knowledge, despite their years is little greater than hers. Because of her place in the social system, child bearing and matters of procreation are the woman’s one interest in life, her one subject of conversation, be her caste high or low. Therefore, the child growing up in the home learns from earliest grasp of word and act, to dwell upon sex relations. (Mayo 1927: 83–4) The narrative Mayo constructed in her book is one that tells the tale of a country and culture committed to repressing and constraining its women. Her work endorses an imperialist ideology that protects the 45

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supremacy of Western values. She believes that the West displays superior morals and should therefore be influential in reshaping Indian attitudes towards women. The patronizing tone of Mayo’s narrative is similar to that of the passage cited in the introduction to this book written by a donor NGO on the lives of Rajasthani village women. The similarity in tone and in the negative depiction of Indian women reveals the pervasiveness of this notion of Indian culture as uncivilized and unjust. Although Mayo’s book was published in 1927 the perception of Indian women as Other to Western liberated women can still be identified in contemporary literature. Ong takes the post-colonial critique of Western feminism a step further when she states that, ‘for feminists looking overseas, the non feminist Other is not so much patriarchy as the non Western woman’ (Ong 1987: 80). Images of weak women form the binary opposite to Western feminists, who are strong and defiant. ‘Third World’ women are defined by their powerlessness. Specifically, a hierarchy emerges that divides Western feminist academics from women of different cultures. The political undercurrent of this body of literature clearly suggests that the writers present themselves as role models for all women. Spivak (1990) and Schick (1990) call for the deconstruction of Western paradigms that allow for this representation of ‘Third World’ women as a pitiful Other. The supremacy of white, Western, middle-class, heterosexual feminism is only possible because of the continued prevalence of a binary opposition. As Chatterjee writes: For domination to cease to exist, the subaltern classes must … inhabit a domain that is their own, which gives them their identity, where they exist as a distinct social form. … To deny autonomy in this sense and simply to assert that the subaltern classes are ‘deeply subjugated’ is to deny that they represent a distinct form of social existence. (Chatterjee 2002: 192) Feminists fear the deconstructionist element of postmodernism because it simultaneously removes the focus (Woman) of their scholarship and the subject of their political action. Spivak (1988) dismisses these concerns and states that a deconstructionist approach does not in fact mean the removal of the subject, history and truth, 46

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but simply questions the ascription of privileged identity so that someone is believed to have the truth (Western feminists). According to Butler’s methodology, identity must be recognized as being grounded in historical, social and political structures; it is not static, but ever changing as the individual moves through life and grows as she or he is exposed to new experiences. Butler describes the expression of a gendered identity in terms of performance. In her preface to Gender Trouble she offers the following explanation: The view that gender is performance sought to show that what we take to be an internal essence of gender is manufactured through sustained acts, positioned through the gendered stylization of the body. In this way, it showed that what we take to be an ‘internal’ feature of ourselves is one that we anticipate and produce through certain bodily acts, at an extreme, an hallucinatory effect of naturalized gestures. (Butler 1990: xv) The reality is that social identities change naturally according to the specific context in which individuals find themselves and the dialogue within which they are engaged (see my ethnographic case studies in Chapter 3). The confident career woman becomes the quiet, dutiful mother at home. It is more accurate to think of the differences between individuals in terms of connections and spaces, of individuals shifting between contexts, negotiating a variety of dialogues through which they state their intentions and express their consciousness. What Butler outlines is the specific impact that gender brings to bear in shaping the resulting subjectivities that emerge. The process of writing must form a part of these dialogues and should be sensitive to the differences that emerge through the movement of individuals from space to space, rather than using discourse as a way of exerting a politically driven vision. The representation of an other (as opposed to the category Other) through literature can only occur as a dialogue. Language is positioned according to the context in which it is spoken (Bakhtin 1981). Those individuals communicating within a specific space decide on the dialect (through which the dialogue can take place) and are thus active in shaping the aspect of their identity present at that moment. However, Bakhtin (1981) warns us to be mindful of the ways 47

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language can be reinterpreted by those outside this space. Language is often shaped by a sociopolitical ideology that decides on speakers and silences others. For this reason King (1999: 214) states: ‘it is important to pay attention not only to what is said and by whom (the social location of the speaker) but also where such speech goes and how it is received.’ This sentence answers my earlier question. The binary opposition persists because integral to its deconstruction is the acknowledgement by those in power (the academy) that they do not ‘know’ very much at all. Equality must be established through the recognition of others and respect for differences, which should bring with it a sense of responsibility for and to others. Emphasis on dialogue should be the central focus of scholarship since this ‘opens up the possibility of a new comparativism grounded in an awareness and investigation of heterogeneities and cross-cultural parallels … and avoids the essentializing of differences that has characterized most forms of cultural relativism but does not thereby fall back into a universalist discourse of homogeneity’ (King 1999: 215). In other words, by engaging with the plurality of dialogues existing within a specific space and by making the objective of research the recording of as many of them as possible the resulting scholarship will be more transparent. Rather than the pursuit of a singular definitive text narrating a situation with authority, the transparency created by striving to access as many voices and exchanges as possible within a given space allows the reader not only to access the subjectivities of others but also to reflect on whose voices remain silent and marginalized. In Chapter 1 I examined the methodology employed by Gold (2002). It is her concern to achieve exactly this transparency. Her objective is to allow others to speak through her work rather than to construct a platform of authority from which to speak about an Other. The dialogues of others can only be heard by the scholar if she or he is silent and open to receiving the experiences of others. In addition, this silence could allow the scholar to reflect on any urges or desires that emerge within them to interpret the lives of others in a particular way. With quietness each individual can examine her or his relationship to power and privilege. Silence for Spivak (1987) marks the beginning of an ethical relationship with an other. Spivak’s style of writing operates at various levels. In her work In Other Worlds she deconstructs the dialogues of various hegemonic 48

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discourses – Orientalism and Western feminism. At points she interrupts her analysis with a dialogue she appears to be having with her own work. By injecting the first person into her text at key moments she opens up a space for the reader to enter into this dialogue with her. Spivak traces the development of her own narrative and takes ownership and responsibility for its impact through her use of the first person ‘I’. Spivak displays a constant awareness of the weaknesses in her own position. I am myself bent upon reading the text of international feminism as operated by the production and realization of surplus value. My own earlier concern with the specific theme of reproduction (non) alienation seems to me today to be heavily enough touched by a nuclear–familial hystorocentrism to be open to the critique of psychoanalytic feminism that I suggest above. (Spivak 1987: 83) Spivak is conscious of the fluidity of her own thoughts. She allows the changes in her own perceptions to be documented in her work: ‘when I earlier touched upon the relationship between wage theory and “women’s work”, I had not yet read the autonomist arguments about wage and work’ (Spivak 1987: 83). Acknowledging the influences that gave rise to her views at a particular moment allows Spivak to realize the perspectives she has excluded. Her theories are never complete in the sense that narratives must be open to change as new sources of experience enter the author’s world. Spivak goes on to write that now she has read these arguments: ‘In contrast, I now argue as follows’ (Spivak 1987: 83). If self-reflexivity were to become the standard approach in the production of scholarship definitive narratives would no longer be possible. Integral to the production of texts would be the acknowledgement that they hold only temporary meaning. Once the absences created by the narrative have been exposed the text must be rewritten incorporating these new voices. The contributions and difficulties faced by black women scholars The work of di Leonardo (1991) and Hirsch and Keller (1990) shows commitment to uncovering previously ignored voices. Various 49

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scholars (Anthias and Yuval-Davies 1990; Anzaldúa 1990; Collins 1989; Lorde 1981 and 1984; Mirza 1997; Moraga and Anzaldúa 1981; and Razack 1998) all call for a racially specific feminism. McLaurin (2001), in her volume Black Feminist Anthropology, highlights the difficulties facing black feminist scholars who see the documentation of black women’s experience as an important political act. According to McLaurin, black women anthropologists have been marginalized by the discipline. She notes that black women and feminist scholars have had to confront the patriarchal and fundamentally racist Eurocentric foundation of the academy before they can get their work published and recognized. The small number of established black women and feminist anthropologists in relation to white women and feminist scholars stands as proof of the constraints they have to negotiate.8 Stoler (1991) traces the roots of this white hegemony to colonialism and highlights the binary opposition constructed around notions of masculinity and ethnicity that have resulted in the marginalization of people along racial and gender lines – ‘the demasculinization of colonized men and the hypermasculinity of European males represent principal assertions of white supremacy’ (Stoler 1991: 56). Work that attempts to textualize the experiences of black women includes that of Emberley (1993). In her research of native Canadian women Emberley takes a postmodernist approach to exploring differences between black women and the notion of black women’s Otherness. Black feminist scholars display with ease in their writing the positive differences between black women, without recognition of female plurality affecting the strength of their overarching political campaign (to end the injustices suffered by black women).9 In short, they do not experience the nervousness projected by Western feminists over the challenges posed by feminist postmodernism. Oyewumi (1997: 1098) states that there is no need to be anxious about the disappearance of Woman because she never existed to start with – ‘Her demise may clear the way for “women” to be all they want to be.’ However, the Western academy, with its hegemonic image of ‘the African woman’, constrains the diversity of African women’s identities. Frankenberg (1993) argues that black American women have found themselves depicted through negative representations constructed during the time of slavery that present them as sexually provocative matriarchs and castrators. The term ‘jezebel’ was used to refer to black women as 50

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sexually aggressive and provocative. In addition, the term ‘mammy’ denoted the religious, loyal motherly slave who was devoted to the care of her slave-owning family. As mammies they were loyal servants characterized by their compliance and subservience. African women during slavery became associated with the unfeminine, not least because they worked outside what was considered the public or male domain. African mothers were denied the chance to fulfil their social role since their children were often sold off or they had little time to spend with them because of their work. They were therefore considered to be ‘bad mothers’. Delinquency and the poor academic achievement of black children were (and still are to some extent) blamed on bad mothering.10 ‘Enslaved women became “defeminized” – excluded from the protections offered by womanhood, motherhood and femininity’ (Mullings 1997: 112). In the eyes of the white slave owners, black women were inferior, non-human. Although it has been argued that black women slaves had more freedom than their white counterparts because they later earned their own income, the above quote clearly highlights the intense disempowerment experienced by black women who were denied the right to mother as they felt appropriate. These images of black women in America have fed into wider Western notions of blackness contrasted against whiteness. This translates into the binary opposition of a good woman (white/ mother) against a bad woman (black/worker). The white hegemony that dominates feminist academia may vocalize black women’s oppression, but it continues to deny black women their individual consciousnesses because it replaces images of black as bad with black as oppressed. The image is still negative. Black women scholars attempt to project more positive images of black identities through the publication of anthologies that depict the individual experiences of black women; the anthologies edited by Jarrett-Macauley (1996) and Moraga and Anzaldúa (1981) are examples of such work. Here I attempt to write a black women’s history that balances the suffering with images of empowerment and strength. Creative literature and poetry is seen as an effective means through which black women can explore and document their unique differences. It is a reality that black women as Other suffer continued exploitation despite the abolition of slavery. Black women in Western cultures continue to endure racial and gender repression (Davis 51

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1981; hooks 1982) and the socioeconomic structure continues to be founded on the binary opposition of white/black. The feminism of black women in America is overtly political, demanding intervention to right these injustices. Various books emerged out of conferences in attempts to found black women’s studies. In one of these works, Hull et al. (1982) argue that the objective of black women’s scholarship must be to fight simultaneously the oppressions of race, class and gender experienced by all black women.11 Although distinctions between the work of black American academics and their counterparts on the African subcontinent should be made, cross-cultural scholars like Steady (1987) argue that experiences of economic exploitation and marginality unite all black women. Black women scholars have sought to project an image of ‘black as beautiful’ to counter the Western idealization of the white female body as desirable.12 The ultimate aim is to destabilize discourses that seek to maintain the supremamcy of whiteness. In addition, emphasis on the physical beauty of black women is seen as necessary to raise the self-esteem of black women who are marginalized and demoralized by the hegemony of the white female body.13 What is the future of the Western feminist movement? A space must be created for feminisms rather than a singular feminism, with more dynamic feminisms replacing the dominance of the homogenous female subject so central to Western feminist politics. Ferguson (1993) and Goetz and Gupta (1996) advocate recognizing a female subjectivity characterized by partial identities and mobile subjectivities. The subject of feminist politics must be reconceptualized in more fluid and flexible terms. Female subjectivity is comprised of multiple layers (Canning 1994). Groups of women will share some aspects of their subjectivity and differ in other ways. Female subjectivity can be said to exist if seen in terms of ‘cross variable axes of difference’ (de Lauretis 1990: 116). Each woman must be able to define what feminism is to her and make her own political demands that will reflect her experiences of injustice rooted in her unique personhood. Such a perspective removes the need for a politics based on a homogenous platform by replacing it with a network of alliances. Although women may constantly shift alliances as their needs change, activism can still be visible in a collection of localized campaigns that relate to a unifying objective: 52

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the expression of responsibility to and for others. Fraser and Nicholson (1990: 35) describe this approach to feminist politics in terms of a ‘broader, richer, more complex and multi-layered feminist solidarity. Unity can still exist and is vital in overcoming the oppression of women in its endless variety and monotonous similarity.’ Mohanty (1991) warns against focusing too much on documenting differences. The activity of recognizing differences can lead to a state of harmonious yet empty pluralism. Razack (1998) criticizes the shift to embracing differences. She states that ‘emphasis on cultural diversity too often descends in a multicultural spiral, to a superficial reading of differences that makes power relations invisible and keeps dominant cultural norms in place’ (Razack 1998: 9). The political objective – to end social injustice against women – must remain at the forefront despite the need to acknowledge differences. Combining difference with a clear political stance is possible if the notion of gendered subjectivity is more fluid. Social identities, according to Butler (1992), reflect a tapestry of interwoven parts, some of which will be shared with others, while others will always separate individuals. Alliances are possible because, despite differences, needs materialize that link groups of women together, for example women from different social classes who suffer from domestic violence (Chapters 3 and 6). Political alliances occur naturally as women tell each other about what motivates their agency. If suppressive power relations are to be challenged effectively, the relationship between micro and macro structures must be acknowledged. Hennessy (1993) rightly points out that feminism must recognize local differences while continuing to challenge macro structures. Key to this approach is a relationship between female subjectivities that is grounded in a commitment to listen to others and respond responsibly to what is being said. Solidarity can be seen through this commitment. Flax (1992) endorses this view when she states that feminist politics does not need a subject; instead, activists must learn to listen to others. The feminism of Indian women My field-work material centres on the lives of Rajasthani village women and my concern is to analyse the effectiveness of development initiatives in responding to their needs. This means that I must consider the approach taken by those activists and scholars in 53

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India whose focus is the oppression endured by Indian women. In particular, I examine the approach taken by those activists and academics who call themselves feminists.14 Many feminist academics and activists in India come from the urban elite and are from middleor upper-class backgrounds. I must therefore consider the extent to which these scholars overcome the barrier this privileged status produces between them and poor Indian women. The material I review reveals that this gulf inhibits the effectiveness of projects aimed to confront women’s inequality. Instead of seeking to overcome it, urban female activists use it to construct a platform from which they can claim to know and understand rural women’s sufferings. Barriteau-Foster (1992), Chow (1992) and Lazreg (1988) support my view and argue that Orientalists are not only white and northern, but that such a stance can also be seen in the work of ‘Third World’ scholars trained by Western academia. In this section I consider evidence of this argument in the work of a variety of Indian scholars. Through an examination of the various historic women’s organizations and groups, I begin by considering how Indian feminism emerged. The Indian feminist movement: The first coherent women’s organizations emerged in the 1920s. Although Sharat Stri Mahamandal, the earliest of such groups, was formed in 1917, the Women’s Indian Association (WIA) and the All India Women’s Conference (AIWC) both came into being in 1927. The initial focuses of these organizations were on women’s education and social and legal reform. Omvedt (1997) points out that these initial groups denied any alliance with Western feminism.15 Roy (2000) states that the contemporary women’s movement emerged only in the 1970s and acquired impetus when the UN declared women’s year in 1975. The movement as it exists today is highly decentralized, but according to Calman (1992) still has a coherent unified structure. She states that the Indian feminist movement comprises various organizations that vary in size and that exist in both rural and urban locations. The movement’s participants span a range of classes, castes, levels of wealth and political leanings. Despite such plurality, Calman believes that a web of communication runs through all these strands and links them to a larger network that can be characterized by the term ‘movement’. Her analysis of the current movement has led her to 54

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conclude that it is divided into two sections. While a largely urbanbased element focuses on rights and equality, another element consisting of both urban and rural components emphasizes the empowerment and liberation of women. Both wings want to change the consciousnesses of women and men and get them to understand that women in contemporary India occupy an inferior position relative to men economically, socially and politically and that this position is unjust and unacceptable. Groups on the ‘rights and equality’ side of the movement see women’s issues in terms of human rights that within a secular democracy should be protected by legislation and law enforcement agencies. Such an approach is non-confrontational and is not concerned with challenging the underlying patriarchal construction of gender roles. Rights groups urge the state to pass and implement laws that give women equality in matters subject to legislation, to act to improve women’s health and access to education, to move towards equality in employment and to pass and implement legislation on rape and the dowry that will free women from violence. Examples of these groups include the Janata Party’s ‘Mahila Dakshata Samiti’, the Communist Party of India’s National Federation of Indian Women, the All Indian Democratic Women’s Association and the All Indian Coordinating Committee of Working Women, all of which are affiliated to the Communist Party of India (Marxist). Also to be included are groups that do not possess such direct political connections: the All India Women’s Conference and the Young Women’s Christian Association. All these organizations are national (apart from the Mahila Dakshata Samiti), and most have local bases and are arranged hierarchically with a national leadership based in the capital.16 The leaders of these groups are usually highly-educated middle- or upper-class individuals who live and work in the capital. The most common demands made by each of the groups centre on issues of dowry, dowry deaths, inheritance laws and police brutality. As Calman (1992) and Chaudhuri (1993) state, it is these educated, middle-class city and town dwellers who are instrumental in organizing the rural and urban poor Groups that fall within the empowerment wing of the movement share the objective of seeing the personal and community empowerment of poor women in both rural and urban areas. However, here also the largest organizations are headed by educated urban women 55

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whose backgrounds reflect those of the leadership of the rights based groups cited above. The leaders seem to feel that poor illiterate women are incapable of sustaining a coherent and well-structured campaign without the help of more educated women. Empowerment groups are concerned with economic development, but there are also self-conscious attempts to create organizational forms in which women become empowered psychologically and socially. Objectives include increasing women’s participation in decision making and implementation, raising consciousnesses about the situation of poor women, creating mutual interdependence and group solidarity, and developing skills, self-confidence and assertiveness, all of which are seen as integral to the process of empowerment. In Chapter 4 I will show how these objectives are consistent with those of the Western GAD discourse. This may not be surprising because many (not all) Indian empowerment groups, in their desire to emphasize self-help and the power of local communities, seek and accept resources from international donors. The influence of the donor agencies may therefore be reflected in these organizations’ aims. Truly rural based movements tend to be small and localized. Some organizations have expanded to cover both rural and urban contexts (such as the Self-Employed Women’s Association). The impact of legislation on the rights of Indian women: The work of the scholars cited above in documenting the history of the Indian feminist movement reveals the emphasis Indian feminists have placed on making changes to the law to achieve a better status and standard of living for India’s female population. There are two reasons for focusing on changing the law rather than intervening at a grass-roots level. First, urban-based feminists are reluctant to live in a rural area or even to spend a sustained amount of time living and working with poor women. A more localized approach would make the complexities of inequality more apparent and highlight how changes in law are not enough to bring about a better standard of living for women (this is highlighted further in Chapter 6). Second, Chaudhuri (1993), in her work on the role of middle and upper-class Indian women in forming an Indian feminist movement, looks at the impact Western liberal feminism has had on the models of progress propounded by women in this movement. In particular, following the lead of Western feminists, it is the movement’s delineation 56

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between ‘public’ and ‘private’ spheres that has led to a concentration of efforts on making changes to the law, which it is hoped will secure women greater visibility in the public sphere. For example, changes in employment laws, education and health provision all allow women to take up opportunities that move them away from their traditional domestic roles. Madhu Kishwar, an Indian activist who takes a critical view, sees the work of urban Indian women who position themselves as feminists as highly problematic. She writes of ‘the tendency of the educated elite to attempt to play God and issue commandments in the form of ever newer versions of ineffectual legislation for the rest of society that pretend to offer remedies for the oppression of women’ (Kishwar 1999: 5). She accuses urban feminists of focusing their energies on legislation instead of pursuing micro-focused initiatives and getting to know the women they wish to help. Such an approach to activism has the effect of distancing these groups from the daily realities of many women. In particular, campaigning at this level marginalizes the voices of rural women who cannot travel to the urban centres where many political women’s forums are based. Kishwar asserts that legislative changes fail to reverse patterns of inequality and Soper (1990) supports her argument that focusing solely on changes to legislation fails to confront the deep-rooted structural inequalities that inhibit women. Soper states that such methods leave the main sources of women’s disempowerment (structural constraints and cultural inequalities) intact. Kishwar is vocal in her condemnation: ‘The few laws that have the slightest chance of improving ordinary women’s lives are not implemented nor does it seem were they ever intended as anything more than a rhetorical and symbolic expression of pious sentiment’ (Kishwar 1999: 3). Purely legal approaches to activism fail to get to the root causes of female disempowerment. Practices like the dowry, sati and female infanticide exist because women’s lives are systematically devalued at every level in India (Chapters 3 and 6). Changes in laws do not recognize the complexities of oppression. Furthermore, the misogynistic bias of the legal system limits the effectiveness of legislative change. As I show in Chapter 6, even those in charge of implementing new laws (the legal profession) hold the view that women are inferior. A report written by Kirti Singh (n.d), a lawyer based in Delhi, stresses that the laws are not designed to protect the dignity 57

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and well-being of women, but exist merely as a façade. From the outside it may seem that the legislative system respects women’s rights, but its practical implementation reveals that certain loopholes allow abuses against women to continue. The failure of legislation to protect the rights and dignity of women is discussed in detail in Chapter 6 through the case study of Bhanweri Devi, a local development worker who was gang raped. She was let down by a series of male judges who refused to accept that such atrocities against women could ever be committed. In such an impenetrabely patriarchal environment, what hope is there that male judges will seek justice for women? Kishwar (1999) examines the failure of legislation to protect the rights of women by looking at four areas of law: anti-sati legislation, the outlawing of prostitution, anti-sex testing of the unborn and laws against the practice of dowry. She reveals that despite the existence of the legislation the very acts they seek to outlaw continue to occur in the full knowledge of the law enforcement agencies. The failure of anti-sati laws was clearly shown in the case of Roop Kanwar. In Deorala, the village in which this crime of widow burning took place, an exceptionally large number of the men are employed in the police. Many of these men were present in the village on the day Roop Kanwar burned to death, and they did nothing. According to reports in Manushi, legislation outlawing prostitution merely placed too much power in the hands of an already corrupt police force. Consequently, Kishwar argues, brothels now function under police protection, providing officers with an additional source of income through the extortion of bribes from prostitutes. ‘In addition, the police stage occasional dramas of carrying out raids during which arrests are made to instil greater fear among the prostitutes, their pimps and brothel owners. This helps the police raise their bribes even higher’ (Kishwar 1999: 97). The criminalization of prostitutes and the police–pimp nexus makes it even harder for women to escape prostitution if they so choose. The very authority that should secure their exit from it has an incentive to keep them in this cycle of poverty and indignity. The third area Kishwar looks at is sex testing. Despite laws banning prenatal sex determination tests, the practice flourishes. Kishwar argues that new laws changed only the manner in which the testing is done. Doctors now charge a large fee (previously tests cost 58

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between 100 and 600 roupees; now they cost between 500 and 8000, a proportion of which goes towards police protection) – ‘all we succeed in doing is to criminalize large sections of the medical profession and to increase corruption in the police’ (Kishwar 1999: 98). Certainly, Manderson and Bennett (2003) show that sex selection is still common in India and in some areas is on the increase, aided by the introduction of new technology that makes it easier to determine the sex of a foetus. Finally, anti-dowry laws are a highly contested area of legislation. Campaigners have succeeded in passing various laws, most significantly the Dowry Prohibition Act of 1961, to protect women from being treated as mere economic commodities traded through marriage. However, these laws have failed to curb significantly the abuses women suffer because of dowry. The primary reason for their inefficiency is that not all women support the anti-dowry laws. As Kishwar points out, being denied access to property and land, many women see the receipt of a dowry as their right. Not to give the bride a dowry would leave the family’s entire wealth in the hands of her brothers. In addition, entering her marital home empty-handed would only increase a woman’s dependence on her husband and inlaws. The complexities of trying to increase women’s economic power must be appreciated. The dowry should not be criminalized without first improving women’s inheritance rights; the two go hand in hand (Leslie 1995). However, this is not a straightforward process. Kishwar argues that it is more accurate to say that people are not anti-dowry but anti-dowry harassment. ‘Why outlaw stridhan, especially if the daughters themselves are keen to receive it?’ (Kishwar 1999: 102) In fact, as Basu (2001) points out, the removal of the dowry has the effect of increasing women’s vulnerability because women no longer carry the same value. Families resentful of accepting an additional member who does not bring sufficient economic gain can turn violently against this outsider. Basu’s extensive research among women in Delhi from all castes and class backgrounds reveals that women continue to support dowry because they perceive it as affirming their cultural identity. Basu describes how her informants perceive their own subjectivity as part of a ‘collective Indian subject’. When talking about Indian tradition they used the plural ‘we’, thus including themselves in the patriarchal subject position. Yet, the process of self-identification is 59

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more complex. Indian women simultaneously associate with this male subject constructed by their highly misogynistic tradition while holding onto their position as women who are subjugated by this system. Each of Basu’s female informants also acknowledged the grave injustices women suffer because of their tradition. A more constructive approach to the issue, both Kishwar and Leslie suggest, is to encourage parents not to buy consumer items as dowry, but instead use the money to buy land or put a deposit down on a property in the daughter’s name and thus increase her economic leverage within her marital home. By placing the emphasis on human behaviour, in other words by focusing on the degree to which people observe the legal changes, attention is deflected from discussing the appropriateness of the law. Kishwar believes that this focus must shift if there are to be any productive advancements in women’s rights. ‘In short, whenever we see people bypass or ignore a social law which has been enacted for their supposed benefit, we must ask what is wrong with this law that its alleged beneficiaries ignore it rather than assume that there is something wrong with the people who disobey its dictates’ (Kishwar 1999: 103). The oppression women suffer exists on many levels. There is no simple, easy solution. Groups that claim to be concerned with confronting patriarchy must accept that this will involve a long and complex battle.17 18

Madhu Kishwar’s approach to activism: Without a sustained presence in villages, women from the urban elite cannot claim to understand village women’s needs. Urban women’s groups must address this division. Kishwar is a prominent Indian activist who has gone through a process of self-examination and addressed the urban/rural divide that was present in her perspective. Her approach to fighting female oppression has influenced my own attitude to activism. What is interesting is that although her objective remains the same (to end injustices that impinge on Indian women) her approach to activism has changed dramatically. Kishwar realized that a huge gulf lay between her and the Indian women for whom she campaigned, and she acknowledged that her status as a Western-educated, urban elite woman created a barrier of difference between her and the majority of India’s female population, which had not enjoyed her privileged status. Her experiences of being an Indian woman simply do not compare with those of most village women. It also follows that the 60

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expectations she has for her life will differ from those held by a woman in rural India. She identified a fundamental problem in her approach: she had positioned herself as a political campaigner for women’s rights, yet had very little in common with those for whom she campaigned. She had assumed that her voice reflected the voice of every Indian woman, yet given her background how could this possibly be the case? ‘What right’, she asked, ‘do elite women have to speak on behalf of India’s rural poor?’ (Kishwar 1996a: 106). Feminist groups inside and outside India have criticized her for being an apologist for the oppression of women (Jain and Singh 2001), which she counters with: ‘I am more concerned about being sensible, trying to understand what different groups of women want and to find concrete and pragmatic ways to actually strengthen their abilities to live without fear or oppression, rather than to make women’s lives an experimental lab for our supposedly radical ideas’ (Kishwar 1999: 6). In an article ‘A Horror of isms: Why I do not call myself a Feminist’, Kishwar (1999: 268–90) resists constant pressures from within and outside India to call herself a feminist. She refused to call Manushi a feminist publication because she claims she wants to include all oppressed people in her work, men as well as women; she opted instead for A Journal about Women and Society. Kishwar states with conviction that she only responds to an issue once the individuals it affects raise their concerns. No matter how strongly she feels something must be changed to improve a woman’s (or man’s) life, she feels she has no right to interfere until requested to do so by those concerned.19 Kishwar argues that India has a long history of women’s assertiveness and a well-established tradition of making space for women whose aspirations take them in directions different from the stereotypical roles assigned to them by orthodox Hinduism. According to Kishwar the tradition of goddess worship, of seeing the feminine as shakti (power) to be feared and revered, allows Indian society to be receptive to women’s strengths and defiance, even though it practises very offensive forms of discrimination against women.20 She further argues that men and women in India have always vocalized injustice, but because the means of articulating concerns do not mirror those used by Western feminism, it has been assumed that there is no voice of dissent. In Chapter 3 I return to the issue of agency and through my ethnographic case studies endorse 61

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Kishwar’s view that Indian women naturally possess the strength to resist, but not necessarily expressed through mechanisms most apparent to Western eyes. Kishwar compares feminism with a missionary trying to convert Indian womanhood to the doctrine of the ‘liberated woman’. Yet, ‘in societies like India, we accept differences and diversity as a way of life and take it for granted that different social groups and communities are likely to have their own cultural preferences and ways of life’ (Kishwar 1999: 277). Feminism is oppressive to Kishwar because it denies Indian women their differences. She condemns Western aid agencies for exporting this feminist ideology and proselytizing. As far as she is concerned, membership of an international feminist movement benefits a few Western-educated Indian women; it brings them mobility in their careers, and invitations to international conferences and study programmes. She argues that scholarships made available to Indian women reflect current trends in Western academia and do not give Indian scholars the freedom to explore the depths of their own traditions.21 Worse still is the direct and aggressive imposition of donor aid, often clumsily directed to a single issue like UN year of the girl child. The recipients of such aid are subsequently forgotten once the funding has run out.22 Kishwar limits the amount of contact she has with Western NGOs and even national Indian organizations because she believes their work is not rooted in people’s best interests. Such structures make no attempt to get to know the people they target for help. Her ultimate vision is clear: I would like to see a world in which the means for a dignified life are available to all human beings equally, where the polity and economy are decentralized so that people have greater control over their lives, where the diversity within and among groups and individuals is respected and where tolerance and equality of rights and responsibilities are fostered at all levels. (Kishwar 1999: 289–90) Some Indian scholars who describe themselves as ‘feminists’ believe that, in not using the term, Kishwar is failing to recognize how deeprooted oppression against women is in Indian culture and history. Jain and Singh (2001), who hold this view, state that many activists 62

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in India hesitate before adopting the word feminist because it has become associated with a form of militancy that undermines the values and moral codes of the Indian tradition. Talwar Oldenburg is clear about why she uses the word feminist to describe her work: Feminism has a long history and is no longer monolithic; multiple feminisms abound, and feminism is capable of the same kinds of distinctions one would expect in any analysis of the word patriarchy. I define the word feminist in its simplest political sense, a person (and not necessarily a woman) whose analytical perspective is informed by an understanding of the relationship between power and gender in any historical, social, or cultural context. To me, the argument against using the word feminist is weakened by the fact that terms and theories of equally Western provenance – Marxist, socialist, Freudian, or post-structuralist – do not arouse similar indignation and are in fact (over) used as standard frameworks for analyses of Indian society by Indian scholars. (Oldenburg 1994: 103) Conclusion Feminism for Talwar Oldenburg (as for many scholars) is a methodology that allows her to examine the impact of patriarchy on women’s lives. Feminism does not need to be a constraining label, referring to a Western hegemony, but is a term that denotes a desire to achieve human freedom. The fact that feminism conjures resistance from so many quarters suggests that many are afraid of the impact freedom for all may have on their privileged existence (discussed further in Chapter 4). Avoiding the term does not help fulfil the objective the scholars I have cited wish to achieve – women’s equality. Western feminist assumptions about what constitutes a worthy existence must be rejected to make way for a more fluid application of the term feminism. Women across the globe possess a multitude of visions born of an infinite array of experiences. A feminist methodology should hold dialogue as a fundamental component. With a focus on securing respectful, open dialogue between women and attention to recording the dialogues through which women speak, the lives of others can be made present. Injustices can be seen and understood through the voices of 63

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those who endure them. A feminist methodology can value differences as an integral part of human existence rather than as a phenomenon that must be overcome. A feminist methodology should challenge and deconstruct claims to know. Each feminist scholar and activist must begin with her or his own assumptions and perceptions. Through self-reflexivity each feminist can unravel the preoccupations inherent in her or his own lens. What images of women as Other motivate the desire to act? In addition, such a space created by self-reflexivity allows feminists to identify and articulate their experiences of oppression, through which they can construct a personal definition of feminism. Feminism is not about what Western-trained academics and activists want to see changed; rather, it is about responding to the needs of others. In the following chapters I consider how anthropologists, and in particular ethnographic work based on the lives of Rajasthani women, can help forge an effective dialogue through which the voices of others can be heard.

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Chapter 3

Understanding the Image of Sita

I

n this chapter I aim to contrast some scholars’ and NGO workers’ negative depictions of Rajasthani village women with the defiant and active women I met during my various fieldwork trips to the region. I do not dispute that Rajasthani women are oppressed by structural constraints and do not wish to paint a glowing picture of life as a woman in rural Rajasthan. The patriarchal constraints against which women in Rajasthan have to negotiate are real and highly repressive. The ideology of male power that shapes social relationships in Rajasthan has been produced by a wider symbolic and cultural order. However, this hegemonic assertion of power does not determine the self-image and sense of personhood individual Rajasthani women possess. The suggestion made by various scholars and activists that the identity of Rajasthani women is negative and repressed is counterproductive. Rather than serving to release women from the grasps of patriarchy it adds yet another layer to the oppression they experience. A negative image of the female in rural Rajasthan (and India in general) is often used to highlight the evils of patriarchy (see my Introduction for an example). This homogenous image of female subjectivity depicts a victim suffering at the hands of an unjust social system. Orthodox Hindu notions of ideal womanhood influence the interpretations many scholars and activists associate with Indian women. Orthodox Hinduism as a symbol of perfect femininity presents the image of Sita in the Ramayana. Traditional narratives describe Sita as a role model for all Indian women. She is shown to be a dutiful and devoted wife complying with the demands of her husband (Rama) without complaint. This narrative has led some scholars and activists to link Sita with the oppressive nature of patriarchy. However, because Sita is a mythical figure her image is 65

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open to a range of interpretations. The orthodox narrative is not the only one. Other narratives point to the unjust treatment of Sita and suggest that her life was less than desirable. By emphasizing these versions of Sita’s life it is possible to challenge orthodox Hindu ideals that stress the need for women to conform to patriarchy. In addition, the narratives individual Hindus construct reflect the narrator’s agency in highlighting the inequalities of patriarchy. A focus on how different individuals perceive Sita provides insight into the complex ways personhood is expressed. I shall argue that the meanings attributed to Sita relate to the manner in which individuals experience her image. The material in this chapter reveals how individuals use religious imagery to create a deeply personal space in which to express personal feelings and emotions. Sita represents different qualities to different people. The aspects of her character a particular person emphasizes will reflect her or his own experiences. Despite her harsh treatment at the hands of Rama and Ravana, Sita is often perceived as a strong personality. The awe with which she is held offers optimism and hope to those who endure suffering. I shall argue that men and women encounter the feminine through their relationship with Sita. The extent to which images of the feminine shape masculine identities will be examined and the constraints patriarchy may present to men in their attempt to express their unique subjectivities. Suthren Hirst examines the variety of ways the Sita story is told: ‘The story of Rama and Sita is a bit like a mirror. When you hear it or watch it, you can see yourself in it and become almost part of the story; a story without end. But what do you see when you look?’ (Suthren Hirst 1997: 56). Before I look at the variety of meanings attributed to Sita, I will first present Sutherland’s interpretation of Valmiki’s version of the story in which she focuses on Sita’s voice, which she locates at certain points in the text. Valmiki’s Sita It is within the ancient text the Ramayana1 that for many the ideal notion of womanhood emerges and becomes condensed within a model of socially acceptable female behaviour. According to traditional expectations Sita will not leave her husband’s side. Sita convinces Rama that she should follow him into exile and in doing so she reinforces the notion of Sita as Pativrata (ideal wife). Although Valmiki’s epic is primarily written from a hegemonic masculine 66

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Photograph of a Hindu family in rural

A Hindu family in rural Rajasthan, stood in front of their family shrine. The shrine includes images of Rama and Sita. Picture taken by author, January 2001.

perspective, thus propounding images of men as patriarchs, Sutherland believes that a female voice can also be identified. There may not be much room for the discussion of feminine concerns within Valmiki’s text, but Sutherland (1989 and 2000) argues that Sita’s voice can still be detected very faintly. In Ravana’s asoka grove Valmiki creates a space outside her culturally determined environment where Sita’s voice can be heard. Sutherland suggests that it is the traditional attitudes articulated by Manu (Doniger 1991) on the inherent nature of women (Svabhava) that force Rama to cast suspicion on Sita’s virtue. Although (through Hanuman’s voice) Valmiki constantly reinforces Sita’s chastity, he has also placed her in a situation from which she cannot escape without social censure. According to Sutherland, Valmiki presents Ravana not merely as an agent of desire, but in fact the object of feminine desire. His expressions of lust are visible in his actions during Sita’s imprisonment within his palace walls. Ravana’s sexual cravings make him appear human (at least for this part of the story). Despite 67

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Ravana’s obvious physical desire for her, Sita’s appearance and demeanour constantly remind the audience that she has withdrawn her sexuality. This is clear from her symbolic purdah; she places a straw between her and Ravana over which he is too frightened to tread (Sutherland 2000: 229). Through this act of sexual control, Sita is empowered to condemn Ravana who is weakened by his paralysing desire for her. Sita is no longer the kidnapped victim but an empowered woman. She declares: ‘other men’s wives bring ruin upon a man promiscuous, evil minded, his senses unrestrained unsatisfied with his own’ (Sutherland 2000: 229). In her eloquent defence of her loyalty to Rama she acts to preserve the patriarchy. ‘It is only because I have not been so ordered by Rama and because I wish to preserve intact the power of my austerities that I do not reduce you to ashes with my own blazing power, for that is what you deserve’ (quoted by Sutherland 2000: 231). Here we see that Sita possesses the power to rescue herself and destroy Ravana. Power gained through her close association with the mother goddess figure empowers her and threatens Ravana’s masculinity. But she does not use it because she is Pativrata and as the ideal wife can only act when her husband orders her to do so. Sutherland points out that Sita is acutely aware that ‘Rama’s power as a husband, lord, king and avenged would be diminished, if not destroyed, if he did not have complete control of her and serve as the only source of her salvation’ (Sutherland 2000: 231). Sutherland goes on to state that ‘this view is echoed later in the Kanda when Sita refuses to accept Hanuman’s offer to rescue her. Sita in keeping with the mores of her tradition could well possess great power even a power greater than her husband. However in Valmiki’s text she must not use it, even to save her life without the permission of Rama’ (Sutherland 2000: 231). In Valmiki’s text, Sita’s empowerment gains sanction only through the service of the patriarchy. Sita is overwhelmed by a feeling of abandonment and resolves to take her own life, for without a husband her life is meaningless. ‘Valmiki has fashioned this expression of resistance as an articulation of the ultimate self-denial suicide. As the cultural idea of woman, Sita in her soliloquy gives voice to her doubt, her feelings of abandonment and her lack of faith in her patriarchy. Sita ultimately has to confront her own seemingly irremediable dependence on her husband’ (Sutherland 2000: 238). The realization that she has been let down by the social system that vowed to protect 68

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her should she remain loyal and faithful to it can be seen in a version of the story written by Kamban in Tamil in the twelfth century. In the following quote Sita articulates despair at Rama’s continued refusal to accept her innocence: All that I suffered, All the care With which my chastity My goodness And what cost, And for so long a time – All this seems crazy now, A futile waste. Since you, O best of beings Don’t understand it in your heart. (translated by Shulman 1992: 103) Sita knows she has suffered injustice and is determined to voice her disgust. Neither Kamban nor Sutherland denies the oppression Sita obviously endured. Instead of depicting her as a victim, they portray her as a woman of immense courage. The oppressed Sita The scholars presented below see Sita only in the context of an oppressive model for ideal womanhood. Manu’s repressive laws (Doniger 1991) are evidence of the culture’s determination to restrict the role of women to a narrow and suppressed existence. Manu, through his lists of laws and expectations, projects a model of ideal womanhood that is condensed within Valmiki’s Sita. Some scholars perceive Indian women as victims because they do not see them challenge the Sita model. According to Kakar (1989) and Fruzzetti (1990), from a young age Hindu girls both urban and rural will listen to the story of Rama and Sita and will be left in no doubt of what Sita represents – compliance. They argue that Sita is propounded as the perfect ideal of womanhood to which all women should aspire. Kakar (1989) is the most noted of Indian psychoanalysts and has conducted research into the impact religious imagery has on the construction of a social identity and resulting behaviour of different groups in India. He argues that Sita is the most powerful image for women in 69

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Hinduism and describes a process through which a young Hindu girl subconsciously internalizes this image. Once she has incorporated it into her social identity she begins to behave according to the specific roles and duties comprised in the Sita model. ‘The ideal of womanhood incorporated by Sita is one of chastity, purity, gentle tenderness and a singular faithfulness which cannot be destroyed or even disturbed by her husband’s rejections, slights or thoughtlessness. The moral is the familiar: whether treated well or ill a wife should never indulge in ire’ (Kakar 1978: 66). Kakar argues that the apparent compliance of Hindu women to the Sita ideal is due to the intensity of their social conditioning. He suggests that the more accepting Indian women appear to be, the more deep-rooted their social conditioning. He seems to believe that his work highlights the deep-rooted nature of female suppression in India. According to Fruzzetti (1990), the Sita model is not just enforced through retelling the Rama and Sita story, but it is endorsed through the performance of rituals that set the boundaries for female identity. Fruzzetti stresses the importance of studying ritual as a way of accessing female identity. However, her work is limited by her focus on public rituals, which she interprets as a mechanism through which men can limit female activity. She sees ritual as a vital way to understanding the link women have with their wider community, and in helping us understand how women perceive their role within the community structure. Fruzzetti structures her work around a passive, negative image of female subjectivity. This results in an interpretation of female identity in India that is both homogenous and inaccurate. Through rituals women define and interpret the separate world of women, a world with its own hierarchy and meaning and ideology in day-to-day interactions. Yet, at the same time, women emphasize through ritual the complementarity of male and female as these relate to the indigenous principles of female and male divine power. Through rituals women enact the actual and expected roles of virgin, daughter, wife, daughter-in-law. The rites not only enact and express reality but represent the reality itself as women conceive of it and as society relates to it. (Fruzzetti 1990: 128)

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According to Fruzzetti, these rituals confirm and maintain the parameters of women’s social world, securing their commitment to specific roles. Fruzzetti (1990: 113) describes how ‘women can only reach self through their husbands’. She describes a sense in which women accept without resistance the roles placed on them from birth. Women’s ritual performances are society’s way of regulating the process, assuring female loyalty in the roles they were originally prescribed. Fruzzetti ends her study by stating that ‘women understand, interpret, and symbolize their world – the meaning and significance of three lives – through stri, acars and bratars: a domain of actions separate from, and yet complementary to the world of men’ (Fruzzetti 1990: 134). Through her representation of Indian women as victims of patriarchy, Fruzzetti has created a mythical female Other. This Other is the location of her pity and the focus of her writing. Her motivation is political – to reveal to Indian women the extent of their repression and offer them an alternative existence presented as the freedom (to become like her). Her perception of Indian women as Other can clearly be seen when she writes: women are voiceless ‘representations of daughters and wives, come victims’ (Fruzzetti 1990: xviii). In particular, it is her use of the word ‘victim’ that reveals her perception of Indian women as weak, passive recipients of patriarchal repression. In her preface Fruzzetti condemns the image of Sita as a poor role model for Indian women. She cites a poem by Agarwal2 and asks: ‘If Sita represents such devotion, purity, model of perfection – why did she not stand up for the injustices she encountered?’ (Fruzzetti 1990: 11). I have already presented Sutherland’s identification of Sita in Valmiki’s Ramayana, in which she argues that Sita did at points assert dissent as best she could. Fruzzetti’s interpretation of Sita reveals her political motive (to expose the extent of women’s oppression in India) and fails to tell us anything about personal female identities there. Fruzzetti makes no attempt to document Indian women’s voices and experiences. Instead, she uses a passive construction of Woman to describe how patriarchy is implanted onto and into the minds of Indian women. In addition, Fruzzetti’s limited focus on public rituals is restrictive and is discussed later in this chapter. Social identity among Hindu women, as portrayed by Kakar and Fruzzetti, is negative and rooted in a dualistic and universalistic 71

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understanding of female identity in which the feminine is both passive and compliant (mother) and potentially destructive if her sexuality is untamed (remains unmarried or is widowed). Such representations are supported by ethnographies such as Bennett’s (1983) study of high caste Brahmin women in Nepal, in which she describes the process of socialization through which Brahmin women learn what is expected of them and accept their inferior position without fuss. Work by Jeffery et al. (1989) in Muslim communities in north India suggests that women do little to challenge traditional gender roles,3 though in their later work (Jeffery and Jeffery 1996) they hold a different, more positive view of Indian women, balancing the negative realities of life in rural north India with moments of joy and contentment. In their earlier work they describe how Indian women suffer the constraints of their gender alone, the effects of which are severely damaging. ‘Their sources of support from other women are scant and local perceptions of female physiology invoke very negative self-images’ (Jeffery et al. 1989: vii). Kakar’s work is based on such a binary opposition in which he portrays female sexuality as rampant and dangerous.4 He believes this conception is embedded in the minds of boys as they grow up, injecting them with a terror of aggressive untamed female sexuality. As sexual beings prior to motherhood, women are treated with scorn and regarded with fear. By focusing solely on the polluting, sexually destructive elements of femininity, women are denied their unique identities as individual women and are given no space (by scholarship) to articulate their own self-perceptions constructed despite such interpretations. What worries Gold about the perspective these scholars, and particularly Kakar, take is that ‘women either uphold a univocal normative order or deviate from it. There seems to be little recognition of a multiplicity of culturally valued strategies or perspectives for constructing selfhood and moral discourse’ (Raheja and Gold 1994: 10). Such material places Indian women within a binary opposition in which they are represented as the homogenous Other in relation to those who place them there (Western and Indian scholars like Agarwal 2000, Fruzzetti 1990 and Kakar 1989). The irony is that such scholarship constrains women, yet those scholars who produce such material often claim they are contributing to the liberation of women by exposing the extent of patriarchal repression. Why do these 72

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scholars limit their representations of women to this notion of a repressed Other? Such a static, passive subject provides a convenient platform on which to base their work. The Other is frozen, detached from social reality, to allow scholars to maintain their authority (over Indian women). As soon as the complexities of human subjectivity are engaged, the task becomes far more complex. In reality, Sita has been positioned as the object of study, the Other, by those liberated academics who place her there. In various ways I will deconstruct this notion of Indian woman as Other. My assertions are founded on the view that it is psychologically unfeasible for Indian women to believe that they are dangerous and need to be contained. Indeed, how could a Hindu woman find the motivation to live while carrying around such a negative self-image? Life requires a positive will, especially in the harsh desert plains of Rajasthan, and this can only come from a positive source that fuels a determination to survive. This argument is put forward by Leslie in her conclusion to The Perfect Wife: On psychological grounds alone it is hardly likely that half the population of India actually regarded (or regard) themselves in the negative terms outlined by the other half. It is far more probable that they either resisted altogether the interpretations foisted on them or created their own positive construct – For Indian women rarely want to be men; nor as a general rule do they seek the ‘freedoms’ of Western women. (Leslie 1989: 328–9) The authors cited in this section (Agarwal, Bennett, Fruzzetti, Jeffery and Jeffery, and Kakar) make it impossible to identify positive social constructs and interpretations because they fail to appreciate that some aspects of a woman’s life (amid many experiences of pain) will hold importance for her. Valmiki’s Sita is an example of a woman who fought with all the resources available to her – physical endurance, determination, patience and her sexuality. Sutherland (1989) argues that the actions Sita adopted (in Valmiki’s Ramayana), rather than being evidence of her weak compliance to Rama, could reveal a political strategy designed to highlight the injustices she suffered at the hands of her jealous and pitiful husband. Although her actions could be described as 73

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masochistic in that she endured physical pain, fire tests and endless years in the forest, she had no other course of dissent open to her. In a society where public vocal expressions of anger and frustration were (and still are) unacceptable (especially from women), intense suffering in the hope that someone would notice her pain and realize her plight was the only route open to her. She could be described in Foucauldian terms as a social deviant whose feelings and thoughts did not conform to the norm defined by patriarchy, but she nonetheless felt determined to express them. Sita could be thought of as finding the only option available to her to articulate her intense anger towards her husband and towards a social system that had allowed her to suffer such grave injustices. Those who worship Sita see this; to them she represents a wholly positive and awe inspiring ideal. I am eager to assert in this chapter how women confront these negative images of female sexuality and, through their own interpretations, construct not only sources of moral courage but also sophisticated and elaborate strategies of resistance. I consider the numerous ways Rajasthani women express their dissent, including their projection of physical suffering. I ask could the harsh and brutal act of sati allow women to highlight the injustice of a system that is willing to allow them to die in such intense pain? Conformity could be seen as a political strategy in a society where women are not allowed to speak publicly of their feelings. Such a view is held by Gold who states: ‘Submission and silence may be conscious strategies of self-representation deployed when it is expedient to do so, before particular audiences and in particular contexts.’ (Raheja and Gold 1994: 11) At a deeper level, how women today interpret and experience the Sita image represents ‘strategies in the construction of selfhood’ (Raheja and Gold: 12). Such actions are not for political or economic gain, as Bourdieu (1977) suggests, or in the pursuit of self-interest (de Certeau 1984). Rather, Indian women take the image into their inner world and inject it with the meanings they require to reflect their unique and individual subjectivities. Through personal interpretations of Sita, women confront and voice their rejection of those devaluations of female sexuality and assert themselves as active creators of their own powerful identities. I present below contemporary research into experiences Indian women and men have of Sita, beginning with the Sita of urban middle-class women in Delhi. 74

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The Sita of urban Indian women Religion is the primary factor in determining what cultural values structure each aspect of life. Therefore, any attempt to understand the life of a rural Indian woman should begin with her religion. Kishwar (1996b) shares this view. Influenced by her earlier work on Gandhi and his representation of the image of Sita (Kishwar 1985), she conducted a sociological survey of the particular religious images that retain popularity in India today. Though based, as it was, on a small sample of mainly urban people in Delhi her research has obvious limitations, the findings are still of interest. Kishwar (1996b) concluded that Sita remains the most popular goddess image among both men and women. Kishwar sought to discover what it was about Sita’s image that made her so popular and concludes it was her defiance, which she asserted despite the injustices she suffered at the hands of both her husband Rama5 and the evil demon Ravana. Kishwar suggests – and Sutherland (1989 and 2000) and Suthren Hirst (1997) support her view – that Rama is made to look weak in comparison with Sita. Despite the humiliation she endured by being accused of infidelity by her husband and the indignity of having to go through a fire test to prove her innocence, her resilience and determination won her the admiration and respect of the Indian populace. Kishwar’s conclusions draw a positive interpretation of this image – she does not accept that Sita has a negative impact on the lives of Indian women – and contradict those made by other scholars like Fruzzetti (1990) and Agarwal (2000). She insists that, for the women who worship her today, Sita is not a symbol of repression as many Western and Indian feminists (and Kakar) have suggested. Instead, Sita is a source of strength and represents an ideal to which Indian women aspire. According to Kishwar, conformity to the dictates of the Sita model can bring a woman authority. A successful mother and wife becomes a powerful image, a power that is particularly present in the role of the mother-in-law. In her approach she distinguishes between obstacles in Indian women’s lives that must be overcome and the aspects of their social identity they may wish to preserve to take up this challenge. Kishwar (2000) then goes on to look at how Sharad Joshi (leader of the Lakshmi Mukti campaign in Maharashtra) uses Sita as a symbol of strength in his campaigns to get fathers to hand over land to their daughters as inheritance. Joshi recounts the 75

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injustices Sita was delivered by her husband and asks his audience if this is a humane way to treat women. He states that villagers must right the wrongs Rama committed and repay a long overdue debt. This example highlights the influence religious symbols can have in determining the course of development interventions. Gandhi’s Sita Sita’s image is so powerful that she inspired one of India’s most prominent figures who, in turn, influenced many activists in India. Gandhi experienced the image through the actions of his mother and then his wife (Morton 1953). Their displays of determination and strict observation of religious duties helped Gandhi shape his approach to political campaigning. His experience of the feminine was rooted in the maternal natures of his wife and mother. Gandhi’s attitude to women could not be described as feminist, yet he spent much energy campaigning for their rights. Activists like Kishwar (1985) argue that Gandhi’s contribution towards bringing issues of female injustice into the open could well have been motivated by concerns for female equality. Those influenced by Gandhi’s style of activism argue that he saw women not as objects of reform but as self-conscious subjects whom, if they choose, can become arbiters of their own destiny (Sharma 1982). In this sense Gandhi represents a break away from the attitude of many reform movement leaders of the late nineteenth century who tended to see women as passive recipients benefiting from a change in male behaviour and attitude (Omvedt 1990). Sita, Damyanti and Draupadi were three ideals of Indian womanhood that Gandhi repeatedly invoked as inspirations for women in India. Sita was used as a symbol of Swadeshi, conveying an antiimperialist message. Gandhi’s Sita only wore homespun cloth made in India, symbolically reflecting purity of heart and mind. His Sita was ‘no slave of Rama’ (Kishwar 1985: 1692); indeed, she would state her mind and was not afraid to say no to her husband’s burdensome sexual demands. She was not a helpless creature. According to Gandhi, her morality made her a match for Ravana’s evil and a strong image for Indian women to emulate. Gandhi used other female images like Draupadi to emphasize the complexities of the feminine. Draupadi was ‘a giant oak in her strength and resoluteness’. Sita was ‘gentleness incarnate’ (Kishwar 1985: 1692). According to Kishwar, Gandhi refused to think of 76

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women as physically weak. Instead, he stated that cultural interpretations of women as helpless perpetuated a psychological fear in Indian women.6 He believed that Indian women possessed an inner strength (shakti), which in the majority was as yet unrealized. He attempted to shatter depictions of female weakness in the hope that Indian women would unlock their courage. Women’s strength for Gandhi came in the form of purity and chastity. Such virtues were in fact a woman’s defence. Gandhi was open in his doubt of his own bravery if faced with brutalities such as rape, yet he maintained his conviction that women could overcome such traumas because they had strength and endurance. Gandhi encouraged women’s selfreliance by drawing on examples like Draupadi who, when the Pandavas failed to protect her, saved herself by an appeal to Lord Krishna. In this example Krishna represents the voice of one’s own conscience and resolute will to follow a chosen path. Gandhi chose to highlight women’s spiritual courage, propounding images of the self-sacrificing woman. He replaced aggressive, violent strategies of resistance with recognition of the superiority of suffering. However, a distinction needs to be made. While Gandhi acknowledged female agency, he felt that few women were utilizing their resources. Gandhi believed he could see what women could be rather than what they were. He believed that repression and confinement removed women’s natural ability to resist and struggle. At the root of women’s repression, Gandhi held, is a ‘false need to please men’ (Kishwar 1985: 1694). Gandhi’s perception of a silent, unmotivated female subject is clear: ‘From passive objects, women could become active subjects or agents of reform not only of their predicament but of the whole society’ (Kishwar 1985: 1694). Gandhi seemed to position himself as a liberator of women. He wanted to motivate them to reflect on their disempowerment and fight it like Sita did – as a dutiful woman who bore her pain but also shouted out against it. Indian feminists who acknowledge their awe of Gandhi’s ideology have adopted his conception of the female subject in their work. They believe Indian women have the potential to change the direction of their lives but need to be motivated into believing they have the strength to do so. This is particularly apparent in the emphasis on ‘consciousness raising’. This approach to activism is rooted in a belief that timid Indian women must be jolted into action (as discussed in both Chapters 1 and 2). 77

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Gandhi is thought to have highlighted the possibilities for female agency if it is first unbound from traditional beliefs that stress the need for control over the female body. At the same time his nonviolent strategy was founded on his observations of female agency (which he did not believe was present in all women). Gandhi claimed to have developed his notion of passive resistance from watching his wife and mother skilfully negotiate situations without the need for physical conflict. What Gandhi advocated was an extension of this role beyond domestic situations. However, he was not suggesting that women abandon their traditional gender role. Instead, he presented their actions as examples for men to adapt in a public setting. Gandhi’s division between public and private realms leaves women as nothing more than a complement to men, and there lies an inherent contradiction in his approach to women’s rights – one that those who attempt to emulate his techniques have not identified.7 Gandhi publicly condemned violence and aggression as evil, yet he failed to associate these with hegemonic masculinity. Gandhi’s ideology falls short of any significant attack on patriarchy since he does not link the violence of colonialism with the need to control and consume, which is also a defining feature of patriarchy. He failed to challenge the very heart of the power structure that resulted in the British invasion of his country and therefore left much of it intact. Gandhi’s limited analysis was due to his own position within the system. He benefited from elements of patriarchy. A society in which roles are ascribed through gender conveniently allows a few to enjoy the freedom to pursue a political career denied to others (Gandhi’s wife). The Sita of oral traditions The experiences and interpretations of Sita presented so far have been limited to the depiction of her in Valmiki’s text. By introducing the concept of space into my study I can add depth to my analysis of her and explore how her story is retold in a variety of ways through oral traditions and religious ritual. Space is important because it ‘defines the people in it’ (Ardener 1993: 3); it is dependent on who is present and can shift according to who enters it. Physical boundaries can define space (walls of a homestead); objects can characterize what activities take place in it (images in a shrine). What I am concerned with for the remainder of this chapter is what happens to this image of ideal womanhood when it is taken into spaces that are 78

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defined as ‘women only’. I do not assume that the spaces I describe below are private for all the women occupying them. What I hope to point out are the deeply personal experiences (for some women) that can be reflected through the story of Sita once it is internalized within a space that is free from traditional patriarchal symbols. The material presented below is not grounded in the image of the feminine as a duality (destructive/passive) but defines female subjectivity through agency. The images of women in the versions of the Ramayana below are fluid. In addition, the material highlights how private spaces can actually be created through the interpretation and performance of myths. The personalization of myths through oral retellings can allow for intimate expressions of needs and desires. Through a reading of the Ramayana such as that given by Sutherland (1989 and 2000), which creates a space for Sita’s voice, anthropologists are able to appreciate why women use the story to articulate their own painful or joyful experiences. The oral traditions of the Andhra Brahmin women Rao (1991) studied support this view. The songs he recorded8 do not represent an out and out protest against male control. This is clear, according to Rao, by the way the same women who sing the songs also participate in the public maledominated performance of the Ramayana, and in the way they conform (publicly) to expected female behaviour. Therefore, these songs do not reveal a desire to overthrow the male-dominated family structure. What is interesting is the way these songs create private space for Brahmin women ‘room for themselves to move’ (Rao 1991: 133). According to Rao, the songs provide a secure area in their lives in which they can voice freely their opinions and share experiences. ‘It is this internal freedom that these songs seem to cherish’ (Rao 1991: 133). I would add that the songs reflect an internalization of the myth and therefore provide insight into a woman’s personal world. The songs Rao presents recount female experiences at certain life events. The narrative of the Rama Sita story found in these songs is very different from the one Valmiki presented. I will list the particular narratives on which women focus.9



Narratives with Santa (Rama’s elder sister) as the central character, which are unusual since she is not commonly mentioned. Kaushalya’s pregnancy, with specific descriptions of her morning sickness. 79

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Rama’s birth. The women’s songs describe Kaushalya in labour and the pain is graphically articulated. The song describes how the child is delivered while the pregnant woman stands upright holding onto a pair of ropes hung from the ceiling. Now call the midwife, go send for her. The midwife came in royal dignity She saw the woman in labor, pattered her on the back. Don’t be afraid, Kaushalya, don’t be afraid woman! In an hour you will give birth to a son. The women there took away the gold ornaments, They removed the heavy jewels from her body. They hung ropes of gold and silk from the ceiling. They tied them to the beams, with great joy They made Kauasalya hold the ropes. Mother, Mother, I cannot bear this pain, A minute feels like a hundred years. (Rao 1991: 119)








































Lullabies to Rama. Bathing the child Rama. Sita’s wedding. Entrusting the bride Sita to the care of her parents-in-law. Sita’s journey to her mother-in-law’s house. Sita’s puberty. Songs describing the games played by Rama and Sita. Sita locked out of her bedroom. Rama locks their bedroom door because she is too long finishing her daily chores and he is left waiting for her. However, Sita knows how to manipulate the situation in her favour by enlisting Kaushalya’s help (Rama’s mother). Kaushalya knocks on the door and scolds Rama for locking Sita out. Kaushalya is presented here as the ideal motherin-law who shows warmth and support for her daughter-in-law (Rao 1991: 121). Sita describing her life with Rama to Hanuman in Lanka. Incidents in Lanka. Sita’s fire ordeals. Rama’s coronation. Urmila’s sleep. 80

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Sita’s pregnancy. Lava and Knsa’s battle with Rama. Laksmana’s laugh. Surpansha’s revenge.

The themes presented in these songs cover pregnancy, morning sickness, childbirth, the tender love of a husband, and the affections of parents-in-law. A point repeatedly stressed in them is the auspicious role women have in Brahmin households as the protectors of the family’s prosperity. Women are the personification of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. Rao believes that the women have chosen to sing versions of the story that reflect their own concerns and preoccupations, hence the focus on the mutual love between Rama and Sita. ‘All too often, women in this community find that there is little real love between them and the husband that has been chosen for them. An elaborate description of the mutual love and desire of Rama and Sita thus serves as a wish fulfilment’ (Rao 1991: 121). I believe that this topic reflects an ironic contrast between the constraints of women unable to choose a husband for themselves and their freedom to express their realization of their agency through the expression of this distress. The women Rao observed created a private space for themselves. The songs are usually sung in the late afternoon, after the midday meal when the men of the family have all retired to the front part of the house. The women have now completed their daily chores and are free to gather at the back of the house where the kitchen is located. Women are relatively free in this area from the watchful gaze of men. The songs, according to Rao, are sung in a soft tone. There is no harsh or provocative language and no overt or aggressive opposition to male domination. In fact, correct behaviour is preached to women in some songs, as in the following, which is sung to young brides, and mirrors Sita’s own instruction: Be more patient than even the earth goddess Never transgress the words of your father-in-law and mother-inlaw Do not ever look at other men Do not ever speak openly Do not reveal the words your husband says in the interior palace 81

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Even to the best of your friends If your husband is angry never talk back to him A husband is god to all women: never disobey your husband (Rao 1991: 129) Rao conveys a sense of Sita fighting her battles against male authority alongside others, for example, her mother-in-law. I argue that this shows how solidarity is directly referred to in the songs as well as being experienced by the women who congregate daily to sing them. In the songs Sita enjoys the freedom she gains from the false report of her death. She can exist free from Rama’s authority. Rama suffers tremendous guilt at having killed her. Finally, Sita gives birth to twin sons, whom Rao sees as the agents through which she wins victory over Rama. The generation of solidarity is an important function of the songs, which Rao fails to pick up. This is particularly apparent in songs sung by non-Brahmin women while they are working in the fields. Lower caste women do not have the luxury of being able to take time out from their daily chores to enjoy social interaction; instead, their work becomes a context in which they share personal expressions with other women.10 Their preoccupations are clearly different from those of Brahmin women. A song is sung in which the mother of Ravana advises her second son (Vibhisana) to take half of Lanka and stay. The god of wind sweeps the floor here in lanka. The rain god sprinkles cow-dung water to keep it clean. The fire god himself cooks in our kitchen Cooks in our kitchen. Three hundred thirty three million gods take Shovels and crowbars and work for us as slaves All the time, work for us as slaves. (Rao 1991: 131) In response to this song Rao (1991: 131) states: ‘It is fascinating how the song reverses the hierarchy and relishes the description of gods working as slaves, for in truth it is the low caste women and men who must work as slaves for their masters.’ Rao’s analysis could go further. Solidarity could be described as a 82

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strategy of resistance. In the case of non-Brahmin women, it allows them to endure a life that would be intolerable in isolation. Just as Sita propounded her strength through her continued endurance of a series of injustices, so too do lower caste women. Nilsson’s (2000) research looks at the different perspectives of the Rama and Sita story in Kayastha, as well as Kahar and Barber women’s songs from the Awadhi and Bhojpuri-speaking areas of north India. She showed how songs are used not just to contradict and resist the dominant male discourse, but also to conceal hostility and tensions among women of different castes and social statuses. Nilsson is able to highlight the extent to which women may unite against male domination (Sita’s plight and her suffering at her unjust treatment by Rama is a point of convergence in the songs of all castes and classes of women) but they also maintain ambivalent feelings towards each other. According to Nilsson, high-caste women support their own system of domination and often express contemptuous opinions about lower-caste women whom they feel should not be allowed (because of their low status) to sing about Sita. In effect, they have constructed their own Other that represents lower-caste women. This image is laden with negative symbolic associations and is the figure of much disgust. In the songs Nilsson recorded the importance is stressed of women constructing their own rituals. Women are depicted as possessing superior knowledge about how to achieve certain things, for example a successful birth. In the song cited below, Kaushalya is acknowledged for her contribution towards ensuring Rama’s safe birth – a relative asks Kaushalya how she achieved it: Queen! What ritual did you follow to give birth to Ramaiyaji?’ ‘I bathed in the Ganges. I fell at the sun’s feet. O, I fasted on Sundays, That’s how I gave birth to Ramaiyaji. I fed the hungry Brahmins. I gave clothing to the blind. I lit lamps daily before Tulsi plant. That’s how I came to have Ramaiyaji. (Nilsson 2000: 142)

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In this song Kaushalya empowers herself because she reiterates that a woman must observe the rituals she has chosen. Nilsson makes the point that ‘singing songs like these reaffirms women’s belief that goals can be obtained as a result of women’s rituals rather than by formal, male officiated, vedic rituals’ (Nilsson 2000: 143). However, the songs the lower castes sing contain resentment towards women of higher castes such as Kaushalya, who becomes a symbol of female oppression insensitive to the suffering of low-caste women. Instead, Sita is given more attention because low-caste women can identify with her pain and experiences of inequality. Nilsson clearly supports the view that women’s songs and rituals are a vital source of information on self-perceptions and agency. The Sita of Rajasthani village women The material I have presented so far highlights how the image of Sita, while respected as a sacred image, is also central in defining a space within which her worshippers can reflect on their personal life experiences. Rather than fulfilling the obligations of a patriarchal religious ideology, individuals use this space to project and share with others their intimate feelings of joy and suffering. Sita does not exist in a space beyond the realms of human existence, but through the personal narratives created around her she becomes an important part of the everyday life of many women (and men). The significance of Sita for Rajasthani women became the focus of my various fieldwork trips. My initial focus was on the religious rituals of Rajasthani village women. I felt that ritual offered me a means to analyse social constructions of personhood. I wanted to build an appreciation of the numerous ways in which performing ritual functions provided a space in which to express different layers of identity (collective and personal). Bell (1997: iv) states: ‘When made the subject of systematic historical and comparative cultural analysis, ritual has offered new insights into the dynamics of religion, culture and personhood.’ However, Bell points out that ritual is itself a social construction, a category of analysis. I have to be clear that I am using the word to denote a pattern of behaviour that the same people observe with regularity. The term is merely a means through which I, as an outsider, can separate and explore a space in the lives of others with whom I share very little. The women I describe as performing rituals did not 84

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use this term to describe what they did each day in honour of Sita; for them their actions where a natural part of their daily routine. In particular, it is the role of private ritual that interests me. Researchers such as Bell often leave their study of ritual to the more established and more visible ritual patterns. However, in terms of gaining a picture of personhood, the analysis of ritual needs to be taken deeper into the areas of life from which researchers often exclude themselves (the private realm).11 The oral traditions of rural women in India clearly reveal the need to push the traditional focus of ethnographic research if women’s voices are to be heard by the academy. The Rajasthani women I observed performing religious rituals live in villages 150 kilometres from Jaipur. Mainly upper-caste Rajput and lower-caste Kumhar (potter) families populate the villages from which they come. I initially visited this region of Rajasthan as an undergraduate in my second year (June–August 1995). My objective was to study women’s rituals to gather information for my undergraduate dissertation. To conduct research I spent some time living with Rajasthani village women in their homes and in the centre from which the Gandhian NGO (1) operates. This gave me the opportunity to observe their daily routines and, in particular, to see the part rituals played in it. Most of the data I gathered were gained in the time I spent with three women (though I observed rituals performed by many more).12 Poonam and Devi are Rajput women, Parvati is a Kumhar woman; all three live within an hour of the town where they worked for the Gandhian NGO (1). Case study one: Poonam Poonam (32 years old) is one of four daughters born into a poor Rajput family that lost its money because of a bad investment and a father who squandered it recklessly. Poonam’s father had no money to offer as dowry for his daughters. At 18 years’ old Poonam’s father handed her over to a man 30 years her senior. She married him and had a son (Ashis) and her husband drank and beat her regularly. Evenually, Poonam ran away, taking her child with her. She had to leave during the night taking only the clothes she was wearing with her. Once she left she headed for the headquarters of Gandhian NGO (1) in a town 40 kilometres away. She had heard it was run by a caring man who would not turn her away. She arrived on the doorstep of Deepak’s house in the early hours of the morning (she 85

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had managed to hitch a lift once she reached the road). He took her in and Gandhian NGO (1) provided her with the means to start again on her own. Poonam now lives in a small town where she works as a nursery nurse. She has not remarried and so cares for her son alone, though her natal family visits from time to time to help her with childcare (no financial help is given). Poonam experiences some hostility from her local community. She is the only single mother in her town (apart from women who have been widowed). On my first visit I stayed with her for about two months in Sambhar and then again when I returned in February 2001. Case study two: Parvati Parvati is a 30-year old Kumhar woman and is a wife and mother of two young children, one boy (ten) and a girl (eight). She lives in a hamlet in a two-roomed mud house. Her husband is an alcoholic and regularly beats her after a drinking binge. She also lives with her mother-in-law who is a widow. Parvati worked as a cook and a cleaner at the headquarters of Gandhian NGO (1). While I stayed there, she cooked for and looked after the district nurse who was resident in the headquarters. She also cooked for 30 women training to be village health workers when they stayed at the headquarters for their training (July 1995). On my return (February 2001) I discovered that she now cooks daily for the children of a home based in the grounds of the headquarters of Gandhian NGO (1). Case study three: Devi Devi is a Rajput woman by birth, though she married a south Indian man so spent her married life living with him in Tamil Nadu. She is 35 years’ old and has a 15-year-old son. Devi escaped an unhappy marriage from a husband who beat her. She struggled to remain with him because she did not want to bring shame on her family. After 17 years of abuse she could take no more, so she and her son left him while he was out visiting his brother. She decided she would return to her family in Rajasthan where she felt she would be safe. On arriving she was told that Gandhian NGO (1) was looking for a cook. She took the post and was provided with accommodation and food for both herself and her son. Her son immediately enrolled at the local high school.

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I spent most of my time with Poonam who included me in her daily activities of shopping at the local market and visiting friends. My relationships with Parvati and Devi were formed because of their work at the charity’s headquarters. I spent time with them as they went about their daily chores of cooking and cleaning. Once their chores were completed (around 1.00 p.m.) we would often go off together on a trip to visit a friend or for a picnic with other women in the town.13 Parvati took me to her home and introduced me to her mother-inlaw and husband. If both Parvati and Devi were busy, I might take a walk around the village and meet up with friends to whom I had been introduced. My initial approach to conducting research was to record the daily activities of the women with whom I lived. I hoped that such an endeavour would enable me to identify the different spaces and contexts in which the women moved. Following the example of Raheja and Gold I looked for inconsistencies in expressions. How did the women define the spaces in which they existed? I hoped gradually to build up a picture of how they mediated and negotiated through the various aspects of their lives. All three women performed puja twice daily at the shrines in their homes or, in Devi’s case, at the shrine she constructed for herself in her room at the headquarters of Gandhian NGO (1). The fact that women perform puja in the home reinforces their traditional roles as wife and mother (Bennett 1983; Fuller 1992; Wadley 1994). The traditional dictates of this role require they make the focal point of the ritual the wellbeing of their family, which centres them in the domestic sphere. Puja therefore becomes an integral part of their daily activities and they hope that by performing it twice daily they will protect their family. What I found interesting was that Poonam and Devi still performed puja while no longer living with their husbands. This (they said) was because they were still mothers. Despite the change in their roles and break with traditional expectations, they still performed puja because in doing so they could express the importance of their children’s security. My general observations revealed nothing that had not been documented elsewhere. The daily routine and pattern of puja follows a structure similar to that recorded by anthropologists like Fuller (1992). However, I believe that the ritual Poonam, Devi and Parvati perform late each morning displays personal reflections of their 87

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individual self-perceptions and as such is unique to them and the women with whom they interact as friends. Once the bulk of the day’s chores are completed at around 10.30 a.m., each woman takes a break. Whereas puja is an accepted part of a woman’s daily routine, known and encouraged by male family members, the women perform the Sita ritual privately; while husbands may know it exists, they do not have knowledge of its content and personal meaning for the women.14 As far as I could gather, the women I observed performing this ritual did so freely. Based on its spontaneous existence I argue that they had chosen to construct this ritual for themselves because it fulfils a need to enforce or express a particular aspect of their identity. The woman (or women if this ritual is performed collectively) removes a ring from her finger. She kisses it and touches her forehead with it. She chants the story of Sita’s kidnapping by Ravana and rescue by Hanuman and his army of monkeys. Each time the name Sita is mentioned she kisses the ring and touches her forehead and heart. The ritual ends with the glorification of Sita. The woman praises her for her courage in exile and in the hands of the evil demon. The woman asks that Sita may inspire her to be more like her.15 That Rajasthani women glorify Sita in a ritual they have constructed and perform privately suggests that they (or at least Poonam, Parvati and Devi) do not regard her as a repressed figure. Instead, they see something in the Sita image that reflects their own interests and ultimately find her a source of strength. The production and performance of the ritual reveals a process of internalization; the ritual per se constructs a space in which a positive self-image is projected and preserved, and it protects a space where the women are in control. That they have chosen to use their spare time to affirm a vital part of their social identity reveals their agency. Performing the ritual allows them to open up a spiritual space in which to unlock their innermost concerns and anxieties. In turn, the particular representation of Sita the worshippers endorse injects their lives with motivation and determination to cope with the repressive patriarchal control over their lives. Eck (1985) describes the worship of divine images in Hinduism through the concept of Darsan, which refers to the visual perception of the sacred. The ability to see a divine image is the gift given by the divinity itself and Eck suggests that worshippers receive it through their worship. In positioning worshippers as passive recipients of a divine image, however, Eck misses the 88

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extent to which they are active in constructing the narratives and therefore meanings that become attached to these images. The divine for Eck exists beyond the visual icon, but she fails to acknowledge the worshipper’s agency in shaping the values and ideals that exist within sacred and spiritual spaces. To Poonam, Parvati and Devi, Sita is a powerful symbol of courage and strength. These are important values they try to incorporate into their lives and qualities they need to overcome the harsh realities of life as a Rajasthani woman. The symbols women attribute to Sita allow them to make sense of their past ‘collective history of suffering’ (Leslie 2003: 61).16 Ricoeur writes that symbols can be interpreted in different ways – they contain a surplus of meaning and can give rise to endless narratives. No given categorization, says Ricoeur (1976: 55–7), ‘can embrace all the semantic possibilities of a symbol’. Symbols are tied into complex webs of association; what a particular symbol means is not predetermined in the symbol but unfolds dialectically in relation to experience and interpretation, whether personal or cultural. Thus, any religious symbol can engender a variety of different, even contradictory, moods or motivations dependent on the context and how the symbol is interpreted. It is the interpretation rather than the symbol per se that shapes its personal, social or cultural meaning.17 The image of Sita in the ritual described above is clearly made present by her worshippers’ experiences of suffering and their need to find a source of optimism. Not only are the symbols attached to Sita important, but the physical enactment of the ritual itself holds significance. Poonam, Devi and Parvati at times chose to share the performance of the ritual. Although other women were around at the centre, it was they who felt a connection, perhaps because of their shared experience of violence and so, in performing the ritual together, they offered support to one another. This is apparent from the fact that Devi did not perform the ritual before meeting Poonam and Parvati. The generation of such bonds is a vital part of protecting women’s selfesteem in the face of indigenous injustice. The support gave the women a strategy for continuing to cope with their lives. I often wondered why Parvati stayed in her violent marriage when Deepak repeatedly asked her to leave her husband and offered her a secure home at the centre. Parvati refused, saying, ‘why should I be the one to leave? I haven’t done anything wrong.’ She felt strongly that it 89

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should be her husband who should leave because it was he who had shamed their family. In fact, so definite was she about this that she would show her bruises each time her husband took a drunken rage out on her. I wondered, as Sutherland had about Sita, if her actions could have been masochistic. Parvati’s pain was evident, yet she refused to leave, not because she felt she must remain a loyal, faithful wife (she did not want to live with her husband any more) or because she was a passive victim (her vocalization of her pain was a clear indication of that), but because she clearly believed she had done no wrong and wanted that fact to be acknowledged. Running away would place the focus on her; her community would be likely to accuse her of abandoning her husband and his brutal crimes would be covered. As with Valmiki’s Sita, displaying her pain publicly was her way of expressing her injustice and she hoped that her community would eventually see her suffering. Performing the ritual affirmed in her the values she needed to endure her struggle. In addition, the affirmation she got from Poonam and Devi further increased her ability to cope with the violence. Devi appeared to be torn between the strategies adopted by Poonam (leaving a violent husband) and Parvati (staying in an attempt to shame her husband). I learnt that two months after I left Devi had returned to her husband in South India. Whatever her reasons, I know she is not a weak woman unable to stand defiantly on her own. Perhaps her actions represent a third strategy. She had shown her husband that she could leave and cope on her own; she did not need him. She would now be able to hold over him the constant threat of leaving him again. She could remind him of her strength to stand up to him. The ritual created a space in which the women could explore their experiences and consciously or unconsciously consider strategies to challenge the constraints they endured. Possessing different perspectives on their experiences did not hinder the solidarity the women expressed through performing the ritual as a group. What was important was the respect the women showed each other through the preservation of a space within which each had the freedom to articulate her unique and personal responses to violence. In this sense ritual does not just function to build identity but is also about the construction and maintenance of boundaries within which individuals are safe to reveal their innermost feelings. 90

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Reinterpreting cultural practices: purdah The values of strength and courage bound up in the Sita image are also expressed through certain cultural practices. Purdah, for example, reinforces the notion of an ideal woman in Rajasthan. Although on the one hand it serves a patriarchal culture that places control over a woman’s body as its primary display of hegemonic values (Moore 1986), I argue, however, that purdah also forms an important part of a Rajasthani woman’s personal identity. The expression of personhood present in the work of the scholars presented below further challenges the static depiction of Indian women as victims of patriarchy. Harlan (1992), who has worked on the practice of purdah, argues that the values of ‘modesty’ and ‘dignity’ are important to Rajput Rajasthani women. In fact, they feel that these values set them apart from other Indian women. The practice of purdah is a visible symbol of their unique social identity from which they derive much pride. Harlan argues that the forceful way in which a mother will teach her daughter about the practice shows how deeply she feels it reflects on her abilities as a mother. Harlan’s perspective challenges negative descriptions of the practice and suggests that the veil is an important symbol of female courage in Rajasthan. Harlan disagrees with Engels (1996), Jacobson (1979), Jeffery (1979), Minturn (1993), Nanda (1976) and Underhill (1930)18 who use the veil as an image of female suffering and assume that any woman who wears it is a victim. Joshi’s (1995) historical approach to the practice of purdah focuses on female experiences of wearing a veil and contests the victim label. She offers a glimpse into how Rajput women manipulated a seemingly harsh practice for their own benefit and in part were able to create positive and meaningful lives for themselves. Her focus is on the Zenana Mahals (female quarters) occupied by Rajput women and she covers Rajasthan’s history from the thirteenth to the nineteenth centuries. According to Joshi, although the practices of polygamy and purdah were set up to strengthen the political ties of the Rajput clans for the ultimate furtherance of male power, it should not be assumed that this translates into a weak, passive female character. In fact, records often depict the opposite. ‘If on the one side Rajput women were used as pawns by their fathers in order to achieve political gains or to attain social status, on the other hand they often proved to be assertive and astute females’ (Joshi 1995: 91

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191). Joshi highlights the complexity of female interactions in the physical space that purdah had demarcated. She argues that ‘the images which Purdah conjures up in the west often bear only superficial resemblance to the actual life of women in the Zenanas’ (Joshi 1995: 191). The seclusion of Rajput women is often equated with passivity and the cruel restriction of female space. According to Joshi, we find a far more paradoxical situation in the Rajput households of Rajasthan. Even though Rajput women during this period led a secluded life, it should not be assumed that the strict demarcation between the ‘public’ and the ‘private’ rendered them powerless. She argues that Rajput women played an important role in the affairs of the state, not least because they held power as deputies when rulers were away on military service or died. In fact, as part of their education, Rajput daughters were taught to use weapons. This point is further supported by the bardic literature, which contains many poems describing the bravery of Rajput women who acted as deputies and even fought battles. Some women had their own regiment. ‘Even though they observed purdah, the women of the Rajput royal household were not crippled by it nor were they completely at the mercy of men for their personal safety.’(Joshi 1995: 193) The court poet Charan described them as ‘lionesses in a cage’ (Joshi 1995: 201). Joshi points out that the image of a lioness is powerful and contrasted ironically with the veil of purdah interpreted by Western scholars as a symbol of repression. Despite restrictions on mobility in public, links with the outside world were maintained; for example, many royal Rajput women acted as patrons in cultural and religious affairs. They built temples and water tanks, and redistributed land and wealth. They wanted to be remembered, to make a mark on the ‘outside’, even though they might never see their achievements. Rajasthani women’s veils are filled with meanings. Raheja and Gold (1994) show how Rajasthani women internalize the object (veil) and attribute to it explicit sexual symbolism – hence the link between the veil and female sexuality made in many of the songs Rajasthani women sing (see section below). My experience of spending time with the ‘Queen’19 of the region showed me how deeply rooted is the symbol of the veil in the personal values of Rajasthani women. Gaytri hardly left her home (a crumbling fort on the edge of town). She wore clothes covered in gold and silver material and her veil was 92

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edged with silver tasselling. She had pale skin (considered a sign of beauty in Rajasthan as in much of India). I asked her why she wore so much gold and silver; she blushed slightly and said ‘because it makes me happy’. I got no more from her on that subject. I wondered later if her embarrassment was due to the sexually explicit connotations of glittering material in the songs of women in the area (Raheja and Gold 1994). She may have been physically confined behind the fortress walls but she knew everything, her knowledge assured through frequent visits from Parvati and Devi. Despite her high-caste status, she had no problem meeting Parvati and Devi; they sat for hours drinking tea and exchanging gossip in the local dialect. Through their visits the outside world became accessible. Scholars usually ignore Gaytri’s voice, as they did the historic voices of Rajput women in the zenannas. Their public invisibility is reflected in their absence from the literature on life in Rajasthan. It is assumed that a veil silences the women who wear one.20 The lack of a voice justifies marginalizing Rajasthani women who cover their faces. If they do not speak they cannot be studied or even acknowledged. They are seen only through the gaze of those who look down on them as objects of pity. Yet, by pursuing a Gramscian line (Germino 1990) and making this periphery the central research focus, a specific kind of politics emerges created and implemented by those who recognize their limited mobility, but yet are not rendered passive. Jantzen (1998) advocates relocating scholarship on the margins. By uncovering voices that are previously ignored an effective challenge to the power structures that maintain the centre can be launched. If the centre or public sphere is no longer privileged as representing the most significant aspects of life in any given community then others are able to speak about their unique experiences through scholarship. In turn, this may in fact disrupt both the academic and socially masculine hegemony that relies so heavily on the marginalization of others. The voices present in spaces away from the centre dispute the success of patriarchy in ensuring women and men comply with its dictates. These voices portray a sense of personhood that does not accept the repression of patriarchy. The variety of meanings and symbolic gestures women articulate through the veil reflects their agency to express their own sense of personhood. The veil can be a symbol of intimate sexuality. By 93

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Women from a tribal area in the Jaipur District. Picture by author, March 2001.

contrast, it can also provide cover for female socializing. For example, the photograph above is of a group of Rajasthani women who are excluded from a public meeting in which the NGO claimed to be ‘consulting’ with locals over proposed projects.21 It struck me that although the women were restricted from participating they had turned their marginalization into a social event.22 While geographically marginal to the dominant group’s activities, they were ‘insiders’ within the space they had created. Those who prevented them from attending the meeting (male elders) were most definitely ‘outsiders’ to all that occurred in this group. The laughter and constant teasing I observed (from a distance) taking place suggested that the tribal women did not necessarily experience their alienation from this meeting negatively. Similarly, Gaytri had created a scenario in which she often knew insider details about village affairs long before her husband, even though as a panchayat leader he attended all public meetings and socialized with prominent members of the community. A shift in focus away from the centre towards the periphery provides a more accurate picture of the multiplicity of realities existing in any given community and the role of human agency in structuring them. The positive identities of Rajasthani village women Other material to shatter the notion of a village Indian woman as a passive recipient of a socially constructed identity can be found in the songs recorded by Raheja and Gold (1994)23 and Sax (1991). The songs Rajasthani women sing display an exuberance that must be founded in an explicit awareness of female sexuality and its potential

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to be destructive. In addition, the songs display positive images of femininity. The ones that Raheja and Gold recorded in Listen to the Heron’s Words must be distinguished from the traditional forms of songs anthropologists usually record,24 which are devotional in content and sung at festivals. Devotional songs are prescriptive in that they retain their content and form year after year. Gold describes these as being ‘partially constrained by the performance context’ (Raheja and Gold 1994: 56). In other words, there is little room for the performers to adapt or reinterpret them. The songs primarily reflect the voice of the dominant male group and reflect patriarchal concerns to maintain the status quo, hence the rigid pattern followed year after year. Women perform these songs to fulfil their obligations as daughters, wives and mothers, asking for the security of family members. Anthropologists who focus on these songs will (and do) conclude that Rajasthani female identity is homogenous and compliant with patriarchy. Little can be understood of the performer’s true feelings about these roles. In contrast, by looking at the songs sung in private a different picture is formed of the women who sing them.25 Raheja and Gold reveal crude and direct expressions of female sexuality in the private songs of Rajasthani women. The women who sing them are aware of the power they can wield through manipulating their sexuality, for example by threatening to pollute the patrilineage by having an affair. Raheja and Gold’s research suggests that women freely discuss topics such as sex (whether or not they get pleasure from it). These songs fall into a genre Gold calls Kesya. Kesya, I brought a skirt from Agra, lover And a wrap from Sanganeer: Lover, through the wrap the whole body shows, Through the veil the fair cheeks show. Bite, bite the whole body, Don’t bite the cheeks or husband will beat you (Raheja and Gold 1994: 39) Other songs are cruder, explicitly conveying the performer’s sexual fantasies.

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If you want to fuck, go up on the hill lover, If you want to fuck, go up on the hill From there you can see Delhi and Agra. (Raheja and Gold 1994: 40) After hearing this song Gold states that any remaining image of Rajasthani women as modest and passive is shattered. Rajasthani women are not the sexually frustrated beings Kakar describes. The songs women sing depict a variety of narratives. For example, the genre of songs Gali, are sung to convey insults and highlight strength rather than passivity. These are often sung and publicly directed at the person named in the song. In one particular song the name of Gold’s ex-husband was inserted to make him the focus of its insults. That lewd hussy Timothy’s wife lifted a load, yes! She climbed on his chest and pissed on his moustache Yes – oh – yes! She climbed on his chest and pissed on his moustache Yes -oh -yes! I’m afraid of the dark, old man. Yes – oh – yes! If I did not wake you, you would not take me to piss Yes -oh – yes! That hussy Ainn – bai is bad too! (Raheja and Gold 1994: 41) Many of the songs take the form of sung conversations. Gold argues that these would never take place in public. She suggests that women may assert themselves through these songs in a way they would not through publicly constructed and controlled dialogues. Through the songs imagined conversations, these stressful situations and relationships are eased and opened up: grievances expressed, dominance defied, love declared, contact established. At the same time, no risks are taken even on the level of imagined discourse, for the choral performance superimposes harmony over dissonance and the unemotional 96

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delivery inherent in the times and singing styles masks the emotional chords that may be struck by the words. Chorused conversations submerge discord between the sexes even while they suggest behavioral alternatives that may blatantly controvert dominant ideas about how women should act. (Raheja and Gold 1994: 42–3) Emotions are often expressed during silent moments. Gold and Raheja define such moments as those consisting of non-verbal gestures. I argue that these spaces are important because they are generated by the need to express feelings that sharply contrast with the vocal public dialogues structured by hegemonic values that demand female compliance. Rajasthani women employ an intricate web of meanings articulated in a variety of ways, some hidden from men, others blatantly directed at them. Even women’s clothes are littered with symbols that construct subtle dialogues. The ‘wrap’ can take on the meaning of sexual power and often features as a backdrop to affairs in women’s songs. In public the wrap becomes a veil symbolizing female modesty. The silver edging reflects women’s sexuality, exuberant yet modest. Rajasthani women internalize this duality without experiencing it as a contradiction. In addition, a positive selfperception is likely to be maintained in both the public and private spaces each woman occupies. The symbol of the wrap simultaneously carries a double meaning; it can be unwrapped, yet it can also be used to tantalize husbands with the possibility of sex and the glimpse of the body through it. Your wrap sparkles and glitters, Sparkles and glitters Your body bows and bends Slowly dance, slowly dance proud woman, Your groom watches, your husband watches Slowly dance. (Raheja and Gold 1994: 48) Songs are not just used to articulate experiences that relate to social identity; they have other functions too. Sax (1991) looks at the link between mythology and society. Garhwal women sing songs using 97

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the mythology of Nandadevi; these songs are in essence powerful reflections of their own lives. They convey the stress and trauma of moving to their husband’s home. Through song the women are able to deal with the anxieties this transition brings. The songs are coping mechanisms to help them face the pain of unwanted change. It is acknowledged that the women of the Garhwal region lead exceptionally hard lives. The region is severely depressed and survival, even at a basic level, is a struggle. Husbands must travel out of the region to work, leaving their wives to support the rest of the family. Because of this women are strikingly independent. ‘Here in the mountains, a man without a woman will die of starvation or become a wandering renouncer. Why? Because women do all the work’ (from an interview in Sax 1991: 26). Sax describes how Garhwal women combine work in the field with domestic duties. They struggle to provide enough food to keep their family alive. If a woman cannot cope there is no one to take over: the family will starve. This places enormous pressure on women, so it is hardly surprising that the suicide rate is higher in the Garhwal than elsewhere in India.26 The songs the women sing are part of their survival strategy, a way of releasing concerns that could otherwise remain locked inside. They also convey a powerful perception of female sexuality. Most of them contain stories about goddesses who manage to triumph despite great obstacles. One such song features the primordial goddess Maya who reverses the normal relations of male domination and female subordination. Maya creates male gods from a low pot containing menstrual blood (highly polluting). This story contradicts the classic paradigm that depicts male sexuality as dominant and commanding. The strength of Maya in this story offers the women who sing about her a source of motivation. If women are to win their struggle for survival in the Garhwal they must have mental and physical endurance. I do not believe that anyone shouldering the burden of a negative self-image could even try to overcome such deprivation. These songs therefore allow women openly to express a positive sense of their sexuality and of their central importance to the continuing survival of their community. As the Sita ritual revealed, interactions between women during private moments generate and sustain agency in each of the women present. In addition, they ensure that emotional bonds remain tight between those who share the sentiments being expressed. Gold 98

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describes how songs sung in private function in this manner. She particularly highlights how the content of the songs will change as the singer’s circumstances alter and new perceptions and concerns emerge. In fact, she identifies the notion of change per se as a concept that causes women concern and that has resulted in a genre of song – khyal. Gold (1996) feels that khyals reflect changes in the economic and social contexts of women’s lives. She describes how they speak of women’s determination to find new footings for their lives as their external environment changes economically and socially. The songs reveal the strategies women put into play to cope with these changes. To offer a simple, concise definition of kyhal is difficult. Gold describes the definitions given to her by the women themselves; however, they are vague. From the language the women used to describe khyal, it is clear that they are highly personalized forms of expression in which the performer vents frustration and desire. For example, one khyal Gold recorded talks of how a woman ‘complains to her own husband, or of her own husband’s habits, behaviour and his character. Or, besides her husband, she may express her desire to make a connection with some other man’ (Gold 1996: 15) The format of the songs is consistent – a refrain and an answer. A specific dialogue can be identified between a husband and wife. Sometimes wives address their husbands and demand tokens or demonstrations of love. Khyals are particularly fascinating in that they allow performers to identify areas of their existence that may be causing them distress. Through them strategies are outlined for dealing with and minimizing this suffering. For example, if a woman is unhappy with the way her husband is treating her she may decide to have an affair with a more caring man. The impact of economic change motivated many of the khyals Gold recorded. In these songs women articulate their fear that, with men leading lives more and more centred beyond the parameters of rural society, they may cease to return to their rural homes altogether. Gold (1996: 17) writes: ‘Khyals suggest not revolutionary upheavals, but offer some scattered, vivid commentary on the changes seeping gradually into women’s lives.’ Gold identifies a shift in emphasis: early khyals asked husbands for gifts as signs of their love; later ones simply ask them to stay, with the singer often pleading with her husband not to leave or at least to 99

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take her with him. Underlying these songs is a strong sense of fear – a fear of being abandoned. Gold detects a sense of powerlessness as the economic situation moves increasingly out of the women’s control. The earlier khyals made it clear that if husbands failed to deliver then their wives would seek affection elsewhere. Women thus used their sexuality to wield power, which they channelled in an attempt to gain the things they wanted. Contemporary khyals, however, reflect desperation, a fear of being left, unhappiness at the changing situation and a sense of insecurity. They offer women a medium through which to articulate their deep personal concerns and can be performed without the prescriptive constraints of devotional performances. Gold predicts that khyals will continue to develop as women’s concerns change. Rituals also change in accordance with shifts in personal and environmental circumstances. Although khyals, like rituals, do not give concrete answers to women’s problems and act mainly as expressions of feelings, they do try to relay alternative visions that offer solutions to the problems women face. For example, the performers of one khyal suggested a new and attentive partner as an alternative to a destructive domestic situation. Solutions to the problem of male migration are also explored with one khyal advising the nuclear family to move to the husband’s new workplace. The solutions and visions contained in khyals are mild and do not suggest changing or reinterpreting women’s traditional roles. The women’s feelings operate within a prescribed role they seem to have accepted for themselves and there is no bitter discontent about their slave-like existence. The singers do not speak negatively of their duties as wives and mothers, but demand respect for the functions they fulfil. When this respect is lacking, as in cases of domestic violence, the woman experiences great anguish. When her nuclear family is split because of the economic need for male migration, she again expresses concern over the threat it poses to the stability of her family unit. Kishwar and Vanita (1984) argue that although women may want their husbands to stop beating them they are not visualizing a future without them. Songs and rituals give outsiders like Western NGO workers an opportunity to ‘listen’ to the subjectivities of Rajasthani village women. In addition, the chance of a relationship with others brings 100

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with it the potential for a meaningful dialogue that could offer each space for self-transformation. The space Raheja and Gold preserved within their field-work interactions meant they could allow friendships to form that brought with them a sense of responsibility and desire to make a long-term commitment to those who offered them hospitality. Gold has now turned to supporting an education initiative in rural Rajasthan intended to increase access to secondary education for girls in the region. This decision to initiate such a project is sparked by her need to express respect and commitment to communities that have provided her with close and intimate insights.27 This issue of commitment was raised in Chapter 1 and will continue to be raised in the chapters to come. Mapping changes: the impact of the drought When ethnographic studies span a number of years it is important for researchers to maintain their contacts because the communities and individuals in them change. As I argue in Chapters 4 and 5, development initiatives are often grounded in a static depiction of a community, with change assumed to be of no relevance to the effectiveness of the initiative. The material in this chapter has challenged that homogenous depiction of subjectivity. The identity of an individual is open to change at every level. Researchers cannot assert in their work that they have captured a holistic and infinitely unaltered picture of their subjects. On my return five years later, Devi had moved back to South India, but Poonam and Parvati still lived in the same area. Neither of the women continued to perform the Sita ritual. I spent time with Poonam in her home and noted that she had built regular visits to her local temple into her daily routine. She went at roughly the same time each day (11.00 a.m.) to perform puja at the main temple shrine dedicated to Rama. This was the point in the day when she used to perform the Sita ritual. Changes in their external environment were the reasons both women gave for reallocating their time from private ritual to more public displays of devotion. The drought was a major concern for both these women (though neither was directly affected) as with all members of their community. The space for the expression of personal experiences had been replaced by rituals through which they asserted their social identity as members of a troubled community. This was true even though only sections of the 101

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community (the poorest) actually suffered from drought-related illnesses. The drought had a profound impact on all who encountered it. It is interesting that individuals expressed their pain and anxiety about the effects of the drought in a religious space. Having monitored and been aware of the significance of religious spaces in the lives of Rajasthani villagers, I could clearly see shifts in their concerns and priorities. Although the acute effects of the drought could be understood by directly asking those worst affected, I thought it significant that the drought had such an impact on those who were not severely hit. One might easily assume that only those directly affected would be calling for development interventions to reduce the drought’s impact, but that was not the case. Poonam and Parvati put aside their concerns about being ill treated by their husbands to join with those who were suffering water shortages. The extent to which they empathized with their community could be witnessed in their temple worship, particularly in the efforts they made to visit the temple and the time they spent there quietly contemplating on what they were seeing around them. Periods of still meditation and individual puja had replaced the laughter we had shared on temple visits prior to the drought. I believe that ritual in this situation allowed the worshippers to express their concerns and frustrations through a dialogue with Rama. Rama is associated with Vishnu, the protector of humanity, and is therefore seen to possess the qualities required to look after the community. Rama is portrayed traditionally in the Ramayana as a strong, authoritative figure who will defend his subjects until death. It is interesting that the very qualities that made Rama treat Sita so badly, making him a bad partner, are valued in the context of community welfare. This depiction of Rama reveals the extent to which religious images become the vehicle through which personal concerns and desires are transmitted. As such, the interpretation of the image will alter depending on the needs of the worshipper. As Bell (1997) points out, many scholars recognize ritual as important in expressing collective cultural identity. However, I believe that rituals often begin way before the anthropologist begins recording. The act of leaving home to make the (albeit short) journey through the physical spaces of the community to the temple is as important a part of the ritual as the performance of puja in the 102

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temple. The physical movement from a private space to one shared by the whole community acts as public endorsement of the worshippers’ connection with those around them. It represents a silent dialogue through which respect and empathy can be conveyed to those who are suffering from the drought. These sentiments were made clear to me in my conversations with both Poonam and Parvati.28 Belonging to the community is important to both Poonam and Parvati. Their wish to express their affiliation to the local community shows how intertwined the personal and collective are within an individual’s identity. Each aspect reinforces the other and provokes changes in personal awareness. Apart from the economic necessity (Sen 1990), membership of the network of spaces that comprises the community gives both women a sense of security, which in turn bolsters their self-esteem. It was through interacting with various groups in the community that Parvati and Poonam met and helped each other articulate and come to terms with their respective experiences of violence. Belonging to a community allows Parvati to implement her strategy. The community becomes her audience to whom she can show the evil of her abusive husband. In turn, the community members direct their judgement not at her but at the man responsible for inflicting pain on her. On my last visit Parvati claimed that the beatings she had regularly received had virtually ended. Poonam, as a single mother, found that temple worship offered her the chance to express her desire to be a part of the community and confront her feelings of exclusion. Community membership/acceptance is vital for the future of both Poonam and Parvati’s children. Children with mothers stigmatized by negative local perceptions will find it hard to access opportunities in terms of employment and a good marriage. In Poonam’s case this security is vital. Without acceptance by this community her isolation as a single mother could make her vulnerable both emotionally and physically. It could also make it difficult for her son to access the same opportunities as his peers. Although one cannot assume that everyone in a community experiences life in the same way and possesses the same hopes for the future, the drought in Rajasthan brought home the importance of community membership to many groups, even those usually marginalized from the powers that structure its day-to-day running. 103

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Religious spaces exist in a number of private and public places and function to transmit feelings on various levels. The temple is the central religious space in any village so it is within its parameters that community identity can be sought and awarded through the performance of regular puja. At times of intense suffering the community collects in a way that unites previously divided parties, all seek comfort in the belief that their deities will look out for and protect them. Masculinities in rural Rajasthan The picture of social identities I hope to convey is of an intricate web of spaces through which individuals project their complex and multifaceted subjectivity and sense of personhood. Cultural notions of an ideal woman are often displayed in opposition to notions of an ideal man. I have shown how, to project their own agency, women have to negotiate with the hegemonic masculine idealization of the feminine as a compliant, dutiful wife and mother. In addition, it is the dominant male projection of ideal womanhood that is so central to the Western construction of Indian women as Other. It is therefore necessary to consider what constitutes hegemonic masculinity in Rajasthan. Brittan (1989) describes masculinity as an ideology of power through which male domination is naturalized as part of human life and indeed is justified. I consider how male identities have been forged within this ideology and exist as a plurality of masculinities (Segal 1990). According to Brittan each masculine identity must respond in some way to this notion of male power.29 As with the notion of ideal womanhood in Hinduism, so the concept of an ideal man is also located in textual sources. Goldman (1978) highlights the lack of a psychoanalytical approach to examining the concept of masculinity in Indian texts and believes that without it the link between scriptural images of hegemonic masculinity and the lived experiences of Indian men cannot be made. Goldman attempts to adopt a psychoanalytic approach, drawing out some interesting points on patriarchal masculinity in the Hindu epics. He states that little aggression is ever expressed from the son towards his father. In the Mahabharata, Arjuna’s father wants to teach his son a lesson in how to be manly. He is disappointed that Arjuna does not attack him as an impostor. Rama in the epic Ramayana is depicted as strong and powerful, not afraid of using violence to control and 104

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protect his wife. However, as Goldman points out, ‘a very great part of Rama’s reputation as the ideal man rests upon his well-established characteristic of extreme filial submissiveness’ (Goldman 1978: 337). Rama accepts his father’s order to go into exile, despite his mother’s pleas. Castairs comments on the nature of masculinity displayed in the sons of the epics. ‘In effect all those who occupy the status of sons or younger brothers are required to enact a symbolic self castration, denying them the right to lead an emotional or sexual life of their own so long as the father figures still live and dominate them’ (Castairs 1957: 160). In this quote Castairs suggests that, as sons, Indian men will have experienced hegemonic masculinity prior to taking on the specific social identity of a dominant, authoritative patriarch, and will live with the constant shadow of another man who is stronger than they. This material depicts, in the epics at least, that a particular hegemonic masculinity is central in shaping the attitudes and behaviour of subsequent heroes. The brief examples above highlight the pressures experienced by the sons of the epics. Rama and Arjuna are subjected to intense social conditioning at the hands of a patriarchal role model. I believe similar processes occur in the social reality of Rajasthani men and result in a persistent cultural pressure on men to conform to the hegemonic ideal most easily achieved by controlling the female body (exerting authority over women, most acutely their wives). Hegemonic masculinity is not a static, permanent reality. Hegemony embodies an accepted strategy that men define and contest from their boyhood onwards. With the use of individual accounts of growing up as men, Connell (2001) is able to piece together a picture of the complexities of hegemonic masculinity. Gilmore describes ‘real manhood’ as a ‘precarious or artificial state that boys must win against powerful odds’ (Gilmore 1990: 57). Although the majority of men may hold hegemonic masculinity as their ideal, various factors such as social class, income, level of education and family relationships affect the extent to which they are able to conform to it. The reality is that the expression of hegemony is complex and the result is a variety of different forms of hegemonic masculinities. Connell argues that the prevailing image of hegemonic masculinity in Australia is of a white, middle-class man. This ideal man has access to the means of production and a place in political institutions from where he can exercise authority. Connell’s stories of working-class 105

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men in Australia, by contrast, give a sense of the continuous struggle many men undergo to project hegemonic identity within their own subjectivity. A key factor in determining their success in doing so is their relationship to the labour market and, in particular, the amount of power they wield within it. Connell’s ethnographies convey a sense in which identity is a highly personalized phenomenon; and although points of commonality can be identified, the wide range of factors that contribute to the construction of an individual’s subjectivity make it impossible to describe a singular working-class male identity. Through use of ethnographic and psychoanalytical research techniques Connell is able to construct pictures of other masculinities struggling to overcome the pressures of conforming to hegemony that forge new identities based on equality and respect for women. Connell looks to the green movement in America for his case studies and presents a male identity that is sensitive to the injustices women face and that seeks to eradicate relationships of domination from their lives. A key feature in this identity is distancing from a father figure. Many of the men Connell studied had separated from alliances with their fathers in favour of closer relationships with their mothers.30 This group of men saw their mothers as strong and their deep-rooted respect for her strength led them in later life to question the patriarchal conventions that constrain this. In other words, they develop sympathy towards feminism because images of strong women resonate with something in their own experience (that of having a strong mother). The location of this masculinity in green politics is not surprising because feminism, which strongly influenced the green movement, challenges hegemonic masculinity.31 Feminism espouses equality rather than the dominance of hegemony and replaces competitive individualism with collective ways of working. The green movement encourages personal growth while hegemonic masculinity has a tendency to keep tight control over emotions. The men Connell described all felt guilty about the injustices women suffer at the hands of men. They felt they must compensate by being supportive of women and criticizing male acts that impinge on female freedom. The process of constructing a non-sexist subjectivity involves the separation of individual identity from mainstream masculinity. All the stories describe how the men went through a period of self106

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discovery in the hope of finding a new spiritual Self. Key to this is the renunciation of aspects of the past such as career and marriage (if impinging on a quest for renewal). In addition, renunciation of sexist actions includes domination in the sexual act itself. According to Connell, this element left men uneasy about initiating sexual encounters. Intimacy could only be achieved through interaction with a dominant woman. Renunciation was central since it was thought to create a space within which the individual can grow and new personal qualities can emerge, among the most valued in this form of masculinity being honesty and sensitivity. Interestingly, the men in Connell’s research found it easier to form new equal relationships with women than with men; close male relationships were still associated with homosexuality. He is careful to point out that though this form of masculinity succeeds in remodelling patriarchy and allows men to become emotionally open, considerate towards women and sexually passive, this identity slips into a subaltern position in the prevailing hegemony and does not thus pose a threat to its legitimacy. ‘The political risk run by an individualized project of reforming masculinity is that it will ultimately help modernize patriarchy rather than abolish it’ (Connell 2001: 139). Much of the early work on masculinity (Goldberg 1976) has an anti-feminist tone. Feminists are accused of reducing men to powerless beings by putting pressure on them to take the blame for women’s suffering. Both authors cited above claim that such feminist attacks leave men vulnerable because the latter are not in touch with their emotions. In the 1980s there was an emergence of male workshops and classes designed to help men open up and tune in to their emotional side. A therapy approach to constructing more emotionally open men is, according to these authors, self-indulgent and still leaves patriarchy unchallenged. ‘The self-absorption that is an important practical consequence of masculine therapy and the translation of social issues about men into questions of pure psychology, are both connected with the profound interest this group has in limiting upheavals in gender relations that was on the agenda in the 1970s’ (Connell 2001: 211). It was proposed that efforts to eradicate hegemony only stand a chance once new archetypes are constructed for men. Rowan (1987) describes a ‘Horned God’ (influenced by various goddess images) that could represent a source 107

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of emotional strength for men founded in a commitment to reciprocity towards others rather than domination over an Other (Woman). According to Jantzen (1998) and King (1995: 3), religion is the primary source of hegemonic masculinity, so it is therefore fundamental in the creation of patriarchy. However, it is important to understand that the specific experiences of this form of masculinity will not be the same for each man despite the presence of the same cultural imagery. I adopt Connell’s approach to researching masculinities in America and Australia, in which he collects individual life stories of men from different class backgrounds. Since there is no research on men and masculinities in Rajasthan I have constructed a chart of the identities of two Rajasthani men.32 One man is from a high-caste Rajput family, the other from a low-caste (Kumhar) background. The chart highlights the differences and similarities between the two identities. Each man wishes to replicate a particular construction of hegemonic masculinity. The chart also reveals the extent to which religious imagery influences both identities. In an area of rural Rajasthan in the Jaipur distict, in which both men live, Rama is projected as a great hero. He is depicted as a strong defiant man who is not worried about having to resort to violence if his authority or dignity (wife) is threatened. It is the physically powerful Rama who is fundamental in the symbolic conception of an ideal man. Religious images feed into the socialization of boys just as they impact on the identities of girls. Gilmore (1990) studies how boys reach manhood in various cultures. He claims that specific images (often religious) and legendary feats often mark the transition from boy into man. One example he gives is of the annual Croatian festival of Sinj, which is a celebration of manly skills such as spear throwing, riding and fighting. This festival celebrates a combination of bravery and physical skill fundamental to a Croatian man’s social identity. As both Connell and Goldman stress, violence is an important strategy in the transference and protection of hegemonic masculinity. The main commonality between my case studies is their use of violence. In both cases the need to be violent can be understood only in the context of gender, specifically femininity. As a wealthy landowner, the first man enjoys high status and some economic and 108

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political power in his community, yet he still feels the need to be violent both towards his wife and other men. The second man is unable to assert any such authority because of his poor economic situation and low-caste status. It is likely that he experiences his position in terms of inferiority and his self-image must be low. The relative levels of self-esteem of both men are measured by the extent to which they replicate the example of hegemonic masculinity set by Rama. Violence is the means through which these two men express both their positive and negative sense of identity. The drought hit the Kumhar man hard and he had no option but to allow his wife to work; at its worse stage (in April 2001) he had to migrate in search of work. The Kumhar man passed his economic insecurities on to his wife violently.33 The rich Rajput man projects his hegemonic ideals with a variety of actions, first repressive control of his wife through her observation of strict purdah. Second, he needs other men to perceive him as strong and powerful. He seeks to project his manly strength and abilities above other men through public fights, often located around drinking stands. His wife fears her husband’s return from such displays, for he frequently transfers his sense of victory or humiliation (at losing) to her through violence. Basu (2001: 268) believes that violence between men should be understood within the framework of gender. ‘Violence against men is often explicitly designed to denigrate men’s capacity to provide for and protect their families. It thus rests in similar notions of honor and shame that feminists have identified in the rape against women.’ The Rajput man uses violence against other men to challenge or dent the claims other men make to hegemonic masculine identities. If a man is unable to defend himself in a fight he is regarded as weak. Passivity and vulnerability are seen as feminine traits. For a man to be perceived as feminine is shameful. The internalization of this shame is likely to externalize again through violence, this time directed at a woman. The low-caste man is likely to feel weak because of his inability to provide for his family economically. This weakness is associated with femininity. The reversal of gender roles, his wife acting as the provider, is likely to be experienced as a dramatic loss of dignity. He retaliates against depictions of himself as feminine and pathetic by beating his wife. This is his only means to a sense of power and authority. 109

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Table 3.1: Masculinities in rural Rajasthan Man one

Man two

Background information

Rajput upper-caste, born into wealthy land-owning family. Lives with his joint family on the outskirts of town (Jaipur district). Has five children (three boys, two girls). Has set up a private water company and can prosper at a time of drought by selling water to villagers.

Low-caste potter; lives in a village called Korsina 30 km from the nearest town. Lives with his joint family, wife and three children (one boy and two girls). Unable to generate an income as a potter at present because of the drought. Migrates periodically in search of work.

Religious images

Rama is dominant religious image in this region. He is perceived as a strong ruler who is in control of his wife’s sexuality. He protects and provides.

Same

Relationship with mother and upbringing

Mother described as strong and defiant. She is thought of as being very supportive, preserving her son’s authority. Father projected as patriarchal role model.

Defiant strong influence on his life. Saw his mother struggle to keep the family together during a previous drought when his father and other men had to migrate for work. He began to train as an apprentice potter under his father at eight.

Relationship with wife

His wife as a Rajput woman 35 observes strict purdah and rarely leaves the home. Her duties are domestic and reproductive. In public keeps her face veiled and does not speak to men outside her family.

His wife works outside home as a labourer (desilting ponds, agricultural work) due to economic necessity rather than preference.

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Emotional Self

He rarely expresses personal emotions. To express feelings is seen as a sign of loss of control.

Expressed feelings of acute disempowerment due to experiences of poverty. Feels unable to fulfil role as provider and has to watch his wife do so instead. Migrates in search of work, but unable to earn enough to send home. Returning with nothing increases his sense of failure.

Violence

Becomes violent if he feels his authority threatened. His aggression often directed at his wife. Verbally accuses her of letting him down (by not observing strict purdah, letting her veil slip or talking to a stranger in public). Alcohol heightens his aggression. Often drinks with other men at public drinking stand. This moment of male interaction can often turn aggressive.

Drinks while away and with any money he has; when at home this transforms his depression into violent outbursts directed at his wife.

I believe that the violence used by both men in my case studies, which is directed at their wives, reveals either a desire to be seen as powerful (Rajput man) or feelings of failure (Kumhar man). Both responses are a reaction to the authority of Rama as symbolic of ideal manhood. For the Rajput man Rama is a source of dignity and selfesteem, which he wishes to make as visible as possible. For the Kumhar man Rama highlights his inability to provide for his family. The relationship these men have with Rama is not the same as that Poonam, Parvati and Devi have with Sita. The women transformed Sita into a symbol of strength despite her treatment in the Ramayana. These two men have not formed such personal relationships with Rama. They have not constructed their own ritual and narrative describing the qualities they feel he injects into their lives. Instead, the relationship is based on a hierarchy in which the image of Rama

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is superior (despite his often acknowledged faults), and it is his behaviour that the worshipper must attempt to replicate. It is this need to re-enact in everyday life ideal notions of manhood that must be identified as the root cause for women’s continued treatment as objects of male control. Although my research into the relationship between male identities and the image of Rama is not extensive (and more is needed on the private spaces in which men may express personal self-perceptions), I do believe that these case studies highlight the manner in which men as well as women must negotiate within an androcentric symbolic order that may not always be experienced as empowering.36 Conclusion The material on masculinity in this chapter gives us some idea of why Indian women are often depicted as passive recipients of a repressive male ideology. Another reason can be attributed to the narrow and limiting lens that many scholars who study women in rural India (and elsewhere in the developing world) have adopted. The Hindu construction of ideal female subjectivity is grounded in patriarchal values and an androcentric perspective. This subject displays compliance and passivity with the dictates of the hegemonic male ideology. In this chapter I have shown that Rajasthani women exist both inside and outside the bounds of this preordained subjectivity. The personhood of individual Rajasthani women is a space within which women are free to express their anxieties at the injustices their social and cultural system delivers to them. At the same time, the Rajasthani women I have met and spent time with viewed their existence as meaningful and lived with a sense of optimism that they could cope with the injustices directed at them. My description and analysis of the Sita ritual is my view and has not come directly from my informants; the voices of Poonam, Parvati and Devi are not obviously present in my discussion, though I am confident I have understood sensitively the importance of Sita in their lives. I must be open to the possibility that others may have offered different interpretations of the same ritual and that the women in question may have chosen to talk about the significance of their actions in other terms. I am sure my description of the personhood of others is accurate because of the effect Poonam, Parvati, Devi, Gaytri and other village women’s energizing presence had on 112

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me during the many hours I spent in their company. I did not expect to feel so positive during my field work. I was expecting the acute and blatant crimes against Rajasthani women I had spent hours reading about in the SOAS library to leave me embittered. While in the private company of the women about whom I have written I was protected from the grim emotional realities of researching oppression against women. Anger and resentment at the injustice of patriarchy emerged most intensely during the two weeks I spent travelling with the UK donor agency. While in the company of the group this donor NGO had sent to inspect the projects its partner organizations – Gandhian NGOs (1) and (2) – had implemented, my glimpse of social reality was accessed from a distance. The mental pictures I took were of groups of men pushing their wives away from centre stage as our Land Rovers drew up. Women stood on the sidelines with their faces veiled, tiny holes appearing in their saris as they peeped out at these aliens who had temporarily invaded their space. Husbands sharply told their wives to stop talking when the ‘women’s group’ from the NGO marched towards the brightly coloured figures huddled at the edge of proceedings. Stark images of poverty, deprivation, inequality and injustice structured evening conversations over dinner at one of the NGO’s headquarters. Despair and gloom set the tone for the feedback sessions. White upper-middle-class professionals sat in a close circle for comfort. Tears of despair and complaints of stomach pain punctuated the continuous narrative in which the general awfulness of life in rural Rajasthan was expounded. The image of women in Rajasthan this NGO possessed is clearly reflected in its use of a singular picture of an obviously oppressed woman described in the introduction to this book. I recorded in my journal a conversation I had with one of the delegation on her last night in India in which she told me that she ‘would not be able to go into a supermarket for at least two weeks after returning’. Her lasting memory of Rajasthan was of extreme hopelessness. Her two weeks there had left her with a sense of guilt about the abundance of material goods to which she was returning. She asked how I would cope being left alone for so long. I pondered on this for a while and realized that I would not only cope but relish the time I had because her lasting impression of rural Rajasthan would not be mine. Because I was on my own and had so long to 113

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spend there I was able to form more personal connections with some Rajasthani women. The dual lenses through which I was privileged to view Rajasthan allowed me to understand the need for both perspectives. An overall understanding of the level and depth of gender oppression in Rajasthan needs to be coupled with more personal insight into how Rajasthani women perceive their own situation, how they cope with day-to-day living and what they wish for in the future. As I show in Chapter 6, close studies help build more sophisticated and accurate pictures of how patriarchy operates and are vital in determining how structural constraints should be challenged. In this chapter I have highlighted the importance of religion in shaping the self perceptions of women and men. Religious belief and practices also heavily determine gender, class and caste relations within a community. Therefore, any attempts to understand the nature and causes of poverty and inequality must consider the impact of religion. Foster Carroll (1988) recognizes its importance for development, but also the resistance of development planners to take it into account. According to her what constitutes religion is misunderstood. Religion is fundamental in determining women’s access to processes of development, which I emphasized in my examination of the cultural practice of purdah in Rajasthan. Many scholars identify such practices as proof of women’s disempowerment. Foster Carroll mistakenly assumes that religion is responsible for women’s negative self-image. In this chapter I have shown that religion constructs an important space within which personal narratives are articulated around religious images that contest the desires of the prevailing hegemony. My ethnographic research was primarily focused on the lives of women in Rajasthan, but I believe my reflections on masculinity raised the question of whether men are limited to perceiving their social identity through hegemonic images of masculine authority. Do they internalize the pressures to be a particular type of man and measure their successes according to how well they fulfil the dictates of Rama’s model? If so, the consequences would be disempowering for men (who will no doubt experience frustrations at the limitation of this form of masculinity) and for women (who must be controlled by men in their pursuit of being ideal husbands). This exposes a crucial barrier to male and female social freedom and one I pick up 114

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in Chapter 6. In this chapter I have described how the positive values and perceptions held by women destabilize the prevalence of an aggressive patriarchal ideology. The refusal of women to endorse the misogyny and androcentrism existing in aspects of their culture through their personhood highlights weaknesses in the hegemony and identifies important spaces from which even more effective resistance to patriarchy should be located.

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Chapter 4

Revisiting the Development Discourse

I

n this chapter I review the emergence of gender as a unit of analysis within both the academic and practical spheres of development. I argue that, despite a shift in development research towards acknowledging women’s marginalization from both social and economic development, a gendered perspective has not been absorbed into mainstream development practice. Instead, project interventions influenced by gender research take place in a ghettoized field that targets women rather than using gender as a means to understand and challenge the multiplicity of oppressions experienced by men and women. In addition, research conducted under the gender and development label often reinforces an authoritative narrative through which researchers and practitioners claim to ‘know’ and understand the oppression suffered by women around the globe. Such a claim to ‘know’ is founded on a homogenous construction of a female subject. As I argued in Chapters 1, 2 and 3, this subject is mythical and blocks the potential for meaningful dialogue with others. The Woman described in much of the gender and development literature is passive. Only consciousness-raising and empowerment can reverse her compliance with male domination. I begin by historically tracking the emergence of gender and development. The extent to which much of this work relies on the passive subject (Woman) will be discussed and challenged by the idea that agency is a fundamental element of human existence. Furthermore, it is through agency that we become aware of our personhood and are able to express ourselves to others. I shall argue that gender and development should be concerned with identifying the structural constraints that limit the translation of this agency into outcomes individual women desire. Work that focuses on the notions 116

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of resistance and bargaining conducted by a variety of different scholars will be reviewed. This research highlights women’s natural agency. I examine this emphasis on agency in greater detail through an ethnographic example of Maasai women in Tanzania who forge a collective identity to protect each other from the accusations of angry husbands. Through this case example I make links to the previous chapter in which I presented Rajasthani village women as active agents expressing and creating their personal subjectivities and consider how women form alliances through which they can act with defiance against the constraints of patriarchy. This allows me to consider how it is not just those who oppress who manipulate representations of subjectivity to suit their desired outcome; the marginalized also adopt unified constructions of identity to exert a challenge to the hegemony that wishes to keep them out of public view. I end this chapter with some reflections on methodology. Academics who claim to expose a desire for power and authority in the work of others must also ask the same questions of their own work. Such self-reflexivity is possible through insertions of a more directly personal narrative built into the main text. Spivak’s use of internal and external narratives could be adopted by those working on gender and development. To conclude this chapter I attempt to apply such a methodology to my own work. In my emphasis on perceiving women as dynamic self-motivated individuals am I really contributing to a more effective and responsive style of development intervention or am I just attempting to reveal something different about the lives of ‘Third World’ women in order to carve my place in academia? If I am to structure a more self-reflexive and ethical approach to helping others I must ask the same critical questions of my own motivations that I have of the work of those whom I challenge. The emergence of gender and development (GAD) I begin by taking an historical approach to how the GAD discourse emerged as a distinct body of thought. Although this is now a common starting point for scholars who wish to move the debate forward (Moser 1995; Ostergaard 1992; Saunders 2002) and is described by Lazreg (2002) as tedious, I feel it is necessary to begin 117

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here to locate my specific critique of current theorizing and practice of GAD. Recognizing women’s economic contribution In the 1970s a move to create a field of study concerned with women’s issues in development, which was separate from mainstream development theory, was greatly influenced by Esther Boserup. Her ground-breaking book Women’s Role in Economic Development (Boserup 1970) sparked questions about the nature of development intervention and whether it served all groups in a community. The main point she made was that women’s contribution to household income has been constantly undervalued and at times ignored. In fact, what women did had never been the focus of empirical study. Instead, a series of assumptions had been made about the nature and extent of women’s work, the main ones being that their contribution is purely domestic and that their activities take place solely in the private sphere. Boserup, however, claims that women’s activities often extend beyond the private into subsistence agriculture. She also draws attention to the importance of women’s domestic labour in terms of the wider economy. If women fail on the domestic front, male members of the family are unable to work away from home. She identifies the ideological bias underlying statistical categories as what leads to undervaluing women’s contribution and states her challenge in terms of redressing this balance. We should not underestimate the importance of her book; it played a crucial role in raising issues that subsequently dominated discussions on women’s status and economic roles in society. In addition, Boserup’s conclusion that women did most of the domestic agricultural work in sub-Saharan Africa (feminization of agriculture) has influenced much empirical work conducted over the last ten to fifteen years. Her case studies of African societies have resulted in vital revelations that have helped shape the future course of similar research and have impacted on the perspective taken by GAD planners. Boserup’s work has been criticized. Moore (1988) contests her claim that women’s control of agricultural production gives them greater economic power. Moore states that subsequent research concludes that financial independence does not necessarily follow 118

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from the feminization of agriculture. Indeed, many societies still have a low rate of female participation in subsistence agriculture despite an increase in the male dominated cash-crop industry. Moore also argues that the commercialization of smallholder production affects both men and women equally. If this is the case, Boserup’s claim that the commercialization of subsistence agriculture allows women to have greater financial independence is flawed, since it is more likely that both men and women will benefit from this increase in the family’s income. These criticisms should not distract from the importance of Boserup’s work. In particular, the point that women’s economic contribution had remained invisible to research has influenced the work of many subsequent scholars. For example, Mies (1982) examines the economic activity of Indian women lacemakers of Narsapur in Andhra Pradesh and concludes that, despite male control of the household, women in this region still manage to maintain a degree of economic independence. Their activities had remained undetected because of the male bias in the prevailing ideology, which tended to focus only on male activities. In effect, Boserup sparked a debate into the development agencies’ traditional research and project objectives. She challenged the exclusion of women’s economic activities and demanded a reformulation of the categories used to conduct such research. Her work heavily influenced the decade to follow, which saw the emergence of distinct approaches to improving the position and status of women in the developing world. 1

WID, WAD and GAD The body of research resulting from Boserup’s book helped set the agenda for the national decade for women (1976–85). The primary objective of the decade was to achieve the equitable integration of women in economic development. The vision that motivated campaigning during this period was of women escaping the constraints of patriarchy through economic independence. Women in development (WID) emerged out of the UN decade for women in the hope that women would now be incorporated in development. WID was the product of US liberal feminists who advocated legal and administrative changes to achieve full economic integration for all women. This approach was closely linked with the modernization 119

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paradigm that dominated mainstream thinking in international development from the 1950s into the 1970s. The prevailing view was that industrialization was central to modernization, through which wealth was generated. The standard of living for everyone would improve through a process in which this wealth would ‘trickle down’ to the poorest in society. By the 1970s this view of development no longer had credibility; it was proved that the segments of society that controlled the means of production held the wealth and that no ‘trickle down’ effect occurred. WID was grounded in the assertion that up to the 1960s women fared less well then men through modernization. An approach was thus required to redress the imbalance. This was supported by donor agencies that directed money specifically to projects designed to improve women’s economic standard of living. These projects included credit facilities to enable women to set up their own businesses (Goetz and Gupta 1996) and appropriate technology designed to lighten women’s workload like, for example, village water pumps to reduce the long daily walks made by women to collect water. The main criticism of WID has been its inability to question the social structures that allow development to ignore women. Rather than looking at why women fared less well, WID focused on how women could be better integrated into the development process. Its practitioners avoided examining the nature and root causes of female subordination. Without identifying what processes constrain women’s development, any project aimed at achieving equal rights for women will have only limited success. Any real improvement in women’s lives can only take place within a broader challenge to the whole structure of the society, taking into account historical factors such as the impact of class, race and culture. WID operates through a category of Woman it believes represents the whole of Womankind. This process of homogenization silences the individual voices of women that hold different world views and expectations. Women therefore become static objects onto which development interventions are played out. WID assumes that women share uniform experiences of disempowerment. Its practitioners believe that the same solutions to women’s inequality can be applied the world over. This narrow perception of women meant that WID failed to appreciate the extent of women’s responsibilities. Most of its projects have been income-generating programmes set up on the assumption 120

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that financial independence will lead to gender equality. What WID planners do not fully appreciate is the extent to which women are already stretched. As Goetz and Gupta (1996) point out, since women in the developing world cannot find extra time to devote to credit schemes, successful income-generating projects are often appropriated by men. WID’s failure to bring about long-term structural change prompted the need for a fresh approach to the formulation and implementation of women’s projects. In particular, a change of focus was needed in which, rather than just implementing strategies for their economic integration, the women’s relationship to the development process would be examined. The research conducted by women and development (WAD) acknowledged from the outset the economic contribution that women make. On a theoretical level, WAD is able to account for the impact of class in determining a woman’s access to economic production. In practice, however, WAD faces the same problems as WID because it fails to acknowledge the impact differences between women can have on their access to resources. Factors such as age, race and ethnicity all affect a woman’s access to the development process and this will differ from woman to woman. WAD offers a global perspective on women’s subordination in which women’s universally inferior position within the international system is held responsible for the resulting gender inequality. This is considered within a framework of international class inequalities. WAD assumes that women’s position will improve when the international system becomes more equitable and thus advocates intervention to achieve this. WAD’s analysis of the problem focuses on the productive sector; its solution is an increase in women’s economic productivity. However, WAD (like WID) fails to realize the complexities of gender relations and the extent to which they are embedded in hegemonic power relations. In the 1980s the gender and development (GAD) approach emerged as an alternative to WID and WAD. GAD was thought to be the answer to the theoretical problems of the earlier WID and WAD approaches. GAD acknowledged the significance of the social construction of production and reproduction for the roles and duties a particular society assigned to women. GAD attempts to find out why women are assigned secondary roles in so many societies and adopts a holistic approach to its project work. It makes the impact of 121

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gender its focus and from this perspective examines women’s labour contribution both in and outside the home. According to GAD, most female subordination occurs in the private sphere where women are under the direct control of their fathers or husbands.2 GAD argues that increasing women’s access to public services can address this subordination. In addition, it sees women as active agents rather than passive recipients of aid and therefore views women as capable of achieving their own change. GAD aims to help women organize in a politically effective manner to enable them to challenge the underlying social, political and economic structures that constrain and limit their lives. GAD’s final objective is to achieve a shift in power relations that will give women greater autonomy. Despite the theoretical developments made by GAD, the majority of projects find their roots in WID and WAD, both of which are grounded in a basic needs approach (BNA) to development. The starting point of this approach involves Western WID and WAD planners drawing up a list of all the immediate basic needs they believe women in the target community display. The list usually consists of a change in traditional attitudes, greater access to education, better primary health care facilities and implementation of time saving strategies, the availability of credit schemes, legal equality and improved land rights. The aim behind all these objectives is to achieve greater economic independence for women.3 The concern for economic independence reflects a Western model for development. Feminist preoccupations in the West are based on demands for equal pay and career opportunities. Such objectives have been transferred to the development agenda. The assumption implicit in this approach is that all women desire the same existence. This perception is founded on an essentialist notion of women and what constitutes a worthy existence. In addition, it secures the authoritative voice of those who make such declarations. The Western foundations of this authority have been examined in Chapter 2. WID/WAD approaches have achieved only limited success. For example, Staudt (1983) conducted research into USAID and discovered that although each policy statement had to include a ‘woman impact statement’, it only ever amounted to a paragraph, which more often than not was recycled from one document to another. WID and WAD operated from a small office that reflected its weak power base. Staudt goes on to argue that although WID/WAD 122

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propounded the liberation ideals of US women, its impact on development policy and practice was negligible. The limited number of USAID grants available to gender projects, a mere 13 per cent in 1980, demonstrates this. In the period 1980–84, despite the WID/ WAD office having been open for several years, 40 per cent of all USAID projects still made no mention of women. Problems with GAD GAD is failing to assert a holistic influence over mainstream development practice and its interventions continue to focus mainly on women (Moser 1995; Porter 1999; Sweetman 1997). While women remain the most marginalized, improving gender relations involves the efforts of men and women. Smith (1990) suggests that GAD’s limitations are due to the assumption development practitioners make that GAD is the domain of feminists. The association of GAD with feminism stirs fear in those researchers and practitioners who locate themselves in mainstream development. This fear is rooted in the mystification that still surrounds the word ‘gender’. Despite the influx of research on masculinities and on relations between men and women, the word ‘gender’, in the context of development, continues to be equated primarily with women. Two main approaches to research and intervention seem to exist within GAD. In the first the practitioners and researchers wish to disguise their objective to see women as equal partners in all processes of social development. Smith argues that this group avoids using the word feminism and often limits the focus of its interventions to avoid accusations of a feminist bias. Smith believes that the heavy emphasis on poverty alleviation reveals the sensitivity of these GAD planners who wish to avoid a backlash to their work. Poverty alleviation schemes are usually presented as communitywide projects, although they prioritize women for employment opportunities and training. By emphasizing that the whole community will benefit from such schemes, GAD planners are able to disguise their primary concern, which is to improve women’s standard of living. In the second approach researchers and practitioners wish to link poverty alleviation schemes with efforts to ‘raise women’s consciousnesses’. Ostergaard, who combines practical strategies for poverty alleviation with a stress on the need for women to ‘raise their 123

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consciousness about their condition’ (Ostergaard 1992: 4), is a clear example of this. Ostergaard’s language evokes the liberal feminist values of the 1970s and is problematic on a number of levels. Those who adopt this approach are motivated by overtly feminist concerns; and it is perhaps the emphasis they place on women’s empowerment that sparks such resistance within mainstream development. Challenging the idea of ‘Third World’ woman as victim Feminist postmodernism and GAD The belief that women in the developing world need their consciousnesses raised is founded on the projection of a passive female subject, which many academics in the gender and development discourse endorse. Goetz (1994) describes how the Westernconstructed categories of ‘progress’ and ‘modernization’ that determine the nature of change in the developing world shaped this objectification of ‘Third World’ women. ‘Third World’ women have found themselves reduced to a single homogenous group. Young (1990) supports these concerns through her criticisms of scholars such as Sen and Grown (1987) whom, she argues, assume the crosscultural subordination of women. In addition she claims that: An identical cross-cultural universal subordination also privileges unquestioningly the values of Western feminism, while remaining unselfconscious about its own relation to the oppressed political-economic power structures that operate between the West and non-Western countries. Western feminist discourse, in short, can not only be ethnocentric, but in certain contexts can itself be shown to be a contemporary form of colonial discourse. (Young 1990: 162) The language of transformation embedded in the need to raise the consciousness of the Other (Woman) echoes the concept of conversion already examined in Chapter 1. GAD seeks to transform women in the developing world from their passive, compliant state to that of empowered and vocal women. Many scholars and practitioners working within GAD fail to relate directly to the women they claim to describe in their work. This is evident in the language of many NGOs’ project literature (see Chapter 5 and the image used 124

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by the UK donor NGO in the Introduction). Rather than documenting the voices and experiences of women this literature stresses the need for transformation. This constant reference to change reveals the linear conception of progress underlying GAD interventions. The objective is clear; it is to see the Other reach a state of consciousness (preordained by GAD practitioners). Yet, when the ‘developing Other’ is transformed to this desired state, the ‘developed Other’ will have moved on to another horizon of progress. Such an approach leaves the structural inequalities that should concern GAD practitioners intact. While GAD operates around such a linear notion of change a lag between those who are ‘developed’ and those who ‘are not’ will remain. Gender practitioners have been slow to respond to the criticisms made above and continue to project a homogenous representation of Woman. One explanation is that this Woman is vital in securing the continuance of GAD interventions. Without a visible picture of a suffering Other how can aid be generated and allocated? Perhaps the concerns are practical. If ‘Third World Woman’ is not the main focus for discussion, GAD practitioners fear, donors will withdraw their money and GAD will be back to small, ineffective, under-funded projects that pose no real challenge to patriarchal oppression.4 Although I can appreciate these fears I believe that a style of intervention that focuses on listening to the needs of others is vital for three reasons, which I shall examine in more detail in the rest of this book. First, without replacing Woman with women, the white, Western, upper middle-class voice of liberal feminism motivated by what Goetz calls the ‘claim to know’ will continue to monopolize the process of change in the developing world. Goetz effectively identifies the hegemony that must be challenged within GAD. She accuses a relatively small group of women of placing their Western knowledge on a higher plane than any other, creating a binary opposition (Third World Woman/Western Liberated Woman) that misrepresents women in the developing world. The knowledge Western development planners claim to have is insight into the oppression of the Other. GAD’s objective is to enlighten women in the ‘Third World’ about their disempowerment (characterized by their suffering) with its so-called ‘consciousness raising’ techniques. In reality, these techniques operate to persuade women to adopt a Western perspective on their situation. Accepting that they are 125

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indeed suppressed is the first step in a programme to change them into Western women who can be described in terms of ‘the consumption of the Other by the same’ (Levinas 1991: 23). Second, the deconstruction of this claim on knowledge is necessary if women in the developing world are to be valued as unique, selfmotivated individuals. Social reality must replace this mythical representation of Woman. Within this reality it is possible to formulate more effective projects building on women’s own visions for the future rather than those imposed from the outside (Western liberal feminism). The starting point lies in the acceptance of a distinction between the individual consciousnesses of women, which I have already shown are often positive and powerful (Chapter 3), and the structural constraints of the social and cultural systems in which they live. Di Leonardo (1991) warns against a tendency to ‘make women better off’ in order to give them a voice. External forces disempower women, not their own self-perceptions. Often women fight against practices that limit them, motivated by their positive sense of self and realization of their agency. However, GAD projects do not reflect this, and thus continue to perpetuate the binary opposition that preserves the hegemony of Western aid agencies. In Chapter 2 we looked at the ideas of scholars who believed that a new approach to activism must be implemented within which differences are respected. This type of intervention can be characterized in terms of coordinated cross-cultural action. According to Young (1990), ‘collective’ action is the single solution to female disempowerment, which, she believes is applicable worldwide. Third, when efforts to listen to the voices of women have replaced this category of Woman, a picture of the complexities of patriarchy can emerge and a deeper understanding of how it operates can be gained. Without such insight development interventions will continue to scratch the surface of gender inequalities. They will fail to confront the root of the problem, which is located in the processes that transmit patriarchy and, under the impression of normality, allow marginalizing practices to continue unnoticed in a variety of ways. In the rest of this chapter I intend to consider how various scholars within gender and development have sought to understand how patriarchy affects social relations in the developing world. Many scholars working in contemporary gender studies believe that gender roles and expectations are socially constructed and 126

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reproduced. The processes that create these roles are founded on normative rules produced by individual cultures. In theoretical models that convey a picture of hegemonic cultural values being imposed on a static person, the subject is therefore passive. Whitehead (1981), for example, bases her research on the categories of ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’. She describes how particular roles are ascribed to these concepts, which in turn shape the particular duties and expectations relating to women and men in that society. For example, the gendered roles of wife, mother, son, husband and father are enforced through their enactment in kinship rites, rituals and practices. Kinship allows for the division and separation of roles between the sexes and enables particular cultures to formulate and articulate distinctive gender identities.5 Her work has echoes of Foucault (Chapter 1), whom Butler describes as problematic because he gives the impression that gender identities are stamped on passive subjects who do not possess the agency to resist. Whitehead seeks to identify the process that can explain why particular roles are reserved for men; for example, in some societies car mechanics are always male. She believes that every society operates a subversive, oppressive system designed to keep women constrained within the bounds of particular roles. Her conclusion shifts the debate from one of examining the divisions between ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ to an analysis of how women are consistently ascribed inferior roles and positions in society. In her description of how patriarchy operates to marginalize women, she presents a female subject who is passive in receiving her preordained gender identity and role. In addition, the divisions between femininity and masculinity are more fluid than Whitehead suggests. Butler’s work has been central in emphasizing the extent to which the negotiation of personhood operates through a network of gendered codes and symbols. Although patriarchy has shaped specific gender roles, a distinction must be drawn between the gender roles men and women are expected to replicate in their everyday lives and an individual’s sense of personhood. Personhood is experienced through the interplay of masculine and feminine symbols and ideals. As I have argued in Chapters 2 and 3, women negotiate between patriarchy’s ideal of femininity and their own innate experiences of personhood in a highly complex way. Whitehead’s research is important in identifying the existence of structural constraints that limit women’s freedom to live the lives they wish to 127

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lead, but she needs to go one step further and acknowledge that it is only through listening to women’s experiences of these constraints that we can understand how patriarchy manages to exist with such vengeance. In addition, a means to challenge patriarchal barriers can be found in women’s own agency and desire to change. Research conducted around rigid categories of analysis, such as Whitehead’s use of ‘femininity’ and ‘masculinity’, excludes women’s own agency and continues to project an agenda of transformation through which both men and women in the developing world undergo radical change at the hands of outsiders who claim to have more insight into their lives than they do. This failure to differentiate between patriarchal constructions of subjectivity and the agency of each individual to negotiate against such hegemonic demands for conformity is common in GAD literature. Much GAD work focuses on the household as the main site for female activity and the focus of study becomes the identification of structures that constrain women within this sphere. Elson (1991) describes a male bias, which she believes favours the domestic nature of women’s work and thus seeks to maintain the boundary between women’s and men’s labour. She feels it is unhelpful to focus exclusively on gender relations because that assumes that particular systems are deliberately created and enforced to prevent women demanding or acquiring anything other than their gender-ascribed roles. Such a perception makes it easy to see women as victims of a system they are powerless to resist. Elson identifies a particular language associated with gender, which she summarizes in terms of ‘women as gender are subordinate to men as gender’. She describes how gender language focuses on structures rather than agents and can give the impression of immovable forces within which women are constrained and which they are powerless to change. The structures behind patriarchy are not attributed to a masculine hegemony; no blame is attributed directly and no incentive to change offered. In effect, they remove responsibility from individuals and this, in turn, prevents women and men from realizing and utilizing their agency to bring about the change they desire. Elson (1991) offers a solution to the problems gender language pose. She states that by shifting the focus from gender subordination to male bias, emphasis is placed on the individuals who are structuring their lives around the bias. The objective then becomes awaken128

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ing those who may not yet be aware but, once aware, could be motivated to rethink their role and life expectations. In other words, once alerted to the bias against them, women may choose to use their agency to demand change and redress the imbalance. Elson believes that, since women are more aware of this bias than men (because it impinges on their life opportunities) and therefore are more likely to want to combat it, it is logical to focus on their experiences of gender. The male bias operates in favour of men as a gender group and against women as a gender group. It prevents women acquiring skills that are well rewarded in the market and thus limits the work options available to them. It is therefore likely that women are aware of their weaker position and ready to act to improve it. While Elson acknowledges women as agents she fails to appreciate the variety of ways women challenge the structural forces that operate against them. In Chapter 3 I showed how Rajasthani women articulate their own experiences of injustice in spaces and through mediums of expression they create for themselves. In such moments the agency to change specific situations is evident and the potential for GAD planners to respond to it is huge. Elson does not acknowledge that such spaces exist. She seems to suggest that women must voice their needs loudly to overcome the male bias. This raises the question; whose role is it to encourage them to do so? The answer seems currently to be the Western or Western trained project facilitator who uses consciousness-raising techniques to make women’s demands more audible (see Chapter 5). It is ironic that such methods deny rather than enhance women’s agency. Such approaches to female empowerment make no effort to hear the voices of others; rather they are a clear indication of the deep-rooted concern within GAD to maintain a female subject in the image of Western liberal feminism. In challenging scholars who suggest women in the ‘Third World’ need to find their ‘voice’, one should be cautious not to portray women in the developing world as feminist activists. A distinction needs to be made between women voicing their disgust at patriarchy and their ability actively to translate these views into strategies of resistance. In addition, women do not always resist patriarchy. Sen (1990) tries to approach GAD by adopting a localized perspective on understanding why women may resist change. Sen argues that family identity impacts strongly on the self-perceptions of Indian women and prevents them forming well-defined notions of what they as 129

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individuals may want. Indian women submerge their own interests beneath those of their husbands and children. Supporting Kishwar’s point I presented in Chapter 2, Sen states that the problem cannot be solved through changes in the law. Despite the constitutional enshrinement of equality in Indian law, it is still far from a social reality. For example, equal rights for India’s rural poor women amounts to little, since land rights are largely invested in the head of the household.6 Any project aimed at improving women’s position must begin from an examination of what women in that society do and what they can realistically hope to do, according to their own ideas of what is possible. Sen, however, says there are sound economic reasons for India’s female rural poor not to shout their demands from the rooftops. With life in India organized around the extended family women live in close proximity with those in whose favour the male bias works. While to the outside world the extended family may seem to constrain women’s chances, it in fact offers them a certain security they would otherwise struggle to maintain. Sen describes such a household in terms of a process of ‘cooperative conflicts’. Women and men gain from cooperating with one another in joint living arrangements in so far as they increase the capacity of the household as a whole and maintain a consistent standard of living. But when bargaining over the divisions of the fruits of labour women are disadvantaged because the male head of the household ultimately decides how the family income is allocated. The male bias thus ensures that women benefit least from this system. Yet, because of their lack of economic independence, they can do little other than to continue life within the joint family. Sen is effectively implying a notion of false consciousness in which women legitimize a system that does not represent their best interests: The lack of perception of personal interest combined with a great concern for family welfare is, of course, just the kind of attitude that helps to sustain the traditional inequalities. There is much evidence in history that acute inequalities often survive precisely by making allies of the deprived. The underdog comes to accept the legitimacy of the unequal order and becomes an implicit accomplice. … It can be a serious error to take the absence of protest and questioning of 130

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inequality as evidence of the absence of that inequality (or of the non-viability of the question. (Sen 1990: 126) Agarwal (1988) and Kandiyoti (1988) criticize Sen for assuming that the women have a misguided picture of reality that artificially portrays them as beneficiaries of patriarchy rather than oppressed by it. Agarwal (1988) disputes this interpretation and instead presents women as rational agents who work as best they can within an overall system that limits them. The focus of her study is not the perception of interests held by the women, but the structures that limit their ability to bargain. Women and resistance Kandiyoti (1988 and 1990) and von Mitzlaff (1988) describe how all women, to differing degrees, manipulate their situation to create a better existence for themselves. Although this resistance is not expressed universally, it can be concluded that, in a variety of ways, all women articulate dissent at the prevailing patriarchal ideology and do protest against the constraints placed on them, which renders redundant the need for ‘consciousness raising’. GAD should think about designing strategies that maximize women’s agency rather than perpetuate negative images of them as disempowered victims. Von Mitzlaff’s (1988) case study of the Parakuyo Maasai of Tanzania supports this view. She describes how, despite the existence of some form of male bias, women in this culture still act to resist cultural constraints. As I describe in detail below, Maasai women use solidarity as an effective strategy to negotiate against the hegemonic symbolic order. It is their personal perceptions of female sexuality that motivate their determination to challenge patriarchal power. Many of the conclusions von Mitzlaff draws compare with those I present in Chapter 3 in relation to Raheja and Gold’s (1994) work in Rajasthan. In her ethnography von Mitzlaff (1988) emphasizes the need to move away from studying the public operation of gender relations in isolation from other important and often private aspects of a woman’s life. She claims that Maasai women display a strong sense of the power of their own sexuality; however, this is often hidden from researchers because of their focus on the public sphere. 131

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Since Maasai women only express their self-perceptions in private, von Mitzlaff focuses her ethnography on that domain. During her field work she observed that rituals performed by and between women represented an important form of personal expression. ‘Rituals and ceremonies contribute significantly to the way women and men perceive themselves as individuals and social beings. The women’s rituals are an opportunity for the self-determination of the women’s “cultural space”. They serve to reaffirm time and again their position within society and the significance of their lives’ (von Mitzlaff 1988: 127). While studying Maasai women’s rituals von Mitzlaff discovered that they use their sexuality to bargain for greater authority for themselves. It is accepted practice for Maasai women to take lovers (murani), a practice institutionalized by a public ceremony in which women, even before marriage, select a lover (eokoto ooukipot). The extent to which the woman remains in control of the process is what von Mitzlaff emphasizes, for even the public choice of a lover does not imply consent to sex. Women decide for themselves ‘when and with what partner they will sleep’ (von Mitzlaff 1988: 129). After marriage, von Matzlaff describes how it is accepted that women will have secret affairs. Husbands watch their wives closely but are powerless to prevent these relations occurring and feelings of jealousy ensue. Parakuyo men believe that it is only through fear of a husband’s brutality that a wife will obey his command. This accounts for the high level of wife beating that occurs.7 Husbands often suffer from intense insecurity over their wives’ fidelity, which they vent through violence. Von Mitzlaff describes how Maasai women form groups as a conscious strategy in which solidarity is used to defend each other against their husbands’ physical attacks. Collectively, they deny accusations of infidelity, regardless of the truth. Von Mitzlaff is keen to make the point that men may beat their wives, but ultimately they have limited control over them and they know it. This solidarity between Parakuyo women is a powerful weapon against the control of male elders. In addition: ‘The women’s solidarity in keeping love affairs secret strengthens their self confidence; by sheer defiance they obtain a piece of self-determined personal life beyond the power and control of their husband’ (von Mitzlaff 1988: 145). Von Mitzlaff’s work supports the claim I made in Chapter 3 that a focus on women’s private spaces is vital if we are to understand how 132

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they perceive their world. I mentioned how this positioning in private spaces structured the field work of Raheja and Gold (1994) who stress the importance of extending the ethnographer’s gaze beyond specific categories of analysis (such as gender). Instead, by focusing on how individuals and groups create and use different spaces, a picture of active agents negotiating between different areas of their lives is projected that contradicts the static objectification of Woman as Subject common in many ethnographies. Like Raheja and Gold in Rajasthan, von Mitzlaff portrays Maasi women as determined self-conscious beings who manipulate situations to create spaces for free expression. For example; celebrations allow women to create space within the general chaos of proceedings to spend time with lovers and friends, and to express their intimate opinions. According to von Mitzlaff (1988: 141) ‘such occasions are manifestations of the woman’s independence. They describe them as moments of triumph,’ triumph over a symbolic order that wishes to keep them constrained. Making ‘space’ the focus of analysis moves researchers away from dependence on a rigid predetermined binary opposition in which other women are always perceived negatively (as the Other), and in the case of the GAD discourse passively. The Maasai women in von Mitzlaff’s research balance the obvious injustices of their cultural and social system against their personal identities, which are grounded in a sense of consciousness that is positive despite the harsh practices to which they are subjected. As I concluded about the ritual to Sita (Chapter 3), the space created through private performance of rituals is a vital aspect of the expression of a woman’s empowered consciousness. Von Mitzlaff (1988: 163) supports my view: ‘in these rituals the essential experience of integration in and belonging to the female world is made.’ I described how Rajasthani women perform their own rituals to create personal space for themselves. By contrast, von Mitzlaff notes how Maasai women manipulate public annual rituals to create space for female interaction and solidarity. Their realization that they possess the strength and power to determine their own destiny, not a specific ritual image, is what injects them with a positive identity; and collective action and group commitment are what harness this energy. Solidarity is the defining feature of Maasai women’s rituals. The Maasai women’s temporary display of unified subjectivity demands that the centre listens to the views expressed through it. Thus, the 133

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marginal space at the periphery of proceedings is made visible through the women’s determination to be heard by the centre. Other research (Agarwal 1988; Kabeer 1990; Scott 1985) also suggests that people constrained by poverty or considered to be victims of a repressive regime do not usually accept their position passively. Instead, they adopt strategies to manipulate and improve their situation (Zene 2002). Scott suggests that the minority groups that dominant forces appear to suppress in fact possess strategies to resist in all societies. He describes how ‘everyday forms of resistance form the weapons of the weak’ (Scott 1985: 96). These strategies are the only way subaltern groups can fend off hegemonic powers in society, thereby allowing individuals to maintain a sense of self worth. In particular, Scott observed that resistance does not necessarily have to take overt and organized forms but can be expressed through covert and indirect bargaining. As von Mitzlaff points out, this is accurate in relation to women’s contestations over domestic power structures, but it is also true in relation to social interactions and organizations in public spaces. Ong (1987) identified the various techniques factory women in Malaysia who worked long hours, in poor conditions and for little money used to cope with their harsh working environment. Though onlookers could easily see them as vulnerable targets in a system biased against them, a system designed to limit their independence in the work field and to deny them access to the means of production, Ong does not accept that interpretation. Instead, she tries to appreciate how women perceive their own employment situation. For example, do they see themselves as powerless victims? Her research reveals a fascinating insight: according to Ong, these factory workers view their employment as short-term. They take on factory work to acquire skills to replicate in other situations for their own benefit. For example, with their newly-acquired skills and the help of credit schemes, they could eventually set up their own businesses. This image of women utilizing a less than satisfactory working situation for their own benefit is apparent in Zaman’s (1999) work on garment workers in Bangladesh. She states that the multiple identities and specific social locations of these women as women and garment workers create distinctive forms of activism and political consciousness. She describes how they both belong to a network of labour organizations and network with other women in their factory 134

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as women. Zaman claims that these two networks create a double consciousness, as being both women and workers, which in turn increases the possibilities for them to act and resist exploitative structures as individuals.8 She describes how in the factory in Dhaka, where she conducted her field work, women workers encourage each other to seek union support in individual instances of wrongful treatment, for example not paying sick leave or delaying overtime payments. The support they offer each other as women is vital in motivating them to challenge the patriarchal operation of the factory. In addition, the motivation is worth generating because there are supportive organizations available to channel it into effective acts of resistance and protest. Earlier research drawing similar conclusions came from Rogers (1975) who studied male/female relations in the south of France. She concludes that behind the façade of male public dominance is a reality of female control in which women are the main decision makers. She terms this the ‘power behind the throne’. She highlights the importance of looking beyond the public sphere, which Western scholars interpret through the category of patriarchy. She argues that a comprehensive appreciation of male/female relations cannot be gained from such a limited approach. As I show in the next chapter, in practice GAD bases its interventions on trying to alter the operation of patriarchy in public. GAD’s reluctance to acknowledge the variety of spaces in which women exist and the networks they forge between them means that it fails to be responsive to the realities of any woman’s situation. The assumption is made that to display any control over their lives women must challenge men’s public authority. The absence of female power from the public sphere is interpreted as evidence of women’s disempowerment and allows female subjectivity to be depicted as passive and compliant with dominant systems of power. Since men play a dominant role in this sphere – from employment to public ceremonies and positions in governing councils – it is assumed that their authority also pervades the private sphere (Rosaldo and Lamphere 1974).9 So embedded is this perception of patriarchy that women are assumed to have no agency. Such static and inaccurate representations of Other women can only be replaced by applying ethnographic techniques to the field of GAD. In Chapter 1 I explored the value of research by anthropologists committed to listening to and recording the 135

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multiplicity of dialogues through which aspects of an other’s subjectivity may be understood. Kandiyoti (1988: 4) highlights the problems inherent in this venture when she writes about ‘the difficulty of conceptualizing gendered identities and subjectivities in a manner that avoids both essentialism and the unproblematic assumption of the self-determined individual’. Kandiyoti warns that merely shifting from an image of women as passive to one where they act with a degree of agency can also be false. For example, making the concept of bargaining power the focus of research gives the impression that women (and men) have a wide range of strategies at their disposal. The reality is that an individual will attempt to lead the most fulfilling life possible. However, individuals have only a limited number of options available to them. White (1986) is also critical and states that the model of bargaining serves to blind people to the full extent of powerlessness. A clear example of this criticism can be seen in Agarwal’s study of the Bodhgaya struggle in Bihar in which women were able to press for individual land rights through successful collective action. In seeking to analyse the long-term effects of the women’s action, she (Agarwal 1988: 454) writes: ‘The reluctance to endow daughters with land because of the norms of patrilocality and village exogamy, and the difficulties of management that women face when they own land in one village and marry into another are not easy problems to resolve, especially if land is distributed in the names of individual women.’ Agarwal proves that women act rationally, yet at the same time acknowledges the practical constraints placed on them. Kandiyoti (1988: 12) concludes: ‘bargaining with patriarchy represented an uneasy compromise since it suggested that contestation and resistance were possible but always circumscribed by the limits of the culturally conceivable.’ Kandiyoti could have gone further and identified a role for GAD practitioners in increasing the effects of strategies of resistance already employed by women. There is a tendency, against which O’Hanlon (1988) warns, for researchers to produce mystified representations of women. She argues that in trying to produce more empowered pictures of women in the developing world it is problematic to focus on how they resist patriarchy. Resistance should not replace passivity as the defining feature of female subjectivity in the developing world, for it is only one expression in a network of dialogues and narratives through 136

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which each woman exerts her identity and makes her desires apparent. GAD researchers and practitioners must start to listen carefully to the array of voices that resonate in reality. Their task is to wait for those moments when some voices converge and unite into a single defiant cry that clearly outlines the next objective for intervention, be it an end to domestic violence or money for a women’s cooperative. Whatever the need it must be located in the experiences of women whose lives those outsiders who have replaced their ‘claim to know’ with a desire to ‘try and know’ treat with respect and dignity. Only in a context where such an ethical commitment exists can GAD contribute to a future that can see an end to the oppression women suffer. Conclusion: the move towards self-reflexivity The problem of constructing a practical framework for implementing this ethical commitment is apparent even in Feminist PostDevelopment Thought (Saunders 2002). Through a variety of approaches, its contributors attempt to replace the white, liberal feminist hegemony of GAD theory and practice with a methodology that seeks to problematize the process of representation while attempting to offer more accurate images of female identity and subjectivity in the developing world. Parpart (2002) states that definitions of speech need to be broadened beyond the vocal to recognize that those previously considered mute do in fact speak through subtle means. Such a sophisticated analysis removes the need for GAD researchers and practitioners to speak on behalf of the silent; it enables a wider range of voices to be heard and incorporated into development practice. However, the authors’ critiques of representation fail to disrupt the transformative agenda on which GAD is founded. The desire to convert women in the ‘Third World’ into something other than how they presently exist remains intact. Although Chatterjee (2002), Elabor-Idemudia (2002), Lazreg (2002), Nanda (2002), Parpart (2002) and Perez (2002) acknowledge that the picture of reality for ‘Third World’ women has been misunderstood and over simplified – hence their stress on multiplicity and varying axes of oppression – how such research may be practically applied is left relatively undiscussed. The postmodern discourse within GAD has successfully yielded research registering the fact that women across the globe are 137

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oppressed by different factors, though the subjectivity of those positioned as oppressed is still represented through the Western concept of misogyny. In this sense, the research now emerging from postmodern feminism and development has a tendency to be, as Parpart (2002: 130) puts it, ‘a playground for voyeurism’. The search to uncover more and more about ‘Third World’ women’s lives has become a race and hides a certain irony in which the business of theorizing about the lives of Other women involves the ideas of Other Western intellectual women. The ‘Third World’ has become a feeding ground for Western feminist academics falling over themselves to discover a new dimension to the lives of women. In this chapter I have documented the shifts within GAD from the idea that ‘Third World’ women are oppressed to the notion that they may be oppressed but are not passive and do possess agency to express how they would like things to be. I ended with a review of work that focuses on the strategies of resistance and bargaining women use to negotiate a better existence for themselves. All these theories, however, are derived from the West and their applications to GAD exclude the actual voices of women. Instead, such analytical models operate as another lens through which to view the lives of Other women. Self-reflexivity is the dimension missing from both the research resulting from these paradigms and the critiques of such research. Elabor-Idemudia (2002) states that researchers need to stand back and reflect on their ‘bias’, but does not suggest how this may be done. As discussed in Chapter 1, self-reflexivity is highly complex and can only work if the individual is prepared to be transformed by the process (rather than instigate the transformation of an Other) and confront elements of their Self they may find difficult. In the arena of GAD this involves researchers standing back and reflecting on the investment they have in their work. Is it really about helping others, or is it merely an egocentric clambering for new insight? This ‘why’ question must form the basis of an ethics motivated by a fascination with difference and a desire to enter into relationships with others because of what they have to offer. So, have I done this? In Chapter 3 I focused on the lives of three women; my relationship with them allowed me to identify the importance of personal religious space in constructing and expressing perceptions of personhood. Had I really forged a friendship with Poonam, Parvati and Devi or merely used them as a means to access this new 138

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material? In asking this critical question of my own research within the very text I am producing to make an original contribution to scholarship, I may have just discredited myself. However, I feel it is a necessary risk if I am to move the discussion of self-reflexivity into a new practical form. By standing back, as Spivak does, at certain points in my own narrative I can identify the speaking subject I have constructed as a vehicle for my work. I can analyse any disjuncture between the words of this speaking subject and my own inner motivations. What or who have I left out in my own narrative? By stopping at points and engaging with what I have written I can ask myself if my writing is motivated by a desire to understand others (even if I fail) rather than a concern to create an authoritative narrative about the lives of women in the developing world. Spivak’s technique of responding to her own outer dialogue (her written text) through an internal dialogue within her intersubjectivity, allows her to assess critically her own work and its impact. Such self-analysis opens up the possibility for scholars to learn about themselves, to gain insight into the limitations of their own perceptions. Who do they choose to see and hear? Such an approach creates a methodology that focuses on the absences enforced through writing. If this were applied to GAD the results could be significant. The possibility of an ethical approach to development intervention may emerge as each GAD scholar and practitioner is forced to lay his or her cards squarely on the table and acknowledge the existence or not of a true commitment to others. Is the primary concern of GAD practitioners the assertion of authority over an Other or the desire to accept and respond to others and the visions they hold for their own futures?

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Questioning Participation

I

n the previous chapter I focused on GAD’s theoretical and practical priorities. In this one I look more closely at the impact of development practice through an analysis of project design and implementation. Scholars who are critical of development practice have asked development planners whose needs their projects meet and, furthermore, by whom and by what means are these needs determined. Such critical questioning has forced project facilitators to involve local communities in the process of designing the programmes that will ultimately affect them. However, I argue that, despite this claim to ‘consult’ the target community, the reality is that it often represents a mere gesture towards including the views of those affected. Even if consultation occurs, projects are largely planned prior to any contact with the community. As I will show, the failure of the project I observed, which aimed to train Rajasthani village women to be health workers, was not attributed to the inadequacy of the consultation process. Instead, the women were described as uncooperative, immature and insufficiently educated to appreciate the positive benefits of the project. The project planners used this interpretation of events to justify implementing a predesigned project. In other words, the NGO believed that the women’s lack of knowledge in biomedicine proved their backwardness and need for outside assistance. The push towards greater involvement with the target community has been influenced by a rhetoric that permeates the language of the development discourse. ‘Participation’ and ‘empowerment’ have now become central to most project literature. NGOs that adopt a participatory approach claim that it ensures the full involvement of all groups in the development process from the planning stage to implementation. Development experts proclaim that target groups experience participation as empowering, defined as a sense of control

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over their destiny. The methods facilitators use to identify a target community’s needs come under various different participatory terms. ‘Participatory rural appraisal’ (PRA) is the best known; one of its first advocates was Robert Chambers (1992: 94, 96). In recent years ‘rapid rural appraisal’ techniques have been developed to ensure a speedier participatory process. Participatory techniques have been open to criticism: Mosse (1994), Nelson and Wright (1995) and Welbourn (1992) voice concern that PRA uses inappropriate methods to extract local knowledge and fails to increase community participation in any real sense. Wright (1992) claims that the main problem is that Western development planners construct and control PRA exercises. Locals are unfamiliar with the practices they are asked to use and therefore cannot demonstrate a realistic picture of their knowledge and concerns through them. Mosse (1994) identifies further problems over the use of these techniques in the public sphere. In public, only a relatively small section of the community is confident. Although GAD recognizes the exclusion of women from the development process and acknowledges the direct input women have on vital areas of community life, its approach to project planning lacks a way of accessing the unique knowledge and visions of women. GAD planners seem unable to put aside their own wish to see women in the developing world join an international sisterhood (which Western facilitators control). This is apparent in the opening pages of The Oxfam Gender Training Manual (1999) in which the desire to see all women around the globe forge a sisterhood is declared. ‘We have shared freely and learnt from each other, building sisterhood. I know now that as a woman I have no country, no tribe, my country is the whole world’ (Oxfam 1999: xi). In this chapter I show that, rather than listening to their needs, GAD techniques are designed to persuade women of the need for solidarity (which already exists). I argue that new approaches must be found that focus on listening to the diversity of needs that exist in any one community. NGO workers must establish open dialogue with a target community; only then can true participation occur. For example, by listening to Rajasthani women communicate their needs and by responding to their demands, development planners give them control over the direction of change in their lives. To be listened to is empowering. A fear of the destabilizing effects of deconstructing the binary oppo141

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sition that currently shapes the power relationship between development practitioners (Self) and target groups (Other) is what causes the resistance to making open dialogue the central focus of development planning. In short, Western development agencies do not want to relinquish their authority over the direction and nature of change in the developing world. NGOs operate as big businesses and ‘participation’ is a growing industry with endless opportunities for workshops and training programmes. Western development planners need not fear losing their jobs because even consulting an Other requires experts with specialized training on how to facilitate training. My analysis of The Oxfam Gender Training Manual (1999) reveals a contradiction in that these workshops simultaneously promote conflicting objectives: to increase women’s participation and agency on the one hand and to project them as a weak, suppressed Other on the other. At the same time, the strength and determination of the women targeted are praised. I believe that Oxfam judges the success of its projects by the extent to which participants accept the ‘expert’s’ perception of their subjectivity. This is certainly true of the case study I present of a primary health care project in rural Rajasthan. The empowerment of women through participation GAD participatory methods claim to focus on the specific factors of female disempowerment. Gajanyake and Gajanyake (1993) believe gender relations are the key factor responsible for women’s continuing inequality, which they argue persists even after poverty has been reduced. Kabeer argues that the empowerment of women must involve a change in relations between men and women ‘so that women have greater power over their own lives and men have less power over women’s lives’ (Kabeer 1990: 8). However, she goes on to say that women must therefore be made aware of the specific constraints their society places on them. The problem with this suggestion is that the authority to make women aware will be awarded to a Western trained facilitator. Those who propound the need for female empowerment (Bystydzienski 1991; Hall 1992; Kabeer 1990) argue that women remain silent and without agency until the underlying patriarchal structures that limit their potential are removed. I argued in Chapter 4 that women have the agency to understand they are constrained; they do not need to be educated into appreciating this; instead they should be 142

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supported in their demands for change. According to the theorists listed above, men and women do not share the same experiences of disempowerment so it is necessary to target each gender separately. The techniques GAD facilitators favour involve single sex group exercises that focus on the specific factors in the individual’s external environment (cultural, social, economic and political) that inhibit personal freedom. For Warren (1988), the connection between group members is what generates empowerment and sharing stories of hardship strengthens an individual woman’s resolve to overcome it. Hall states it is vital that women share this process of empowerment with other women – the ‘probability of realizing women’s freedom is increased through their awareness of the plight and possibilities they share with other women’ (Hall 1992: 87). Both Warren and Hall make a series of assumptions based on their narrow perception of ‘Third World’ Women. Hall and Warren assume that women do not already talk and share experiences of disempowerment. I have shown in Chapters 3 and 4 that they do. Also, von Mitzlaff (1988) has shown how ‘solidarity’ is important for Maasai women in expressing determined resistance to patriarchy. Guijt and Shah (1998) look at how taking a gender approach to development dispels the myth that a community exists as a homogenous unit. However, the models for gender participation they and their contributors outline do nothing to dismantle the positioning of the Western facilitator as the ‘allknowing subject’ required to aid women’s self-discovery and transformation. This model of GAD perpetuates a rhetoric that masks the continued presence of a binary power relationship that leaves the supremacy of the West intact. Despite the use of gender to emphasize differences, Western planners use PRA to persuade women (and men) to adopt a model of existence based on a Western framework. Pursuit of this Western-style existence ironically involves the abandonment of differences and the reduction of individuality into the characterless image of a ‘liberated person’. Critique of Oxfam’s GAD manual Oxfam gender facilitators use politically motivated exercises to empower female (not male) participants and do so by exposing target women to an alternative subjectivity. They present a new perspective on life and the choice of whether or not to take it. Oxfam believes that once a change of consciousness has occurred women will act to 143

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resist patriarchal constraints. The participatory techniques Oxfam uses to fulfil this goal in its GAD projects work not to extract the local knowledge of women in the target community but to instil in them a sense of gender awareness that enables them to recognize their constraints. This is based on the premise that women in the developing world have no prior awareness of their own suppression. As I will demonstrate through analysing various participatory exercises Oxfam uses, women in the developing world are considered to be silent victims. The critics of Oxfam’s techniques presented below offer evidence to support the arguments I made in Chapters 1 and 4, namely that such strategies represent a neocolonialist outlook that works not to empower women in the developing world, but to secure them further within a paradigm in which Western development agencies control the destiny of a large number of people. As stated in Chapter 1, NGOs like Oxfam embody the apparatus of globalization that seeks to maintain colonial power relations by enforcing Western derived notions of an ideal existence into the lives of those whom they have little interest in knowing. Stories are used in many of the exercises. The story that I present first is to be read in a ‘soothing voice’ and is called Millie’s Mother’s Red Dress (Oxfam 1999: 113–16). It hung there in the closet While she was dying, Mother’s red dress Like a gash in the row Of dark, old clothes She had worn her life away in. They had called me home, And I knew when I saw her She wasn’t going to last. When I saw the dress, I said, ‘Why Mother – how beautiful! I’ve never seen it on you.’ ‘I’ve never worn it, Sit down Millie – I’d like to undo A lesson or two before I go, If I can.’ And she sighed bigger breath

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Than I thought she could hold. ‘Now that I’ll soon be gone, I can see some things, Oh, I taught you good – but I taught you wrong.’ ‘Mother, whatever do you mean?’ ‘Well – I always thought That a good woman never takes her turn, That she’s just for doing for somebody else. Do here, do there, always keep Everybody else’s wants tended and make sure Yours are bottom of the heap. Maybe someday you’ll get to them, But of course you never do. My life was like that – doing for your dad, Doing for the boys, for your sisters, for you.’ ‘You did – everything a Mother could.’ ‘Oh Millie, Millie, it was no good – For you – for him. Don’t you see? I did you the worst of wrongs. I asked nothing – for me! … Her last words to me were these: ‘Do me the honor, Millie, Of not following in my footsteps. Promise me that.’ I promised She caught her breath Then mother took her turn In death. (Oxfam 1999: 115–16) The manual clearly states the objectives behind this exercise:


To create awareness for individual women that change begins with them.

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To reflect on women’s stories to draw out individual experiences. To bring out through the stories or experiences that gender roles are socially, historically and culturally constructed and can change.

After two of the women present have read out the story the facilitator raises the following questions:







How does the story make you feel? Does the story reflect the reality of women today in our society? Is it like your life? The life of your mother? What factors influence women so that they give sacrifice and deny themselves? Should the situation be changed? What can women and men do to change the situation?

The first objective and discussion questions clearly reveal that the story is supposed to awaken in the women present that they are suppressed and live compliantly within a system that represses them. The women are asked to examine their own lives and realize the constant operation of male control. Once they acknowledge their situation they are asked to reflect on the manner in which they bring up their daughters and understand the role they have in their socialization. The story’s narrative aims to enforce this message and encourage the women to recognize their part in passing on their suppression. The tone of the story leads the women to conclude that they are oppressed. The dramatic and tragic end leaves the reader with a sense of sorrow. When immediately followed by discussion questions that force the participants to reflect on how this narrative is present in their own lives, the responses are likely to be influenced by the emotions evoked by the story. The extent to which the telling of this story would open a space for honest and clear minded sharing of life experiences is doubtful. The assumption made is that once women become aware of their situation they will demand ‘empowerment’. Such a judgement is based on the preconception of women in the developing world as passive, silent victims. It is assumed that the target women are not already resisting their constraints and talking about their experiences. This view has already been challenged in Chapters 2, 3 and 4. 146

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The story of Radha recounts the experiences of a middle-class Indian woman as she goes through the transition from girl to wife. No sooner did I start understanding my surroundings than I realized that my preordained role was to be a dutiful daughter. When I grew up it was emphasized again and again that I should be a dependent wife and devoted mother. Though I was a bright student I was allowed to educate myself only to higher secondary level. As soon as I started menstruating, the elders in my family got obsessed with the idea of marrying me off. Those years were extremely agonizing. According to Hinduism, for those five days when woman has her ‘period’ she is supposed to be impure. Hence, she is segregated and treated like an untouchable. The thought of being treated like an untouchable for one-sixteenth of my life made me feel horrible. … Manu, the one who created the code of conduct of the Hindu civilization stated that the drum, the stupid, the untouchable, the animal, and the women deserve beating. (Oxfam 1999: 117–20) The story goes on to detail the search for a husband throughout which Radha finds herself paraded ‘like a decorative piece’ in front of suitor after suitor: ‘at last one family decided to choose me for their son to marry’ (Oxfam 1999: 119). This episode is clearly supposed to emphasize the extent to which Hindu tradition objectifies women and renders them passive so that they accept their lot without complaint. The story goes on to describe how ‘in Hindu customs, kanyadan is considered one of the best offerings. In this respect the daughter is reduced to an object that can be given away as a gift’ (Oxfam 1999: 119) The wedding and its aftermath are described in an equally depressing manner. Radha’s helplessness is emphasized throughout. In the end her frustrations explode: Sometimes I feel very angry whenever my daughter is unfairly treated. In the last seven years that I have been married, I have realized that even if I remain weak, meek, submissive, and a masochist I may not be going to be treated well and respected. I asked myself: ‘then why not assert yourself?’ Now I have 147

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made up my mind, I will assert my daughter’s rights. I want her to be well-educated, self-reliant, courageous, confident, and economically impendent! (Oxfam 1999: 120) This story highlights the structures within Hinduism that limit women at each stage of their lives through the enforcement of prescribed social roles; Radha is depicted as a victim of a system that is self-perpetuating. The codes of conduct bound into Hindu ritual are held responsible for her unhappiness. Radha has no choice but to act out those rituals and follow the preordained path they conscribe. As the story is read, the women are asked to think about the extent to which their own destiny is restricted by certain expectations and duties that are transmitted through religion, culture and law. In particular, they are asked to pick out the cultural practices that are designed to ensure they move without resistance from one stage of life to the next (for example, dowry). Though this exercise is used across class and race barriers, the story is about a middle-class female. It is questionable how realistic it would be to expect a low-caste Hindu woman to relate to the life of a middle-class Indian one. A Kenyan woman would be unlikely to be able to reflect on her specific experiences of disempowerment through the life of someone with whom she shares little in common. Also, the use of a singular subject oversimplifies the structures of oppression that operate to marginalize women. In Chapters 2, 3 and 4 I challenged the assumption that women in the ‘Third World’ are universally silent and examined the barrier to effective social development such stereotypes create. The religious experience presented in this story is interpreted as negative, with rituals seen as mechanisms through which to control women (Fruzetti 1990). In Chapter 3 I showed that women often experience religion, particularly rituals, as a source of strength and an opportunity to express and maintain solidarity. Cultural practices function in various ways and on differing levels, not all of which are negative and repressive. In Chapter 3 I stressed the importance of understanding cultural practices through women’s own experiences. Material that does this presents a different perspective on the impact of these practices and can in fact challenge the male hegemony so intent on using them as mechanisms through which to control 148

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women. Oxfam’s depiction of such practices lacks any distinction between women’s personal experiences and self-perceptions (which produce agency and strategies of resistance) and the wider symbolic order that seeks to control the female body by manipulating certain cultural images. The use of story telling in participatory exercises is problematic. Not only do facilitators choose the stories, but they also recount them in a manner that will help them achieve their ultimate objective, namely to instil their constructed reality into the minds of others. The language the authors use leaves the reader in no doubt about what particular social reality they are attempting to project. The language in Radha’s Story is harsh – ‘Hindu scriptures define a woman as one who is like a secretary in her work, a slave in her behaviour, a mother when it comes to feeding, a sensuous partner in bed’ (Oxfam 1999: 120). The intention is to depict women chained to a life that leaves little if any room for their own self-expression. Women exist to serve as a mother and a wife. As a daughter the training begins and women are never free to make their own choices. From birth the grooming for a life of servitude begins. The facilitators think that women in the developing world have no space of their own and no time to explore other possibilities for their lives. The lack of private space was also a theme in Millie’s Mother’s Red Dress, a view that contradicts the ethnographic material presented in Chapters 3 and 4, which clearly shows that women do create private spaces for themselves. So convinced are Oxfam facilitators by their negative picture of female identity in the developing world that they fail to recognize the diversity of female experiences present in any one community and women’s capacity to organize themselves around points of commonality despite these differences. Oxfam’s gender approach remains one of persuasion. The facilitators must lead the women of the developing world to conclude that patriarchy suppresses them. PRA in this context serves as a tool for neocolonialism, ensuring that Western development planners remain in the dominant power position, in control of the course and direction of a target woman’s life. As we saw in Chapter 3, Rajasthani women tell their own stories that reflect their unique experiences; facilitators could begin to use these stories to access a more sophisticated understanding of what developmentally needs to be done. In doing so, gender participation 149

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would fulfil its primary objective – the extraction of local knowledge. The biggest stumbling block to real participation is that NGOs like Oxfam are convinced that they have the ‘right approach’. That Oxfam continues to structure its interventions around a mythical Woman suggests that the organization is pursuing another agenda. Its priority seems to be to universalize its gender programme by implementing the pilot projects outlined in its manual. That Oxfam has produced a marketable product (the manual) is clear evidence that it perceives itself as a business, an industry that trades on the suffering of the Other. The key strategy is persuasion. Oxfam hopes its target groups will acknowledge two things – that they possess the repressed subjectivity already described, and that Oxfam’s role as liberator is accepted and respected. This is apparent in an exercise entitled Liberator (Oxfam 1999: 79), which is designed to encourage local communities to analyse what is meant by the word ‘development’. The method employed in this exercise is as follows:









Identify seven participants who are willing to act in front of the group. One woman should be in traditional dress with one leg tied to a rock by a chain. As the acting begins this woman should be sitting down by herself, looking helpless. The other people involved should each have one of the following items: (a) identity card; (b) Bible; (c) book and pen; (d) flag; and (e) needle and thread. Each person comes, in turn, to the woman who is sitting on the floor with her leg tied. She wakes up as each person comes close, smiles and receives the present. She tries to look around, cut her chains, but all in vain. She drops the present and goes back to her previous position. The same procedure is followed for all the presents.

After she receives all the presents she returns to her original posture. The play ends here. There should be music playing in the background. It goes loud as she receives each of the presents but fades as she returns to her previous position. Through this exercise Oxfam is hoping to illustrate how effective its empowerment approach is compared with other development initiatives. Oxfam is propounding its stance that development will 150

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only be effective once women realize the extent of their powerlessness and submit to Oxfam’s consciousness raising strategies, in other words once women in the ‘Third World’ allow Oxfam to liberate them from the chains of their oppression. The discussion questions that are to follow the exercise support this view:















What did you see happening? Who did the woman in the traditional dress represent? Who did the people bringing the presents represent? What did the chain represent? What similarities can we see between the play and real life? What kind of woman is produced by the situation? How do programmes we run for women change the situation of women? How do they reinforce the traditional role of women? (Oxfam 1999: 79)

Structuring the discussion through such direct questioning allows the facilitator to control and mediate the responses so that the NGO’s objective is fulfilled. The women present will be helped to conclude that the woman in the play represents all women in their community who are burdened by the fact that their tradition denies them freedom. Material gifts are not enough to challenge the cultural chain that imprisons women in such drudgery. Oxfam is different because it realizes that women need to be liberated from this oppression. Such an approach contradicts the work of Crewe and Harrison (2000) whose ethnographic work on the operation of aid donations revealed that local communities, men and women, want material goods and to get them are prepared to comply with whatever the NGO requires of them. This may also be true of these empowerment exercises in that groups of women realize that they must ‘play along’ with the requirement to acknowledge their repression and promise to become liberated women to get Oxfam to release money for credit schemes and other income generating projects. The manual’s continuous projection of homogenous subjects is clear in the following exercises outlined in the manual (Oxfam 1999: 121–5). What are male/female stereotypes? This technique is used with a mixed gender group, which is then divided into men and women. Each group is asked to write down what being a man and being a woman entails in their culture. They must define these roles 151

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in terms of the expectations assigned to each gender. The groups are then asked to present their conclusions to the other group using a flip chart. After completing this exercise two extracts are read out, one portrays ideal masculinity and the other ideal femininity. Parts of the passages are given below. A Masculine Boy If I would have had the slightest inkling of what being a ‘man’ really meant, I am quite sure I would not have spent a great deal of my childhood waiting for the ‘Rewarding Day’. Before I could reach the accomplished state of being the ‘Masculine Man’, I had to suffer the repressive and agonizing stage of being the ‘Masculine Boy’. I learnt fairly early in life that one of my first accomplishments was to be superior to that other little creature that inhabited the earth, ‘girl’. My parents guided me through this difficult period well. They gave me some helpful pointers. If I cried they told me not to, as only little girls cried. I had to avoid the usual girlie things: bright colours (especially pink), skipping ropes, dolls, ribbons, etc. If my parents wanted to intimidate me because my hair was getting too long or untidy all they had to say was ‘we will have to put a ribbon in your hair, won’t we’. I would cringe at the mere thought. If I was too shy and quiet in company, I was being like a silly girl again (cringe). My name is Ian. If my father happened to be in a somewhat jovial, sadistic mood, he would call me Yvonne and my brother would give him a hand. I hated that so much I would end up throwing great boulders at my brother. … Being a boy, of course, meant playing all the rough games; football, rugby, boxing, wrestling etc. I avoided such things by studying too hard. I avoided all physical contact with other boys. I avoided any display of emotions. By the time I was 11, I felt I had achieved much success at being the Masculine Boy. But alas there was a small price to pay … repression. (Oxfam 1999: 123) The complexities of masculinity in terms of both its social and cultural construction and the manner in which men perceive their

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own personhood against hegemonic projections of an ideal man have been discussed in Chapter 3 and are considered in more detail in Chapter 6. This extract not only oversimplifies the processes at work in transmitting an androcentric ideology, but presents the experiences of a Western man. The likelihood that men cross-culturally will be able to analyse their own masculinities through this account are minimal. Dealing in Used Woman What do I do? I deal in women, Used and new. I’ve many models From which to choose. I’m sure I have one Just for you. Here’s a classic model: She’ll do as she is told, Never acting knowing, Never acting bold. Here’s the housewife model: She really is a find. She sews and cooks and cleans and Mass-produces little minds. Next, a secretary model: Her typing can’t be beat. She makes good coffee, has good legs; There’s one word for her: ‘sweet’. There’s an educated model: In her class she’s at the top. She can hold a conversation, But she should know when to stop. A recycled woman? Yes, I have lots of those. But she may be more challenge than you need.

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She thinks … she feels … she loves … She’s real … but she’s not guaranteed. (Oxfam 1999: 125) For this poem, which emphasizes the notion of an ideal type of woman, the participants are encouraged to think about what their culture regards as a perfect woman. As with A Masculine Boy the descriptions are founded on Western images of women. Using such rigid depictions of femininity prevents women from different cultures expressing their self-perceptions and the specific cultural ideals they try and resist. Rather than encouraging participants to explore their own gender through this exercise, the focus on such narrow depictions of subjectivity reduces the chances of individuals expressing their experiences. It seems clear that Oxfam’s underlying objective is to impress on the participants an understanding of the extent to which their lives and indeed their destinies are controlled by these stereotypes. In Chapter 3 I argued that individuals negotiate with these dictates. An individual’s subjectivity is created through a continuous process of mediation between internal desires to be happy and fulfilled and cultural norms that prescribe roles and duties. In reading Oxfam’s manual it is clear that personhood is being denied and that, because of this, the impact of these exercises are unlikely to be empowering. The vibrant, dynamic identities of Rajasthani women have no place in Oxfam’s development discourse. This raises the question: where is the compassion to help and know others? A final example is of an exercise called Breaking the Chain (Oxfam 1999: 131) in which a group of women holds a paper chain. Each link contains a statement (40 in total). The women take it in turns to read a statement. When one is read that depicts a repressive situation, they all put their hands through the chain. The exercise ends with some music and a ‘liberating story’ designed to encourage women to ‘break the chains’ is told. The positive vision behind the story is that of economic empowerment, which the facilitators convey as the primary demand women should be making. Through this exercise Oxfam succeeds in placing its own chains around the women whose consciousnesses they wish to control. The words ‘empowering’, ‘liberating’, ‘powerful’ create a false sense of the real objectives. Readers of The Oxfam Gender Training Manual may be left 154

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feeling how sensitive and ethically motivated Oxfam is to pursue these objectives. However, this manual is another example of the hegeomony at the heart of the development discourse and practice. The manual is based on a Western liberal ideology that is assumed to be both correct and accurate in its interpretation of the lives of Other women. If women in the developing world accept this version of reality, Oxfam’s experts have control over the direction of change in their lives and ultimately have power over them. My own case study presented next mirrors many of the criticisms I have made here. Training women as community health workers in rural Rajasthan: two case studies compared Gandhian NGO (1)’s community health care project Background information: The key objective of this project was to train a selection of about 30 Rajasthani women from villages in the district to be community health workers. The charity is based in a hamlet near a small town in Jaipur district and I first visited its headquarters in July and August 1995. While I was there the new project began. It had dual objectives – to empower village women by giving them a new role as health workers and to provide health care to the wider community. In line with contemporary development discourse, the project emphasized the need to increase community ‘participation’ by involving the women in the project’s implementation. Despite the emphasis on participation the project has almost halted and my fieldwork trip (November 2000 to June 2001) revealed no community health workers still in employment. What are the reasons for the project’s lack of success? The ages of the women selected to be health workers ranged from 20 to 60. All had basic literacy skills and came from a mixture of tribal and caste backgrounds. The social statuses of their families were comparable, though their own individual statuses differed depending on their age and stage in life. All the women were mothers and therefore married. Some of the older ones were also grandmothers. It was thought that the older women, with the respect and status their position in life commanded, would be able to support the younger ones who might find that other community members (especially men) regarded them with suspicion. The training took place at the charity’s headquarters. Because most women lived about a two-hour journey away from the hamlet, the 155

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training course was residential. The women were housed in a large room where they slept on rolled-out mattresses on the floor. They attended the course initially for seven days, went home for fourteen and then returned to the hamlet for a further seven days of training. The project employed two local women from the hamlet (Devi and Parvati)1 to cook and make tea for the women. Meals were eaten in a courtyard separate from the sleeping area. The women would take their food (usually dahl, chapati and some other vegetable) and eat together in a circle. I recorded the daily routine the women followed. I did so to identify any spaces in which the women reflected on their personal feelings towards the programme. Their daily timetable followed the same pattern each day: 6.00–7.30 a.m. Women get up and wash from troughs of cold water in two washrooms adjacent to the sleeping room. They also wash clothes and put on the clean ones washed and dried the previous day. 7.30–8.30 a.m. They have breakfast cooked by Parvati and Devi. Breakfast usually consisted of banana, chapati and dahl.2 After breakfast the women would doze or sit together singing songs. 8.30–9.00 a.m. The women congregate in the sleeping room, which by now was cleared of the sleeping mats. They would sit on the floor and drink tea. Before the first training session of the day they would say a prayer together and sing a devotional song praising Rama for bringing them together and expressing hope for the success of the project. This meeting was initiated by a project worker and not by the women. Joss sticks were lit by a project facilitator and then handed to one of the women who would wave them around the room to purify the air ready for the day’s work. 9.00–11.00 a.m. The first training session led either by a local doctor, community nurse or one of the project coordinators would take place. 11.00–11.30 a.m. The women took tea served by Parvati and Devi.

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11.30 a.m.–1.00 p.m. Second training session of the day again led by health professional or project coordinator. 1.00–2.00 p.m. Lunch, usually consisting of dahl with chapati or roti. After the women had eaten they would sleep, chat or go for a walk. 2.00–4.00 p.m. The third and last training session of the day led by a health professional or project coordinator. 4.00–7.00 p.m. The women took tea and sat around chatting. They would collect and fold the washing they had done in the morning. Some would wander around the nearby area chatting to people (mostly women) as they went. 7.00–8.00 p.m. The women would have dinner of dahl, vegetables, chapati, roti or rice. 8.00–10.00 p.m. The project leader might come to speak with the women. He would meet them in his office where he would sit on a chair while they would sit at his feet in front of him. He would ask them how they felt things were going and tell them constantly how pleased he was with their progress. Sometimes he would ask them to sing for him and they would oblige with a traditional devotional song sung in a Rajasthani dialect. These interactions were formal and after he had left the mood relaxed, the women would spend time talking, singing and perhaps even dancing. They would unroll the sleeping mattresses and go to bed before 10.00 p.m. Each training session followed the same format. The health professional would sit on a chair at the front of the room and the women would sit on the floor. All the health professionals came from the primary health care centre in Jaipur.3 The trainers took the women through a variety of key biomedical issues in primary health care, including prenatal and postnatal care. Two sessions focused on the nutritional needs and physical development of a baby, child diseases and illness. Emphasis was placed on the need to vaccinate and to provide a well balanced diet. Sessions were held on the diagnosis and treatment of conditions in both children and adults, such as calcium deficiency, malaria and dehydration. The women

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were taught how to identify illnesses that may require antibiotics and other medications. They were shown how to administer drugs and give the correct information on their use. Emphasis was placed on the need to reduce family size; this was a theme running in virtually all the sessions regardless of their topic. Posters were stuck around the women’s room suggesting the ideal number of children to be two per couple.4 Family planning and training on the use of various methods of contraception was allocated the most time. Various methods were employed: videos, textbooks, talks with visual aids. The only attempt to extract the women’s own perceptions of health matters occurred through a body mapping exercise. The body mapping sessions were always led by a female health professional since it was felt that the women would be more likely to open up to another women about such intimate details.5 Body mapping and other techniques used. In the first body mapping session the women were each given a piece of plain paper and asked to sketch a picture of their own body. They were then asked to label the individual parts of their body. Each woman had to come to the front of the group and describe her picture and how she had labelled it. Further exercises were then done in which the women were asked to describe, by adding to their picture, how particular bodily processes worked beginning with reproduction. They were asked specific questions, for example, why do you have periods? When did you start having periods? The questioning did become quite intrusive, for example questions were put to the women about how they might prevent having any more children. After each series of questions had been asked, the women had to come to the front and again show the rest of the group their picture and describe what they had drawn and why. After the women had given their explanations, the health professional leading the particular session would display a biomedical diagram of the female body in all its complexity. She talked at great length about the biomedical processes described on the diagram. This particular method of body mapping was used at numerous training sessions, mostly in relation to family planning and pre- and postnatal care. All the exercises followed the same form described above. The women had to offer explanations on various issues using their pictures, after which the health professional would talk about 158

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Body map drawn by one of the health workers, copy made with her permission August 1995.

the biomedical diagram. The sessions on family planning consisted of showing the women the various methods of contraception available to them. They were able to examine each one for themselves. They were shown how each one worked using the biomedical diagram and the health professional took the women through the pros and cons of them all. The objective of the family planning 159

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sessions was to help the women select a method of birth control most suited to them; it was hoped that they would then use it. Project planners felt that once the health workers practised birth control they would recommend it to other women. At the start of the second seven-day course after the two-week break the women were tested verbally to see if they had retained what they had already been taught. Towards the end of the course the emphasis became more practical, and the women were given a bag containing literature and medicines to distribute when they visited their allocated villages. The women were then taken to the villages they would be asked to visit regularly. A meeting was arranged between the newly trained community health worker, the village elders and the project coordinator. At this meeting the woman’s role as a community health worker was explained. Each village health worker was assigned a different group of around three villages, depending on distance and size. Each was within walking distance of her village. The women were expected to give out treatment where necessary and to take payment for the medicine where possible. They should only offer treatment for the illnesses they had been taught to diagnose. If they did not recognize a symptom they were told to refer the patient to the travelling medical team that visited each village once every two months. If necessary, at the village health worker’s request, the medical team would make a special trip. The patient might be told to visit a local hospital if transport was available. A professional health visitor would visit each health worker once a month. They would replace any drugs and medicines given out and take the money the village health worker had taken. They would also pay them at this meeting. Each village health worker was expected to visit each of their allocated villages at least once a week; this would involve about two full days of work. They might be sent for more frequently if an emergency occurred, for example a difficult birth. Criticisms of the project. The length of time the women were away for their training was significant. Many of the younger ones had never been away from home for that long before. In addition, the majority had childcare responsibilities they were expected to put on hold for the duration of the course. At the start all the women did manage to leave their children at home with other family members. Towards the 160

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end of the training programme this became an increasing strain both on them (they claimed to miss their children) and on the family members left to shoulder the responsibilities (other wives in the joint family or the mother-in-law). Gradually, husbands began arriving with offspring and leaving them with their mothers. Some husbands tried to persuade their wives to go home. It was unrealistic of the project planners to expect the women to take part in a residential course considering the nature and extent of their responsibilities in Rajasthan. The structure of the seating arrangements in all the training sessions revealed a lot about the power relations between the participating women and the health professionals responsible for the training. The health professionals seemed consciously to maintain a distance from the women; they never sat with them on the floor, but remained seated above them in a position of authority. The message this sent to the women was clear: the health professionals were the ‘experts’ who deserved attention and respect. The training schedule consisted of various sessions each led by different people. Occasionally, one person would lead a few sessions but on the whole the face at the front changed. The women did not have time to develop a relationship with their trainers. When each session came to an end, the facilitator would get up and leave to socialize with the project coordinators who were based in a different room, leaving the women to chat among themselves. Considering that much of the information was new to the women and often contradicted their own perceptions, the facilitators should have been available to them informally to answer questions or clarify points they did not understand. In addition, the project workers assumed that the women would receive this new information without resistance. This view was founded on the projection of a health professional as the possessor of knowledge. Such a position of authority is only awarded once a person has won the respect of his or her audience. Since no time was spent getting to know the women, it is more likely that the women tolerated their speakers rather than revered their superior knowledge. The approach to participation in this project was not used to draw out the women’s own perceptions about their bodies and how they function. The body mapping exercise did not increase participation; it merely highlighted the women’s lack of education and ignorance. 161

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The women involved in this project clearly had a strong sense of their own physicality, which was apparent to me through the explicitly sexual language contained in many of the songs I heard them sing in private.6 Since the health professionals had always left when these songs were performed, they failed to recognize the significance of their content.7 It struck me how important these moments are in understanding the perceptions of the women. The UK donor agency for this project wrote in its mission statement about how desperately funds were needed to encourage people to identify their health needs and to support them in achieving solutions. If this objective is to be achieved it is not just a matter of money but of valuing Rajasthani women as active agents in voicing their own health concerns and appreciating their, albeit limited, ability to utilize the means they have available to them. Although this statement seeks to support communities in identifying their own health needs, the charity clearly feels that those needs must be defined through a biomedical framework that Western educated facilitators control.8 Although a biomedical approach is crucial if health care in rural Rajasthan is to improve, a community will not accept such an alien system of knowledge if it is forced on it. Instead, it is better to introduce new perspectives as part of an ongoing dialogue that values local health concerns and responds sensitively when asked to do so by community members. Positive relations are therefore crucial between the aid donors and local community members who are in fact the agents of development. The body mapping was highly inappropriate. None of the women had drawn with a pencil and paper before; the exercise was strange to them and, as such, was unlikely to reflect their knowledge accurately. During the PRA sessions the women were asked to respond to personal questions through this unfamiliar method (drawing) and then stand up and describe what they had drawn to the rest of the group. Few people like to reveal personal information in a formal setting and to ask Rajasthani village women to do so was insensitive and inappropriate. Again, these methods would be unlikely to yield an accurate understanding of their knowledge. The women more likely based their responses on what they thought the health professionals wanted to hear than on their real feelings. As such there was a performative element to their responses, hence the distinct 162

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contrast between their restrained public behaviour and their private exuberance. Although participation did occur in that local women were incorporated into the NGO’s primary health care projects, this specific one was planned before the body mapping exercises were carried out and the ‘target’ women were clearly excluded from constructing the project’s agenda. The participatory method used was therefore meaningless. Because the body mapping was not properly integrated into the project, the women were unclear about its purpose. This was apparent from the sessions I observed in which the women approached each exercise with confusion and at times hilarity. This was particularly apparent in the family planning sessions. The Rajasthani women laughed and joked as condoms were handed around and made comments to the effect ‘my husband will never agree to this!’ Not only could they see no advantages to using contraception, for ‘we have to have children,’ but they also stated that there was no way their husbands would agree. Such changes in sexual behaviour require both men and women to recognize the benefits. A truly gendered approach is required to family planning in which both male and female concerns are heard. Despite the target women’s reluctance to support family planning projects, the facilitators still persisted in emphasizing its importance. Although women may well benefit from contraception in the long term, at the initial stage of implementing the project there were other issues they supported eagerly. For example, they displayed visible interest in child nutrition and diagnosis of childhood disease and illness. The women were all committed to improving their children’s health and were particularly attentive in these sessions. If the project had focused primarily on these issues it would have received a higher degree of commitment from the women because it was responding directly to their needs. The project planners greatly underestimated the time burden this additional role would place on the women. In that they were all mothers with family responsibilities that occupied much of their day, to take on the additional role of community health worker and spend whole days visiting different villages would mean shifting their usual responsibilities onto other family members. Although this was possible at the start of the project, the strain soon became 163

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too much for those left to pick up the women’s family duties. Gradually, more and more of them returned to their domestic duties full time and gave up their additional responsibility as community health workers. By comparing a similar but successful project I identify crucial factors that exist in the successful project that were absent in the failed programme. I will argue that the long-term commitment of the NGO workers and a positive connection with local communities and village health workers are crucial. Gandhian NGO (2)’s community health care project Gandhian NGO (2) launched its project to train about 40 village women as community health workers in 1996. Mrs Sharma selected the women with help from local Gandhian NGO (2) workers. The women were invited to an initial training course at the NGO’s rural base two hours from Jodphur. Many came great distances but they were able to bring their children with them for the duration of the course (seven days). A crèche was set up in the centre grounds, which meant that the women could participate fully in the training sessions. The women’s day followed that of the centre. They got up at about 7.00 and were invited to morning meditation and group discussion. Breakfast was taken in the community kitchen and shared with other Gandhian NGO (2) workers. The daily sessions would begin at around 9.30 a.m. Mrs Sharma led many of them and they consisted of a series of workshops. Sometimes the women would watch videos on an aspect of health care. At other times they would participate in more practical exercises like tying bandages and administering pills. Observation sessions would take place in the hospital located in the centre’s grounds, where the participants would be taken through various procedures and, with volunteer patients from the local village, taught how to diagnose basic illnesses. After the initial seven-day course the women returned to their villages. They took part in a series of further seven-day training courses over a period of six months. By the end of that time they had been to four training sessions and were able to begin practising as community health workers. This project succeeded for the following reasons. The health workers continue to return to the training centre for ‘refresher courses’ in which knowledge is repeated and techniques 164

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practised. It is the women themselves who determine the content of the sessions in accordance with how they feel they are progressing. In addition, new information is conveyed in the hope that the women will develop as health practitioners and thus be able to offer more comprehensive health provision. The idea that the training is never complete was impressed on the women from the start. Gandhian NGO (2) workers regularly visit the community health workers and make extra visits if the women ask them to do so. This may happen if the health worker experiences hostility from a community towards her treatment or advice given to a patient (family planning). If a patient is too seriously ill for her to be able to treat, then medical backup is sent for. Gandhian NGO (2) stresses that the health workers should not feel isolated; it sees them as part of a wider structure that operates to reinforce and support their work. Gandhian NGO (2) rates the status of the health worker very highly. The strength and courage of the women involved in the project are praised at every opportunity. Because of the respect health workers get from Gandhian NGO (2), women from Rajput families come forward to take on the role. Although women from these families are traditionally kept in strict purdah and all employment prohibited to them, the role of community health worker is seen as fitting for a Rajput woman because of the high status Gandhian NGO (2) attributes to it. Because all health workers are encouraged to put part of their salary into a cooperative bank, Gandhian NGO (2) hopes that this will give them a sense of control over the course and direction of their lives. The most important aspect of this project is the fact that Gandhian NGO (2) workers have forged an open and equitable dialogue between themselves and the women involved in the project. During all the training sessions time is set aside from 8.00 to 9.00 a.m and from 7.00 to 8.00 p.m. each day for informal interaction between the women and Gandhian NGO (2) workers. During this time everyone sits together and shares songs and stories. Such exchanges help foster a relaxed atmosphere that makes the women feel part of a community that values them as equals and respects the important contribution they are making. Mrs Sharma stresses the importance of listening to the needs of the women involved. She believes that they are only able to be effective health workers because their needs are met. If a health worker has an 165

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uncooperative family or violent husband (or other family member) that makes it impossible for her to carry out her duties, the woman affected is encouraged to discuss her problems with a Gandhian NGO (2) worker. Various solutions are found, for example through family mediation or, if drastic action is required, negotiation and the woman’s relocation to a field centre. Gandhian NGO (2) has implemented a successful community health care project because it has made a lasting commitment to the communities in which it works.9 Open dialogue is of central importance both before and during a project. Gandhian NGO (2) does not require specific participatory techniques because it has built up a network of local workers who are themselves members of the target communities and it has the trust of those whom it wishes to help. Participation is therefore fundamental to the work of Gandhian NGO (2) and is reflected in the inclusive attitude of all involved – a far cry from attempts to implement token exercises that pretend to involve others but in fact exclude them. Conclusion In the first chapter I began to set out the methodology I feel development organizations need to adopt. The success of my last case study in sustaining positive long-term change supports the model for ethical development intervention I have already proposed. I argue that ‘participation’ must be reformulated according to this ethical model because at present participatory techniques are not enabling others to control change in their own lives, but are concerned with sustaining hegemonic power relations that secure the dominance of a few (development experts). My conclusions in this chapter echoes those stated at the end of all previous chapters in which I have emphasized the need for a shift to occur in which the ‘real’ development agenda is exposed and then replaced by an open dialogue between those who possess money and wish to help others and those who are disempowered by structural constraints. The rhetoric that lies behind ‘participation’ must be accepted rather than ignored. Development practitioners must engage with the questions being asked by academics over who benefits from such exercises. In addition, academics living a dual existence as theorists and practitioners of development are well placed to evaluate and reformulate ‘participation’. Those that read the literature documenting the failure 166

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of current approaches must surely want to make the addressing of these inadequacies in ‘participation’ a priority in their academic research. Or perhaps ‘participation’ merely functions to allow outsiders to construct a caring, concerned subjectivity that they can display proudly? How does the community involved in such projects really regard such activities? My experience of observing the body mapping session in Jaipur district and my analysis of Oxfam’s participatory techniques confirmed my feeling that ‘participation’ satisfies the needs of donors rather than responding to the lives of others in any meaningful way.

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Chapter 6

Violence in Rural Rajasthan

D

uring my field-work trip to Rajasthan in north India (November 2001 to June 2002) the issue of domestic violence kept emerging as a major obstacle to projects designed to increase the life opportunities and quality of life for rural women. Violence is a theme that has emerged throughout this book. The three case studies discussed in Chapter 3 (Poonam, Parvati and Devi) all have or had violent husbands. In addition, many of the khyals Gold (1996) recorded relay experiences of domestic violence. Key findings in a survey by Durvury (cited in Manderson and Bennett 2003) revealed that marital violence against Indian women was pervasive across regions and socioeconomic groups. The findings indicated that 70 per cent of women had experienced at least two forms of physical abuse and 50 per cent had experienced all forms of abuse, both sexual and non-sexual. Socioeconomic class was not related. Women in paid employment did not suffer a reduced level of violence due to economic independence; in fact rates were higher among this group. It is important for me to consider the issues connected with violence more closely. In particular, I will look at the extent to which physical abuse is a reaction to the success of women’s development projects and how such suffering severely damages the morale of women who wish to act as agents of change. I argue that men (and some women) act violently when they feel their authority and privileged status being threatened.1 Violence therefore exists to maintain a patriarchal hegemony. Any attempt to remove it from the everyday lives of Rajasthani women must begin with the deconstruction of this dominant patriarchal identity. I therefore argue that practical discussions on how violence should be dealt with must be framed in a wider theoretical discourse that seeks to understand why the female body is the site for the expression and transmission of a destructive masculine identity. 168

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I will make my case through an analysis of a specific development initiative in Rajasthan, suggesting that despite the success of the women’s development project (WDP) in raising the confidence of rural women to speak publicly, the project failed to understand how fundamental violence is in shaping and projecting an image of hegemonic masculinity. In fact, this lack of understanding displayed by WDP increased women’s vulnerability to violence. The WDP failed to acknowledge the complex part violence plays in structuring power relationships within rural communities in Rajasthan. I believe that the most effective way of addressing the issue of domestic violence in India is through a wider consideration of how masculine identities are formed and expressed. In this chapter I build on the issues and questions raised in the latter part of Chapter 3. Here I shall consider the following questions. Do all men want to reflect patriarchy in their own identities or do they feel pressurized into conformity? Does this conformity breed frustrations that turn into violent actions, the target for this outrage being the female body? How can women challenge their culture’s obvious devaluing of their physical identity? How do or can women transform their bodies into a space for empowerment? Case study of the Rajasthan WDP Das (1992), Jain et al. (1986) and Unnithan-Kumar (1997) have offered comprehensive case studies of the WDP in Rajasthan. Das (1992) in particular regards the programme as a model for women and development schemes and points to its implementation in four other states as evidence of its success. Unnithan-Kumar (1997) does not doubt the effectiveness of the WDP in achieving its primary objective to empower local women in Rajasthan. She believes that the programme takes a different approach to most initiatives aimed at women. Rather than assuming that Rajasthani women comply passively with patriarchy, the WDP acknowledges them as selfconscious actors who voice their disgust at structures that inhibit them. Unnithan-Kumar cites Raheja and Gold (1994) as proof that Rajasthani women are active agents in their social relations, in contrast to the overriding picture of them as subordinate to oppressive patriarchal structures. Unnithan-Kumar goes on to say that WDP aims to boost existing forms of self expression and identification, the importance of which I emphasized in Chapters 3, 4 and 5. 169

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Despite the degree of agency the project facilitators attributed to Rajasthani women, overall the WDP has failed to have the profound impact its founders had hoped for (although it has brought some positive changes to the lives of women). Das, Jain and Mathur, as well as Unnithan-Kumar argue that WDP has been effective in strengthening women’s abilities to challenge patriarchal authority. In this chapter, however, I shall claim that, despite the WDP’s work, the ability of Rajasthani women to challenge oppressive practices and behaviour effectively remains limited. This may partially be because WDP coordinators often imposed their own agenda on women during meetings through the introduction of songs. They use singing, which is recognized as a common form of everyday expression in the region, to generate commitment and solidarity between the village women. However, rather than using songs like the khyals Gold (1996) recorded as means of identifying Rajasthani women’s own concerns and needs, WDP planners change the common verses to introduce their own agenda. They appropriate the women’s traditional songs and restructure them around a narrative that supports the development objectives the facilitators feel the women should be pursuing. As Unnithan-Kumar puts it: By changing a few words in a well-known tune, the song could be linked to central issues of the development programme. For example, a popular song about women’s daily activities, such as grinding the grain, sweeping and cooking, became associated with her subordination and the fact that fame never came her way, even though she worked from dawn till dark. (Unnithan-Kumar 1997: 169) Unnithan-Kumar gives the following example of a WDP version of a traditional Rajasthani song: Awake since four o’clock, I sat to grind The grinding stone Grinding and grinding my needs gave way Whom to tell, not a soul to be found (Women have to move ahead) Getting up from the grinding stone, I 170

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Started sweeping Sweeping and sweeping my back became Bent Whom to tell, not a soul around Having made the vegetable, I Started cooking roti [unleavened bread], Cooking and cooking I remained hungry Twelve, twelve children have I borne but still no one to tell (Unnithan-Kumar 1997: 169) Unnithan-Kumar supports this approach, claiming that the ‘act of creating songs together around an issue was not only a means of focusing on the nature of the issue at hand but also an effective way of bonding for the women of a single village’ (Unnithan-Kumar 1997: 169). In Chapters 3 and 4 I highlighted the extent to which women naturally connect with one another over issues that are of common concern. There is no need to introduce exercises to do this. Instead, it would be less intrusive for outsiders to observe the natural patterns of communication and expression that occur between women. Unnithan-Kumar seems to think that the WDP was able to draw women together from different backgrounds in a manner that is not usually achieved. However, in Chapter 3 I gave an example of a group of women from different caste backgrounds forging strong ties through performing a ritual because they shared common concerns and experiences. The suggestion implicit in Unnithan-Kumar’s work is that Rajasthani women need help in finding a collective voice. This I argue is not the case. In addition, it is problematic for WDP to impose a preset agenda on the women. As I show in my discussion of violence against women later in this chapter, the failure of development planners to focus their energies on understanding the complexities of inequality with which women in Rajasthan are faced can in fact add to the problems they endure. Because the WDP has already planned its intervention any work at grass roots level is a mere gesture towards participation. The image of a woman’s life painted in the above song is bleak. Although the physical hardship it depicts may be realistic, reminding women of their daily struggles will only serve to disempower them psychologically. As I noted in Chapters 3, 4 and 5, women who exist and survive under such conditions have immense courage. The focus 171

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should be placed on supporting and celebrating this strength through discussions of how women may use the resources they already possess. The WDP also uses drama to encourage women to enact everyday situations. Through the use of drama it is hoped that the women involved can explore the causes and possible strategies to confront undesirable aspects of their existence. In the previous chapter I discussed the problem of using drama as a way of achieving ‘participation’. In essence, such an approach is problematic because it requires an outside facilitator who introduces a topic for enactment and therefore does not build on the women’s own daily discussions and actions. Although the research findings of the IDS in Jaipur suggest that the WDP was successful in increasing women’s prominence vocally in public arenas, scholars such as Das (1992), Jain et al. (1986), Mathur (n.d.a) and Unnithan-Kumar (1997) do not link this increase in women’s public prominence to the increase in violence also recorded by research conducted at the IDS – Mathur (n.d.a) found an increase in the number of cases of domestic violence since the WDP’s inception. Although she states that this increase can partly be explained by the programme’s success in encouraging women to report cases of violence, the rise is too steep to be completely accounted for by this intervention. In other words, there must be a real increase in the number of cases rather than just in the number of women finding more courage to report incidents of physical abuse. These findings are in line with those of other scholars such as Rowlands (1995), who states with reference to her research in Honduras that increases in violence against women are commonly found in situations where gender relations are being transformed. Sweetman (1998) believes that there is enough evidence to suggest that violence is a common male response to successful interventions directed towards helping women. She believes that women targeted to benefit from development initiatives should be warned and prepared for a likely male backlash. The reasons behind this male response will be discussed in detail later in this chapter. The scholars who have published material on the WDP fail to see this increase in violence against women in rural Rajasthan as a failing of the WDP. In addition, it may be that prior to the WDP women in Rajasthan had good reason not to voice their experiences publicly. They were aware of the gender dynamics in their communities and knew that a change 172

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in their pubic role could spark an aggressive male reaction. In this book I cite three main sources to reveal the extent to which women in rural Rajasthan acknowledge violence as a constant threat in their everyday lives – the IDS report (discussed in the next subsection), which recorded issues raised at WDP village-level meetings at which Rajasthani women discussed their concerns; my own ethnographic case studies presented in Chapter 3; and the work of Gold (1996) in which she identifies violence as a common theme in women’s narratives. What is also apparent in the case study of the WDP is the extent to which development interventions can increase the threat of violence in women’s lives because they fail to appreciate the complexities of gender inequality. Manderson and Bennett (2003: 1) claim that ‘violence against women routinely functions to sustain multiple inequalities reinforcing women’s subordination within complex hierarchies of oppression.’ I will show that an inadequate support structure left rural Rajasthani women exposed and vulnerable to public displays of male violence and failed to acknowledge that violence and power are inexorably linked. Gender inequalities are persisting because violent technologies are employed to maintain them. The WDP: background information2 The government of Rajasthan worked closely with the IDS in Jaipur and local NGOs to put into operation a project designed to encourage local women to articulate their needs and speak out about their experiences of suffering and repression. The programme was launched in August 1984 and began with the appointment of village women as sathins (local workers). As the diagram below shows sathins operate at the grass-roots level and combine with other elements to form the operational structure of the WDP. Village women’s meetings at the grass-roots level are considered the most important focus for WDP activity. The issues raised by the women attending these meetings differed depending on who was present. For example, the concerns of tribal women from the Thar desert region mainly revolved around water and environmental concerns whereas women from Rajput families living near Jaipur were concerned with increasing education and health care provision. Despite such differences, sathins recognized that a consistent issue was noticeable at each gathering: domestic violence. Stories of 173

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physical abuse were told in every meeting. The frequency with which they were recounted suggested that the women accepted violence as a part of their everyday life. Table 6: 1: The structure of WDP Village level

At this level each selected gram panchayat (local council) had a village worker called a sathin who belonged to one of the villages of the gram panchayat. She was responsible for the formation of women’s groups at this level in which issues of concern were raised. Each sathin was expected to work in close association with sathins from neighbouring villages. They were paid Rs2003 a month (later raised to Rs250).

Block level

A cluster of ten gram panchayats formed a block consisting of ten sathins coordinated by one pracheta (block level worker). The role of the pracheta was to provide support and advice to the sathins. She was also the link between the village and district levels.

District level

Two bodies were set up at the district level. The District Women’s Development Agency (DWDA) chaired by the district collector and the Information Development and Resource Agency (IDARA). Both agencies took on the role of collecting and prioritizing the demands that were passed on by the prachetas.

State level

The director of the WDP who was (and still is) a government officer from the Indian administration made the final decision on the implementation of projects to meet the needs recorded as priorities at the district level. IDS researchers conducted the monitoring of WDP’s effectiveness in Jaipur.

The physical pain was experienced as gruesome yet the act itself had become normalized. By beating their wives men believe they can maintain authority over them. It is this patriarchal authority that underlies the gender inequalities between men and women (and also between men). Some commonly held beliefs recorded by researchers at the IDS in Jaipur (Mathur n.d.b: 32) reveal the extent to which violence is embedded in a notion of male authority. For example, ‘dhani to mareij’ (husbands will beat) and ‘motiyaar ney to marvo ro haque hai’ (a husband has the right to beat his wife). Such sayings all lend support to the prevalent norm, which invariably places the blame on the woman (because she is not behaving properly) when 174

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she is subjected to violence and reinforces it as an accepted mechanism through which men assert their authority. Violence is used in a variety of ways and at varying levels. Manderson and Bennett (2003: 1) describe its deployment in terms of a ‘myriad of violent technologies’. Violence is normalized through the symbolic projection of femininity by a system that seeks male domination. Clearly, violence is used in rural Rajasthan as a means to pursue power. The first target for control is the female body. Control over women is also used as a means for men to exert domination over other men. By displaying to other men their ability to control their wives, men can reveal their strength and defy others to challenge them (see Table 3.1). Cultural practices such as sati and female infanticide are examples of violent technologies through which a male ideology can be sustained. This pursuit of power is therefore gendered and must be understood and tackled through a gendered perspective. The multiple levels through which violence is used are evident. Violence is not just used within the home as a tool for a man to control his wife. Violence is used against any woman who appears to be effectively challenging patriarchy. I will go on to argue that the horrifying account of a gang rape of a sathin exposes the extent to which violence is used to maintain this hegemonic masculinity as the most powerful ideal, which all members of a community are expected to support. Furthermore, this case highlights the complexities of instituting any initiative to address the inequalities women experience. Kapur (1998) asserts that violence is the biggest barrier facing Indian women in their attempts to push the traditional boundaries surrounding their lives and must therefore be placed as the central focus for any women’s development project. The following case study clearly supports this point. The gang rape of Bhanweri Devi Bhanweri Devi, a 40-year-old Kumhar woman from Bhateri village in Bassi Tehsil, 45 kilometres from Jaipur, was selected and trained as a sathin for the WDP in 1985. Her sensitivity to women’s issues, combined with an overall commitment to fight for justice, made her well respected within the WDP. She had worked on issues such as the equal distribution of land and water, literacy and health care programmes and the payment of the minimum wage, on all of which she 175

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had received the support of the men and women from her village. In 1987 she took up an important case of an attempted rape of a woman from a neighbouring village and elicited substantial support. Until then, Bhanweri Devi had experienced no hostility from her village community over any of the issues she raised. Bhanweri Devi’s alienation in Bhateri began specifically over the issue of child marriage. Her harassment began just before Akha Teej4 in 1992, the year in which the government had decided to observe the two weeks preceding the festival as an anti-child marriage fortnight. The chief minister of state asked for a state-wide campaign to be launched and issued a public appeal. As a result, the prevention of child marriage became a major project for the WDP. Bhanweri Devi, along with the pracheta, tried to persuade the people in the area not to marry off their young daughters. Despite the efforts of the campaign, some influential Gujar families (and others) continued to plan child marriages and were determined to perform them. When Bhanweri Devi visited Ram Karan Gujar of Bhateri and tried to convince him not to get his one-year-old daughter married, she was met with a hostile and aggressive response. The district attorney of the area also opposed Bhanweri Devi. He felt that since 40 of the 100 households in the village belonged to the Gujars, his support would have serious implications for his political position, especially since many of the Gujar families are wealthy and have political connections. In response to an appeal from the district collector, a list was prepared by all the sathins in the district. The deputy superintendent of police started making rounds of the listed villages to prevent the planned child marriages. This merely added to already rising tensions. On 5 May 1992 the deputy superintendent came to Bhateri to stop the marriage of the one-year-old girl in Ram Gujar’s family. As was the case with all the other marriages in the area, the state machinery only succeeded in preventing the marriage from taking place on Akha Teej itself. The marriage did take place at 2.00 a.m. the next morning and no police action was taken against the family. People in the village, however, connected Bhanweri Devi’s efforts to dissuade them from performing child marriage with the police action and the community registered its anger. Harassment of Bhanweri Devi came in various ways. A tree was cut and fodder taken away from her field and she was socially ostracized. The entire community was told not 176

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to sell milk to her family or to buy the earthen pots she and her husband made. Similar harassment continued throughout the summer of 1992 and, on 22 September 1992, while Bhanweri Devi and her husband were working on their field, five prominent men of the village beat them up and subsequently gang raped Bhanweri Devi. Then followed her long quest for justice; she went straight to the police to report the crime and to have a medical examination. She was treated with indignity and the state magistrate made a public announcement in the state legislative assembly that she was a liar. It was clear that the Gujars had both political and financial backing. Bhanweri Devi did not succumb to pressure and a newly set up national commission was asked to intervene. The commission conducted an independent inquiry and reached the conclusion that Bhanweri Devi had been raped. They published the report and circulated it widely through the media. Medical experts in Delhi were highly critical of the 52-hour delay in getting her examined and questioned the reliability of the evidence. The local police remained unmoved. Bhanweri Devi’s supporters decided not to give up and a massive rally was organized on the streets of Jaipur on 22 October 1992. Sathins from all over the state and women’s groups from Rajasthan and the rest of the country participated. The women demanded that the accused be arrested and the case transferred to the Central Bureau of Investigations (CBI). The CBI initially acted no differently and made Bhanweri Devi give her statement nine times. It was only through sustained pressure from women’s groups in Delhi and Jaipur that top CBI officials intervened. A magistrate finally recorded statements by Bhanweri Devi and her husband and they formed the basis for a CBI charge against the accused in September 1993, a full year after the crime. It took the police a further five months to arrest the three co-accused, 17 months after the crime had been committed. In April 1994, the high court divided the accused into co-accused and main accused, with the three ‘co-accused’ who had assisted the two ‘main accused’ in the act of rape being granted bail. In August 1994 the three accused, who had been released on bail, called a meeting of the village elders at which they begged Bhanweri Devi to withdraw her charge against them. When their appeals failed they resorted to oppressive pressure tactics. During the course of the 177

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trial in the lower courts in 1994 five judges were changed in succession, resulting in each one hearing only part of the case. The sixth judge delivered the final judgment without having heard the testaments of Bhanweri Devi and her husband. Bhanweri Devi had to narrate her story in front of 17 men and was continuously crossexamined about the position of her body during her alleged rape and who had held her arms and legs during the act. Since Bhanweri Devi described the act of rape explicitly in the presence of the three accused, the matter was reported in the village and she had to suffer the taunts of the villagers. To make matters worse, on 8 and 9 November 1995 the judge endorsed the defence council’s insinuations about Bhanweri Devi having committed adultery with another man (who was not one of the accused). There was no medical evidence to support that claim. On 15 November 1995 the sessions and district court (rural) in Jaipur acquitted all five accused (Gyarasa Gujar, Badri Guja, Ram Sukh Gujar, Ram Karan Gujar and Shravan Panda) of the charge of gang rape. They were sentenced to six months imprisonment on other minor charges such as beating up Mohan and manhandling Bhanweri Devi. Since Badri and Gyarasa had already spent two years in detention they were exempted from imprisonment, but the remaining three served their sentences. The judgment by the court of sessions judge Jagpal Singh ignored the testimony of Bhanweri Devi and the prime witness her husband Mohan. Instead, the judge accepted the defence counsel’s argument that ‘the case itself is against Indian culture and human psychology’ and the court then observed that rape ‘is usually committed by teenagers’. Not satisfied with this generalization the court further argued in the judgment that ‘since the offenders were upper caste men and included a Brahmin, the rape could not have taken place because Bhanweri Devi was from a lower caste.’ The judge also stated that ‘in our society how can an Indian husband whose role is to protect his wife stand by and watch his wife being raped?’ (Mathur n.d.a: 36). Nowhere in the judgment was there an explanation for why Bhanweri Devi should have fabricated the story or why a woman would invent false charges against anyone and in the process put her and her family’s honour at stake. The judgment may not have come as a surprise since convictions for rape are so low in India (Kishwar 2000). These statements clearly reveal the extent to which the female 178

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body is devalued at all levels of Indian society. Such a dismissive reaction to the obvious cruelty of rape points to a determination to preserve a hegemonic cultural identity that is based on the degradation of femininity. The judgment placed Bhanweri Devi’s body in opposition to that of the Gujar man. She was ignored, subsumed by a more forceful presence. Despite her ability to shout and fight on she is continuously suffocated. The root of her disempowerment clearly lies at the level of the patriarchal culture, for she did not lack the ability to act. This raises the issue of the appropriateness of the WDP approach towards empowering women to shout out about violence. Bhanweri Devi clearly did shout but it did not achieve greater justice for her. Empowerment projects need to focus not on generating female agency but on directing that agency at the underlying hegemonic structure that exposes the female body to violence. The display of female agency organized in response to this case reveals the cohesion of women’s collectives at the macro level. However, it also raises the question of where this support was before the rape. It highlights how isolated poor, lower-caste rural women are from sources of help. In Chapter 2 I discussed the distance between urban and rural women’s groups; this case gives further weight to the argument that urban women should try to bridge the rural–urban divide in a more permanent manner. Their reluctance to do so is apparent in the approach many NGOs have taken towards dealing with the issue of violence against women. Rather than spending long hours listening to the experiences of rural women and working towards gaining their trust so that effective partnerships can be forged and a deeper insight into inequality gained, the assumption remains that rural women need enlightening. This enlightenment conveniently only requires limited input from urban groups. For example, the exercises Oxfam advocates only take a few hours to complete.5 An important finding to emerge from the WDP experience is the effectiveness of women gathering together and sharing experiences. What I am concerned about is the problem of trying to create spaces in which all women feel free to participate (Mosse 1994). The WDP attempted to create such a space in a public forum but, despite the space being occupied solely by women, differences between women can act as barriers to some them speaking; for example, a daughterin-law is unlikely to describe how her husband beats her in front of 179

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her mother-in-law. Throughout this book I have been advocating the need to develop a methodology that uses ethnographic techniques to access and record women’s experiences. Levinson (1989) states that women often develop their own ways of responding to violence and the women in my case studies in Chapter 3, for example, had in fact all devised different strategies for resisting and challenging the violence they suffered. Ethnographic techniques could be used to reveal what strategies women already employ to handle violence and offer effective courses of action for NGOs to support and extend. Violence emerges as the main obstacle to women’s equality because men use it as a response to shifts within the normal (androcentric) framework of their lives. I argue that the Bhanweri Devi case exposes the need for development planners to examine male responses to projects, prior, during and following intervention. If mechanisms had been in place to monitor the community’s reactions to Bhanweri Devi’s efforts the hostility expressed by the Gujar family would have been spotted and strategies put in place to support Bhanweri Devi and confront the Gujar’s grievances. Particular attention should be given to the manner in which men respond to women’s projects since they often focus more directly on challenging male dominance. Why are men violent? Androcentrism operates to protect a patriarchal order that does not benefit all men. Yet men are identified as the main perpetrators of violence against women (Connell 2001). From this we can conclude that men feel that their cultural identity requires them to protect and preserve an androcentric perception of normality. When this normality shifts men react with alarm and turn to violence as their means to attain stability. In looking for a target to vent this insecurity, men turn on the female body. Androcentrism has imbued the female body with a symbolism that results in the demonization of femininity, which in turn justifies such aggression. Femininity is seen as containing a destructive potential and must therefore be appeased and controlled.6 It therefore follows that when undesired shifts in normality occur the blame is directed at this female destructive force that is perceived as having become unleashed from its boundary (the body) and must be beaten back into place. Research that was undertaken by Robert Morrell (2001) in South Africa offers further evidence that this link can be made cross180

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culturally. Morrell based his study on male behaviour during the unstable period of transition in South Africa that saw the end of apartheid. He lists three categories of responses given by men to change – ‘accommodating reactions’, which include rituals men perform to endorse hegemonic masculinity (male circumcision); ‘reactive or defensive responses’, which are characterized by violence; and ‘responsive or progressive reactions’, which consist of other masculinities emerging as a reaction to the hegemonic ideal (gay man, house husband). In his discussion on the use of violence in the second (reactive or defensive) category Morrell discovered that instances of violence against women increased during this period. He describes how in the townships of South Africa rape is a tool to control women who are perceived as ‘getting above themselves’: ‘We rape women who need to be disciplined (those women who behave like snobs), they just do not want to talk to people, they think they know better than most of us and when we struggle, they simply do not want to join us’ (Goldblatt and Meintjes cited in Morrell 2000: 14). I argue that the reactions of the Gujar men fall into the first two categories. They responded violently to the change Bhanweri Devi proposed. They felt she had no right to tell them they should not marry their daughter. Not only is Bhanweri Devi female, but she is also from a lower caste. The act of rape is the ultimate denial of dignity and it was used to teach her a lesson about the limits of her status and role.7 In addition, I believe that their reaction had deeper roots. The practice of child marriage formed an integral part of that family’s collective identity; and expressing that identity is the responsibility of the male members of the family. Through male dominated public ceremonies the family can display its strength and assets (daughters). Such rituals represent ‘accommodating responses’. The removal of such a practice undermines the expression of this identity and is experienced as a sense of displacement. Men will feel this more acutely than women because it is their role to preserve the collective family identity. This displacement can also be seen in other external changes. Male migration often results in aggressive male behaviour. As men are forced for economic reasons to move away from their rural homes they have to look after themselves:

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The kind of life [in a hostel] was very difficult. Because at home I live with my wife who does everything in the home. But now everything changes. Because I left my family I am the only person responsible for cooking, washing my clothes and dishes and cleaning my room. After work, I am tired but have to cook my supper. Because I don’t want to cook I have to eat bread and tea. (von Kotze cited in Morrell 2000: 156–7) Men long for home and begin to idealize it. Rural women describe this male vision of home as a ‘drunkard’s paradise, where men come home to drink and lord it over women, only to leave them again, penniless and pregnant with another child’ (von Kotze 1997: 157). During the 2000/1 drought in Rajasthan the number of migrating men increased dramatically and many villages were left with no young men at all. Women were left to care for the children and elderly family members. Migration did not occur so that these men could save money to bring home but instead simply occurred so that the number of mouths to feed was reduced to a more manageable number. I often asked why this was and the most common response was ‘they don’t earn enough money to support us too’. I then asked ‘what did the men spend their money on?’ ‘Drink’, was the resounding answer. In such instances ‘home’ becomes a place of rest and relaxation and is no longer associated with self-sufficiency and survival. Men return home to their wives to receive what they perceive as well-earned pampering. Although this space away from men often gives women the chance to achieve economic independence the aggressive alcoholic behaviour they have to endure when their husbands return home far outweighs the benefits and self-satisfaction such projects could bring.8 Men’s perceptions of women, whom they start to regard as passive providers, become more distorted. The men return home to seek reaffirmation, for they need to know that they can still use and control her body. The violence is not only an expression of deep felt anxiety and displacement, for it can also be understood in terms of the reclaiming of a territory or space (the female body). Changing perspectives on violence The WDP case study highlights the extent to which cultural, reli182

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gious and institutional factors that promote or condone violence against women remain unchallenged despite progress in terms of economic development. A fundamental shift needs to occur away from the current perception of normality that supports the prevalence of violence against women. Rather than cases of atrocious violence like Bhanweri Devi’s gang rape being viewed as rare deviances from normal gender relations, it must be recognized that the majority of women in rural Rajasthan (and most places in the world) endure violence as part of their everyday lives. The statistics the contributors to Manderson and Bennett’s (2003) Violence against Women in Asian Societies cite clearly reveal widespread physical abuse of women across the continent. MacKinnon (1989), writing about violence against women in US society, claims that in a survey only 7 per cent of American women had not suffered some type of violent assault be it mild sexual harassment (which Mackinnon classes as violence) or brutal rape.9 The research cited in this chapter and throughout this book suggests that violence shapes the normal pattern of gender relations and that an acceptance of this fact is fundamental to its eradication. A specific concern for practitioners of development is how to curb the aggressive male response to their women-focused initiatives. Safilios-Rothschild (1990) describes how a project aimed at raising women’s access to income in countries where men’s long-term employment is insecure often sparks a male backlash. Insecurity and feelings of exclusion are root causes of violence occurring in reaction to the success of women’s projects. In instances where women are extending their role into what has been a traditionally male domain, hegemonic masculine values can no longer be based on exclusive activities like, for example, being the breadwinner. Male self-esteem cannot be linked to authority and control over income generation, ‘with no other sources of male pride being offered men’s fear is growing’ (Sweetman 1998: 5). I argue that fear of change was the strongest factor in provoking the Gujar men to rape Bhanweri Devi (Foreman 1999: 21). Barker (1997, cited in Chant 2000) illustrates how increases in alcoholism and marital strife are directly linked to male feelings of disempowerment. Women find themselves the main victims of these frustrations. ‘Where men have economic advantages over women they have a privilege to defend, which may be defended with violence, or may make women vulnerable to violence. Economic 183

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changes which put at risk or destroy men’s traditional livelihood without providing alternatives, makes violence or militarism attractive options’ (Barker 1997: 6, cited in Chant 2000). The case studies I presented in Chapter 3 of two men in rural Rajastan support the points made above. There I also stated that the concept of hegemonic masculinity is at the root of women’s disempowerment and suffering. However, depictions of men as rather useless, irrelevant figures who drain the resources and energies of women will fail to break down the barriers women face. As my case studies in Chapter 3 clearly show, reinforcing a sense of weakness that men already experience is likely to increase rather than decrease their aggression. Scott (1989: 95) states that strengthening male self-esteem is an important part of any poverty alleviation project. By understanding how masculine identities operate within an androcentric framework it is possible to redefine the purpose of gender development projects in terms of making visible the constraints experienced by men and women rather than implementing projects that intensify struggles between men and women (and also between men). In addition, by no longer perceiving men as a problem that must be overcome, possibilities emerge for more positive masculine identities to emerge (supportive husband). Key to this shift in emphasis is closer consideration of the function and transmission of subjectivity. Grosz (1994) advocates a reformulation of the notion of the body that is influenced by the work of Spinoza. In other words, there needs to be a transformation in the ideology of the body so that the meanings attached to it no longer advocate gender inequality. Grosz argues that rigid notions of subjectivity exclude the possibility that individuals already experience their own personhood in a positive way. As shown in Chapter 3 with regard to women in Rajasthan and in Chapter 4 in relation to Maasai women, in their private moments women do not display a sense of themselves that is in any way inferior to that of men. Throughout this book I have described how female and male bodies are sites of contestation – economic, political, sexual and intellectual. I argued that if violence is to be eradicated from gender relations then recognition needs to be given to the fact that the body is a social and discursive object on the one hand, but the location for intimate experiences of personhood on the other. If a more critical perception of subjectivity could be adopted in the work conducted 184

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on violence it would be possible to challenge the coercive elements present in societies that attempt to create homogenous subjects with the vibrant fluidity of subjects that exist in reality. In practical terms this involves, as I have done in this book, the freezing of certain spaces within which an aspect of identity can be seen that privileges equality and respect for others rather than an impulse to dominate. Gradually the respect and sensitivity for human life contained in these moments will become the concepts that define our attempts to understand, interact with and describe each other. Conclusion Although the role of oppressor will always suit some, as my first case studies show (Table 3.1), I believe that they can be marginalized by the emergence of positive masculine alternatives. The third category Morrell identified as containing ‘progressive reactions’ holds a positive vision within which new masculine identities in Rajasthan could emerge shaped around a concept of reciprocity between the sexes. The role of the ‘supportive husband’ is one such example. Mayaram (n.d.) looked at the relative success and failure of female panches and revealed that it was the women who had a supportive husband who were the most effective representatives.10 She found that some husbands chose to be active in supporting their wives as panches. They would travel with them to meetings acting as secretary and also as bodyguard. The female panches worked in partnership with their husbands felt their confidence and sense of authority increased because of the security gained through having the constant, supportive presence of their husband. The report noted that women without such partners suffered aggressive intimidation from male panches who felt their traditional position undermined by the presence of women in what had always been a men only space. The confidence gained by having a supportive husband meant that the female panches could be more forthright in their demands. Mayaram noted that the removal of drink stands from bus stops was a common concern. Women were acutely aware of the violence drunk husbands brought home to their wives.11 Increasing the options available to men will assist women’s development. Gradually men and women will be able to forge new identities for themselves as possibilities open up and cultural constraints are challenged through imaginative and creative education 185

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programmes. Fundamental to this approach is the concept of ‘respect’, respect for the differences between people that determine the choices they make. By replacing the androcentric lens with a deep-rooted respect for human life the abolition of violence as a legitimate part of everyday life in Rajasthani villages will be achieved.

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T

hroughout this book I have explored different aspects of a new methodology that could help make development practice more responsive to the needs of people in the developing world. This methodology is founded on lessons I have taken from field work and reflections on current development practices.

The methodology It was not my intention to apply this methodology practically but to concentrate on constructing a workable solution to the criticisms I have made of current development practices. I believe that the main objective of social development (to eradicate inequalities) is vitally important. Having researched and written this book I am more committed than ever to abolishing injustices against women. For this reason I want to end the book by setting out my approach to achieving this goal. My future aim is to put this methodology into practice and continue to modify my actions in response to the lessons I shall learn from the Rajasthani women with whom I work. The starting point of my methodology is to ensure that, before stepping into the lives of others, development practitioners adopt the appropriate mental attitude or state of mind. To respond to the needs articulated by others, outsiders must wish to hear the voices of those whose lives contain drastically different encounters with poverty and injustice from their own. The development practitioner thus needs to be both silent and motivated by a desire to embrace all the differences that make up the wide range of human experience. Only out of the silence can the development practitioner start to identify the voices formerly excluded from both theory and practice. The critique I have applied throughout this book recognizes the repressive nature of the authoritative voice present in the majority of development initiatives and in the research from which they are

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born. I seek to construct a methodology that concentrates on bringing a transparency to development practice that allows for absences to be recognized. A focus on who is speaking should be accompanied by an awareness of who is excluded. If development initiatives are truly about human freedom and equality then a focus on absence and exclusion is vital and must exist at all levels of development. It is the responsibility of each individual involved in development, either as a theoretician or practitioner (or both), to recognize who their actions or research exclude. Taking responsibility must begin with each person acknowledging the nature of what drives him or her to work in development, for these personal motivations directly influence the type of research or actions that individuals pursue. Silence is crucial because it defines a space in which contemplation around personal motives can occur. Then falling silent in him[her]self1 to know, he[she] meets the deeper listening of his[her] soul (Robin Davidson, Guardian, 6 April 2002, p. 12) Self-reflexivity is a complex process that a number of scholars who attempt to adopt a self-reflexive style of research, particularly within anthropology, have misunderstood. In Chapter 1 I distinguished between a style of writing that incorporates the experiences of the author explicitly in the narrative with a methodology that involves the scholar engaging with her or his own text in a critical and reflexive manner. In other words, self-reflexivity is not about producing a detailed journal of activities and experiences but it is about making the variety of dialogues and stories incorporated in a text visible. Authors should not be afraid to invite the reader to address the absences their texts create. In doing this clarity can be achieved over who is really being represented and who is not. This does not devalue the scholarly work but forces authors to approach their work with a sense of responsibility towards those about whom they write. The authority implicit in the production of a metanarrative should be replaced with an emphasis on self-reflexivity through dialogue with others. Reflecting on what benefits their actions actually bring would help NGO workers face up to the possibility that their compassion 188

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might perpetuate a hegemony that maintains inequality rather than challenges the structures that disempower. Some scholars recognize and say what personal experiences or preoccupations drew them to their research topic. Personal experiences also probably draw development workers to their profession – experiences that are added to while working in the field. Conducting academic research or development practice should be seen as a personal journey. Shostak is upfront about her reasons for wanting to study !Kung women. ‘I explained that I wanted to learn what it meant to be a woman in their culture so I could better understand what it meant in my own’ (Shostak 1982: 21). Although Shostak does not say so directly, she seems to believe that immersing herself in another culture offers her an opportunity to reflect on the essence of her subjectivity in all its endless complexity. It was through a relationship with a woman named Nisa that Shostak gained glimmers of what life is like as a !Kung woman. Shostak records the dialogue she had with Nisa in such a way that the reader can clearly see what issues concerned Shostak (for it was she who introduced the topics for discussion with Nisa). However, in recording Nisa’s responses as a narrative it became possible to gain glimpses of insight into the perceptions held by a woman whose life is very different from that of any Western woman. The reader too can enter into a dialogue with Nisa. By comparing their lives with hers, a space opens up within which readers can gain insight into their own subjectivity. Shostak (2000) revisits Nisa in 1989. She feels an emotional need to return to her. A diagnosis of breast cancer provoked an urge to go back to a place and specifically to a person who had made a profound impact on her life. Nisa had become a constant figure in her life and she kept up a dialogue with her even after returning home. It was not only that I had listened to and translated her interviews, repeatedly for years. Nor was it that we had become the best of friends or like close family. It was simply that she and I had shared the most straightforward connection I had ever had with anyone before or since. And after years of immersing myself in her culture – both in the field and at home in my work – I found many !Kung customs and beliefs so reasonable that I had adopted them for myself. (Shostak 2000: 234) 189

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Shostak gives the example of childbirth. As a result of witnessing many !Kung woman give birth naturally and discussing with them their experiences she decided to refuse medication when her turn came. On this return visit Shostak acknowledges how her quest for answers that had first brought her to Nisa in 1969 had allowed her to know herself more fully. As she describes it, ‘I heard the beat of my own heart’ (Shostak 2000: 236). After Shostak died Nisa was asked to comment on the impact this anthropologist had had on her life. Her words clearly endorsed the connection Shostak claimed that she had experienced in her friendship with Nisa. ‘Strong. Hwantla held me strongly – we held each other as if we were one Hwantla, I greet you in the sand where you are sleeping now’ (Shostak 2000: 240). Informants are rarely asked how they see the presence of a foreign Other in their lives. Anthropologists expect their readers to believe them when they claim to have ‘connected’ with their subjects. Nisa’s words are refreshing and render the dialogues recorded in Shostak’s ethnographies more human and engaging. Shostak’s openness in her second ethnography was possible because her illness forced her to reflect on her life and what she had learnt. This openness and honesty is needed before an anthropologist or development worker leaves for the ‘field’. The term ‘unconditional positive regard’ neatly sums up the emotional foundations that allow for the emergence of a desire to know others. UPR requires extensive self-reflexivity, which I have broken down into four parts:


A transparency must be achieved that allows people to acknowledge their true feelings at any given moment. The question ‘what am I feeling?’ must be asked frequently during field work (before and after), responses to which should be recorded in a separate journal as Knott suggested. Key to attaining this transparency is the separation between self and culture. Individuals must question which of their feelings, emotions and reactions are predetermined by the attitudes of their own culture towards Others and which relate to who they innately are (react out of fascination for difference).2 For example, when do you become angry? What experiences lead to frustration, happiness, joy, and pain? Why? Understanding or recognizing their emotional responses to experiences allows individuals to piece together an understanding of who they are. Emotions constantly shift, so we also change. 190

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Warm acceptance of other beings as separate and different is important to achieve. Rather than being motivated by a determination to change people, the researcher and/or practitioner must ground his or her drive in an excitement at the prospect of understanding others. To understand requires sensitivity towards others, which can only be experienced once people have happily accepted who they are (substance of their being). As a result of the above three stages I would expect an individual to act according to the principle of responsibility, to be responsible is to be responsive to others, not to assume authority over them through the construction of a category Other.

Caring for others must not be premised on them being a certain way (Western); it should be unconditional. By forging this kind of relationship founded in UPR, space is created in which others express their true feelings and needs. Development practitioners are able to respond to what is actually desired by the individual at any given moment. In addition, needs constantly change as individuals transform. Development practitioners should only enter into a relationship with other people if they are committed to remain present and responsive to changes in the other person or people. Despite the power imbalance money introduces, the relationship between the NGO worker and the community targeted to receive aid must be structured around a notion of equality. Although it is virtually impossible to eradicate the obvious authority money brings, it is possible to change the language used to describe the relationship between givers and receivers of aid. I argued that ethnographic techniques are the means through which sensitive dialogue with others can be made possible. I have put together a model that divides the process of constructing this relationship between a development worker and an agent of development into various stages. Stage one: building trust and respect Time must be spent prior to any development intervention building up friendships that are based on mutual trust and respect. This stage should not be limited by time but must unfold naturally. Certain indicators could be used to allow researchers to judge when this stage is complete. These are: 191

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Invitations into the home. Involvement of the outsider in daily chores and no longer referred to as a guest. Access to a variety of dialogues through which contradictions in behaviour can be seen.

Stage two: identifying where individuals articulate needs This will emerge from material gathered under circumstances described by the third indicator above. Somewhere in each individual’s daily existence space shall be allocated for venting concerns and frustrations. It is in this space that individuals’ specific needs can be identified. Areas to look at include:








Private conversations inside or outside the home. Shared spaces or, in other words, time spent with others who share similar life experiences (people of the same age and status). In this space rituals may be performed or daily chores carried out such as shopping at the market or collecting water. Religious expressions, which include private rituals or singing songs (alone or in a group). Through these expressions various dialogues may be used simultaneously. Dialects may alter or group members may form new ones to convey more private sentiments or assert emotional bonds.

Stage three: long-term commitment It must be acknowledged that it will take numerous lengthy visits to succeed in stage one. Communities are not static, for their needs change as the external environment changes. Yearly trips are necessary if these changes are to be recorded and for development intervention to remain responsive to people’s needs.3 I believe that an honest and open state of mind, combined with the ethnographic tools described above, form a methodology that can overcome the criticisms of development practice presented in this book. In using the word ‘ethical’ I do not suggest that I am the first to introduce such a concept to development, but I do believe that it most succinctly sums up my methodology. ‘Ethics’ in the context of my research relates to the openness of development practitioners who are not afraid of criticism because they recognize that their main objective is to respond to those in need. If they fail to bring about the

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change desired by those whom they seek to help then they readily accept responsibility and adjust their practices in the light of the problems that have arisen. The ethical approach I have written about begins with development workers and researchers accepting their foreignness. They do not have a voice through which to speak about others because they do not share the language, culture, identity, perceptions, personhood, body and mind of others. Being estranged from everything that defines them as members of a specific culture, society or community should evoke a silence that allows the development worker as one ‘other’ to exist among ‘others’ in peaceful respect. Such respect allows a foreign other to learn about the lives of others in a manner that enables a chain of reciprocity to be forged. If others are able to speak, then the complexity of inequality becomes clearer and effective strategies can be identified to challenge it. Summary of contents In this book I have juxtaposed the theoretical constructions of development, feminist and gender discourses with the lived realities of individual women. I argued that the fictitious depiction of Rajasthani village women as passive and compliant does not provide an adequate starting point from which to challenge and eradicate patriarchy. My critique of development practice began in Chapter 1 when I looked at how the macro-level development industry has constructed the notion of a symbolic Other who is the focus for intervention. I argued that this objectification of whole populations reveals a power relationship that divides those who ‘know’ from those who are considered ignorant. I argued that development initiatives founded in such a hierarchy do not lead to social equality. In Chapter 2 I explored the extent to which this critique could also be applied to some of the work of Western trained feminists, including Indian feminist activists and scholars. I looked at the arguments of postcolonial scholars who claim that Western feminists use the category Woman to maintain their authority as ‘those who know’ about the lives of women in the Third World. In Chapter 3 I dispelled the notion that Rajasthani village women share a subjectivity that turns them into the victims of male dominance. I showed Rajasthani women expressing an exuberant and empowered sense of themselves. I also emphasized the significance of religious space as an area in a person’s life in which deeply personal 193

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expressions of needs and concerns emerge. Religious spaces could offer development planners a source of information about the ever changing perceptions and priorities of those they are trying to help. I argued in Chapter 4 that many GAD initiatives fail to make a real impact because they operate through a power structure similar to that of patriarchy. In short, power is still held in the hands of a few and operates through the fictitious category of Woman. The decision over what women need is made by a small group of researchers and practitioners and is justified by the image of a silent helpless woman. In Chapter 5 I showed how the term ‘participation’ has become a buzz word alluding to the inclusion of others when in reality local people are still seen as weak and incapable of initiating change for themselves. Participatory methods that focus on addressing the specific inequalities faced by women clearly assume an emotional and psychological vulnerability, which I argued, deters facilitators from tackling the complexity of the injustices women face. In Chapter 6 I stressed the importance of forging a close relationship between development workers and agents of development. Development practice is not just about initiating changes; it should also be about responding to the destabilizing experiences some may have of those changes. As I highlighted in this chapter, sections of a community can often react with aggression and hostility to shifts in their status quo. This is particularly likely when changes threatened the ability of certain elite groups to exert power over others. Primarily, this book is a contribution towards expanding the multidisciplinary nature of development studies as an academic subject. I believe that my particular contribution highlights the importance of religious spaces as indicators of changes within an individual’s selfperception and draws attention to the shifting connections between members of the same community. In the future I intend to conduct further ethnographic research to explore religious spaces using the methodology I have outlined in this conclusion. Now that I have reached the end of this book I have acquired clarity over what the term ‘freedom’ means. Freedom is the ability to express oneself and to be heard by others who are present in your life out of a deep-founded conviction that your experiences hold an insight from which they could benefit. In addition, others possess the experiences, abilities and resources to aid your personal and material growth. Reciprocity is the best gift human existence can offer. 194

Notes

Introduction 1. See also the definition offered by Gardner and Lewis who claim that there are many types of NGO: international, national and local; large and small; specialist (for example health or agriculture) or general (combining many sectors of activity); membership or non-membership. NGOs are non-profit development organizations and many depend on donations from members, from the public or from development agencies. In the USA, NGOs are often known as private voluntary organizations (PVOs) (Gardner and Lewis 1996: xiii). 2. For a detailed discussion of the link between development and freedom see Sen (1999). 3. My decision to preserve the identity of the NGOs I observed is due to the critical perspective through which I analyse their work. Although most of my comments on the Gandhian NGOs are positive some of my observations of the donor NGO are not. I felt it important to engage critically with the work of the donor NGO because my arguments have relevance for development practice in general. To name the NGO directly may have detrimental funding implications. Despite my criticisms I maintain immense respect for all these organizations and wish my comments to contribute to more positive relations between the donor NGO and its partners. 4. Members of the donor NGO were influenced by their Christian faith and used religious language and imagery to describe their encounters with poverty in Rajasthan. I believe that their faith motivated them to pursue their fundraising efforts and fuelled their desires to keep returning to Rajasthan. The compassion that drives the members of this organization can be understood theologically. The Christian notion of compassion comes from the Greek verb splagchnizesthai, which Turner (1980: 79) states appears in biblical Greek and also has meaning in new Christian and other Jewish literature. Liddell and Scott (1976: 646) translate the verb in terms of an internal bodily feeling experienced in the heart, lungs and liver. They describe the metaphor for compassion as being seated in the heart. 5. Crewe and Harrison (2000); Foster (1989); Gardner and Lewis (1996: 80–1); Goetz (1994); Hobart (1993); Rozario (1992); and Scudder (1980) all give detailed examples of development interventions limited by the narrow perspective of the donor NGO.

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NOTES

6. In December 2004 the journal Development was devoted to religion and development, covering topics like the compassion of development workers, religious organizations as vehicles for social change and poverty alleviation, religion, empowerment and civil society. The UK DFID in March 2005 commissioned a consortium of scholars to generate policy orientated research on faith and development. 7. Women from this tribal area of the Thar desert in Rajasthan practice purdah, for further details see Chapter 3. 8. Large concrete underground container designed to store water. The tanka is filled by a water tanker that comes to the village every few weeks pulled by a tractor or camel. 9. I have changed the names of my research subjects to limit my intrusion into their lives. I include information about their lives with their permission. The article written by Finnegan (2003) explores the ethical necessity behind the use of pseudonyms in field research.

Chapter 1: The Development Discourse 1. See also Long and Long (1992: 20) for discussion of how the development discourse is based on a rationalist epistemology. 2. Bloch and Bloch (1980: 127) discuss the binary opposition inherent in the development discourse that separates the North (civilized) from the South (uncivilized). 3. In a newspaper article, Clare Short, then secretary of state for international development, claimed that: ‘when a poor country has followed the advice of rich countries by becoming more democratic and liberalising its economy – as Tanzania has done – its government and people deserve to be trusted with the responsibility of distributing aid by themselves’ (Guardian, 22 March 2002). 4. I heard a development worker blame the failure of an irrigation project on the community’s lack of education or ‘stupidity’ (exact words). The tribal villagers allowed their goats to eat trees planted as part of a longterm project to drought proof the area. Had the engineer listened to the concerns of the villagers he would have realized that they do not work to the long-term, no benefits materialized in their accepted time span. Consequently, they became frustrated and lost the patience to wait, using the only apparent gains from the project: the fodder. 5. ‘The advanced capitalist countries, amounting to 21 per cent of the world’s population, control 78 per cent of the world production of goods and services and consume 75 per cent of all the energy produced. Textile or electronics workers in the Third World earn twenty times less than workers in Europe and North America doing the same jobs with the same productivity. Since the debt crisis emerged in the early 1980s, Third World countries in debt have been contributing to the wealth of developed countries in liquid terms, by paying each year an average of $30 billion more than what they get in new loans. During the same period, available food in Third World countries decreased by about 30 per cent (de Sousa Santos 1999: 30).

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6. See Glossary for a detailed definition of the term logos. 7. See also Ferguson (1990), Scoones and Thompson (1993), and Worby (1984) for discussions on how Foucault’s work can be applied to the development discourse. 8. Derrida’s concept of human subjectivity is heavily influenced by the work of Saussure (see Glossary for further definition and discussion). 9. In Chapter 6 I present material that suggests that feelings of male insecurity and fear of change are expressed through violence directed at women. 10. This concept of love contrasts with the Christian notion of mutual love on which the Christian community is founded. This is because this love is unconditional and motivated by the deepest respect for human differences rather than the drive to transform an Other (convert to Christianity). 11. Irigaray sees alterity as a concept in which the soul of the individual constantly changes and grows as a result of this self-reflexive, respectful relationship. See Glossary for a more detailed definition of the concept. 12. For a detailed study of the work of missionaries in Bangladesh and the operation of various dialogues through which conversion of the Other (Rishi) to Christianity occurs, see Zene (2002). 13. Stirrat and Henkel (1997) highlight the Christian origins of many Western NGOs. See Taylor (1995) for a discussion of how Christianity has influenced the work of many of the world’s largest NGOs. 14. Godelier (1999) gives a useful outline of Mauss’s work The Gift (1954) in which Mauss does not describe gift giving in terms of laws; rather, he believes that a spirit exists within the system of gift giving that compels the recipient to return the gift. 15. Rogers excludes women from his writing. I have added ‘she’ and ‘her’. 16. Trainee counsellors and psychotherapists have to undergo counselling or psychotherapy as part of their training. 17. Functionalists saw the community as a singular unit comprising parts, each of which was crucial for sustaining the community as a functioning entity. 18. Structuralists perceived the community in terms of a holistic entity that divides into parts, linked together into a structure. 19. See Kuper’s book Anthropology and Anthropologists (1983) for a detailed critical and historical account of modern British social anthropology. 20. Participating in development: approaches to indigenous knowledge (2002) edited by P. Stilloe, A. Bicker and J. Pottier is the result of a conference held at SOAS in 2000 at which the role of anthropologists in development was discussed. In particular, many of the contributors to the volume explore the increased contribution anthropology could make to formulating a practice that is more sensitive to local knowledge.

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21. This also happens in the practice of social development. The established development paradigms are so rigidly adhered to that even when they are ineffective and projects fail the practitioners would rather abandon their project than accept that their frameworks do not work. Instead, social developmentalists retreat into the safety of their Western base and evaluate their experiences using particular analytical models. For examples of the models social scientists working in development use, see Giddens (1989), Harris (1992) and Moser and Kalton (1971). 22. See also Bakhtin (1990). 23. See also Grimes (1995) who is a scholar in ritual studies. He decided to make the rituals he had so far passed through the focus of a book. He takes this personal approach because he argues that anthropologists rarely look at what rituals mean to the individual who experiences them. 24. An awareness of Otherness is vital in development practice, where NGO workers literally are economic resources to villagers. It is important that practitioners appreciate the impact this presentation of themselves has on their ability to forge honest and meaningful dialogue. 25. According to Tapper (1991) gender inequality and the inferiority of women are intimately related to notions of honour and shame. The system of ideas and practices associated with honour and shame constitutes a closed ideology of control. There is a link between honour and shame, social identity, hierarchy and the protection of male power. The female body is objectified through a system that reduces women to possessions used for bartering between families. Pitt-Rivers (1961) was the first anthropologist to link honour to sex or specifically male sexuality. This is explored further by Davis (1977), Gilmore (1987) and Peristiany and Pitt-Rivers (1992). 26. Sarah Caldwell (1999), in her ethnography looking at the Keralite ritual drama (mutiyettu), also documents her personal journey. She is open about her affair with one of the performers of this ritual, which results in the end of her marriage. In addition, she vividly describes her spiritual growth as she gets drawn into the ritual while observing it. Although her honesty is refreshing she fails to analyse the impact these experiences may have had on the material she includes in her ethnography of this ritual. She fails to consider the impact her relationship with one of the performers may have had on her own accounts and perception of this ritual. Although she interviews women she is drawn to the role of the dominant characters in this drama and fails to spend any time recording the voices and experiences of those marginalized from publicly performing this ritual (women). 27. Following each training session students are asked to record their responses in a diary/journal. They must comment on their reactions to

198

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28.

29.

30.

31.

the subject matter covered, how important they think it is in terms of training them to be counsellors. They must also reflect on what they have learnt about themselves because each training session contains a period devoted to personal development in which they are encouraged to explore aspects of their character. Did they find it distressing? Empowering? Nigel Barley’s (1983) The Innocent Anthropologist: Notes from a Mud Hut is an example of a text that attempts to expose the realities of conducting anthropological field work. Barley states that the polished monograph hides the often grim and less than smooth realities of life as an ethnographer. Most published ethnographies hide the numerous mistakes and mishaps that form a central part of any piece of extended field work. Gujar began as Gold’s research assistant but Gold felt that his input into her work had been so direct that she felt he had to be acknowledged as a co-author. Her decision to do this reveals the extent to which an anthropologist rarely works on her or his own. The reality is that ethnographers usually have a team of people working with them who are not acknowledged in the final text but whose role in the collection of material is huge. Kripal (2003) challenges Obeyesekere’s interpretation of the snakelike matted hair of Sinhalese female ascetics. Kripal claims that Obeyesekere projects his own anxieties through his perception of how the women acquire such hair. Specifically, Kripal states that he makes a free association between the women’s hair and Freud’s essay ‘Medusa’s hair’. The women’s own perception of why they have matted locks is submerged beneath Obeyesekere’s Western psychoanalytic narrative. In other words, he appears more concerned to prove Freud’s theory than to understand the experiences of the ascetics he interviews. Henrietta Moore (1988) details the historical emergence of a feminist approach to anthropology. She draws on the work of Edwin Ardener (1975) to describe how traditionally anthropologists have ignored those voices that are located away from the public sphere. Ardener was among the first to recognize the significance of a ‘male bias’ for the development of models of explanation in social anthropology. He proposed a theory of ‘muted groups’, in which he argued that dominant groups in society generate and control the dominant modes of expression. Muted groups are silenced by the structures of dominance; they can either express themselves through these dominant modes or are considered muted. Anthropologists assumed that because women did not appear to speak in public they were not worth studying. Moore looks at the contribution feminist anthropologists have made towards challenging this view. The work of Raheja and Gold (1994) is an

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32.

33. 34.

35.

36.

37.

example of an ethnography that disputes the assumption that women do not speak. Gold (1996) discusses her decision to remain honest to her informants in the introduction to her work. She notes the difficulty she has trying to explain her status as a divorced woman with a child. I am not suggesting that in adopting these roles the researcher can transcend the barrier of outsider. In Chapter 3 the practice of purdah is discussed in detail. It is argued that many Rajasthani village women do not interpret purdah as a sign of inferiority. However, for a Western woman the veiling of the face can evoke feelings of powerlessness because Western culture equates the symbol of the veil with constraint. On one occasion they dressed me in traditional Rajasthani clothes for a trip to the local market. They were visibly very pleased with the result. I noted in my field journal a significant decline in the amount of attention I received on this trip, which I attributed to my clothes and to the fact that Poonam, Parvati and Devi had taken me under their wings. This decision was made subconsciously, but is probably due to the women being of a similar age to me, which provides at least a slight commonality between us. The donor NGO I observed visiting its target communities always entered villages in a very public way. Often a space had been created specially for them, chairs brought out and shading knocked up. The village elders and a few vocal women hand-picked by local NGO workers welcomed them. The donor NGO then responded by thanking the village for its hospitality despite being so poor.

Chapter 2: Feminist Politics 1. For a more detailed discussion of how Western medical ideas and practice have impacted on everyday life, see Turner (1992). Turner describes how through the regulation of natural processes such as childbirth the local GP has replaced, in functional terms, the confessor and priest. Turner’s work is influenced by Foucault’s analysis of the development of Western medical discourse. In The Birth of the Clinic (1973) Foucault traces the gradual emergence of a rationale that relies on governing the body. He highlights the immense power attributed to those designated as the regulators of the human body: doctors. 2. Sandra Bem, in The Lenses of Gender (1993), describes the lens of androcentrism, which is useful in enabling us to understand how both women and men may support the privileging of a dominant male subject. Bem describes how we are socialized into viewing the world through particular lenses and therefore accept certain behaviours as normal without analysing the extent to which, as individuals, we may be marginalized. Bem’s work is problematic because she assumes a

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3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

8. 9.

cross-cultural applicability that essentializes human experiences and the processes through which they are mediated. In addition, the extent to which individuals may utilize their agency to resist marginalization is not considered in her work. See Daly (1973), Fiorenza (1983) and Hampson (1990). Ussher (1992) examines how the natural female state of menstruation and its associated symptoms have become denaturalized and subverted by misogyny as indicators of female madness. In other words, PMS is not the result of a women’s body naturally reacting to changes in hormone levels and physical discomfort, but in fact proof that women suffer from delusions and bouts of irrationality. Spivak (1987) also highlights the extent to which the pain women suffer, like that of childbirth, is considered abnormal. The body that produces that pain is thereby also considered abnormal and must be normalized through drugs and gendered codes of behaviour. Kristeva (1989) explores the link between women and madness and argues that women suffer depression and other mental illnesses because they are forced to exist within a system that does not validate their experiences and ensures they cannot speak about them. In Freud’s (1977) famous account of the Oedipal stage, the young boy under the threat of castration represses the desire for his mother and tries to become like his father, hoping to take his father’s place eventually in society. The cost of this is painful and results in anger, fear and loss, which are directed at the mother who reminds him of it. This can be recognized as the roots of misogyny and homophobia, which Jantzen believes are reinforced by religious doctrine and ritual. In Chapter 1 I explored the roots of the development discourse and outlined the process through which a hegemonic development discourse emerges, which reflects Lacan’s theory of a ‘symbolic order’ in that the discourse is maintained at the level of the symbolic. The concepts of modernization and progress are abstract ideals that are projected as the goals of human existence. Despite demands to recognize differences (Gilligan 1982; Spelman 1990) feminists who seek to campaign cross-culturally often adopt an Orientalist stance, which Said (1977) described as being founded on a notion of the West as superior. The West is the rational scientific Self contrasted against the uncivilized Other of the Eastern world. See Table 1 in McLaurin (2001: 6–8) in which she displays a timeline of selected black women/feminist anthropologists that highlights how few established black women/feminist scholars there are. The following poem, ‘A Dangerous Knowing’, in an anthology edited by Jarrett-Macauley (1996: 46), highlights the demands of black women feminists for their uniqueness to be recognized. We are not all sisters under the same moon And the moon is never the same two nights Running into different shapes choosing To light up a certain crescent or be Full and almost round or to slide into A slither titled backwards looking up to the stars Before this night is over and before this new dawn rises we are to see

201

NOTES

10.

11. 12.

13.

14. 15.

16.

17.

These particular changes speak to our guarded uncertain before singing Sisterhood is powerful once we see That light reflect our various colors When we feel complexity clear as an orange sun Moving into the morning maybe we can sit Here in the shade and talk Meeting each others eyes with a sparkle That is not afraid to see the lone bright poppy Nor afraid to question the dent In the dream or the words missing from the story When you see my tone Changes with the sun or ill health When you realise I am not a definition Perhaps we can move on For I am not one a strong woman With Scorpio rising I am not about tolerance with daffodils Everyday making putty out of y wishes to shape my future needs I have no definite tomorrow only a longing that I will write to pick lights That cast curious shadows in the dark And yes it would be easy to pat The back of my confidence Smacking strong women never hesitate Looking forward into this particular Black woman helps me look outward Only be questioning the light In my eyes can I refuse to be dazzled by the lie in yours We are not all sisters Under the same moon. See Gillborn (1995) who argues that an institutionally racist attitude underpins the British education system. A notion of black parents as irresponsible is one aspect of this prejudice. See also hooks 1990; James and Busia 1993. The following poem, ‘Black is Fancy’ by Marson (in Jarrett-Macauley 1996: 63) projects an image of black women as beautiful. There is a picture in my room It is a picture Of a beautiful white lady I used to think her sweet but now I think She lacks something I was so ugly Because I am black But now I am glad I am Black There is something about me that Has a dash in it especially when I put on My Bandanna. The international NGO Womankind in its campaign 2002 ‘against violence against women’ used an idealized image of white femininity to highlight the racial prejudice lying behind the social construction of beauty (www.womankind.org.uk). It is important to note that not all activists and scholars working on the issue of women in India will call themselves feminists. For a detailed history of the women’s movement in India see Calman (1992), Desai (1988), Gandhi and Shah (1991), Gothoskart and Patel (1982), Jayawardena (1986), Kumar (1989 and 1993), Omvedt (1986a, 1986b and 1997). According to Calman (1992) the National Federation of Indian Women has 800,000 members, All Indian National Women’s Association has 115,000 members and the Young Women’s Christian Association has 67 branches all over India. See Unnithan-Kumar (1997) for a discussion on the relative differences and similarities of dowry and bride price practices in rural Rajasthan. She argues that it is unhelpful to depict young women as victims of a system over which they have little control. Unnithan-Kumar describes

202

NOTES

18. 19. 20.

21.

22.

how Rajasthani women do manage to use the systems to negotiate a better deal for themselves. Much of the information in this section was gathered during an interview I conducted with Madhu Kishwar in Delhi in May 2001. This view is also shared by Saeed (2001). The question of whether or not goddess images in Indian tradition signal a deeply empowered feminine spirit is the topic of an edited volume entitled Is the Goddess a Feminist? (Hiltebeitel and Erndl 2000). Contributors debate the impact goddess images have had on Indian women’s sense of personhood, but no definite conclusion is drawn on this issue. Several of the contributors (Erndl, Gross and Pintchman) talk about the impact of images such as Kali on a Western feminist consciousness. Diesel (2002) also explores the potential of goddess images such as Kali and Durga for motivating women in rural India to participate more in social development programmes. At a conference I attended on Asian Canadian women’s literature at the University of Rajasthan, 28 December 2000, I met an Indian Ph.D. student who was studying at the university. I asked her what she was researching. She replied ‘the Brontë sisters’ contribution to English literature’. She asked me my Ph.D. topic, and I replied, ‘the impact of social development on Rajasthani village women’. We smiled awkwardly at each other. While conducting my field work in Rajasthan in 1995, a year-long campaign (funded by WHO) had been launched by central government designed to reduce the average family size to around two children. The programme concluded one year after its inception.

Chapter 3: Understanding the Image of Sita 1. See Shastri (1952, 1957 and 1959) for a full translation of Valmiki’s Ramayana. 2. See also the poems Agarwal (2000) wrote on Sita. 3. See Doniger (1980) and Kinsley (1987), for discussion on the binary split of the goddess image within Hindu mythology. Images such as that of Durga represents the blood-thirsty destructive side to the feminine whilst Parvati is the opposite representing purity and compliance. 4. See also Douglas (1996) in which she describes how cultures create a binary opposition: pure/impure. All that is seen as pure is valued and all that is perceived as polluting is marginalized. Through her analysis Woman is associated with blood (menstrual and the blood lost while giving birth) and is thus homogenized into a category of polluting and potentially destructive if not controlled. The problem with viewing female subjectivity through this binary opposition is that women are presented as passive entities who comply with a male dominated system. The personal experiences women have of these cultural

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5. 6.

7. 8.

9. 10.

11.

12.

13.

practices and values are not documented. See Dumont (1980) and Kolenda (1991) for discussion on how this analysis of purity/pollution has been used to interpret the operation of the Hindu caste system. See also Hess 1999. See Nandy (1988 and 1989) for an example of an author who believes that culturally produced representations of the feminine feed into women’s psychology and thus reduce them to passive objects for the benefit of male authority. Kishwar stresses non-violence in her campaigns. Rao acknowledges that as a male researcher he was unable to access the space in which these songs are sung. The songs presented in his research have been recorded by female research assistants. This reveals an interesting power dynamic. Rao has built his article on material gathered by other researchers whom he does not acknowledge. Moore (1988) discusses issues around the appropriateness of male researchers studying women-only spaces and highlights the unlikelihood of them being able to work without female research assistants. This raises the question; should they have chosen to conduct research on women? I compiled this list from the material presented in Rao (1991). I noted in my introduction that young tribal women in one village I visited found their task of collecting water together a personal space in which they could share stories and enjoy a more relaxed exchange of views and experiences. Work conducted on goddess worship highlights the limitations of focusing on public ceremonies. None of the articles contained in Hiltebeitel and Erndl (2000) nor the one by Diesel (2002) actually look at private rituals; instead they focus on the public worship of goddesses such as Kali and Durga and do not present an appreciation of women’s own relationship to goddess images; in fact they merely highlight the extent to which women are excluded from the public worship of these images. This can also be seen in the volume on Encountering Kali edited by Fell McDermott and Kripal (2003), Caldwell (1999) and Erndl (1993), in which many of the contributors include their own personal relationship and experiences of Kali but fail to document the relationship individual Hindu women may have with her. The information presented here was gained while living and working for Gandhian NGO (1) during two trips (July and August 1995 and November 2000 to June 2001). I often travelled with a female translator and it was primarily through her that I gained much of my specific information about the women and their lives. Although I possess limited Hindi it was not enough to allow me to go beyond basic conversations. One of my most memorable experiences was a picnic with a large group of women. We took a passenger carrier to a dam. The dam had recently

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14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

19. 20.

21. 22.

23.

24.

25.

been filled with water following the monsoon rain. I remember the trip vividly because of the terrifying display of female agency I witnessed. On the return journey I sat next to the driver who proceeded to rub his hand on my leg. I squirmed; the women around me launched a verbal and physical assault on him (they hit him). He remained completely silent for the remainder of our trip. I asked Deepak, Poonam’s father and son and Parvati’s husband about the ritual. None of them were very interested in discussing it. The verbal content of this ritual was translated to me by a female translator working for the Gandhian NGO (1). Leslie makes the point that religious meanings have allowed Dalits to make sense of their collective history of suffering. See also Zene 2002. For more discussion on how symbols become imbued with meaning see Bynum et al. (1986), Christ and Plaskow (1979), and Turner (1980). Although these scholars are not necessarily referring to Rajput women they assume a connection between a veil and the disempowerment of the woman wearing it. Villagers gave her the title of ‘Queen’ because her family had once ruled the area. She lives in an ancient fort on the outskirts of town. In her ethnography of bedouin women in Egypt, Abu-Lughod (1988) challenges the depiction of bedouin women as repressed because they wear a veil. In a similar manner to Raheja and Gold (1994), AbuLughod records the songs and stories women sing and recount to each other. These songs and stories contain narratives that offer insight into the positive self-perceptions held by bedouin women. Common themes include the notion of resisting patriarchy and the celebration of femininity. In reality the projects were already designed (see Chapter 5). In Chapter 4 I cite von Mitzlaff (1988) who shows how Maasai women in Tanzania create private spaces at public ceremonies to express their solidarity. See also Gold and Gujar (2002) in which Rajasthani women are seen to have an empowered sense of self that is apparent in their subversion of male narratives surrounding various festivals in the region (Holi, Sitala Mata, Dasa Mata and Gangaur). All four festivals rest on depictions of feminine power that Rajasthani women incorporate into their own stories and songs to reflect their positive sense of self identity and recognition of the power present in their agency. For further discussion on how public rituals reinforce women’s socially ascribed role, see Falk and Gross (1989), Jacobson and Wadley (1992), and Wadley (1977). Abu-Lughod (1993) takes a similar approach. She is concerned to record as many different narratives as she can. Her research among

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NOTES

26.

27. 28.

29.

30. 31.

32. 33.

34.

35. 36.

bedouin communities in Egypt focuses on women-only spaces and consists largely of personal accounts and women’s oral traditions, including songs and stories. She argues that the experiences contained within them are usually missed by traditional research methods, which focus on the dominant voices (male). See Moore (1988) for a detailed description of feminist critiques of anthropology and alternative approaches to conducting ethnographic research. Pryer (1990) discusses how slum women in Bangladesh struggle to survive in the absence of their husbands who migrate and never return. This information was recorded during an interview I conducted with Ann Gold June 2001. I found it was important for me as a foreigner to perform puja in village temples. The performance of this ritual enabled me to display my empathy with the community and communicate my concerns over their situation. It did not matter that my relationship with the images differed from theirs. It was not the quality of my relationship with the divine that mattered, but the actions through which I could transmit my deep sorrow at their suffering. For further discussion on masculinities, see Mac An Ghaill (1996) who offers an introductory text to examining the range of theoretical and methodological approaches to understanding masculinity. In addition, Brod and Kaufman (1994) consider masculinities from sociological, psychoanalytic and ethnographic perspectives. See also Arcana (1983). See also Clatterbaugh (1997) for a survey of conservative liberal and radical views of masculinity and consideration of the alternatives offered by the men’s movement, spiritual growth activists, and black and gay rights activists. I have based my diagram on ethnographic data collected during my field-work trip during November 2000–June 2001. See Chapter 6 for a discussion of how economic independence does not reduce women’s experience of violence. In fact research has revealed an increase in women’s vulnerability to domestic violence when they take up employment. All the information in this chart was collected through interviews with the men, their wives and other villagers, including employees of the Gandhian NGO (1). For discussion on the practice of purdah common to Rajasthan see section above. For further discussion on South Asian masculinities, see Chopra et al. (2005) and Monti (2002).

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Chapter 4: Revisiting the Development Discourse 1. For a detailed discussion on the historic emergence of WID, WAD and GAD see Rathgeber (1990). 2. Porter (1999) states that GAD is still reluctant to enter the household in both its research and practice; as a result GAD practitioners remain blind to the major barrier to change, namely domestic violence. This issue is picked up in Chapter 6. 3. An example of the continued influence of WID can be seen in the journal series Women in Development, which focuses on how to improve the economic and social status of women in the developing world. 4. The image in the Introduction to this book is used by the UK donor NGO in all its campaign literature. It features heavily in all its fund raising events and pleas for sponsorship. 5. See Chapter 3 on how Fruzzetti (1990) and Kakar (1989) describe the process of socializing a passive subject. 6. Although there are instances of campaigns to transfer land to women having succeeded, these examples are scarce. The long-term sustainability of female land ownership is unlikely and although women may appear to have legal title to the land, in reality they have no power to make decisions over how that land is used. For further discussion see Agarwal (1988). 7. This supports my argument in Chapter 6 that in Rajasthan a link can be seen between male insecurities (at not being able to control women) and instances of wife beating. 8. See also the work of Gandhi (1996), Parveen and Ali (1996) and Tiano (1994), all of whom look at how women as workers act as agents to combat the repressive constraints they face in their daily lives. Tiano (1994: 221) states that women ‘engage in daily struggles on a personal or collective level to improve their lives’. 9. Rosaldo in her theory of ‘separate spheres’ describes how women are confined to the domestic sphere while men take the dominant role through their control of the public domain.

Chapter 5: Questioning Participation 1. Details about these women are given in Chapter 3. 2. The women ate similar food each day. By contrast, the project facilitators had a more varied diet, which consisted of more expensive foods such as fresh mango and chutneys. Their meals were prepared in a separate kitchen by Deepak’s daughter-in-law. 3. The government of Rajasthan funds this centre to provide training for village level health workers in Jaipur district. In addition, this centre holds meetings at individual villages in an attempt to educate locals in better health care practice. 4. This project coincided with a national campaign running throughout India (1995) to reduce the average family size to 2.5 children per couple. 5. This was the response given by Deepak director of Gandhian NGO (1) when I asked him why he appointed female health professionals.

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6. See references to Raheja and Gold (1994) in Chapter 3. 7. My experiences of spending time with the trainee health workers as they sang and talked in the moments they had to themselves, reaffirm my conclusions drawn in Chapter 3. In particular, song functioned as a medium through which bonds were forged between women despite their diverse backgrounds. The songs sung during private moments between sessions and at the end and beginning of each day, conveyed vivid expressions of sexuality that further deepened the ties of friendship the women were developing. The women often became playful and would touch each other. At times I spotted hands under the skirt of a neighbour. I believe these actions not to be indications that the women were relating to each other as lesbians but such physical intimacy was an expression of a desire to acknowledge a connection. 8. Although the health professionals were Indian they had all received Western style private education. See Kishwar’s discussion of the impact of Western education on India’s elite (Chapter 2). 9. Gandhian NGO (2) has not yet collected data that can specifically prove a link between the presence of community health workers and an increase in the overall health of the local community. The workers who have spent every day since the NGO began working in villages on community health issues have noticed a significant improvement in people’s ability to respond to illness and their access to health resources. It is difficult to make any statement on reductions of illness in the area because the drought that has hit the region yearly for the past five years has caused a rise in the numbers of cases of severe and minor illnesses. What is certain is that the NGO’s ability to respond to drought related illness has been aided greatly by the existence of community level health workers.

Chapter 6: Violence in Rural Rajasthan 1. Violence can occur between women. It is not uncommon for a motherin-law to abuse her daughter-in-law. The mother wishes to see her son achieve the dictates of hegemonic masculinity and be perceived as a strong man and if she feels his wife is not behaving well she may try to constrain her with violence. A widow may also experience violence following the death of her husband when she is no longer thought of as useful (Chakravrati and Gill 2001; Dreze and Srinivasan 1995; and Upadhyay 1996). The daughter-in-law may turn on her mother-in-law in such situations. Violence can be described as being employed by women to negotiate or maintain their status. Calman (1992) highlights the unfavourable power dynamics in a new bride’s marital home in which violence may well be inflicted on them by senior females. 2. The information given here was collected from unpublished working papers held at the IDS in Jaipur and interviews with researchers at the IDS and NGO workers in rural Rajasthan. Unnithan-Kumar (1997) also gives a detailed description of the organizational structure of the WDP.

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NOTES

3. This is below the minimum wage set by the government of Rajasthan. 4. Annual festival in which girls are married in the first of two ceremonies, the second occurs once the child reaches puberty and it is at this point that she will move into her husband’s home. 5. For examples of how NGOs deal with the issue of violence against women internationally, see Davies (1994), and Penn and Nardos (2003). 6. See Bennett’s (1983) description of how the Hindu notion of the goddess as a duality of purity and destructiveness has led to a particular view of female sexuality that is thought to hold the potential for evil if not successfully constrained within particular gender roles. 7. For further discussion on the uses of rape during times of conflict, see Minturn (1993) and Stigelmayer (1994). 8. According to Gandhian NGO (2) reported cases of alcoholism have steadily increased in line with higher levels of male migration. 9. Basu (2001) recognizes the limitations of Mackinnon’s theoretical approach. She states that Mackinnon only recognizes one group of victims in her work – ‘women’. According to Basu violence operates through a complex network. ‘Violence is not only enacted on women but also on the bodies of religious and ethnic minorities’ (Basu 2001: 282). Basu also states that women may be the victims of violence in one instance and in another be the agents. 10. Under the Indian reservation system a certain number of places within any gram panchayat (local council) must be set aside for women. 11. This was a point made in Chapter 3 in which an example was given of a Rajput man who often drank at such stands and returned home drunk to attack his wife physically.

Conclusion: The Meaning of Freedom 1. I have added ‘her’ and ‘she’ as the quote originally excluded women from its sentiments. 2. An example of this distinction in my field work would be the sense of despair I felt watching a group of young mothers dig silt from a dried out pond. They still wore their veils and carried their babies at the same time. My familiarity with feminist concerns provoked anger at what I saw as injustice. I had created a category of Rajasthani Woman who was a victim of oppressive practices. Yet an NGO worker present with me pointed out that this work offers the women numerous benefits that are empowering (economic independence, time to meet and chat). By contrast, feelings of fascination led me to watch rituals being performed over and over. I was drawn to these spaces more than any others. This reflects my own innate character and is not the result of my culture’s hegemonic values. 3. Bailey (1958) and Epstein (1962 and 1973) argue that ‘change’ should be the focus of research. This would allow development practitioners to remain responsive to people’s shifting needs.

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226

Index

Abu-Lughod, Lila, 205n20 n25 Africa, 118 Agarwal, B., 72–3, 75, 131, 134, 136, 203n2, 207n6 Agra, 95–6 alcoholism, 183, 209n8 Ali, K., 207 n8 All India Women’s Conference (AIWC), 54–5 All Indian Coordinating Committee of Working Women, 55 All Indian Democratic Women’s Association, 55 All Indian National Women’s Association, 202n16 America, 51, 52, 106, 108 Andhra, 79 Andhra Pradesh, 119 androcentrism, 39, 115, 200n2 Anzaldúa, G., 50, 51 apartheid, 181 Appadurai, A., 19 Arcana, J., 206n30 Ardener, Edwin, 199n31 Ardener, Shirley, 78 Arjuna, 104 Asad, T., 16, 19 Australia, 105, 108 Bailey, F. G., 209n3 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 19–20, 47, 198n22 Bangladesh, 134, 197n12, 206n26 Barley, Nigel, 199n28 Barriteau-Foster, Eudine, 54 Bassi Tehsil, 175 Basu, S., 59, 109, 209n9 Bedouin, 205n20, 205n25 Bell, C., 84, 102

Bem, Sandra, 200n2 Benedict, R., 17 Benhabib, S., 8, 9 Bennett, L. Rae, 59, 72–3, 87, 168, 173, 175, 183, 209n6 Bhateri, 175–6 Bicker, A., 197n20 Bihar, 136 Bloch, J., 196n2 Bloch, M., 8, 196n2 Bodhgaya, 136 Bordo, S., 42 Boserup, Esther, 118–19 Bourdieu, P., 74 Britain, 30 Brittan, A., 104 Brod, H., 206n29 Brodribb, S., 38 Busia, A. P. A., 202n11 Butler, J., 42–3, 47, 53, 127 Bynum, C. W., 205n17 Bystydzienski, J., 142 Caldwell, Sarah, 25, 198n26, 204n11 Calman, L. J., 54, 55, 202n15 n16, 208 n1 Castairs, M., 105 Chambers, Robert, 3, 141 Chatterjee, P., 46, 137 Chodorow, N., 37, 42 Chopra, R., 206n36 Chow, R., 42, 54 Christ, C., 205n17 Cixous, Hélène, 39 Clatterbaugh, K., 206n31 Communist Party of India, 55 Connell, R. W., 105–8, 180 Cornwall, A., 18

227

INDEX

Crewe, E., 4, 151, 195n5 Dalits, 205n16 Daly, M., 201n3 Damyanti, 76 Das, M., 169, 170, 172 Davies, M., 209n5 Davis, A., 51 Davis, J., 198n25 de Beauvoir, Simone, 37 de Sousa Santos, B., 196n5 Deepak, 31, 32, 85, 89, 205n14, 207n2 n5 Delhi, 57, 59, 74–5, 96, 177, 203n18 Deorala, 58 Derrida, Jacques, 5, 9, 19, 197n8 Devi, 32, 85–90, 93, 101, 111, 112, 138, 156, 168, 175–6, 200n35 Devi, Bhanweri, 58, 175–8, 180–1, 183 Devi, Mohan, 178 Dhaka, 135 di Leonardo, M., 8, 49, 126 di Stefano, C., 41 Diesel, A., 203n20, 204 n11 domestic violence, 53, 100, 137, 168–9, 172–3, 206n35, 207n2 Doniger, W., 67, 69, 203n3 Douglas, M., 203n4 dowry, 55, 57–60, 85, 148, 202n17 Dowry Prohibition Act, 59 Draupadi, 76 Dumont, L., 204n4 Durga, 203n3 n20, 204n11 Durvury, C., 168 Eck, D., 88 Egypt, 205n20 n25 Elabor-Idemudia, P., 137–8 Elson, D., 128 Emberley, J. V., 50 Engels, D., 91 Enlightenment, 38 Epstein, T. S., 209n3 Erndl, K. M., 203n20, 204n11 Evans-Pritchard, E., 16

Fabian, J., 17, 26, 34 Fagan, G. H., 8 Falk, N. A., 205n24 Fell McDermott, R., 204n11 femininity, 11, 51, 65, 72, 95, 108–9, 127, 152, 154, 175, 179–80, 202, 205 Ferguson, J., 197n7 Ferguson, K. E., 52 Finnegan, R., 196n9 Fiorenza, E. S., 201n3 Fisher, M. M. J., 6, 16 Flax, J., 42, 53 Foster Carroll, Theodora, 114 Foucault, Michel, 1, 6–7, 9, 127, 197n7, 200n1 France, 135 Frankenberg, R., 50 Fraser, N., 53 Freud, Sigmund, 39, 199n30, 201n5 Fruzzetti, L., 69–73, 75, 207n5 Fuller, C. J., 87 Gajanyake and Gajanyake, S. and J., 142 Gandhi, A., 207n8 Gandhi, Mahatma, 75–8 Gandhian NGO (1), 31, 85–7, 204n12, 205n15, 206n33, 207n5 Gandhian NGO (2), 164–6, 208n9, 209n8 Gardner, K., 4, 195n1 n5 Garhwal, 97, 98 Gaytri, 92–4, 112 Geertz, Clifford, 15, 16, 18 gender and development (GAD), 10, 117–18, 121–6, 128–9, 131, 133, 135–44, 194, 207n1 n2 Giddens, Anthony, 198n21 Gillborn, D., 202n10 Gilligan, C., 201n7 Gilmore, David D., 105, 108, 198n25 Godelier, M., 197n14 Goetz, A. M., 52, 124–5, 195n5 Gold, Ann, xxi, 26–9, 48, 72, 74, 87,

228

INDEX

92–101, 131, 133, 168–70, 173, 199n29 n31, 200n32, 205n20 n23, 206n27, 208n6 Goldman, R., 104, 108 Gramsci, Antonio, 3, 17 Grimes, R. L., 198n23 Gross, R. M., 205n24 Grosz, E. A., 184 Grown, C., 124 Guijt, L., 143 Guja, Badri, 178 Gujar family, 176–7, 179–81, 183 Gujar, B. R., 26, 199n29, 205n23 Gujar, Gyarasa, 178 Gujar, Ram Karan, 176, 178 Gujar, Ram Sukh, 178 Gupta, R. S., 52 Habermas, J., 9, 18–19 Hall, C., 142 Hampson, D., 201n3 Hanuman, 67–8, 80, 88 Haraway, D., 41, 42 Harding, D., 38 Hardstock, N., 41, 42 Harlan, L., 91 Harris, M., 198n21 Harrison, E., 4, 151, 195n5 Hawkesworth, M. E., 41 Hegel, G. W. F., 8 Henkel, H., 12, 13, 197n13 Hennessy, R., 53 Hess, L., 204n5 Hiltebeitel, A., 203n20, 204n11 Hinduism, 61, 65, 70, 88, 104, 147, 148 Hirsch, M., 49 Hobart, M., 3, 4, 8, 195n5 homophobia, 201n5 Honduras, 172 hooks, B., 52, 202n11 Hull, G. T., 52 India, xxiv, 45, 54–7, 59–63, 65, 69–73, 75–6, 83, 85, 93, 98, 112–13, 130, 168–9, 178, 202n14 n15 n16, 203n20, 207n4

Institute of Development Studies (IDS), 172–4, 208n2 Irigaray, Luce, 10, 11, 12, 17, 19, 20, 39–41, 197n11 Jacobson, D., 91, 205n24 Jain, J., 61, 62, 170, 172 Jain, S., 169 Jaipur, ix, 85, 108, 110, 155, 157, 167, 172–5, 177–8, 207n3, 208n2 James, S. M., 202n11 Janata Party, 55 Jantzen, G., 39, 41–2, 93, 108, 201n5 Jarrett-Macauley, Delia, 51, 201n9, 202n12 Jayawardena, Kumari, 42, 44 Jeffery, Patricia, 72, 73, 91 Jeffery, R., 72, 73 Jodphur, 164 Joshi, Sharad, 75 Joshi, V., 91–2 Kabeer, N., 134, 142 Kakar, Sudhir, 69, 71–3, 75, 96, 207n5 Kali, 203n20, 204n11 Kalton, Graham, 198n21 Kamban, 69 Kandiyoti, Deniz, 131, 136 Kanwar, Roop, 58 Kapur, A., 175 Kaufman, M., 206n29 Kaushalya, 79–80, 83–4 Kayastha, 83 Keller, E. Fox, 49 Kigarli, 165 King, R., 44, 48 King, U., 108 Kinsley, D., 203n3 Kishwar, Madhu, 37, 57–62, 75–7, 130, 178, 203n18, 204n7, 208n8 Knott, K., 24, 30, 190 Kolenda, P., 204n4 Kripal, J. J., 199n30, 204n11 Krishna, Lord, 77 Kristeva, Julia, 39–41, 201n4

229

INDEX

Kumhar, 85–6, 108–9, 111, 175 !Kung, 189, 190 Kuper, Adam, 197n19 Lacan, Jacques, 39, 201n6 Lakshmi, 75, 81 Lakshmi Mukti, 75 Lanka, 80, 82 Lazreg, M., 54, 117, 137 Leslie, J., 59, 60, 73, 89, 205n16 Levinas, Emmanuel, 17, 126 Levinson, D., 180 Levi-Strauss, Claude, 16 Lewis, D., 4, 33, 195n1 n5 Liddell, Henry George, 195n4 Lindisfarne, N., 18 Long, A., 196n1 Long, N., 196n1 Lyotard, J., 43 Maasai, 117, 131–3, 143, 184, 205n22 Mac An Ghaill, M., 206n29 Mackinnon, Catherine, 183, 209n9 McLaurin, I., 50, 201n8 Maharashtra, 75 Mahila Dakshata Samiti, 55 Malaysia, 134 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 15, 25 Manderson, L., 59, 168, 173, 175, 183 Manu, 67, 69, 147 Manzo, K., 5 Marchand, M., 4 Marcus, G. E., 6, 16 Marx, Karl, 8 masculinity, 6, 11, 50, 68, 78, 104–9, 112, 114, 127, 152, 169, 175, 181, 184, 206n29 n31, 208n1 Mathur, K., 170, 172, 174 Mauss, M., 197n14 Maya, 98 Mayaram, S., 185 Mayo, Katherine, 45 Mies, 119 Minturn, L., 91, 209n7 misogyny, 39, 115, 138, 201n4 n5

Mohanty, Chandra, xx, 43, 44, 53 Monti, A., 206n36 Moore, Henrietta, 91, 118, 199n31, 204n8, 206n25 Moraga, C., 50, 51 Morrell, Robert, 180–2, 185 Moser, Caroline, 117, 123, 198n21 Mosse, D., 4, 141, 179 Mumford, S. T., 33 Nanda, B. R., 91 Nanda, M., 137 Nandadevi, 98 Nandy, A., 204n6 Nardos, R., 209n5 Narsapur, 119 National Federation of Indian Women, 55, 202n16 Nelson, N., 141 Nepal, 72 Nicholson, L., 53 Nilsson, U., 83, 84 Nisa, 189, 190 O’Hanlon, R., 136 Obeyesekere, Gananath, 27–8, 199n30 Obeyesekere, Gananath Oldenburg, Talwar, 63 Omvedt, G., 54 Ong, Aihwa, 46, 134 Ostergaard, L., 123 Oxfam, 141–3, 145, 147–52, 154, 179 Oyewumi, Oyeronke, 38, 50 Panda, Shravan, 178 Parakuyo, 131, 132 Parpart, J., 4, 137 Parry, Jonathan, 13 participatory rural appraisal (PRA), 141, 143, 149, 162 Parvati, 32, 85–90, 93, 101–3, 111–12, 138, 156, 168, 200n35, 203n3, 205n14 Parveen, F., 207n8 patriarchy, 5, 35–6, 38–9, 42–4, 46,

230

INDEX

60, 63, 65–6, 68, 71, 74, 78, 91, 93, 95, 107–8, 113–15, 117, 119, 126–9, 131, 135–6, 143, 149, 169, 175, 193–4, 205n20 Penn, M. L., 209n5 Perez, R., 137 Peristiany, J. G., 198n25 Pitt-Rivers, J., 198n25 Plaskow, J., 205n17 Poonam, 25, 32, 85, 87–90, 101–3, 111–12, 138, 168, 200n35, 205n14 Porter, M., 207n2 Pottier, J., 3, 15, 34, 197n20 prostitution, 58 Pryer, J., 206n26 puja, 87, 101–2, 104, 206n28 purdah, 32, 68, 91–2, 109, 111, 114, 165, 196n7, 200n34, 206n34 Rabinow, P., 22–4 Radcliffe-Brown, Alfred R., 15 Raheja, G., 27–9, 32, 72, 74, 87, 92–7, 101, 131, 133, 169, 199n31, 205n20, 208n6 Rajasthan, ix, xvi–xviii, xxi–xxii, 26, 65, 73, 85–6, 91–3, 101, 103–4, 108, 113–14, 131, 133, 142, 155, 161–2, 168–9, 171–3, 175, 177, 182–5, 195n4, 196n7, 202n17, 203n21 n22, 206n34, 207n3 n7, 208n2, 209n3 Rajput, 85–6, 91–3, 108–11, 165, 173, 205n18, 209n11 Rama, ix, 65–70, 73, 75–6, 79–83, 101–2, 104, 108–11, 114, 156 Rao, V. N., 79–82, 204n8 n9 rape, 55, 77, 109, 175–9, 181, 183, 224, 209n7 Rathgeber, E., 207n1 Ravana, 66–8, 75–6, 82, 88 Razack, S. H., 50, 53 Ricoeur, P., 89 rituals, 70–1, 83–5, 100–2, 127, 132–3, 148, 181, 192, 198n23 n26, 204n11, 205n24, 209n2 Rogers, C. R., 14, 197n15 Rogers, S. C., 135

Rosaldo, M., 207n9 Rowan, J., 107 Rowlands, 172 Rozario, S., 195n5 Saeed, F., 203n19 Safilios-Rothschild, Constantina, 183 Said, Edward, 201n7 sati, 57, 58, 74, 175 Saunders, K., 117, 137 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 197n8 Sax, W., 94, 97–8 Schick, I. C., 46 School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), 113, 197n20 Scoones, I., 197n7 Scott, J. C., 134 Scott, J. W., 42, 184 Scott, Robert, 195n4 Scudder, T., 195n5 Self-Employed Women’s Association, 56 Sen, G., 124, 129 Shah, M. K., 143 Sharat Stri Mahamandal, 54 Sharma, Mrs, 164–5 Sharma, S., 76 Shastri, H. P., 203n1 Short, Clare, 196n3 Shostak, M., 25, 189–90 Singh, Jagpal, 178 Singh, Kirti, 57, 61–2 Sita, ix, xxi, 25, 65–71, 73–85, 88–9, 91, 98, 101–2, 111–12, 133, 203n2 slavery, 50, 51 Smith, D. E., 38, 123 Songhay, 21 Soper, Kate, 57 South Africa, 180, 181 South India, 28, 90, 101 Spelman, E., 201n7 Spinoza, Baruch, 184 Spivak, Gayatri, xx, 46, 48–9, 117, 139, 201n4 Sponsel, L. E., 16 Staudt, K., 122

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INDEX

Steady, 52 Stigelmayer, A., 209n7 Stilloe, P., 197n20 Stirrat, R. L., 12, 13, 197n13 Stoler, A. L., 50 Stoller, Paul, 20–2, 24 Sutherland, S., 66–9, 71, 73, 75, 79, 90 Suthren Hirst, Jacqueline, 66, 75 Sweetman, C., 123, 172, 183 Tamil Nadu, 86 Tanzania, 117, 131, 196n3, 205n22 Tapper, N., 198n25 Taylor, M., 197n13 Thar, 173, 196n7 Thompson, J., 197n7 Tiano, S., 207n8 Turner, B. S., 200n1 Turner, N., 195n4, 205n17 United Nations (UN), 54, 62, 119 unconditioned positive regard (UPR), 14–15, 190–1 Underhill, L. A., 91 Unnithan-Kumar, M., 169–72, 202n17, 208n2 US Agency for International Development (USAID), 122 Ussher, J., 201n4 Valmiki, 66–9, 71, 73, 78, 79, 90, 203n1

Vanita, R., 100 veil, 91–3, 95, 97, 111, 200n34, 205n18 n20 Vibhisana, 82 Vishnu, 102 von Mitzlaff, U., 131–4, 143, 205n22 Wadley, S., 205n24 Walby, S., 38 Wanzerbe, 21 Warren, C., 143 Welbourn, A., 141 White, C., 136 Whitehead, A., 127 women and development (WAD), 121, 122, 207n1 women in development (WID), 119–22, 207n1 n3 women’s development project (WDP), 169–76, 179, 182, 208n2 Women’s Indian Association (WIA), 54 Worby, P., 197n7 World Health Organization (WHO), 203 Wright, S., 141 Yeatman, A., 42 Young Women’s Christian Association, 55, 202n16 Young, R., 124, 126 Zaman, H., 134 Zene, C., 15, 18, 19, 134, 197n12, 205n16

232